LuAnn studied the exterior of the cottage. He was already there, she was certain. It was as though the man carried a scent that was detectable only to her. It smelled like the grave, moldy and dank. She took one last deep breath and started toward the door.
Upon entering the cottage, LuAnn surveyed the small area.
“You’re early.” Jackson stepped from the shadows. His face was the same one from each of their face-to-face encounters. He liked to be consistent. He wore a leather jacket and jeans. A black ski cap covered the top of his head. Dark hiking boots were on his feet. “But at least you came alone,” he added.
“I hope the same can be said of you.” LuAnn shifted slightly so that her back was against a wall rather than the door.
Jackson interpreted her movements and smiled slightly. He folded his arms and leaned against the wall, his lips pursed. “You can start delivering your report,” he ordered.
LuAnn kept her hands in her jacket, one fist closed around her pistol; she managed to point the muzzle at Jackson through the pocket.
Her movements were slight but Jackson cocked his head and smiled. “Now I distinctly remember you saying you wouldn’t kill in cold blood.”
“There are exceptions to everything.”
“Fascinating, but we don’t have time for games. The report?”
LuAnn started speaking in short bursts. “I met with Donovan. He’s the man who was following me, Thomas Donovan.” LuAnn assumed that Jackson had already run down Donovan’s identity. She had decided on the drive over that the best approach was to tell Jackson mostly the truth and to only lie at critical junctures. Half truths were a wonderful way to inspire credibility, and right now she needed all she could muster. “He’s a reporter with the Washington Tribune.”
Jackson squatted on his haunches, his hands pressed together in front of him. His eyes remained keenly on her. “Go on.”
“He was doing a story on the lottery. Twelve of the winners from ten years ago.” She nodded toward Jackson. “You know the ones; they’ve all flourished financially.”
“So?”
“So, Donovan wanted to know how, since so many of the other winners have gone belly-up. A very consistent percentage, he said. So your twelve sort of stuck out.”
Jackson hid his chagrin well. He didn’t like having loose ends, and this one had been glaring. LuAnn studied him closely. She read the smallest of self-doubts in his features. That was enormously comforting to her, but this was not the time to dwell on it.
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him I had been referred to an excellent investment firm by someone from the lottery. I gave him the name of the investment firm you used. I’m assuming they’re legitimate.”
“Very,” Jackson replied. “At least on the surface. And the others?”
“I told Donovan I didn’t know about them, but that they could have been referred to the same firm for all I knew.”
“And he bought that?”
“Let’s just say that he was disappointed. He wanted to write a story about the wealthy screwing the poor—you know, they win the lottery and then parasitic investment firms churn their accounts, earn their pieces of the pie, and leave the winner with nothing but attorney fees for filing bankruptcy. I told him that I certainly didn’t support that conclusion. I had done just fine.”
“And he knew about your situation in Georgia?”
“That’s what drew him to me initially, I would imagine.” LuAnn drew in a small breath of relief as she saw Jackson nod slightly at this remark. He apparently had arrived at the same conclusion. “He thought I would confess to some big conspiracy, I guess.”
Jackson’s eyes glittered darkly. “Did he mention any other theories, like the lottery being fixed?”
To hesitate now would be disastrous, LuAnn knew, so she plunged ahead. “No. Although he thought he had a big story. I told him to talk directly to the investment firm, that I had nothing to hide. That seemed to take the wind out of his sails. I told him if he wanted to contact the Georgia police he could go ahead. Maybe it was time to get things out in the open.”