Timely info. He could use this. He tucked his phone away, waited a few seconds more before lifting his fist and knocking again.

  The sound of the lock turning warned the man inside had decided to take a chance on whatever had prompted a second visit.

  The door opened and Wynwood looked from Nate to Lara and back. “If I’d known you were going to follow me home, I would have invited you to join me for lunch.”

  “Are we too late to take you up on the offer now?” Lara asked.

  Worked for Nate.

  The hint of a smile pushed up one corner of the older man’s mouth. “Why not? Come in.”

  He closed the door, turned away and disappeared into the house. Nate and Lara exchanged a look and then followed.

  The house proved to be what Nate had expected. Well-worn furnishings. Cluttered. Dimly lit. Stale air imbued with the odor of cigarette smoke. But it was the nearly empty water bottle and crumb-strewn paper plate on the coffee table that drew Nate’s immediate interest.

  “I realized there were a few other questions we should have asked,” Nate said as Wynwood gathered the gun magazines from a chair and tossed them into a heap on the floor.

  Wynwood eyed him for a moment. “I expected you might eventually.” He gestured to the sofa. “Have a seat. You want a beer? Water? Something stronger?”

  “Water,” Lara said without hesitation.

  Wynwood looked to Nate then.

  “The same.”

  Their host nodded. “I can offer you a bologna sandwich if you’re interested. Just scarfed one down myself.”

  Lara declined as did Nate.

  Wynwood walked through the wide framed doorway that opened into the kitchen and dining area. “You have more questions about my old friend? Or about me?” He said loudly enough for them to hear him in the other room.

  The rattle of a refrigerator door opening punctuated his questions.

  “The two of you were assigned together, correct?” Nate asked.

  “We were,” Wynwood said as he returned to where they waited. He passed a bottle of water to Lara and then to Nate.

  Nate twisted off the top and took a long swig. For his plan to work, he needed to down most of the water before Wynwood tired of this game.

  “The two of you became fast friends since you’d worked together before,” Lara offered, playing along as if she knew exactly where Nate was headed with his questioning.

  Smart lady.

  “You might say that.” Wynwood crossed one leg over the other. “But we grew closer in that way only soldiers in life and death situations do. I sort of took him under my wing, I guess you could say.”

  Interesting. The statement suggested to Nate that this man had been the dominant participant in the relationship. Yet Wynwood had insisted Patrick Franklin was some sort of psycho.

  “I wondered,” Nate said, “where did Franklin find this gift you brought to his widow?”

  If they were in the Middle East on an operation, how was there time for shopping? This question hadn’t occurred to Nate before. He hadn’t done time in the military, but he had his doubts as to whether soldiers assigned to an operation in a hostile situation would have the opportunity for shopping.

  Another of those not quite smiles tipped at Wynwood’s mouth. “He discovered it in one of the houses we raided. Soldiers are only human. The house was about to be burned to the ground. It wasn’t really stealing.” His gaze rested on Lara as he said the last. “He said his Mary loved birds.”

  Nate sensed the tension emanating from Lara. He asked their host, “Do you have any photos of the two of you?”

  Wynwood shook his head. “Patrick was camera shy. He didn’t like having his picture taken. Said he’d always been that way.”

  “How did you know where to find my mother?” Lara asked, her voice not quite as steady as before. “Did he give you the address?”

  “He talked about her all the time. He never gave me the exact address. But Maple Ridge was a small community at the time and not too many people have pink doors. Finding her wasn’t difficult.”

  “Pink was my mother’s favorite color.”

  Wynwood lifted his chin in acknowledgement. “Yeah, he told me that.”

  A beat of silence followed. Nate hated that this thing hurt Lara but there was no sidestepping the questions.

  Pushing past the painful moment, Nate redirected the conversation. “Why wait all that time before delivering the gift to his wife? You said you were busy, starting your life here, but it wasn’t like she was that far away. Two years is long time.”

  “Well, you know how it is.” Wynwood heaved a big breath. “You get busy and you forget things.”

  “But you hung onto the gift,” Nate argued. “Why keep it all that time without dropping it off?”

  Wynwood’s gaze narrowed. “If you have to know,” he glanced at Lara before shifting his attention back to Nate, “I figured she was better off without any reminders of him. The sooner she forgot about Patrick Franklin the better.”

  “But then your conscience made an appearance,” Lara suggested with blatant sarcasm.

  Nate bit back a smile. As uncomfortable as this was, she rallied.

  “Something like that,” Wynwood said.

  Lara shot to her feet. “May I use your bathroom?”

  Wynwood hesitated then jerked his head toward the kitchen. “Down the hall on the right.”

  “Thank you.”

  Nate chugged more of his water as he watched her go. Not exactly an original tactic. Whatever she was up to, he hoped she was careful.

  Lara suppressed the need to run out of the room.

  She had thought, given what she’d learned about her father, that anything else she heard wouldn’t unsettle her.

  But she’d been wrong. This humanizing of her father and his shyness and his calling her mother his Mary was too much.

