The man was nothing but trouble…but he sure could kiss!

Before she had time to protest, he had kissed her, threading his fingers through her hair so she couldn’t pull away.

Not that she tried. Not for a moment or two at least..

What she did was part her lips and melt into the kiss. The joining tasted like ambrosia, his scent making her crave him even more. His kiss was warm, soft and inviting, and when he slid a hand down her arm to curve around her waist—

She stepped back and gave him a good slap.

Cage looked stunned. “What did you do that for?”

“You don’t just come to a woman’s room and assume you’ll be welcome. Next time, you ask first.”

“Next time—”

She grabbed his shirt and pulled him all the way into the room.

Showdown in West Texas
Amanda Stevens

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Amanda Stevens is a bestselling author of more than thirty novels of romantic suspense. In addition to being a Romance Writers of America RITA® Award finalist, she is also a recipient of awards for Career Acheivement in Romantic/Mystery and Career Acheivement in Romantic/Suspense from Romantic Times BOOKreviews magazine. She currently resides in Texas. To find out more about past, present and future projects, please visit her Web site at www.amandastevens.com.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Cage Nichols—A down-on-his-luck salesman witnesses a brutal shootout, assumes the identity of a hit man, poses as a hotshot detective and falls for the new sheriff. And that’s just Day One.

Sheriff Grace Steele—Someone wants her dead, and the new guy just wants her. She can handle the drug smugglers, the dirty cops, a conniving ex-husband and her disgruntled little sister, but love is like West Texas…not for the faint of heart.

Detective Lily Steele—For years she’s carried a grudge against her big sister. Now that Grace is back in Jericho Pass, Lily thinks it’s time for a showdown.

Colt McKinney—A wheeler-dealer known as the Donald Trump of Cochise County. Did he have an ulterior motive for bringing Grace back to Jericho Pass?

Jesse Nance—Grace’s ex-husband has a little deed problem. And a great big secret.

Sookie Truesdale—Jesse’s new live-in is manipulative, greedy and high maintenance. And those are her good qualities.

Ethan Brennan—A mild-mannered tenderfoot with a not-so-secret crush.

Dale Walsh—Hit man? Cop? Or both?

Contents

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 One

“Lily is absolutely livid.” Grace Steele adjusted the headset of her cell phone so that her fingers were free to drum impatiently on the steering wheel. “I don’t know that she’ll ever forgive me. If she could find a way to do me in without getting caught, I think she might actually try it.”

“I’m assuming that’s a gross exaggeration,” Colt McKinney said from the other end. “Although, I don’t doubt she’ll get a secret kick out of making your life miserable for a while.”

“Nothing secret about it,” Grace said. “She’ll revel in it.”

“Have you tried reasoning with her?”

“Have you?”

Grace heard his easygoing chuckle through the earpiece, and she wished they could share a good laugh the way they used to back in high school. But it had been a long time since she’d found life even remotely amusing, and she wasn’t at all confident that things would be looking up any time soon.

However, if anyone could put the semblance of a smile on her face, it was Colt. He was as charming and handsome as ever, but Grace had never thought of him as anything more than a good friend. Now that they were professional associates, it was important to her that they not allow even so much as a hint of impropriety to taint their relationship. The last thing she needed was to be accused of sleeping her way to the top.

Again.

Colt McKinney was one of four elected commissioners that governed Cochise County, and was personally responsible for bringing Grace back to Jericho Pass to serve as the interim sheriff while Charlie Dickerson underwent treatment for throat cancer.

If someone had told Grace this time last year that she’d be returning to her hometown—a place she’d left without a backward glance after high school—she’d have laughed in their face. Only a few months ago, she’d still been a rising star in the prestigious TBI—Texas Bureau of Investigation.

But a botched case and a dead agent had placed Grace squarely on the wrong side of a review board, and she’d soon discovered just how quickly her fortunes could change when her superior—who also happened to be her lover—needed a way to save his own hide.

She’d been suspended without pay pending an internal investigation, and when termination seemed inevitable, she’d decided to salvage what little she had left of her pride and her professional integrity by tendering her resignation. Colt’s offer had come at a time when she’d desperately needed a graceful exit from Austin, and she’d latched on with both hands.

Unfortunately, her arrival in Jericho Pass hadn’t exactly been met without controversy or resentment, either. There were those in the Cochise County Sheriff’s office who had felt—and still did—that the selection should have come from within the department. That Colt, in fact, was playing favoritism by appointing an old friend to the position.

But in light of recent intelligence reports and an uptick in violence along the border, he and the other commissioners had been determined to bring in someone with Grace’s training and experience, not to mention her political connections at the state capital.

