Identity: Classified

TWO

Chloe quickly opened the front door to the bed-and-breakfast and slipped inside with Geordie at her heels. Spinning around, she stole a glance through one of the glass panes bordering the door. The thick, old glass was wavy, but clear enough for her to catch sight of a large beige sedan whizzing down the street. She squinted and caught the New York tag but couldn’t make out the number.

Her dog nudged his nose against her leg. She scanned the rest of the neighborhood through the window. “The car’s from New York, Geordie. I felt eyes on us from the time we left Lucy’s Café. You think the killer’s hired toadies followed us from the city? I picked Jackson Hole because I don’t know anyone here and it’s clear across the country. I covered our tracks. Stan always claimed I was slippery as an eel.”

While studying the surrounding area through the wavy glass, her thoughts were invaded by the sheriff’s expressive face. She didn’t want to admit—to herself, or her dog—that the good sheriff had shaken her up a bit. He was good-looking, no doubt about it. Well over six feet, dark hair cut short—not quite a military buzz cut, but close. He had sharp, intelligent green eyes. Chloe felt as if he saw deep inside her, past her facade, and was trying to dig up the grave of secrets she kept carefully hidden.

“And why would you need to cover your tracks, young lady?” a sharp voice said from behind her.

Reacting on pure adrenaline, in one smooth move, Chloe pulled the long, thin knife from her shirtsleeve and whipped around. The knife disappeared just as fast when she faced a little old lady who looked like a strong wind could knock her over.

Covering herself with oozing Southern charm, Chloe moved toward whom she assumed to be Mrs. Denton, proprietor of the bed-and-breakfast. “I’m Samantha Bailey. I apologize if I startled you. I have a reservation.”

The stooped gray-haired woman, decked out in jeans and a plaid shirt, gave her a calculating look and grinned. Chloe didn’t trust that grin. Not for one New York minute. No pun intended.

“I don’t think so.”

That didn’t make sense. Maybe the woman was senile.

Chloe softened her tone. “I’m sorry. I’m not quite following you.”

Her survival antennae went haywire. Chloe slid her hand behind her back and had grasped the doorknob, ready to flee, when Mrs. Denton gleefully dropped her bombshell.

“From what I overheard you say, I doubt that’s your real name. Sounds like you’ll be a handful, but I’m up for the job.” The old lady’s chest puffed out. “I fought off two ruffians several months ago. They were after one of my guests.”

Chloe grinned when the older woman whipped a pencil-thin Taser out of her jeans pocket.

“Got one of the kids in town to order me this off the internet after that episode.”

She admired the older woman’s spunk, but Chloe couldn’t stay here. Not if Mrs. Denton was suspicious of her name.

This situation had created a big problem. She’d already introduced herself to the sheriff as Samantha Bailey, and there would be more questions than she wanted to answer if he found out she had lied.

Just as her hand twisted the doorknob behind her, the door was jerked open from outside. Chloe spun around to face the threat, knife back in hand. With one eye on her knife and the other on Geordie, Sheriff Hoyt stopped on the threshold of the door. In the blink of an eye, Chloe slipped the knife back up her shirtsleeve, but Hoyt’s sharp eyes hadn’t missed a thing.

Mrs. Denton nudged Chloe aside and approached the law and order of Jackson Hole.

“Sheriff Hoyt, so good of you to call.” She took him by the elbow and guided him inside.

Chloe girded herself. Her past was about the catch up with her. If Sheriff Hoyt discovered she had lied about her name, with his resources he’d discover her real name and try to find out about her past, which would raise more questions than she was willing to answer.

It took a moment before Mrs. Denton’s words halted Chloe’s urge to flee. She had no doubt that she could get away from the sheriff. Chloe took pride in her high success rate of escaping problematic situations.

“I was just welcoming Miss Bailey. Why don’t we move to the kitchen and have a nice cup of coffee?”

Chloe released her breath. Mrs. Denton hadn’t shared her suspicions.

The sheriff sighed and moved forward. It would have been rude not to with Mrs. Denton’s death grip on his arm. Chloe was wondering just how feeble Mrs. Denton really was when the older woman looked over her shoulder and sent her a saucy wink.

Did she dare trust this elderly woman to keep her suspicions to herself?

