Grimacing, she yanked her arm free and removed the elastic band securing her blond tresses in a ponytail. “I was hired to. I’m an actress. Someone contacted my agent and paid my travel expenses out to this one-pony town to pull a practical joke on you.”

Axel heard her words—and she might as well have been speaking a foreign language. “What?”

“Yeah. I’m from L.A. My agent just told me that someone important wanted me to play a joke on one of his friends. I got your picture and some instructions . . .” She shrugged. “I’m so sorry. I really had no idea it would screw up everything between you and your girlfriend.”

Who the hell would do that? And why? Axel’s thoughts raced. Someone wanted him separated from Mystery and had figured out that she’d stomp away if she believed he couldn’t keep his pants zipped. He could only see two possible motives: Either someone didn’t like his relationship with Mystery—Heath came to mind—or someone dangerous wanted her to be minus a protector who would lay down his life to save hers.

“How much?” he demanded.

“What?”

“Money. How much were you paid to do this?”

“Ten grand, plus travel expenses,” she admitted. “I feel terrible. I really am sorry.”

Too late for that. “Call your agent and ask him who hired you.”

“I asked before I took the gig. He wouldn’t tell me, but I needed the money to make rent. The only condition was anonymity. Sal told me that whoever hired me swore you’d know who it was.”

So Heath was toying with him . . . or the killer was. Axel did some quick mental math. Could Heath come up with ten grand plus travel expenses in less than twenty-four hours? Since Joaquin had already given him the guy’s bank balance before Patrice had been hired, Axel knew the answer was no. Heath had investments, but none he could get his hands on right away.

Since he didn’t think Heath wanted to kill Mystery, this stunt probably had nothing to do with her love life and everything to do with the reason for her mother’s murder. That made Heath the last line of Mystery’s defense against the psycho hunting her.

Axel groaned. Yeah, he’d said that he wouldn’t come after Mystery if she left him again. But he couldn’t stay away. The circumstances had been extenuating, and someone had set them up to fail. He intended to make sure they didn’t succeed, especially if her life was on the line.

“Shit,” Axel cursed, feeling behind the eight ball. He had to talk to Heath, ensure the Brit knew something was up and the killer was likely planning to make his move.

Who wanted Mystery dead? Who, among her friends or family, had the money and connections to hire this actress at the last minute? Gail Leedy had chosen the restaurant, which cast suspicion on her, but the woman didn’t have any money to hire someone. Axel had seen her bank balance, too. After selling off the land around her farm for a pittance to a neighbor about ten years ago, she’d lived on it and her salary from the medical clinic, saving a modest amount in an IRA. She donated more money to religious organizations each month than to the upkeep of her own home. And why would the pious older woman want her niece dead?

Axel sighed. He didn’t have time for a fucking puzzle. He had to get to Mystery pronto, but he had no car and didn’t know the name of her attorney’s office.

Beside him, Patrice—if that was even her name—hovered, looking utterly contrite.

He turned to her. “Did you meet the café’s manager or owner before you started this farce?”

“A waitress.” She nodded quickly, as if finally glad she could be of assistance. “I’m actually taking Betty’s shift today. She’s waiting in the employee break room to take over again.”

“Ask her to come out here. I need to talk to her. Tell her it’s a matter of life and death.” At least Axel suspected it was.

“S-sure.” Patrice darted off.

Yanking his phone from his belt, Axel scrolled through his contacts until he found Heath’s number. It rang once . . . twice . . . a third time—then rolled to voice mail.

He swore as the last of the Brit’s clipped greeting played. “Mystery is in danger. I have a bad feeling that once she gets her hands on whatever her mother left for her, all hell will break loose. Call me as soon as you get this. If I can figure out where you’re going, I’ll head in that direction.”

Axel ended the call, then someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to find Patrice standing there with a salty older woman whose hair was a very unlikely shade of red. She was sixty-five if she was a day. She chomped on a piece of gum, looking at him as if she’d seen and done it all and now it bored her terribly.

“Betty?” he asked her.

“That’s me. What you need?” She smiled. “Back in my day, I would have done just about anything to help a hunk like you.”

Nice, but they didn’t have time for memory lane now. He cleared his throat. “My girlfriend has gone to an attorney’s office to deal with the last provisions of a will. I’m told the office is about three miles east of here. Any idea whose office I should be looking for?”

She nodded as if he’d asked an easy question. “Sure. You want Press and Osborne. I’ll give you the address, but you head down the main drag . . .”

Axel took note as the woman gave him directions, committing cross streets and the name of the building in which the offices were located to memory.

“Thank you. Can either of you give me a ride there or tell me where to find a taxi?”

“I gotta start my shift. Dinner rush starts here about five, and we’re still a mess from lunch.” She sent Patrice an accusing stare.

The blonde held up her hands, stare incredulous. “I’m an actress, not a waitress.”

“And a slob, too. You can get out as soon as you pay me the two hundred dollars for giving you my shift.”

Patrice rolled her eyes and extracted a wad of bills from a pocket in her little skirt. She shoved a handful of bills into Betty’s palm. “If I never come here again, I’ll be thrilled.”

Ditto for him, Axel thought.

“You got a car?” he asked the actress.

“No. I have a shuttle coming to my hotel at five to take me to the airport. The hotel is only a few blocks, so I walked.”

Frustration crawled over Axel like a million stinging ants. “Can either of you tell me how to find a fucking taxi in this town before my girlfriend dies?”

At that, Betty scrambled to attention. “Yeah. Should I call the police?”

For a crime that hadn’t actually happened yet? The cops wouldn’t do a damn bit of good until it was too late. “I can do that. Just get me a taxi.”

As Betty darted away to do his bidding, Axel stabbed at the screen of his phone again. He only knew one person who had money to burn, contacts in Hollywood, and secrets to keep. He intended to get the son of a bitch on the phone now.

Finally, he pressed the button to engage the call.

“Hello?” Marshall Mullins answered almost instantly.

“I’ll skip the ‘how-the-fuck-could-you’ speech and get right to asking where she is.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, your plan to send me an actress to play the role of waitress slash nympho worked damn well, and now Mystery is convinced I’m a cheating scum.” Like you. “She’s run off with Heath and her aunt and left me behind at some craptastic diner while the secrets you’ve been holding in are breathing down her neck. But I guess you planned it like that.”

“Why would I do that?” he asked incredulously. “I’ve wanted you to stay with my daughter since the danger started. You and Heath are the only two I trust with her safety.”

“The taxi will be here in a few,” Betty whispered in his other ear. “Good luck.”

When Axel turned to nod at her, he noticed that the jaded woman’s face had softened. “Thanks.”

He stepped outside to await his ride and turned his focus on Mullins again. “Did you have anything to do with your wife’s murder? Did you pay someone to off her? Who’s going to rub Mystery out here in Kansas? You’ll have an even better alibi this time, by the way, being over a thousand miles away. Smart thinking.”