“In the finer print, ‘Neither trusts the other but you can trust us both.’”

His last statement struck me as funny, and laughter rose from my toes. Denton joined in, and the wall between us dropped a few bricks.

“Your laughter is musical.” He sobered. “Do you believe in fate?”

“Depends.”

“I wonder why we’ve been thrown together. Mostly our strange attraction when we should hate each other.”

“What are you saying, Denton?” Had he read my mind? Discovered my most personal thoughts?

“Not sure why I said that. Delete it, and I steered us off topic. I’ve done some legwork too. But I want to hear your thoughts.”

“Sheriff Wendall thinks we should use this trip to accomplish the fake suicide. The problem will be avoiding cameras. Public places will video us, and a disappearing act from me looks hard. I think the best solution is to walk away from my parents’ house. I could say I need to clear my head before I ride home. Their address hasn’t changed, and their neighborhood was starting to run down years ago. It’s less likely I’d be seen by home-security cameras. Is it possible one of your undercover buds could pick me up?”

“I prefer an exchange on a back road. I’ve arranged a safe house for a few days. You’ll be okay during the investigation. I’ll bring Joy to my cabin until you return.”

“Thanks. She’s a sweet puppy.” I swung my attention his way. “You realize I won’t stay at a safe house more than three days. I’m in this with both feet.”

He palmed the steering wheel. “Please, Shelby, sit tight while the FBI and Sheriff Wendall trap this guy. You could wind up violating your parole. Have you considered going back to prison?”

“I sat tight for fifteen years. I can handle it. Besides, you’re not surprised at my reaction.”

“Not in the least.” He tossed me a glance. “You’re not fooling me. Your voice is quivering. What are you hiding?”

“Nothing!” Had my emotions become transparent? The lie behind the prison sentence? I fought for control. “My life is cursed—of my own making. Leave it alone, please. So how are we doing this?”

“We’ll make a transfer with the agents who’ll drive you to a safe place. I’ll say you took off when we stopped to eat, and you left a suicide note in the car. You could rewrite it to reflect your mother’s poor health pushed you to the brink.”

“Definitely believable. And I have my Bible with me.”

“One more thing—the handwriting on the sympathy card isn’t in the FBI’s database.”

“That means the person responsible hasn’t ever been caught or this is his first offense.” I repeated what Denton already knew.

A few hours later, we arrived in Sharp’s Creek. Heat slid up my shoulders to my face and covered me in a shroud of shame. No one ever questioned my confession because my reputation shouted my guilt.

We passed the Dairy Queen where Dad and I used to share sundae dates. We ate our share of hot fudge with nuts and lots of whipped cream. A former gas station had been transformed into a used-car business. A new Walmart rose on our right where an empty field had once been. The small downtown area showed unfamiliar storefronts and new businesses. Overall, I saw a community who loved their town.