Rogue Gunslinger

A deadly homecoming in Whitehorse, Montana.

Bestselling author TJ Clementine thought she’d be safe with her sisters during the holidays. She was wrong. Dead wrong. Now her “biggest fan” has followed TJ to Whitehorse, Montana, with visions of murder in mind. The only person who can help TJ is ruggedly handsome loner Silas Walker—if she can trust him. Because this mountain man knows just how to hunt deadly shadows...and win.

Whitehorse, Montana: The Clementine Sisters

B. J. DANIELS is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author. She wrote her first book after a career as an award-winning newspaper journalist and author of thirty-seven published short stories. She lives in Montana with her husband, Parker, and three springer spaniels. When not writing, she quilts, boats and plays tennis. Contact her at bjdaniels.com, on Facebook or on Twitter, @bjdanielsauthor.

Also by B. J. Daniels

Hard RustlerCowboy’s RedemptionDark HorseDead RingerRough RiderRenegade’s PrideOutlaw’s HonorHero’s ReturnRancher’s Dream

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Rogue Gunslinger

B.J. Daniels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07934-1

ROGUE GUNSLINGER

© 2018 Barbara Heinlein

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is for Gale Simonson, part of the Simonson

duo, who keeps our lives interesting in the Quilting by

the Border group. You are always like a breath of fresh

air. Thanks for keeping me smiling.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Extract

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

The old antique Royal typewriter clacked with each angry stroke of the keys. Shaking fingers pounded out livid words onto the old discolored paper. As the fury built, the fingers moved faster and faster until the keys all tangled together in a metal knot that lay suspended over the paper.

With a curse of frustration, the metal arms were tugged apart and the sound of the typewriter resumed in the small room. Angry words burst across the page, some letters darker than others as the keystrokes hit like a hammer. Other letters appeared lighter, some dropping down a half line as the fingers slipped from the worn keys. A bell sounded at the end of each line as the carriage was returned with a clang, until the paper was ripped from the typewriter.

Read in a cold, dark rage, the paper was folded hurriedly, the edges uneven, and stuffed into the envelope already addressed in the black typewritten letters:

Author TJ St. Clair

Whitehorse, Montana

The stamp slapped on, the envelope sealed, the fingers still shaking with expectation for when the novelist opened it. The fan rose and smiled. Wouldn’t Ms. St. Clair, aka Tessa Jane Clementine, love this one.

* * *

TJ ST. CLAIR hated conference calls. Especially this conference call.

“I know it’s tough with your book coming out before Christmas,” said Rachel, the marketing coordinator, the woman’s voice sounding hollow on speakerphone in TJ’s small New York City apartment.

“But I don’t have to tell you how important it is to do as much promo as you can this week to get those sales where you want them,” Sherry from Publicity and Events added.

TJ held her head and said nothing for a moment. “I’m going home for the holidays to be with my sisters, who I haven’t seen in months.” She started to say she knew how important promoting her book was, but in truth she often questioned if a lot of the events really made that much difference—let alone all the social media. If readers spent as much time as TJ had to on social media, she questioned how they could have time to read books.

“It’s the threatening letters you’ve been getting, isn’t it?” her agent Clara said.

She glanced toward the window, hating to admit that the letters had more than spooked her. “That is definitely part of it. They have been getting more...detailed and more threatening.”

“I’m so sorry, TJ,” Clara said and everyone added in words of sympathy.

“You’ve spoken to the police?” her editor, Dan French, asked.

“There is nothing they can do until...until the fan acts on the threats. That’s another reason I want to go to Montana.”

For a few beats there was silence. “All right. I can speak to Marketing,” Dan said. “We’ll do what we can from this end.”

“I hate to request this, but is there any chance you could do a couple of book signings while you’re at home before Christmas, right before the book comes out?” Rachel asked. “I wouldn’t push, but TJ, we hate to see you lose the momentum you’ve picked up with your last book.”

“That would be at least something,” Dan agreed.

“If you don’t make the list, it won’t be the end of the world,” her editor added. “But we’d hoped to see you advance up the list with this one. I love this book. I think it’s the best one you’ve ever written.”

