“What?” I laugh. “Uh, no. Trust me. There is no way in hell that my sister has attracted the notice of a Washington State marshal. Not as a fugitive, at least.”
“Your sister attends regular conferences in the US. Including one last year in Seattle.”
“Right. Because she’s a very successful neuroscientist. She speaks at conferences and presents her papers.”
“I’m not going to argue about this with you, Casey. I’m simply putting forward a theory. You went to get your sister’s help, via a conference call. Instead, she offered to come with you. Shortly after she arrives, we have a marshal who apparently followed your plane here.”
“But Garcia said he spoke to someone. A person connected to his fugitive. That can’t be April. It doesn’t fit.”
“Because it was a lie. A deflection to keep you from guessing his target. Marshal Garcia’s story contained no details, correct? Just a vague account of speaking to someone whose words reminded him of something he heard about a town out here.”
My gut screams that she’s wrong—she must be. But if we weren’t discussing my sister, I’d have already jumped to this conclusion. Earlier, Anders said we need to consider everyone, and I agreed. I must always consider every possible suspect, whether it’s a friend or my sister.
“But they saw each other,” Dalton says. “Garcia knocked on April’s door, and she answered. There wasn’t any sign that he recognized her, right?”
I open my mouth to say, yes, he’s correct. Then I mentally play back that moment and shake my head. “I’m not sure Garcia saw April. She came to the door while you two were brawling.”
“But she would have seen him,” Émilie says. “She might have recognized him.”
Yes, she might have.
SIXTEEN
I find April tending to Kenny. He’s awake but groggy. I speak to him for a moment and then take April into the next room. When the door shuts, I cross the floor, getting far from it, which unfortunately puts me next to Garcia’s corpse.
“You know why Marshal Garcia was here, right?” I say.
“I know why that man was here.” She nods at the body. “And I know he may be a marshal.”
“It seems he is.”
“Then I hope there are procedures for handling such a security breach, Casey. I came here to help you. I did not intend to get caught up in an international crisis.”
“I—”
“If there’s even a hint of that, I expect to be flown out immediately.”
I study her expression. She looks pissed off. Worried, too? Frightened?
“Why?” I ask.
“Why would I not want to be here when a branch of the United States government descends on you for the murder of one of its officers?”
“You know why he was here, right?”
She flutters her hands and starts reorganizing implements. “Is this a test, Casey? Do you want me to pretend I don’t know he was here chasing a fugitive? Pretend I don’t realize not everyone in this town is here for an innocent reason?”
“No, I just want to know why you were in such a hurry to get here.”
She looks up. “What?”
“You haven’t seen or heard from me since last fall. I show up and ask to speak to you, and you treat me the way you did when I called last time—like I’m your kid sister who just keeps popping up, annoying you with petty demands. You wanted nothing to do with me … until you got a better sense of the situation. A sense that I was offering to take you someplace far away, someplace hidden. Then you jumped. Forget a conference call. Let’s pack a bag and go.”
She tries to answer, but I continue. “I should have questioned that. Years ago, you gave me shit for trying to surprise Mom and Dad with an anniversary family trip. You said six months’ notice wasn’t enough. You accused me of springing it on you at the last minute. That was your idea of spontaneity. So I should have known something was up when you dropped everything to come with me.”
“Are you…? Are you asking if this man came for me? Followed me?”
“Yes.”