Identity: Classified

FOUR

The sickly smell of death hit Chloe smack in the face and she took a step back.

She’d helped Stan’s FBI cyber unit on many cases, but computers were her area of expertise, not dead bodies. She’d never visited an actual crime scene.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath of clear, crisp mountain air and centered herself. A picture of Peter Norris rose in her mind, and she wondered if the same odor had permeated his office by the time they discovered his body.

She could see through the open doorway, and the sight of two men lying separately on two double beds, blood seeping from tiny holes in the front of each of their foreheads, was enough to make her want to toss her cookies. She took another deep breath and swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

Were the two men connected to the Peter Norris murder and her unidentified disc? She took another step back, away from the stench of death. She had to pick up Geordie and get out of Jackson Hole. She’d find a safe place to stay until she could figure this thing out. She turned to flee, but a strong grip on her arm stopped her.

“Don’t even think about it, Sam.”

Chloe schooled her face into a mask of calm as she spun to face Ethan. And when had she started thinking of him as Ethan instead of Sheriff Hoyt? “Excuse me? You told us to stay back.”

His green eyes pierced her pretense. “You were getting ready to run, and I have several questions before you’ll be allowed to leave town.”

The shock of seeing the two dead men quickly receded and self-preservation took over. Something she had become very good at since the death of her parents when she was a child. “You have no right to hold me without just cause.”

His rigid jaw tightened even more. “I have cause since I witnessed you standing in front of room 126. Fortunately for you, I followed you from the B and B. Otherwise, I’d be arresting you on murder charges. Give me your weapon.” He held his hand out.

Panic constricted her throat. She didn’t like feeling boxed in, not after her short stint in juvenile hall before Stan rescued and took custody of her, but she quickly regained her equilibrium. No way was she giving up her gun. She’d been shot at and these two New Yorkers were now dead. She had a burning desire to get out of town, and she’d need protection when she left.

Forcing herself to relax, she took a step back. “You’re way off course, Sheriff Hoyt. As you said, you followed me from the B and B. I didn’t have anything to do with this.”

His hand stayed extended and his jaw looked hard as granite. She got the sinking feeling that she was now seeing the real Sheriff Hoyt, the hotshot Chicago detective Mrs. Denton had described.

“We won’t have a time of death until the coroner arrives. You could have been revisiting the scene. Give me your weapon.”

She had no choice, so, feeling as if she were giving away a part of herself, she pulled the gun out of her jacket pocket and handed it over, butt first. It was an insult when he shook out a handkerchief and took her weapon, but then another thought sent a second panic wave roaring through her. Her prints were on the gun, and she had no doubt he’d run them through the system. Her prints were on file with the FBI because anyone who worked there was fingerprinted as part of their policy.

Chloe quickly reassured herself that he wouldn’t find anything from her past, only her real name. He shouldn’t be able to get into her juvenile record unless he had a valid reason to present to a judge. But even knowing her real name would be problematic. He’d want to know why she’d given him an alias. That would lead to questions she didn’t want to answer. She had to get out of there and away from Jackson Hole as soon as possible.

Her handkerchief-bound Bersa disappeared into his jacket pocket, and she was already thinking of a way to retrieve it when his voice caught her attention.

“Don’t even think about it, Sam. I’ll return your weapon after we get some answers.”

She shrugged, trying for nonchalance, but inside she shivered. “Whatever. I’m in the clear because I had nothing to do with this—” she lifted her chin in false bravado “—and you can tell yourself you know what I’m thinking, but you’re wrong.”

Ethan stared at her hard, but a squad car pulled into the parking lot and gained his attention. She was vastly relieved by the interruption. He must have been an ace detective, because he stood there looking all righteous and dignified, silently urging her to spill her secrets, daring her to do the right thing. The man had probably never even had a parking ticket.

A young, clean-cut guy dressed in a starched police uniform hurriedly got out of the patrol car and rushed toward Ethan.

“Sir, I got here as quick as I could.”

And when, exactly, had Sheriff Hoyt called his deputy? Almost as if he could hear her thoughts, he turned his head toward her. “I texted my deputy to come as soon as I saw the bodies.” It shocked her that he could read her so well, but she covered her surprise by holding up her hands. “Did I say anything?” It came out sounding waspish, but she was in a waspish mood. Things were going downhill fast. Ethan motioned his deputy into the motel room, but not before he gave her instructions. The kind of instructions she didn’t like.