After the tragic death of her parents when she was young, Chloe had only trusted four people in her life: Stan and Betty, of course. Then there was Sarah Rutledge. She ran the orphanage. Neither of her parents had had any living relatives, so they’d made a contingency plan for Chloe to go to the orphanage should anything happen to them. They had wanted to avoid the foster care system. And then there was Uncle Henry. He wasn’t a blood relative, but he’d worked for Stan at the FBI for years before retiring and insisted Chloe call him “uncle.”

If the sheriff Googled or ran a search on her real name, any computer hacker would be able to track her down and her life wouldn’t be worth dirt because the killer would know where she was. The way she figured it, if he couldn’t find her or get in touch with her, she’d have time to find the disc he wanted and hopefully keep everyone she loved safe.

Sheriff Hoyt and Mrs. Denton disappeared around the corner. If she wanted to vanish, this was her chance. The place between her shoulder blades itched—a warning system that never failed her—and she glanced through the wavy glass just as the sedan she’d spotted earlier rolled slowly back down the street.

She whipped around and leaned against the heavy wooden door. How had they found her? She was very, very good at covering her tracks. And then it hit her. The killer’s minions had likely planted a tracking device somewhere on her bike.

She calculated her options and narrowed them to one. She’d have to make nice with the sheriff and trust Mrs. Denton long enough to check her mode of transportation for tracking devices. Moving toward the kitchen, she made her plans. She’d wait until everyone was asleep, check her Harley and leave. She’d hit the bank before getting out of New York, so cash wasn’t a problem for the time being.

“Come on, Geordie, do your sweet dog thing and let’s go charm the sheriff.”

* * *

When Samantha Bailey didn’t immediately follow them into the kitchen, Ethan had to force himself not to peel Mrs. Denton’s fingers off his sleeve. For being so elderly, the woman had a strong grip. He relaxed when Samantha and her dog sauntered into the warm, inviting kitchen, but his suspicions were resurrected when the menacing little dog padded up to him and licked his hand, all sweet and charming.

“I keep coffee made for any guests who might wander in, so ya’ll take a seat and we’ll have us a nice chat.”

Ethan sat at the oak table that had been there as long as he could remember, leaned his chair back on two legs and grinned. He wondered how Miss Biker Babe—he now knew she was a “Miss” thanks to Mrs. Denton—from New York would handle Mrs. Denton’s sweet, Midwestern etiquette.

Sam—the shortened name seemed more fitting for such a feisty woman—grinned and pulled out a chair. “Why, thank you, Mrs. Denton, that’s very gracious of you. Can I help you do anything?”

Surprise had him leaning forward and the front two legs of his chair slammed to the floor. A drawn-out, Southern accent flowed naturally off her tongue. The woman was an enigma. Mrs. Denton snorted a laugh when she turned and caught his surprise. “I’ve got it, but thanks for the offer.”

The dog heaved a satisfied sigh and lay—docile as a lamb—at Sam’s feet.

Three coffee mugs, along with a plate of cookies, were placed on the table. Mrs. Denton released an elderly-like sigh of relief when she sat down.

Ethan grabbed a warm chocolate chip cookie and closed his eyes at the first taste of bliss. He’d been enjoying her baking ever since he was a young boy.

“Wow!”

His eyes popped open and he caught Sam stuffing the second half of a cookie into her mouth. She nodded at Mrs. Denton. “You ever think of selling these?”

The older lady grinned. “Matter of fact, I have, but I don’t know how to go about it. I don’t know a thing about those newfangled computers, and everyone says you have to get one of those websites to sell anything these days.”

Sam leaned forward, an excited light in her eyes. “It’s easy. All you have to do is set up a snazzy website and make sure you tag onto any other sites that will promote your cookies.”

She sent a nervous glance toward Ethan, sat back and lifted her mug to her lips. After taking a sip, she carefully placed it on the table. “There are people you can hire to set that up for you.”

Mrs. Denton turned to Sam and deftly changed the subject. “So you’re here to see the sights?”

Was that a slight relaxation in Sam’s posture, or was it Ethan’s imagination?

“That’s right. Geordie and I decided to take a vacation.”

Mrs. Denton got a look in her eye that Ethan had seen before, but she opened her mouth before he could stop her.

