Michael looked around the diner. The sheriff was easy to spot by the beige uniform and cowboy hat on the table. Half the tables had patrons, and at the counter, nearly every stool was full. The diner had a tired aura, like it was working on autopilot. Taking in the dated decor, Michael figured that nothing had changed since the midseventies.

Several people glanced over as he and Jamie stepped inside, their looks lingering a little longer than was polite, but eventually turned back to their food. Sheriff Spencer made eye contact, held it for two seconds, and then waved them over. Michael let Jamie walk ahead of him. Watching the customers, he realized Jamie in her snug shorts drew every man’s gaze, not just his own. He met the gaze of one younger man who’d discreetly watched Jamie walk by.

Yep, she’s with me.

Let them stare. He was the one who’d be walking out with the woman.

Michael inwardly frowned. Well…Jamie was with him. But not in the way he wanted. Not yet. Once he set his mind to something, he succeeded. And his mind was set on Jamie. She just needed a little convincing. He was good at that.

Sheriff Spencer was shaking Jamie’s hand, introducing himself. He reached out to Michael, and they shook. “I knew the minute you walked in the door you were the folks from Portland. We don’t get a lot of visitors through here.”

“So we’ve found out,” Jamie commented.

The sheriff gestured for them to sit at his table and waved the waitress over. “You hungry? The enchiladas here are incredible. The owner’s married to my receptionist and really knows his food.”

That explained Sara’s restaurant recommendation.

The sheriff didn’t look at all like he’d sounded on the phone. His voice was low and raspy like an older, bigger man, but he couldn’t be a day over forty or a pound over one-sixty. Thin and wiry, he looked like a runner who’d been jogging in the sun. A lot.

Michael and Jamie both ordered cheese enchiladas and dug into the bowl of tortilla chips the waitress plopped down on the table. Michael took a bite and felt it melt in his mouth. Damn, they were good. Hot, fresh, crisp.

“Watch the salsa,” warned the sheriff. “It’s got some kick.”

Jamie dipped a tentative corner into the salsa, took a bite, and sighed in appreciation.

They made polite small talk as Michael tried not to make a pig of himself with the chips. Their drive, the weather, the food. The salsa rocked. The sheriff was right; it had kick, but an awesome kick.

The sheriff rubbed his hands together. “I know you’re not here for the food. Let’s talk about this guy you’re looking for. Chris Jacobs. Now, the reason I asked you to check in with me before heading out there wasn’t just for the directions. You’ll need to watch your odometer, keeping track of the tenths of miles to know where to turn; there’s no signage out that way. You could drive around for hours and not find it. What I really wanted to do was warn you to be careful. That boy’s a crack shot with a rifle, and the rifle usually greets any visitors before he does.”

Michael noticed Jamie stop with a chip halfway to her mouth and slowly lay it back on her plate. “He shoots at people?” Her voice cracked.

“No. I’d say he’s just well prepared. I haven’t been out there for a while, but around the time of Elena’s death, I made several trips. I always saw the rifle before I saw the owner. That’s okay. There’s a lotta people around here like that. You just need to make your presence known. He doesn’t have a landline. If he has a cell phone, I don’t know what it is, and I doubt he gets much coverage if he does.”

“Back to the rifle,” interjected Michael. “He hurt anybody?”

“Nope.”

“But you know he’s a crack shot?”

“Yep, my deputies have watched him out at the firing range. Said they’ve never seen anything like his accuracy. Rifle and handgun. Seems to have quite the arsenal. They’ve seen him with half a dozen different weapons.”

Michael glanced at Jamie. She shook her head. “That’s news to me. I didn’t know he could shoot.”

Shrewd eyes studied Jamie. “How do you know him? He doesn’t speak to anyone except old Juan, his closest neighbor. Even he lives half a mile away. Jacobs has lived out there as long as I’ve been sheriff, and that’s been over ten years.”

“He’s my brother,” Jamie said simply. “He moved out when he was eighteen.”

The sheriff nodded slowly, his eyes sympathetic. “He keep in contact?”

Jamie shook her head. “Not really.”

Sheriff Spencer looked away for a few seconds, pressing his lips together as he thought. Michael watched the man wrestle with a decision. There was something he didn’t want to share, and it didn’t speak highly of Chris Jacobs.

“Spill it,” Michael ordered. He took Jamie’s hand under the table and gently squeezed. Her hands were cold.

“Well, I’m not one to gossip—”

“Then don’t. If you don’t know it to be true, then I don’t want to hear about it,” stated Jamie. Her grip tightened on Michael’s hand.

The sheriff rubbed a hand across his mouth. “The woman. Elena. They never married. That’s no big deal, and having a kid while not wed wasn’t a big deal to most around here. They looked happy whenever I saw them. Can’t say I’ve ever seen him smile since she died—”

“What’s his name? The boy?” Jamie interrupted again.