Riptide by Catherine Coulter

manager. Just hold still and I’ll clean off your sneaker.” He

picked up her foot, nearly sending her over backward. The man

held her up while Young Jeff wiped a wet paper towel over the

bottom of her sneaker. He was very strong, she could feel it since his

hands were in her armpits. “I’m sure glad you’re here, ma’am. I

wanted to know if that poor dead skeleton was Mrs. McBride.

Everyone is talking about how it can’t be anybody else, what with

Mrs. McBride just up and disappearing like she did not all that

long ago. Everyone says you know it’s Mrs. McBride, too, that you

were sure, but how could you be? Did you meet Mrs. McBride?”

He finally released her foot. She pulled away from Young Jeff

and the man, a good two feet. She felt cold, very cold. She rubbed

her hands over her crossed arms. “No, Jeff, I never met Ann

McBride. I didn’t know anything about her. No one said a single

word to me about her. Also, everybody is being premature. Now,

I’ll just bet that we’ll be hearing very soon that the poor woman I

found can’t be Ann McBride. You tell everyone I said that.”

“I will, Ms. Powell, but that’s not what Mrs. Ella says. She thinks

it’s Ann McBride, too.”

“Believe me, Jeff, I was there, and I saw the skeleton; Mrs. Ella

didn’t. Hey, I’m sorry about the mess. Thanks for cleaning off my

shoe.”

The man stuck out his arm and helped her over the shards of

glass. “Young Jeff is a teenage boy with raging hormones,” he said,

very aware that she had pulled away from him again. “I’m afraid

you’re now the object of his affection.”

She shuddered. “No, I’m the object of everyone’s curiosity,

nothing more, including poor Young Jeff.” She stopped. The man

couldn’t help it that she was spooked. She drew a deep breath, gave

him a nice big smile, and said, “I’ve got a few more things to buy,

Mr.–?”

“Carruthers. Adam Carruthers.” He stuck out his hand and she

automatically shook it. Big hand, hard, just like the rest of him.

She’d bet the last dime in the bottom of her purse that even the

soles of his feet were hard. She knew without being told that he

was very disciplined, very focused, like soldiers or bad guys were

focused, and that made her so afraid she nearly ran out right that

minute. Which was silly. Only one thing she really knew for sure–

she didn’t ever want to have to tangle with him. Actually, if she

never saw him again, it would be just fine by her. “I haven’t seen

you around town before, Mr. Carruthers.”

“No, I just got here yesterday. The first thing I heard about was

your finding that skeleton. The second thing I heard was it was the

missing wife of your neighbor, Tyler McBride, and that you were

seeing him and now wasn’t that interesting?”

A reporter, she thought. Oh God, maybe he was a reporter or a

paparazzo, and they’d found her. Her brave new world in the

boondocks was going to be over just as it was beginning. It wasn’t

fair. She began backing away from him.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course. I’m very busy. It was a pleasure to meet you.

Goodbye.” And she was nearly running down the aisle lined with

different kinds of breads, hamburger buns, and English muffins.

He stared after her. She was taller than he’d expected, and too

thin. Well, he’d be skinny, too, if he’d been under as much pressure

as she was. What mattered was that he had found her. Amateurs, he thought, even very smart ones, couldn’t easily disappear. He

thought about how he had managed to misdirect the FBI, and

grinned at the jars of low-fat jams and jellies. They had more procedures,

more requirements, more delays built into the system, a

system that could have been designed by a criminal to give himself

the best shot at escaping. Another thing they didn’t have was his contacts. He was whistling when he carried his can of French roast

drip coffee to the checkout counter. He watched her climb into

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