“Well, Sheriff Hoyt could show you around Jackson Hole. He grew up here before he moved to Chicago and became a hotshot detective. He’s a widower, you know, married a sweet girl and came back here to raise his family, but Sherri died of cancer, leaving the poor man with a young daughter to raise.”

Ethan froze in his chair as memories of his deceased wife rose to the surface and threatened to choke him. Some were good, a few weren’t, and he took full responsibility for Sherri’s unhappiness at the end of her life.

He didn’t want to look at Sam—see the pity in her eyes—but he lifted his chin. What he saw surprised him. A unique understanding, as if she’d experienced something similar, but not an ounce of pity.

“Life’s tough that way sometimes.” That was all she said, and it felt just right.

He cleared his throat. “Yes, it is. How about you, Sam, you ever been married?” Time to start his fishing expedition because his gut was screaming that this woman had secrets.

Mrs. Denton piped up, “Sheriff, don’t be rude to my guest.”

His gaze slid back to Sam and he waited.

One black eyebrow arched. “Not that it’s any of your business, Sheriff, but it’s just Geordie and me.”

So the woman had perfected the art of evading a question. He decided to hit hard. “And what reason would a lady like yourself have for carrying a knife up the sleeve of her shirt?”

Mrs. Denton gasped, but Sam held up a hand. “It’s okay, I’m happy to answer his question.”

Mrs. Denton looked as interested in the answer as he did, even though she made the proper noises about him interrogating her guest.

“Let’s just say I’ve been in several places that weren’t very safe. Don’t you think it’s a good idea for a woman to be able to take care of herself?”

Ethan couldn’t help but compare Sam to his late wife. Sherri had been born and raised in Chicago—a place full of crime—but somehow she had managed to hang on to her innocence. His wife had been soft and trusting. In comparison, Sam was wary and prickly as a porcupine. The woman had street smarts, which made him only more curious.

The front door slammed open and closed. In one fluid movement, Sam jumped to her feet, pulled a small gun from inside her leather jacket and pressed her back to the wall next to the open threshold leading to the kitchen. He was simultaneously shocked and impressed at her fast reaction, but when his daughter came running past Sam, his surprise turned to fear.

Penny saw him first and flew into his lap, wrapping her precious arms around his neck, preventing him from reaching for his weapon. He kept his eyes glued to the new woman in town, and, in a flash, Sam tucked away her weapon and seated herself back at the table. He started breathing again.

“Daddy, you’ll never believe what happened at school today. Tommy Milton put a gross frog in my desk and I told him you’d put him in jail. He said a person couldn’t go to jail for that, but that’s not true, is it? ’Cause he deserves to be punished.”

Ethan stared at his six-year-old blond-haired blue-eyed precious daughter and wondered yet again why he’d been so blessed to have this child. She was the spitting image of her mother and the reason he got out of bed each morning.

He didn’t have a chance to respond because Penny squealed and wiggled out of his lap when she spotted the sweet-vicious dog. She got away from him and was on the floor with the animal before he had a chance to stop her. He held his breath, waiting to see if the beast would take a chunk out of his daughter, until a chuckle came from across the table.

He frowned at Sam.

“Don’t worry. He won’t hurt her. Geordie loves kids.”

A knife, a gun, an attack poodle and a Harley. Ethan wasn’t happy with the new visitor in town, but he couldn’t question her in front of his daughter.

“Penny, how did you know I was here?”

Big, innocent blue eyes swung his way. “Daddy, I asked the bus driver to let me off at the station. Mrs. Armstrong told me you were here.”

Mrs. Denton interrupted before he could reprimand his daughter for ditching her after-school babysitter.

“Have a cookie, Penny. They’re fresh out of the oven.”

His daughter scurried around the table, grabbed a cookie and stared at Sam.

“Who are you and is that your dog?”

Ethan took a small amount of satisfaction in Sam’s discomfort as she stared at his daughter as if she’d never seen a child before.

“Um, my name is Samantha Bailey, and Geordie belongs to me.”

“What kind of a dog is he? Can I come play with him tomorrow after school?”

Time to put a lid on his daughter’s natural curiosity and find out more about Sam before Penny spent any future time with her.

“Penny, thank Mrs. Denton for the cookie. We should get you back to the sitter. She’ll be worried sick when you don’t get off the school bus at her house.”