The first week a book came out was the most important and they all knew it. If she didn’t make the list—the New York Times list—it would mean losing the bonus she usually got for ranking in the top ten. It would also hurt her on her next contract, not to mention the publisher might back off on promotional money for her.

“We don’t mean to pressure you,” Dan said. “But I’m sure if the police thought this fan was really dangerous—”

“I think going to Montana is smart,” her agent cut in. “You’ll be safe there with your family over the holidays. We can regroup when you get back.”

She rubbed her temples. “I could do one book signing in my hometown since there is only one bookstore there. Whitehorse is tiny and in the middle of nowhere. The roads can be closed off and on this time of year, so there won’t be much of a turnout though.”

“Isn’t the Billings Gazette doing a story on you as well?” Trish from Marketing asked.

“Yes.” She groaned inwardly, having forgotten she’d agreed to that months ago.

“That will have to do, then,” her agent said, coming to her defense. “Her next book will be out in the spring. Let’s plan on doing something special for that.”

“We have ads coming out in six major magazines as well as a social media blitz for this one,” Rachel said. “You should be fine. You have a lot of loyal fans who’ve been waiting patiently for this book. Your presales are good.”

“Are you all right with this?” her agent asked.

She nodded and then realized she had to speak. Her throat was dry, her stomach roiling. Just the thought of any kind of public event had her terrified. But before she could answer, the call was over. Everyone wished each other a happy and safe holiday and hung up, except for her agent.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I will be once I get home,” she told her and herself. She couldn’t wait to get on the plane. She hadn’t been back to Montana for years except for her grandmother’s funeral.

“Keep in touch. And if you need anything...”

TJ smiled. She loved her agent. “I know. Thank you.” She disconnected. Every book release she worried it wouldn’t make the list or wouldn’t be high enough on the list—which meant better than the last book had done. Not this time.

“You have bigger things to worry about at the moment,” she said to herself as she walked to her apartment window and looked out.

I know where you live. You think you can sit in your big-city apartment and ignore me? Think again.

That ominous threat was added at the bottom of the last written attack she’d received from True Fan. What was different this time was that her fan had included a photograph taken from the outside of her New York City apartment. She’d recognized the curtains covering the window of her third-floor unit. There’d been a light behind them, which meant she’d been home when her “fan” had taken the photo from the sidewalk outside.

It was recent too. One of the wings of Mrs. Gunderson’s Christmas angel was in the photograph. Her elderly neighbor had put it up only two days ago. TJ had helped her.

Just the thought of how recent the photo had been taken made her shudder. She glanced at her phone. Her flight was still hours away but she preferred sitting at the airport surrounded by security screened people to staying another minute in this apartment.

Sticking her phone into a side pocket of her purse, she grabbed the handle of her suitcase and headed for the door.

Nowadays she always checked the hallway before she left her apartment. She did this time as well. It was empty. She could hear holiday music playing in one of the apartments down the hall. The song brought tears to her eyes. She was a mess, way too emotional to spend the holidays with her sisters—especially since the three of them had been estranged for months.

She hesitated. Maybe she should change her flight. Go to some warm resort. But just the thought turned her stomach. She was going back to Whitehorse. Going home for Christmas.

She rolled her suitcase down to the elevator and pushed the button.

When it clanged its way up from what sounded like the basement, she waited for the door to open. If anyone she didn’t recognize happened to be on the elevator, she would make an excuse about forgetting something she needed in her apartment and turn back until the elevator left again.

She knew it was silly, but she couldn’t help it. No one was taking the threats seriously. But she had watched the tone of the letters degenerate into angry, hateful words that were more than threatening. This person wasn’t done with her. Far from it. She couldn’t shake the feeling that her “True Fan” was coming for her.

The elevator stopped and the door began to open. Empty. She let out the breath she’d been holding. Stepping in, she pulled her suitcase close and pushed the button for the ground floor.

The fan writing her the threatening letters could be anyone. That was what was so frightening. It could even be someone who lived in this apartment complex. Or someone she’d met at a conference. She met so many fans, she couldn’t possibly remember them all. It embarrassed her when they complimented her books. She wanted to hug them all. She doubted she would ever get used to this. Writing had been her dream since she was a girl. Getting published? Well, that was like a miracle to her. She couldn’t believe her good luck.

Until she’d begun getting the letters from her True Fan.

