Yet, even as she spoke, she saw that Marcus seemed to be fading.
“Be safe, kiddies,” Marcus said, his voice growing as faint as his image. “I can’t seem to stay around that long.... Still getting the hang of this....”
He was gone. They were talking to an empty space on the sofa.
For a moment, Olivia felt awkward. She was so intensely aware of being there alone with Dustin. There was something about him, a quality that made him the focus in any room. And it was attractive and seductive.
She cleared her throat, trying to concentrate. “You’re really afraid for me to stay by myself?”
“Aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she admitted.
“You’ll need a few things. Just pack an overnight bag. We’ll go to your house, so you can deal with the dog and collect your things. I’ll follow you and keep watch from a safe distance.”
“What about you? Don’t you need to pack a bag?”
“I have extra clothes in the rental car.”
“So, we’re going to dinner?” she asked. “Shouldn’t we be doing...something to solve this?”
“Tomorrow I intend to search the woods until I find what flew by you.”
“You think that someone’s—”
“I think someone’s afraid of you. I think you’re in danger. You have to make sure you’re always with a group of people—or with me.”
“That’s not going to be easy.”
“We’ll take it day by day,” he said. “I’ll let Malachi and Jackson know that we have to get some members of the Krewe units out here. In fact, I’ll call Malachi while I wait for you.”
She smiled. “So where are we going for dinner?”
“A place my sister loves. F. Scott’s.”
“But you said your sister’s not in Nashville right now.”
“True. She’s in London on tour.”
“Tour? What does she do?”
“She’s a country music singer.”
Olivia stared at him, bemused. “Really? That’s fascinating.”
“I might be prejudiced, but she’s pretty good.”
“What’s her name?”
“Rayna Blake.”
“Wow! Rayna Blake’s your sister?”
“You’ve heard of her?”
“I saw her as the opening act for the Band Perry. She’s extremely talented.”
She kept smiling.
“What?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. Country music star, federal agent. Your parents must be very interesting people!”
“Oh, they are,” he assured her. “Historians. Very interesting.”
“Too bad she’s not here doing a concert. I’m sure you could get really good tickets.”
“We’d have to go to London for that—which is where my parents happen to be. And...”
“No London.” Olivia laughed. “Way too complicated. Just Nashville,” she said. “Wanna do a ghost tour?”
“Really?”
She shrugged. “We’ll be in a group.”
“Sure. Why not?”
He stood and she did the same. She felt strange, awkward, yet somehow exhilarated and even a little frightened. That fear wasn’t about the threat of death or attack, but the thought of an evening with him.... She quickly turned and headed for the door. None of this was real, she told herself.
Only, Marcus’s death had been real.
*
Dustin parked down on the road while Olivia drove up to her house. Although she lived in an area where every home had acreage around it—whether that was owned by the household, pasture belonging to nearby farmers or land owned by the park service—the front of her house was clearly visible from the road. No large bushes provided hiding.
The hiding places lay to the sides and the rear, where forests flourished.
In this section of the countryside, “neighbors” were far away.
He watched, trying not to smile as she came out. He’d given her a small bag of dirt to scatter on the front porch. He wanted to know if anyone tried to drop in on her that night.
She was actually pretty good at being unobtrusive as she spread the dirt around. He didn’t think anyone was watching the house at that time. He kept a careful eye on the front; he doubted that anyone hiding in the woods would be able to see exactly what she was doing.
He didn’t believe they were dealing with a master criminal, although he was equally certain the killer wasn’t stupid.
She hurried down the dirt-and-stone drive to the street where he was parked and slid into the car. She carried a large backpack rather than a suitcase, and he found himself pleased that she’d evidently realized a backpack might go anywhere while a suitcase would advertise the fact that she was going away.
“Is this the right thing to do?” she asked anxiously, fastening her seat belt. “I mean, shouldn’t we be doing more to pursue the killer?”
“I can’t burst into homes and demand that people let me interrogate them,” he said. “At the moment, we’re doing what’s most important.”
“What’s that?”
“Making sure the killer doesn’t strike again.” He drove in silence as they headed for the highway.
“You do know exactly where you’re going,” she murmured.