“I’m sorry—I didn’t put that very well. It’s business, but I’m taking Annie along for her safety, and we have a stop to make on the way. A place I can’t take her.”

“Where?”

“Huntsville, Texas. The Hanratty execution.”

Her eyes go wide. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. You can be there when I interview the agent, but I need you to stay at the hotel with Annie during the execution.”

“The hottest ticket in journalism this week, and I’m going to be baby-sitting?”

“They wouldn’t let you in the witness room anyway. It’s your call.”

She purses her lips in thought. “I’m still not sure how to think of this. Do you want me to come?”

“Very much.”

“Then I will. But what if Annie won’t stay in the hotel without you there?”

“Then I’ll skip the execution. I don’t really want to see it anyway.”

“She’ll be fine with me. We got along great on the plane. Hey, what’s this FBI agent’s name?”

Caitlin’s mention of that flight makes me remember her deception about her identity, and this makes me hesitant to confide Stone’s name. I wipe my bloody nose on my shirtsleeve and look through the windshield.

“Penn, I could have the guy’s life story before we ever talk to him.”

She has a point. “Dwight Stone. Crested Butte, Colorado.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Her eyes are almost mocking, but they hold more understanding than I have seen in a long time.

“The answer to your earlier question is yes. I’ve thought about it since last night.”

A serene smile lights Caitlin’s face.

“And I’d like to kiss you again.”

Her smile broadens.

“May I?”

She leans through the window and across the passenger seat, her eyes not closed like last night but open, inviting me into them. Our lips touch, and a perfect echo of the warmth I felt last night rolls through me. This kiss is passionate but more intimate, the crossing of another boundary together. She pulls back and peers into my eyes, then closes hers and kisses me once more.

When she pulls away this time, she has a Charlie Chaplin mustache.

“You’ve got blood on your lip.”

“My first war wound,” she laughs. “It’ll wash off. What time do we leave?”

“Seven-thirty for the drive to Baton Rouge Airport.”

She touches her forefinger to my nose, then pulls back through the window. “Pick me up at the paper. I’ll be ready.”

CHAPTER 19