“Stay put. Don’t make me come after you.”

Her gut was screaming at her to run as fast as she could, but the good sheriff had her picklocks, her gun and, worst of all, her prints.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine.”

He gave her one last hard look and disappeared into the room. Thirty minutes later several vehicles pulled up. One man got out of a car carrying a medical bag. She assumed it was the medical examiner. Two men exited the second car carrying an array of cases. They looked like crime scene techs. A few minutes later, Sheriff Hoyt stepped out of the room with a hard jaw and a purposeful stride. He took her by the arm and she jerked it back. She’d give it one last shot.

“I want my picklocks and firearm returned. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

He just stood there, looking all grim and tough. Well, she wasn’t in a good mood, either, and jerked the tiger’s tail. She shouldn’t have, given the situation, but couldn’t seem to stop herself. She gave him a saucy grin. “I had to try.”

He didn’t look amused, and the grin slid off her face as the gravity of the situation hit her. She ran a hand through her short hair.

“It’s late and I’ll give you two options. We can go back to the bed-and-breakfast and make a nice big pot of coffee for our little informative chat, or we can have bad coffee at the station and spend our time in the interrogation room. Your choice.”

Another shiver racked her body at the thought of being in a police station, so she chose wisely, but didn’t give in easily. “Fine, we’ll go to the bed-and-breakfast, but you’re going to have to apologize when you catch whoever—” she waved a hand toward room 126 “—did this.”

* * *

Silence shrouded the patrol car as Ethan drove them to the B and B. He hadn’t taken the time to run the plate numbers he’d collected earlier, but that was fast becoming a priority. He had a bad feeling that Sam was in this thing up to her eyeballs.

Sam stared out the window during the short drive. The coroner had offered to give his deputy a ride home. He and Sam could have walked, but after getting shot at and finding two men dead in the motel room, he didn’t feel it was safe, and that angered him. They had their minor incidents, but Jackson Hole had always been a safe town. Now he had a double homicide to solve.

He parked the car on the side of the street in front of the B and B and cut the engine. He didn’t acknowledge Sam as he dug his cell phone out of his pocket. He hit speed dial, and the babysitter answered on the third ring.

“Margaret, this is Ethan. I’m sorry to call so late, but I’m going to be tied up awhile.”

“Is it true? Did you find two dead bodies in the motel?”

He sighed. Jackson Hole was a small town, and he should’ve known the happenings at the motel would spread like wildfire. “Yes, you heard right. There were two murders at the motel. Listen, can you take care of Penny the rest of the night? And could you swing by my house and pack her enough clothes for several days and bring her to the B and B in the morning? I’ll see that she gets to school. Oh, and pack me a few changes of clothes, if you have time. I sure would appreciate it.”

“Sure thing, Sheriff.”

“Thanks, and make sure everything is locked up tight before you turn in. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. Bye.”

He hung up the phone, lowered his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. The close call with Sam getting shot in her earlobe, then seeing the two dead men, brought death to the forefront of his mind and stirred memories of his deceased wife. He and Penny had finally found a measure of peace after the long, cruel terminal disease had taken Sherri’s life. He’d hoped his small family would thrive and be happy in Jackson Hole, but Sherri, being a city girl, had never quite fit in with the small-town folks. It wasn’t that she thought she was better than the town’s people—she just didn’t fit in, no matter how hard she tried.

A sharp voice intruded into his thoughts. “Margaret your girlfriend?”

He opened his eyes, the memories drifting away, and turned his head. He stared at the woman sitting in the passenger seat of the patrol car, a woman his gut was telling him had brought a truckload of trouble with her to Jackson Hole. The first woman since Sherri died who had even remotely caught his interest, not that he’d follow up on it. He wasn’t interested in finding a wife, and even if he was, he didn’t want another city gal, especially one who rode a Harley, had guns and knives stashed on her person, and owned an attack poodle. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Margaret is my babysitter.”

Her next question volleyed right on the heels of his answer. Sam was a spitfire. “You going somewhere?”