Outside the apartment building, the sidewalk was filled with people hurrying past. Shoppers laden with packages, others rushing off to work... The city was bustling more than usual. She glanced at the faces of people as they passed, not sure what she was looking for. Would she recognize her rabid fan if she saw him or her?

She couldn’t help studying their faces, looking for one that might be familiar. She didn’t even know if her “fan” was male or female. She also didn’t know if the person was watching her right now.

After a while, everyone began to look familiar to her. If anyone made eye contact, she quickly dropped her gaze as she made her way to the curb to signal for a cab. She wrote about crazed homicidal people. Wouldn’t she recognize something in True Fan’s eyes that would give the person away?

With a screech of brakes, a yellow cab came to a stop on the other side of the street. The driver motioned for her to hurry. But a large delivery truck was coming too fast for her to cross before it passed.

She felt something hit her in the back. Letting out a cry, she found herself falling into the street in front of the large speeding truck.

Chapter Two

It happened so fast. One minute she was standing on the curb waiting for the large delivery truck to pass before crossing the street to the waiting taxi.

The next she was falling forward into the street and the truck bearing down on her. Her arms windmilled as she tried to catch herself, but there was nothing to grab. She could hear the deafening roar of the truck’s engine, smelled diesel fuel turning the air gray and closed her eyes as she realized she was about to die.

The hand that closed over her arm was large and viselike. One minute she was falling headlong into the street in front of the truck and the next she was snatched from the crushing metal bumper as the truck roared on past.

Pulled by the hand gripping her arm, her body whipped back. She slammed into something so solid it could have been a lamppost. She turned just quickly enough that her face came in contact with the chest of a large male body as she tried to get her feet under her. He steadied her for a moment before the fingers on her arm released.

She looked up in time to see the man who’d saved her turn and walk away as if rescuing women was something he did every day. Trembling all over, she was still reeling from her near death.

“Wait!” she called after him. He’d just saved her life. But if he’d heard her, he didn’t turn. All she got was a brief glimpse of granite features, collar-length dark, curly hair beneath a baseball cap above wide shoulders clad in a tan suede sheepskin coat before he disappeared into the crowd.

She turned to find her suitcase and purse had fallen to the ground at the edge of the curb. Still shaken, she reached for them. The taxi that had stopped for her was long gone. No one seemed to have noticed what had almost happened to her.

Why had the man taken off the way he had? A Good Samaritan who didn’t like taking credit for his deeds? Or, she thought with a shudder, the person who’d pushed her in front of the speeding truck—and then saved her.

Was it possible the man had been her True Fan?

She remembered being hit from behind and then the viselike grip of his large hand as his fingers bit into her arm. He hadn’t even taken the time to see if she was all right. A shudder rattled through her. Had this been a warning?

A cab pulled to a stop in front of her. Tears burned her eyes as she stepped toward it. After all this time of being away, she couldn’t wait to go home to Whitehorse.

* * *

SILAS WALKER SWORE. He’d lost the man he’d been following in the crowd of Christmas shoppers. Now he leaned against the front of a building, watching the street. His leg hurt like hell. He realized he was limping badly and cursed. If it wasn’t for his injury, he wouldn’t have lost the man.

Or if he hadn’t stopped just long enough to grab that woman who’d been jostled by the crowd and almost fallen in front of a delivery truck. He shook his head. She should have known better than to stand that close to the street, especially with the sidewalk this crowded. He hated to think what could have happened if he hadn’t been right behind her.

His cell phone vibrated. He checked the screen. A text from his boss that he wanted to see him ASAP. That couldn’t be good. He quickly texted back that he was on his way.

One look at the way he was limping and he knew exactly what his boss was going to say. He’d come back to work too soon. That he knew his boss was right didn’t make it any easier to accept.

But after today, after messing up an easy tail, Silas had to accept that he wasn’t up to the job yet. That alone would force him to lay off his leg for a while. Just over the holidays, not that he was happy about it.

A taxi pulled past. He spotted the woman in the back seat. She wore a bright red long coat with a multicolored scarf—the same woman he’d grabbed out of the way of the truck.

