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Jana reached behind her to pull out the stack of papers that she had taken from Rupert Johnston’s office. She’d almost forgotten she had stuffed them back in her waistline. But just as her hand gripped the papers, she stopped moving. She wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was that his shirt looked out of place for someone from a tiny Georgia town. Or perhaps it was the unkempt hair. Something did not belong, and Jana was on edge. The stranger came across the road from the town hall and headed right for the diner. Jana’s heart jumped. The door swung open and he held it in place, the bell ringing gently overhead. Jana shifted her hand from the stack of papers and onto the grip of her Sig Sauer. The man stood there, staring at her. No smile, no friendly nod—nothing reminiscent of small-town-Geor
