Marisa looked just in time to see his cheeks turn pink. "I didn't do anything. I nearly..." He looked at Marisa, then at the table. "I didn't do anything."

Rae squeezed his forearm. "You did, and I'm forever grateful."

Marisa was definitely missing something. She'd ask Nate about that later.

"Okay." Rae pulled her hand back. "I can call the guy."

"I'll do it." Nate snatched the paper from Sam's fingers. "We've met before. He'll talk to me."

Chapter 9

NATE STOOD AND PULLED his cell phone from the charger on the kitchen island.

Marisa stood, eyes wide. "Wait. Are you calling right now?"

"The sooner we talk to him, the closer we'll be. You okay?"

Marisa looked behind her as if Agent Kopp might have just sneaked in the back door.

"It'll be fine," Nate said. "I'm not going to tell him where you are."

Brady pushed back in his chair. "Be careful what you do tell him. You're guilty of harboring a felon. If he believes you know where Marisa is, this could backfire."

All true. But Kopp was their best bet for more information. They'd have to expose themselves to someone if they were going to figure out who stole the money—or who kidnapped Ana and Leslie. Kopp seemed like the safest place to start.

Brady, Rae, Sam, and Marisa were staring at him. "I'll be careful." He smiled at Marisa and pushed out the back door.

The air felt brisk and clean, cool—fifties, maybe—but the sun shone through the bare branches overhead and warmed him. He crossed the patio onto the dock, where he wandered the twenty feet or so to the end. He stared out at the clear water and inhaled the loamy scent of the forest all around him. It was good to be home.

He typed the number Sam had found into his phone and hit send.

Two rings later, the call connected. "Earl's Pizza and Grinders." The voice sounded like it belonged to a teenager.

So much for Sam's magic touch. "I'm afraid I have the wrong number."

"Oh, wait. Uh... Who's this?"

Nate said, "I'm looking for Garrison Kopp."

"Oh. Sorry, dude. Hold on a sec." There was a muffled sound, a bang, and a laugh. "Dad! Hey, Dad. Telephone."

Another muffled sound, then Nate heard, "Sorry. I was sorta messing around."

Nate clearly heard the sound of a sigh on the other end before an older male voice came on the line. "Hello?"

"Agent Kopp, this is Walter Boyle of the New York Times. Do you have a minute?"

"It's Nate, right?"

"You remember."

"Hard to forget a guy who harbored a fugitive."

If only he knew. The retired fed had a memory like a crypt. "Allegedly. What I really did was protect my source. It's that pesky freedom of the press. And as matter of fact—"