know if he was alive whenâ¦â
She couldnât say the words, but Ron knew what she was trying to ask.
âI canât really comment on that.â
âOh God,â Sarah muttered. Fresh tears spilled and rolled down her face.
Ron stifled a groan. What he was going to say was against everything heâd been taught about law enforcement, but seeing her misery was too painful.
âLookâ¦donât quote me on this, and if you say I said this, Iâll deny every bit of it. Howeverâ¦if I was a betting man, Iâd say your father was probably already dead before he was put in the trunk.â
âWhy do you say that?â Sarah asked.
âWhen we opened the trunk, the first thing I noticed was the crack in his skull. Whether he was still alive or not, I doubt he ever regained consciousness before he was dumped in the lake.â
Sarah exhaled, then nodded slowly. âThank you for that.â
Gallagher shrugged. âYes, maâamâ¦Well, as I saidââ
Before he could finish what heâd been going to say, a van pulled up beside them and three people jumped out.
âSarah Whitman? Sarah Whitman? What do you have to say about your fatherâs body being found in Flagstaff Lake?â
Sarah recoiled as if sheâd been slapped. It was a nightmare straight out of her past: watching as her mother had been confronted in just such a manner, standing helplessly by as the people she loved were dragged through disgrace.
Gallagher reacted with an angry curse.
âGet out now or Iâll have you all arrested,â he yelled, but it was to no avail. The reporter saw his chance and was too persistent to let the threat of an arrest stop what would be his big scoop.
âTell us, Miss Whitmanâ¦do you believe your father was killed by his accomplices?â
Sarah spun and tried to make a break for her car, but they followed her, getting between her and her chance for escape.
âLeave me alone,â she said, and tried to push through them, but the reporter shoved a microphone in her face while the other two had cameras turned on her, capturing her every reaction.
âDo you have any hard feelings toward the people of Marmet?â the reporter asked. âIs there anyone you blame forââ
Suddenly the sound of a powerful engine drowned out the rest of the reporterâs question. She turned just as a black sports car came to a sliding halt beside her. She stared, too surprised to comment, when the passenger door opened. Someone inside yelled at her to get in. She reacted before she thought, and was in the seat and slamming the door shut just as the car began to move.
âBuckle up,â the driver said.
Sarah reached for the seat belt without question. It was only after sheâd buckled up and they were flying out of the area, leaving a tornado of autumn leaves flying in their wake, that she looked at her driver. For a moment she stared, trying to figure out why the profile was so familiar, and then he turned to her for a brief moment and smiled. At that point her heart skipped a beat. It had been twenty years since sheâd seen that smile, but a girl never forgets her first crush.
âSilk?â
Tony grinned. âI go by Tony most of the time now, butâ¦yes, Sarah Whitman, itâs me.â
Three
I n the short space of time that Sarah had been in Tony DeMarcoâs car, she had come to the conclusion that it was as sleek and seductive as the man behind the wheel. While trying not to stare, sheâd still noticed the expensive cut of his clothes, the Rolex watch on his left wrist, the diamond ring on his right hand and the go-to-hell glitter in his eyes. She was grateful that heâd come along when he had and rescued her from the reporters, but she couldnât wrap her mind around the reason heâd given for being here. Heâd come all the way from Chicago for her? As much as she would have liked to