  Lara walked slowly along the dimly lit hall that led beyond the kitchen to the bedrooms. No photographs on the walls. No rug on the scarred hardwood floor. Her lungs ached for a breath of fresh air. She’d always hated cigarette smoke.

  She focused on the details around her. There were three doors in the hall, all stood open. The first one she passed was a tiny bedroom. No bed, just a desk with an ancient computer sitting atop it. A wheeled desk chair and a file cabinet.

  Fighting the urge to hurry to that file cabinet and draw open one drawer after the other, she moved across the hall to the next door. This was Wynwood’s bedroom. The covers were a tangled mess. One corner was littered with discarded clothes. A chest of drawers stood against one wall. The single window was covered with room darkening curtains. A digital alarm clock sat on the bedside table next to a lamp missing its shade, its bare bulb covered in dust.

  The next door was the bathroom. She closed herself inside and leaned against the door. What she was about to do was technically illegal and certainly was not admissible in a court of law. But she had to know.

  Was Devin Wynwood actually the Butcher? Was he her father? He didn’t have the red hair, but his eyes were gray-blue. In truth, with his hair completely gray it was difficult to tell. The few photos she’d found of him on the internet had shown a man with varying shades of black and brown hair. The inconsistency could mean he dyed his hair. He could be Patrick Franklin. He could have been hiding his identity all this time.

  Which would likely mean he was a heinous killer who’d been dubbed the Butcher. And her mother had known.

  The idea of Nate alone with him disturbed her deeply despite her knowledge that her friend was a well-trained federal agent.

  Just do it.

  She pushed away from the door and walked to the porcelain sink hanging on the wall. There was a bar of soap on the ledge but nothing else. She opened the medicine cabinet. She smiled.

  Toothbrush.

  She tucked the toothbrush into her coat pocket and looked for anything else that might be useful.

  Razor.

  This was her lucky day.

  She checked to ensure there was a blade inside, then slipped the razor into her other coat pocket.

  As quietly as possible she closed the medicine cabinet door and then flushed the toilet. She took a breath, checked her reflection, then turned on the faucet for a few seconds.

  When she felt confident she’d taken all the necessary steps to cover her true agenda, she exited the tiny room. She slowed as she passed through the kitchen which was one fairly long room with the dining space included. The sink and countertops were unexpectedly clean. She supposed he used paper plates to avoid doing dishes. He probably ate out more often than in.

  Nate and Wynwood looked up as she reentered the living room. She sat down and waited for the two to continue whatever conversation they’d been having in her absence. For about five seconds no one spoke.

  Nate suddenly stood. He gestured toward the doorway. “Do you mind?”

  “Make yourself at home,” Wynwood said. His gaze followed Nate as he left the room, then settled on Lara. “Your mother had a difficult time for those first few years.”

  Lara frowned. “How so?”

  Her mother had never spoken of a difficult time. She’d always talked about how fortunate she was to have Lara and a home which had been left to her by her parents. She’d always said that her baby had saved her from total heart break.

  “She came to see me a couple of times.”

  Shock radiated through Lara. “When?”

  “It was not long after I’d given her the gift. She was worried there was something more to her husband’s death than she knew. She thought maybe the army was hiding something.”

  Had her mother opened that casket after all? Had she known the person inside wasn’t her husband? Why would the funeral home say otherwise? Anticipation seared through Lara. “Did she mention something that made you suspect she felt that way?”

  “Not really.” He shrugged. “I think it was mostly a way to distract herself from feeling so alone.”

  Alone? Her mother hadn’t once mentioned having felt alone. Emotions tore at Lara. “She told you she felt alone?”

  Wynwood shook his head. “No. It was just a feeling. She came here and asked me all sorts of questions.” He chuckled. “I’ve never seen anyone make so many notes in a journal.”

  Journal? What was this man talking about? “My mother didn’t keep a journal.”

  He shrugged again, amusement glittering in his eyes. He was clearly enjoying the idea that he’d unsettled her. “Maybe it was just a notebook. It was red, I remember that. She would put my answers to her questions in there. I guess she eventually gave up on the idea since she stopped coming by.”

  Lara had gone through her mother’s things and found no such journal, red or otherwise. “She never mentioned having had any questions.”

  “I suppose she wanted to spare you whatever worries she endured during those first years. Maybe she decided to put the past behind her.” He frowned. “If you haven’t found the notebook or journal, maybe she threw it away when she stopped pursuing answers to her questions.”

  Lara shook her head. “I didn’t find it. No.”

  He made a sound, half grunt, half sigh. “It’s probably just as well. When something is so deeply buried, more often than not digging it up won’t bring you the satisfaction or closure you believe it will.”

  Lara managed a tight smile. “I suppose you’re right.”

  Nate appeared at the sofa. “We should probably be on our way.”

  Lara pushed to her feet. “Thank you for indulging our questions.”

  She followed Wynwood to the door. Suddenly couldn’t wait to get back in the car and talk to Nate.

