Colorado Bodyguard by Cindi Myers Page A

it’s in an impound lot—that’s local, right?”
    â€œYeah, but what’s seeing her car going to do?”
    â€œI just want to see it. Humor me.”
    â€œAll right.” He slowed and switched on his blinker, then executed a U-turn. They headed out of town, past the airport. She spotted a sign that said Fresh Fish. “Is that the fish shop you were talking about?” she asked.
    â€œYes. Promise me you won’t go there and talk to the guy on your own.”
    â€œI won’t,” she said. Though maybe she could stop in sometime. Just to see him, not to talk...
    â€œI mean it,” Rand said. “It could jeopardize our case if you interfere. And I don’t want to have to bail you out of jail again.”
    â€œYou didn’t have to bail me out.” But his teasing tone made her smile. “I promise, I won’t go near the place—at least not without you.”
    The impound yard sat off the main highway, rows of cars behind a tall fence and a locked gate. Rand chose a key from the ring he carried and opened the gate, then drove in.
    Sophie spotted Lauren’s yellow Mustang, a flashy car for a woman who liked to be noticed. It sat at the far end of the lot, a fine film of dust dulling the finish. Rand stopped behind the car and they got out.
    â€œI can check in the office for the key,” he said.
    â€œIt’s all right. It’s open.” Sophie pulled open the driver’s door, then stopped and looked at Rand. “Is it okay if I look inside?”
    â€œGo ahead. The local cops have already been over it.”
    She slid into the driver’s seat and stared out the window, trying to imagine what Lauren had last seen when she sat here. Had she arranged to meet someone at the overlook and left with them? Had she gone willingly, or been dragged away, kicking and screaming?
    She put the image out of her mind and focused on searching the interior of the car. The glove box turned up only the car’s manual, a mini flashlight, a pair of sunglasses and the receipt for an oil change dated three months ago. The console was just as uninteresting—a check from a fast-food restaurant, a gas receipt and a tube of lip balm.
    A glance at the backseat showed it was empty. Sighing, Sophie sat back and closed her eyes.
Help me out here, Lauren,
she sent the silent message.
Where should I be looking?
    The memory came to her of a trip the two sisters had taken together last year, when they’d driven from Sophie’s condo in Madison to the Wisconsin Dells for a weekend getaway. They’d decided to splurge on a spa visit and Lauren had retrieved an envelope from beneath the front floor mat. “Emergency cash,” she’d said. “I call it my mad money. If I keep it here, I have it if I need it, but I’m not tempted to spend it, the way I would if it was in my purse.”
    Sophie bent and pulled up the driver’s side floor mat. She had to tug hard, since it was held in place by plastic hooks. Her heart raced when she saw the rectangular white envelope in the center of the space where the mat had been.
    â€œFind something?” Rand opened the door and leaned in.
    Sophie picked up the envelope. It felt stiff, as if it contained a piece of cardboard. “I remember Lauren used to hide money beneath the floor mat,” she said. “But this doesn’t feel like cash.”
    â€œOpen it, but use the tips of your fingernails, and only touch the edges,” he said.
    She slid a nail beneath the flap of the envelope, then shook out a single photograph. Rand leaned in closer, his cheek practically touching hers. She could feel his warm breath on her neck, and smell his clean, masculine scent.
    She forced herself to focus on the grainy, black-and-white photo of two men talking to each other, standing beside a car in what looked like a parking lot. “Isn’t that Richard Prentice?” she asked, staring at the man on