But that wasn’t the surprising part. He recognized her. He’d studied that face on the back cover of her book more times than he wanted to admit. He couldn’t believe his luck. TJ St. Clair. The thriller writer. Her photo hadn’t done her justice.

As the taxi drove on past, he realized she was probably headed for the airport given that he now recalled seeing a suitcase next to her. Somewhere for the holidays?

Smiling, he told himself she might be headed home to Montana. If he was right... Well, what were the chances they might cross paths again?

* * *

TJ HAD WONDERED what it would be like seeing her sisters again. The last time they’d been together they’d argued. Well, that is, she and Chloe had argued with their younger sister Annabelle over their grandmother’s house.

Grandmother Frannie Clementine had died a few months ago. In her will, she’d left everything she had—basically her house in Whitehorse—to Annabelle.

“Did you know she was going to do that?” they’d demanded.

“No, I swear I didn’t,” Annabelle had said on the phone since she hadn’t attended the funeral or seen the will.

“Why would she do that?” Chloe had demanded.

“I have no idea,” their sister had said. “Except...well, I always got the impression that she liked me the best.” She’d tried to pass that off as a joke, but they’d all hung up angry.

Now as TJ stepped off the plane, she felt bad about the argument. The house had turned out to be a whole lot of work—and had held some surprises that neither TJ nor Chloe would have wanted to handle. It had been clear why Grandma Frannie had left the house to Annabelle, who they all agreed was more like Frannie than either TJ or Chloe.

The Billings, Montana, airport was small by most airport standards and sat on rimrocks overlooking the state’s largest city. She hadn’t gone far when she saw her sisters waving at her from the bottom of the escalator.

TJ couldn’t help but grin. They were both wearing elf hats. She groaned. “This has to have been Annabelle’s idea,” she said under her breath. But the sight of them in those hats had definitely broken the ice.

She laughed as she reached them, hugging one and then the other. As she pulled back, she felt such a surge of love for her sisters that it brought tears to her eyes.

“We didn’t want you to feel left out,” Annabelle said, and whipped an elf hat from her bag and settled it on TJ’s blonde head. She grinned and put her arm around them. “We look like triplets.”

“Heaven forbid,” Chloe said.

“I’m starving,” Annabelle said, surprising no one. Since she’d quit modeling for a living, she was always hungry. “Ray J’s barbecue when we get home, eat here or just get snacks like we used to for the ride home?”

“Snacks!” TJ and Chloe said together.

“Did I mention I bought your favorite bottles of wine?” Annabelle asked. “Or we can go out and party tonight.”

TJ and Chloe groaned in unison and then laughed. It felt good being around them again, TJ thought, and felt her eyes burn again with tears. Coming home for the holidays had been the right choice. She realized this was the best she’d felt in a very long time.

Annabelle chattered as they walked through the terminal toward the exit. TJ half listened, thankful that the trouble between them had blown over. They were all three back in Montana just like when they were growing up. They were sisters and she couldn’t have been more delighted to be with them, even though people stared.

She laughed. She’d forgotten they were all now wearing elf hats. For a few minutes, she’d completely forgotten her near-death experience this morning in the city and True Fan’s threats.

But as she and her sisters passed a group waiting in one of the departure lines, she saw a woman raise her phone and take a photo of the three of them. Glancing back, TJ saw the woman quickly begin texting someone.

Chapter Three

“Wow,” Chloe cried from the front seat of the SUV as she showed TJ her phone. “It’s already all over social media.” There was the photograph of the three of them in their elf hats. Just as she’d feared, the woman had recognized her, tagging the photo with her pen name. “Ah the life of the rich and famous.”

TJ groaned. “Now everyone will know that I’ve come home to Whitehorse for Christmas.”

“It isn’t like it was a secret, right?” Annabelle asked as she drove. “Everyone knows you’re from Whitehorse, Montana. Not much of a leap that you would be going home for Christmas.” She glanced in the rearview mirror. “Seriously, is it a problem?”

“No,” TJ lied. “It’s fine. Sometimes it would be nice to be anonymous though, but I don’t have to tell you about that.”

Annabelle sighed. “Yep, but when now faced with being anonymous the rest of my life... Well, it’s an adjustment. I have to admit, it was fun seeing my photo on the front of magazines—even if it was a doctored photo of me. Nothing is all that real with modeling.”