Penny focused adorable, pleading eyes on him. “You’re not mad, are you, Daddy? I just couldn’t wait to see you after school.”

As always, his heart melted. “No, sweetie, I’m not mad. We’ll talk about this when we get home.”

Sam mumbled something under her breath. He gave her a sharp look. Did she just say what he thought she said?

“What was that?”

Her lips curved up at the corners, and her words came out sweet and syrupy. “I said one of my dogs would never get away with what your daughter just did.”

That raised his hackles. Nobody criticized his daughter but him. “And what did my daughter just do?”

Sam gave Penny an apologetic glance. “Sorry, kid, but I know all the tricks.” She looked back at Ethan. “Let’s just say I train dogs on the side, and I know all about handling. We’ll leave it at that.”

Ethan was about to explode until he saw Penny’s eyes narrow on Sam. Time to go. He’d seen that look before and it usually preceded an unsettling argument.

Maybe he had been too lenient, but Penny had lost her mother so young, and his daughter’s tears just tore him up.

He rose and took Penny by the hand. “Thanks for the cookies, Mrs. Denton.” He also acknowledged Sam. “I hope you enjoy your vacation.”

He pulled Penny away from the dog and breathed a sigh of relief when they were outside. His daughter walked quietly beside him on their way back to the station. He tightened his hand on hers when he thought about Sam and the beige sedan and wondered if trouble had followed Miss Biker Babe to Jackson Hole.

THREE

It was after midnight, and Geordie’s eyes followed Chloe as she dumped everything she had brought with her onto the bed. She checked every piece of clothing, searched every item of her toiletries and went through Geordie’s supplies, but found no tracking devices. Not that she expected to. She would have known if someone had broken into her apartment. She had very good security, but she checked all her stuff anyway, just to be on the safe side. Throwing on her jacket, her dog followed her as she went outside and scoured her bike from front to back.

No tracking devices anywhere.

She reached down and scratched Geordie behind the ears. He grunted and she grinned.

“Whatcha think? Should we move on to safer pastures, or stay here and find out who those two men in the beige sedan are? It could be they’re harmless. Just two men on vacation.”

Her dog grunted.

“Yeah, I don’t think so, either. As Stan always says, there are few coincidences in life. Well, there’s only one way to find out. Let’s get you back inside and I’ll pay our New York friends a little middle-of-the-night visit and see what’s what. Maybe they know something about the disc.”

Geordie knew the drill, and after he settled in, Chloe took off on foot. The air had a bite when she stepped back outside, warning that winter wasn’t far behind. Pulling her leather collar up, she started walking. From her online search of Jackson Hole, there were only a few motels in town besides the bed-and-breakfast. Several blocks away, she circled the first one, but there was no beige sedan. The car was parked right in front of room number 126 at the second motel.

Avoiding the security lights, Chloe stayed in the shadows and ducked to one side of the car. Rising, she peered through the windows, but there was nothing on the seats, front or back. In a crouched position, she ran to the door, then checked the room’s single window. No light from a television or computer screen seeped past the edges of the curtains.

Hopefully, they were fast asleep. Taking a deep breath, she pulled a set of lock picks from the pocket of her leather pants and stood there, staring at them for the longest time. She thought of the people who would be disappointed if she broke the law. Stan, Sarah Rutledge and Uncle Henry. She’d walked on the straight and narrow ever since those harrowing teenage years, and she realized she couldn’t do it.

So she wouldn’t be tempted to change her mind, she tucked the tools away and hurried toward the sidewalk fronting the motel. Turning right toward the bed-and-breakfast, she slipped the knife from her sleeve and into her right hand as a large body moved silently from the woods hugging the sidewalk.

She stopped when she recognized the sheriff and flipped the weapon in the air before shoving it back up her sleeve. She disliked being caught off guard, surprised he’d slipped up on her. That’s what she got for disregarding her own instinct for survival and not paying attention while agonizing over doing the right thing. Had he been in the woods the whole time? Had he seen her standing in front of room 126?

He stood close, his legs spread in an intimidating manner, but she refused to back away. That would reek of weakness. Best to go on the defensive. She looked up—way up—and moved even closer. She’d learned that nifty move while working with dogs. Always move forward and the dog would move back. It put the human in the pack leader position. Only problem was, Sheriff Hoyt didn’t react like her furry friends. He stood firm, as if he was at the top of the pecking order.

