She stuck two pieces in her mouth and grimaced at the burst of sickly sweet flavor that invaded her taste buds. While she chewed, she searched for a string. She had none. Why didn’t she carry string? She felt like she was losing all the skills she’d spent more than a decade acquiring.

She remembered seeing a first-aid kit in the glove compartment box when she tossed in the rental forms at the airport. She pulled it out and searched for gauze. There was one pad, but it was multi-layered. Unfolded, it was about three feet long. She rolled it lengthwise so it made a three-foot-long rope. She needed something heavy to weight it down. She looked at the car fob in her hand … if she lost it through the mail slot, she’d be in real trouble. Instead, she pulled out her personal house keys and tied one end around the loop. If she lost those, she could more easily get them replaced.

She walked briskly back to Marie’s house. Without hesitating, she stuck the gum onto one of her keys, molding it around to better hold, then she slipped the weighted end through the mail slot.

She swung it back and forth until it was over the paper, then let it drop. She dragged it toward her, sliding the paper across the floor. When it was right by the door, she slowly pulled it up. As soon as the paper reached the slot, she put her gloved fingers through and grabbed it.

Max walked back to the car, heart beating, remembering all the reasons she loved working in the field as an investigative reporter. The years she’d spent finding the truth. Justice was the system; she was about answers. She wasn’t a cop or judge or lawyer—she left the system up to them. But she firmly believed that when the truth came out—the entire truth—the system worked best.

She slipped into the driver’s seat and finally looked at the note she presumed the stranger had slid into Marie’s house. It was a folded photograph. The picture was of a pretty yellow and white country house with a wide porch and surrounded by trees. A white car—a small Ford Explorer it looked like, but she wasn’t positive—was parked in front on the gravel driveway. No people in the photo.

This had to mean something. What? Why would the stranger leave a photo like this at Marie’s house?

It was time to call Sean Rogan.

Chapter Nine

TUESDAY, EARLY MORNING

Max found Sean waiting for her in the lobby of her hotel as soon as she walked off the elevator.

“Prompt, I like that,” she said with a smile. “Breakfast?”

“I ate.”

“I haven’t. Join me.”

“I could use some fresh-squeezed orange juice.”

“I didn’t take you for a health addict.”

He laughed. “I’m not, I just don’t like coffee.”