Jake
Six years.
That’s how long I’d spent trying to forget the sight of Mara’s car wrapped around a tree on Ridge Highway.
And now some son of a b***h had taped her photograph to my shop door.
I stood on the sidewalk, staring at the picture while Nash argued with a federal marshal behind me. Mara was smiling in it, her dark hair blowing across her face. I recognized the photograph immediately. I’d taken it during a ride through the mountains, back when she still laughed without looking over her shoulder.
Derek Blackwell had somehow gotten his hands on it.
Beneath her face, written in thick black marker, were five words.
Twenty minutes too late. Again.
“Pres.”
Nash touched my shoulder.
I didn’t move.
“Jake, look at me.”
“Where did he get that picture?”
“We’ll find out.”
“That