It took a minute for him to remember she’d heard him speaking to Margaret on the phone. He took grim satisfaction in answering her. “Penny and I will be temporarily staying at the B and B until I can sort things out and get some answers.”

Her right eye twitched, but she kept her expression neutral. At such a young age, Ethan wondered where Sam had acquired skills that took most detectives years to learn. Hiding your emotions was hard to accomplish, which made him all the more curious about her past.

“Why were you following me in the first place? You had no right to do that.”

Deflecting attention away from yourself was another highly coveted skill, one that Sam had learned well.

He shifted in his seat and turned toward her. “I don’t have to give you an explanation. Now, do we have our chat here at the B and B, or do we go to the station?”

She fingered her right cuff with her left hand, and he wanted to kick himself for forgetting about the knife she had hidden up her sleeve. She immediately relaxed her fingers when she caught him staring and grabbed the door handle. He thought about taking the knife from her, but let it go for the moment.

“Fine, let’s get this over with, because I’m shaking this town’s dust off my feet as soon as possible.”

He grabbed his own door handle. “Fine with me.” And it was fine with him. He didn’t like being even remotely attracted to a woman shrouded in secrets. He had enough to deal with trying to raise his daughter. But he had to admit he was curious about Sam, and he was determined to get some answers. Back at the motel, he’d slipped her gun to his deputy and instructed him to put a rush on running the prints. He’d know soon enough if Sam was in the system.

Mrs. Denton had given Sam a key, and it was very late when they entered the foyer. He had just stepped over the threshold when she whipped around to face him.

“I have to check on Geordie before we get started. He probably needs to go to the bathroom.”

He folded his hands across his chest. “Fine, but make it fast.”

A glimmer of annoyance appeared in her eyes before she patted his arm and released her inner Southern charm. “Don’t you worry none, I’ll be back in a jiff.”

He watched her agile leather-clad body take the stairs two at a time. She reminded him of a cat burglar, which was not a comforting thought. He moved into the kitchen and discovered Mrs. Denton, bless her heart, had left a pot of coffee already made.

He knew where everything was from having spent a good deal of his childhood stopping by to nab cookies on his way home from school, so he pulled down two mugs. The cream and sugar followed. He was getting ready to pour coffee into the mugs when Sam rounded the door frame of the kitchen with her poodle wrapped tightly in her arms. He froze when he saw the expression on her face. She was trying to hide it but failed to suppress the underlying fear.

He put the coffeepot back where it belonged and rounded the kitchen island to stand in front of her. “Sam, what is it?”

She finally looked at him, as if just realizing he was standing there, and shook her head. “Somebody’s been in my room. They went through my things.”

It didn’t take but a few seconds for the information to register, and his heart pounded at the implications. “Mrs. Denton,” he breathed. If anything, her face paled even more, in stark contrast to her short black hair.

“No,” she whispered, then louder, “no!”

She turned and raced toward the stairs before he could get in front of her. He grabbed her arm on the top step and pulled her back. “Wait,” he whispered forcefully. “You wait here while I check out her bedroom.”

She nodded and he removed his gun from his jacket pocket. After one last look to make sure she stayed put, he crept down the hallway and stopped in front of Mrs. Denton’s room. He pressed his ear to the door, but didn’t hear anything. Slowly, he eased the door open and saw the older woman tucked into bed. Nothing looked disturbed, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he heard gentle snoring. The perpetrators were probably long gone. He closed the door and nodded at Sam. Her shoulders sagged in relief, and he was glad to see she cared about Mrs. Denton’s safety. Taking her by the arm, he led her farther down the hall. He wanted to check out her room. They were about halfway there when the fur ball in Sam’s arms released a low, fierce growl.

Ethan stopped walking and looked at Sam for direction. He didn’t know what the growl meant, but he saw fear, mixed with a healthy dose of courage, on her face and watched the knife slip from her sleeve and into her hand. He tensed a second before a closet door to his right slammed open with maximum force. The impact of the door caught him in his right side and he stumbled before falling to the floor. He caught a glimpse of a masked man jumping out of the closet, gun in hand, and knew they were in trouble, and in that moment, he was glad he hadn’t confiscated Sam’s knife.

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