She raised the magazine in her hand. “I didn’t know you were a doctor.”
“I’m not.”
“You have a PhD.”
“Yes.” The admission seemed to embarrass him.
“Considering you had a troubled youth and likely didn’t spend much time on schoolwork in high school, your PhD is pretty impressive,” Stella said. “Is your real name really McClellan?”
He crossed the room. “It is. My father was a Civil War buff.”
“Hence your brothers, Grant and Lee.” Stella sipped her coffee. The caffeine was working its magic on her brain.
“Exactly.” He reached for a sandwich and ate it in three bites. “Where does Stella come from? That’s not a name you hear very often.”
“I was named after my grandmother.” She handed him another without a word. When he’d finished it, he went to work on three glazed donuts and downed half a cup of coffee. Once she was satisfied he wasn’t dying of hunger, Stella got down to business. “Now tell me about the woman you saw tonight.”
Mac wiped his mouth with a napkin, balled it up, and tossed it into a trash can in the corner. “I only saw her for a couple of seconds as my headlights hit her. The road was wet, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t have any option but to swerve into the trees.”
“Anything you can remember will help.”
Mac rested his forearms on the table and closed his eyes. “She was naked and sprawled on her back.” He opened his eyes. “I wasn’t close enough to see her face, but her body was thin. Her hair was short. Don’t know what color since it was wet. She wasn’t moving. At the time, I thought she was dead. But I suppose she wasn’t.” Confusion lowered his brow. “Unconscious maybe?”
A thin woman with short hair . . .
Dena Miller?
It couldn’t be.
“If she was dead or unconscious, how did she disappear?” Stella asked.
“That’s the important question, isn’t it?”
Dena Miller went missing after a violent altercation. Why would she be lying across a rural road, miles from her house? And if she was, how did she get there? Mac’s story was plain crazy, but what were the chances a thin woman with short hair disappeared and he saw another thin woman with short hair under equally strange circumstances the same night?
Stella shifted gears. “How did you get shot?”
He closed the donut box and sat back in his chair. “I spent the last few weeks in the Amazon on assignment. My partner took some photos of coca dealers. They didn’t appreciate it.”
“But you study river otters.”
He studied her face for a few seconds. “Not exactly.” He set his coffee down, and his eyes turned serious. “Do you trust me, Stella?”
“In what way?” A vague sense of discomfort tossed the sandwich in Stella’s belly. What had Mac gotten himself into?
“You’re going to find my story a little hard to believe, but I need your assistance.”
She planted both palms on the table and held his gaze. “If you’re in some sort of trouble, you need to be straight with me. I can’t help you if you’re holding back important information.”
Mac leaned his forearms on the table and leveled his eyes with hers. “I’m a DEA agent.”
Chapter Ten
Mac needed her help to find that woman and prove he hadn’t imagined her.
If he was really going to be honest with himself, he wanted Stella to know he was one of the good guys. Since he was a teenager, he’d been unable to shake his reputation. He’d been clean and sober for twelve years, and his family still doubted him.
Tonight it felt suddenly and inexplicably important that Stella believed his story.
“I thought the DEA had a strict policy of not hiring anyone with prior drug experience.”
“I didn’t ask for the job. They came to me.” Mac knew the DEA’s policies. “I had a particular skill set they needed.” Lately, he’d wondered if he was listed as a disposable asset. His former boss had sought Mac’s help, but the region was under new management. Mac’s new boss didn’t want to give up a valuable source of information, but he didn’t seem to mind putting Mac into dangerous situations. A few years ago, Mac hadn’t cared, but Lee’s death had changed his perspective.
Her lips pursed. “Dangerous job.”
His hand strayed to his bandage. He probably shouldn’t have told her, but he couldn’t take back his admission now. Maybe that was the point.
Stella frowned, deepening a vertical line between her brows. “How long?”
“Three years.”