4

Green Fork, Utah

HARDING WAS CONCERNED about Olivia. She hadn’t slept since leaving Florida. Not that he had, but he was at least trained in how to deal with sleep deprivation. She looked beautiful but exhausted.

It was three a.m. by the time they reached the town where Shirley and Dude had first stopped for rest, supplies and, he surmised, to procure information.

At the truck stop where their receipts showed them as having eaten, he held open the door for Olivia to enter. “Ladies first.”

“Thanks.”

“Seat yourselves!” A waitress sung from behind a long counter.

Olivia faintly smiled before zeroing in on a booth.

Harding would have preferred sitting at a counter stool where staff tended to be chattier.

She slid onto a turquoise vinyl seat, crossed her arms on the table, then rested her head atop of them.

“Long day?” the waitress asked. Her engraved plastic nametag read Ginger. The place was dead. Only two other tables were occupied, both with one man each. Harding assumed by the rigs parked outside that they were truckers.

“Yes,” Olivia said.

“I’ve had worse,” Harding said.

The buxom, bottled red waitress laughed, landing menus in front of them. She wore a turquoise T-shirt with Ollie’s Truck-o-Teria written in blaze orange across the front pocket and back. Around her neck hung one of those gold cursive name necklaces. Ginger had been spelled out in green rhinestones. “While you two figure it out, can I get you a couple of coffees or iced teas?”

“Do you have hot tea?” Olivia asked.

“Sure. But no fancy flavors. Just plain old Lipton.”

“That’s fine. Thanks.”

“Black coffee for me,” Harding said.

“Will do.” The waitress left. She soon returned with their drinks. “Give me a wave when you’re ready to order.”

Harding thanked her.

“Aren’t you going to ask about my grandparents?” Olivia had three photos of them stashed in a side pocket of her purse.

“All in due time. Let me do the talking.”

“Why? They’re my grandparents.” She drummed her short, clear-polished nails in a rapid-fire staccato against the white and gold speckled tabletop.

He covered her hand with his, trying to calm her, but all his gesture earned him was a dirty look.

“What’s that about?” She nodded toward her still covered hand. “We’re not together.”

“You need to calm down.”

“And you think that’s going to do it?”

“Sorry.” He removed his hand in favor of downing a few sips of coffee.

“No. I’m sorry. I still can’t believe we’re here. Together. It feels surreal.”

“Lean on me.” He took her hand again, this time squeezing hard enough to let her know that no matter what, he wasn’t letting her or her grandparents go. “I get why we’re not an item, Liv, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be a team.”

She squeezed him back. “I know. Thank you for all you’ve already done.”

The waitress took their orders.

When she left, Harding tried making small talk with Olivia, but it was tough chatting about movies or sports when nothing mattered save for finding Dude and Shirley. He should have at least talked about the operation, but even that felt forced. How had he and Olivia grown so far apart in such a short time? They used to lie in bed for hours, kissing, holding hands, whispering hopes and dreams. Now, they were acquaintances. Nothing more. He hated that fact—especially, since he was the cause.

Ginger returned with their meals. “You two passing through on your way to somewhere exotic?”

“No.” Harding couldn’t have bought a more perfect intro. “We’re actually looking for my wife’s grandparents.” He ignored Olivia’s shock in favor of laying it on thick for the person who could be their only tangible link to the elderly couple. “They came out here hiking and to do a little amateur treasure hunting but were due home by Christmas. My wife’s grandfather has a heart condition, so naturally, we’re concerned.”

“Sure, sure. We get a lot of sleuths around here. Everyone thinks they’ll be the ones to find El Diablo’s Gold. But if you ask me, it’s an urban myth. I wouldn’t put it past those folks on the Goblin City Council to have made the whole thing up to raise their tourism numbers for the park.”

“Is the treasure supposedly in Goblin Valley State Park?”

“No. From what my boys tell me, it’s way more remote.”

Harding shook his head. “I hate hearing that.” He took a bite of his burger.

Olivia showed the waitress her grandparents’ photos. “Have you seen them? According to their credit cards, they ate here and spent quite a lot of money.”

“I’m sorry, sugar.” After staring a decent amount of time at the photos, she added, “They just don’t look familiar. But I only work the late shift. If I were you, I’d come back in the morning. The day shift gals are up on all the best gossip.”

“Thanks,” Harding said. “We’ll for sure try that route.”

“Ginger, hon?” A trucker seated a few booths over waved his coffee cup.

“Duty’s calling. When my shift ends, I’ll tell the girls you’re coming. That way, they’ll have time to refresh their memories.”

“You’re a doll,” Harding said with a smile and wink combo he’d perfected over the years. “Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure. Y’all enjoy your meals.”

“What was that?” Olivia asked under her breath the moment the waitress stepped out of earshot. “You’re a doll? I’m your wife?”

He shrugged before devouring more of his burger. “You get more flies with honey than vinegar. Plus, a husband and wife team is more sympathetic than a gun-for-hire.”

She winced. “I apologized for that. I know what you do is different. Better. But you were hurt, and I was scared. It was the first thing out of my mouth.”

“Water under my bridge. Let’s pay the bill and get some sleep.”

“Separate rooms?”

“Nope. We’re married, remember? But I’ll make sure to get a room with two beds. Wouldn’t want you catching my cooties.”

At the same motel where her grandparents had stayed, Olivia tossed and turned until five a.m. before finally giving up and researching the legend of El Diablo’s Gold on her phone.

Harding lightly snored.

When they’d been together, she’d razzed him about it but never really minded. It had been a comfort having him share her bed. Her entire body warmed at the memory of what they’d done between the sheets that had nothing to do with sleep. She squeezed her thighs, hating that Harding still held that much power. She’d thought he’d been the one.

Boy, had she been wrong.

Too bad her body hadn’t yet received the memo.

When Harding was still asleep at six, and she’d learned nothing about the supposed treasure that she hadn’t already been told a dozen times by her grandfather, Olivia showered, washing her hair with the motel-provided shampoo. At some point in their day, she and Harding would need to buy clothes and toiletries, but for now yesterday’s jeans, T-shirt and Miami Dolphins hoodie would have to do.

She’d just reached for the blow-dryer affixed to the wall when a banging on the room’s exterior door gave her enough of a fright that she clutched her chest to calm her pounding heart. “Harding?”

“On it . . .” He was instantly out of bed and charging in his boxers toward the door. He held a lethal-looking handgun. Had he slept with it? “Stay in the bathroom,” he said before flipping the deadbolt, then jerking open the door, weapon at the ready.

Olivia closed her eyes, bracing herself for violence, but nothing happened save for a cold burst of wind. The sound of a revved engine. Squealing tires.

“Shit.”

Olivia emerged from the bathroom, pulse still racing, to find the second-floor room’s door open.

Harding stood at the walkway’s metal rail, staring south.

She joined him. “Did you see anyone?”

“Just some chicken shit hopping into a rusty brown pick-up. He fishtailed from the lot, but was already too far gone for me to get a license or good description of the guy.”

“Why do you think he banged on the door if he didn’t want to talk to us? Do you think he knows something about my grandparents?”

“Yep.” He pointed to the door. Someone—presumably their friend from the truck—had written in red spray paint go home on the front of their room’s door.

Olivia clamped her forehead with trembling hands. “H-how would anyone even know we’re here? None of this makes sense.”

“Sure it does.” He led her back into the room, closing the door behind them. “Think about it. Either our waitress last night, or one of the day crew she told about us, or the guy who checked us into this motel knows a helluva lot more about Dude and Shirley’s whereabouts than we do. Let me grab a shower, then we’ll see who’s ready to start talking.”