like to take a proper look at that poster.â
He regarded her steadily as uncertainty flooded her expression. The same that heâd seen out on the highway. âOr is the leather still bothering you?â
Indecision flooded her face and her eyes flicked from his beard to his eyes, then down to his lips and back again.
âNo. You havenât robbed or murdered me yet. I think a few minutes together in a public place will be fine.â
She turned and glanced down the street where a slight
doof-doof
issued from an architecturally classic Aussie hotel. Then her voice filled with warning. âJust one.â
It was hard not to smile. Her stern little face was like a daisy facing up to a cyclone.
âIf I was going to hurt you Iâve had plenty of opportunity. I donât really need to get you liquored up.â
âEncouraging start to the conversation.â
âYou know my name,â he said, moving his feet in a pubward direction. âI donât know yours.â
She regarded him steadily. Then stuck out the hand with the staple gun clutched in it. âEvelyn Read. Eve.â
He shook half her hand and half the tool. âWhat do you like to drink, Eve?â
âI donât. Not in public. But you go ahead.â
A teetotaller in an outback pub.
Well, this should be fun.
* * *
Eve trusted Marshall Sullivan with her posters while she used the facilities. When she came back, heâd smoothed out all the crinkles in the top one and was studying it.
âBrother?â he said as she slid into her seat.
âWhat makes you say that?â
He tapped the surname on the poster where it had
Travis James Read
in big letters.
âHe could be my husband.â She shrugged.
His eyes narrowed. âSame dark hair. Same shape eyes. He looks like you.â
Yeah, he did. Everyone thought so. âTrav is my little brother.â
âAnd heâs missing?â
God, she hated this bit. The pity. The automatic assumption that something bad had happened. Hard enough not letting herself think it every single day without having the thought planted back in her mind by strangers at every turn.
Virtual strangers.
Though, at least this one did her the courtesy of not referring to Travis in the past tense. Points for that.
âMissing a year next week, actually.â
âTough anniversary. Is that why youâre out here? Is this where he was last seen?â
She lifted her gaze back to his. âNo. In Melbourne.â
âSo what brings you out west?â
âI ran out of towns on the east coast.â
Blond brows lowered. âYouâve lost me.â
âIâm visiting every town in the country. Looking for him. Putting up notices. Doing the legwork.â
âI assumed you were just on holidays or something.â
âNo. This is my job.â
Now. Before that sheâd been a pretty decent graphic designer for a pretty decent marketing firm. Until sheâd handed in her notice.
âPutting up posters is your job?â
âFinding my brother.â The old defensiveness washed through her. âIs anything more important?â
His confusion wasnât new. He wasnât the first person not to understand what she was doing. By far. Her own father didnât even get it; he just wanted to grieve Travisâs absence as though he were dead. To accept he was gone.
She was light-years and half a country away from being ready to accept such a thing. She and Trav had been so close. If he was dead, wouldnât she feel it?
âSo...what, you just drive every highway in the country pinning up notices?â
âPretty much. Trying to trigger a memory in someoneâs mind.â
âAnd itâs taken you a year to do the east coast?â
âAbout eight months. Though I started up north.â And that was where sheâd finish.
âWhat happened before that?â
Guilt hammered low in her gut for those