  Wynwood opened the door. “Lara, I hope you’ll feel free to visit or call. Anytime. I’m here if you need me.”

  Nate moved up beside her then. “Thanks, Wynwood.” He passed the man a business card. “Call if you think of anything else that might be useful in Lara’s search for the truth.”

  As they walked toward the rental car, Lara considered Nate’s choice of words. This was a search for the truth. A significant part of who she was appeared to be based on one big lie.

  The question was, who had done the lying? Her mother or her father?

  Possibly both.

  When they were driving away, Nate reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his nearly empty bottle of water, placed it on the console. Lara had forgotten all about hers.

  “We have to make a quick detour before heading back to your place.” He fished for his cell phone as he spoke.

  Before she could ask why, he’d called someone and set up a meeting.

  When he’d ended the call, she asked, “What’s going on?”

  He nodded toward the water bottle. “That’s not mine. It’s his.”

  The realization that they’d both been going for the same thing dawned on her and Lara laughed.

  Nate cut her a surprised look. “What’s so funny? I didn’t find a toothbrush or razor, but I was able to get my hands on his water bottle. I have a friend who’ll get the analysis done ASAP. Then we’ll know if—”

  “Wynwood’s genetic material is what was found at the Butcher’s crime scenes or if he’s my father?” Before he could respond, Lara withdrew first the toothbrush and then the razor from her coat pockets. She held up her spoils.

  Nate grinned. “Great minds,” he mused.

  In her case, maybe it was more like a twisted mind.

  After all, her father was purportedly a serial killer.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lara forced down another French fry. Nate had insisted they have lunch before doing anything else.

  She wasn’t hungry. He didn’t appear to be either since he picked at his salad. The idea that he’d ordered a salad and she’d gone for a burger and fries was completely opposite from their usual lunch decisions. She’d been on the phone often enough with him when he grabbed lunch that she’d heard him order a burger combo far too regularly to see him as a salad man. In fact, she’d ordered these greasy carbs in hopes of making him feel more comfortable.

  She realized at that precise moment that he’d likely done the same thing.

  “You ordered the salad because you thought that’s what I ordered, didn’t you?” she asked. When the waitress first arrived at their table, Nate had stepped away to take a call. By the time Lara had made her choice, he was back and ordered a salad without even looking at the menu.

  He looked up at her now, his sheepish expression a dead giveaway. “You always order salad. I didn’t want you to think I never ate anything except burgers.”

  She pushed her plate across the table and dragged his salad back to her side. “I know you love your burgers.” She poked her fork into the salad and forced herself to eat. The crisp leafy greens were far tastier than the greasy fries but her appetite was still MIA.

  He grinned, then dug in.

  “Did you learn anything new from that call?”

  He swallowed, gave her a nod. “Confirmation that your follower in France does indeed live in Paris and has not left the country.” He wiped his hands on a napkin. “I’m still waiting on an update about the guy in Albany.”

  She sighed, pushed the salad away. “I’m not really hungry right now.”

  He reached across the table and covered her hand with his, the warmth of his skin made her heart rate accelerate and at the same time made her feel somehow relaxed.

  “I can see why. This is your life that’s been turned upside down.”

  She drew in a big breath. “Maybe the truth won’t satisfy this need I have to know. Is knowing the truth more important than the good memories I have of my relationship with my mother? I may not have had a father around, but I had an amazing Mom. This…” She pulled free of his touch and turned her hands up in question. “This lie…the secrets…there’s a good chance what I learn may irrevocably damage those precious memories.”

  “You’re right,” Nate agreed as he pushed his own plate away. “This may change the way you view your entire history.” His kind brown eyes searched hers. “But I know you quite well, Lara. You will never be happy not knowing. Worse, your decision has no impact on how the Bureau proceeds with this investigation. The answers will eventually be splashed across the headlines. You won’t be able to escape it.”

  She closed her eyes, took a moment to clear away the emotions before meeting his gaze once more. “I understand that if there is a way for me to help find and stop the Butcher, I have a moral obligation to do so.”

  “Lara—”

  “It’s true,” she insisted. “What kind of person would I be if I refused?” She shook her head. “I suppose I’m feeling a little sorry for myself.”

  “You have the right to feel that way too.”

  “I just want this done.” She considered a next step. “How much longer before the Forensic unit is finished at my mother’s house?”

  “The last text I received indicated they should be done by three, three-thirty.”

  “I can’t imagine where I haven’t looked already, but I want a chance to search for that journal Wynwood mentioned.” If it even existed. The man could be throwing out distractions. She had no idea what his true motive was. Or his agenda.

  “I’m not convinced Wynwood is being fully open with us, so I’ve asked that a surveillance detail be assigned to him for now. I’ll have Keaton dig around a little more in Wynwood’s background. Until we hear more, we should first pay a visit to Travis Hall. The more items we can check off the list of things to do, the better.”

  The sooner they ruled out any of her followers the happier she would be. “His office is in his home.”

  Nate tossed a tip on the table and stood. “Good. We can check out his office and his home in one visit.”