She rocked back on her heels and went for the casual approach. “Nice evening for a stroll, Sheriff.”

He glanced at the motel, specifically toward room 126, before refocusing his attention on her. His big grin threw her off balance.

“It certainly is. How about I walk you back to your room? Jackson Hole is a relatively safe town, but we do get quite a few out-of-towners.”

The night’s excursion was shot anyway. Playing it cool was her best option.

“Fine by me.”

In her peripheral vision, Chloe spied movement near the sedan sitting in front of room 126, but she kept her attention on the sheriff. Had the two men slipped out of their room while she wasn’t looking? So as not to arouse suspicion, she turned and started walking. Sheriff Hoyt fell into step beside her. The fine hair at the nape of her neck prickled, and it wasn’t because of the man walking next to her. She needed to shake off the sheriff and find out if the two men had left their room. She could double back and surprise them without breaking into their quarters. Nothing illegal in having a nice, friendly chat.

She aimed an arrow straight at his heart. “So who’s keeping an eye on Penny while you’re patrolling the streets?” She kept her tone friendly, but increased her pace. She’d duck inside the bed-and-breakfast, then slip out the back and hoof it back to the motel. She had to know if they were following her.

He didn’t answer, and she stopped scanning their surroundings to look at him. She didn’t care for the intent expression on his face and stopped in her tracks.

“What?”

He shook his head. “I can almost see your mind clicking a mile a minute.” He faced her, and those emerald eyes bored into hers. Oh, yeah, the sheriff was definitely good at his chosen profession. “Miss Bailey, if you have a problem of some sort, I’m happy to help. You can trust me, you know.”

She might be only twenty-five years old, but she’d had a lifetime of experience. There were only four people she had ever dared to trust. The sheriff appeared to be squeaky clean, but so did a lot of other people. People who were just better at hiding their dark sides.

She’d learned early on she had to look after number one. Even God hadn’t been able to save her parents.

“I appreciate that, Sheriff, but I don’t have any problems other than getting back to Mrs. Denton’s. Geordie could probably use the bathroom about now.”

She snapped her mouth shut, knowing she’d messed up before he even said anything.

“Please, call me Ethan. I have to ask myself why you didn’t bring that cute little dog of yours along with you for your evening stroll.”

Time to get rid of the sheriff. She had to make tracks back to the motel. “Sheriff Hoyt—Ethan—I appreciate the company, but rest assured, I have nothing to hide.” And wasn’t that the biggest whopper she’d ever told? “Tell Penny I said hello and I’ll see you around town.” But not if she could help it. Ethan Hoyt had good instincts, probably sharpened by his time spent as a detective in Chicago, but from the time she was sixteen, Chloe had been hanging around a gang of FBI agents. She could outwit him any day. Stan always grumbled that she had too much confidence, and one day it would land her in a boatload of trouble.

As she turned to leave, a bullet whizzed by close enough to slice the skin on her ear. It pinged into a car parked on the street behind her. Her survival instinct kicked in. She pivoted around and plowed into Sheriff Hoyt, throwing both on them onto the sidewalk, hopefully out of the line of fire. Her mind went into overdrive. They were out in the open, and whoever shot at her could easily have taken her out. Was it a warning shot, letting her know they were watching?

* * *

A big oomph shoved the breath from Ethan’s lungs as Samantha Bailey pushed him to the ground and landed on top of him. Before he could catch his breath, she slid off his body and started belly-crawling toward a parked car on the street. Glancing over her shoulder, she hissed, “Get a move on. Someone just shot at us.”

Stunned, impressed and somewhat put out by Miss Bailey’s quick reflexes, he flipped himself over and followed her. He crouched beside her as she peered around the front end of the vehicle. Where had she learned moves like the one she’d performed after the gunshot?

She twisted her head around and he spotted a thin line of blood trickling from her earlobe. His body tensed, and he pulled his gun from his shoulder holster. “You’re bleeding. Are you okay?”

She grinned and her dimples flashed. “I’m fine. They just nicked my ear.” The grin disappeared. Her lips firmed, and the gold ring around her brown pupils burst into a brilliant golden fire. “But they’ll wish they hadn’t before this is over.”