Return of the Dixie Deb Read Free

eyes seeming to absorb everything.
    Coming over, he pulled a bottle of water free from a six-pack and sat beside her. “Did you want anything to eat? Might be a while before we have another chance.”
    “I don’t have much of an appetite.” She folded the map and pointed with a finger. “Here’s where we are now—Harrodsburg, southwest of where we, well, where we were earlier.” Automatically, she lowered her voice. “It doesn’t look that far, but taking the back roads the way I did, it was about an hour’s drive.”
    “Yeah, we should be able to pick up a local station on the radio and see if there’s any news coverage on it yet.”
    “Maybe the government could give the media a nudge?”
    “Not a good idea.” He shook his head. “Don’t want to make it obvious and get people wondering. The press needs to make the connection with what happened years ago on their own.”
    She rubbed her temples.
    “The robberies were a big story hereabouts. Never solved, it shouldn’t be too long before someone connects the dots.” He studied the map. Leaning into her, she was physically aware of him. Unconsciously, she held her breath.
    “Okay, I’m going to call in. See what they’ve got set up for the debrief.”
    He stood and pulled out his cell phone, walking over to stand by the car. He opened a door and fanned it back and forth.
    She rested her pop can against her aching forehead. Debrief. Update. Another lesson on how to more efficiently knock over a bank.
    Seven days ago, still recovering from being deserted at the altar, saddled with a business in foreclosure, and unable to explain thousands of dollars in undeclared income, she couldn’t have imagined her life could get worse.
    She’d been wrong.
    ****
    Whittaker brought someone else with him to their motel room. She had been nibbling half-heartedly on the crust of her vegetarian pizza when Mac got up to answer the knock on the door. Stepping inside, the other man clapped Mac on the shoulder and turned to her.
    “I’m Special Agent Jake Derossiers.” He offered his hand with a smile. “Glad to meet you, Miss Thimmons. Looks like you both survived the excitement today.”
    Excitement?
    She wiped her fingers on a napkin and gave him her hand glancing over at Whittaker. “You mean we’re lucky the customer wasn’t packing more than pepper spray.”
    “Well, it’s not possible to anticipate all contingencies. We learn and move forward. The next bank visit should go more smoothly,” his boss said.
    Visit ? Somehow, she didn’t think the crowd back at the bank was thinking of their presence quite that way.
    Warren Whittaker placed a file folder and tape recorder on the desk and gestured at the chairs. “Why don’t we all sit down and talk about what did happen. Agent McKenzie, you can begin.”
    She curled her legs under her in the armchair and wrapped her arms about herself. The man who had accompanied Whittaker was younger than Mac, tall and lean with a narrow face and wire-rimmed glasses. In contrast, Mac’s dark bulk made him seem like someone who might stare out at you from the other side of a wanted poster. Derossiers leaned forward, hands clasped, ready to listen while Whittaker took notes at the desk.
    “The bank manager had been instructed to review robbery procedures with her employees a couple days before the incident, to stress the importance of complying with demands during a hold-up. The teller didn’t attempt any resistance?” Whittaker asked.
    “No, she complied with all Jan’s directions.”
    “Except for screaming when the pepper spray went off.”
    “Yeah.” Mac looked at her and grimaced. “Well, it was a tense situation.”
    “How long were you in there?” Derossiers asked.
    “Eight minutes before the lady outside started banging on the door. I pretended to miss obscuring the camera with the spray paint. Things were going along okay until then. The manager tried to shoo her away, but she wasn’t having any of it. I