Because of its proximity to the border, Jericho Pass sat in a particularly vulnerable location. The good-old-boy network that had run things for years in Cochise County was no longer sufficient to combat the narco-traffickers who were often armed with better technology and weaponry than the police.

“We knew there’d be some hard feelings in the department when we brought you in,” Colt said. “But it’s only been a few weeks. Give it some time. They’ll come around.”

“Lily won’t.”

“You sound pretty sure about that.”

“I know my sister.”

“Then what do you propose we do?”

“Nothing. I’m not leaving Jericho Pass with my tail tucked between my legs just because my little sister can’t get past our old sibling rivalry.” Grace simultaneously gripped the steering wheel and pressed down on the gas. She had the road to herself, and when the powerful V-8 engine kicked in, her truck shot down the road like a rocket. “I came here to do a job and I intend to do it.”

“Good for you.”

“But that doesn’t mean I can’t give Lily some space,” she said. “I’m moving out of the ranch house today. I must have been out of my mind, thinking we could live together without one of us killing the other.”

“Things are that bad, huh?”

“Worse. But I’m used to it.”

“Where will you go?”

“I’ve taken a room at Miss Nelda’s until I can find a place of my own in town.”

“Well, hang in there,” Colt said. “Tempers are bound to be on edge, what with the department being so shorthanded and all. But with you at the helm, and now with the possibility of a new deputy coming on board, things should ease up.”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. Have you met this guy?”

“You mean Dale Walsh? Not in person, no, but he comes highly recommended. Charlie’s been trying to get him out here for an interview ever since they met at the Homeland Security Conference in San Antonio. And I trust Charlie’s judgment. He may not have your pedigree in law enforcement, but he knows people.”

“When Walsh eventually shows up, I’ll let you know what I think,” Grace said noncommittally.

“Fair enough. In the meantime, if you need anything, you just give us a holler, okay? I want you to be happy here, Grace. If Charlie decides not to come back—”

Grace wasn’t about to make any promises. Not yet, at least. “Let’s just cross that bridge when and if we get to it, okay? Listen, you’re starting to break up. I’ll talk to you when I get back to town.”

She was coming upon the cutoff, and Grace removed her earpiece and tossed it onto the seat beside her as she automatically turned on her blinker, though there was no one else around for miles. Once she left the highway behind, the truck tires kicked up a dust cloud so thick, she could see nothing in the rearview mirror but a swirl of brown grit. Ahead of her, only the vast nothingness of the West Texas landscape—blue sky, desert and the eerie silhouette of the distant rock mesas.

Grace had been gone from the area for so many years, she’d forgotten how exposed and insignificant one could feel in such a limitless landscape. How the fragile quality of the light seemed to echo the transient nature of man’s footprint here in this infinite wasteland, this last frontier.

She slowed as she drove through the high arches that welcomed visitors to the Steele ranch. Grace had lived happily on that spread with her parents and her two sisters for the first ten years of her life. Then her mother and father had been murdered in their sleep one night, and Grace’s grandmother had moved down from Midland to raise her and her sisters. The killer had never been apprehended, and the lack of justice for their slain parents had led all three women into law enforcement, albeit down very different paths.

Rachel, the oldest, had gone off to study psychology at Tulane. After earning her graduate degree, she’d been recruited by the FBI into one of the Behavioral Analysis Units.

Grace had left town five years later to pursue a degree in Criminal Justice with a concentration in Forensic Science at the University of Texas at San Antonio. She’d spent seven years with the Austin Police Department before joining the TBI.

Lily was the only sister who had remained in Jericho Pass. After attending the local community college, she’d been hired on as first a dispatcher, then a patrol officer with the Cochise County Sheriff’s Department. She was now one of three deputies—soon to be four, if Dale Walsh worked out—who made up Criminal Investigations.

Grace had learned through the grapevine—aka Miss Nelda and her sister, Georgina—that Lily had had her eye on the interim position ever since Charlie Dickerson had made public his diagnosis. She’d made no bones about her intention to run for sheriff, in spite of her age, if he decided to retire after his treatment. A temporary stint in the office would have given her a leg up on her opponents, but her sister’s unexpected return had squelched her big plans.

Grace could sympathize with Lily’s disappointment over the way things had turned out. Grace had had her share of setbacks, too. But even if she’d declined the position, Lily was never going to be appointed. Colt had told her as much. Lily didn’t have enough experience or formal training to deal with the challenges along the border these days. At least this way, Grace could take her sister under her wing and help season her, if Lily would allow it.

That was a big if.

Lily’s frustration, and to a certain extent her resentment, was understandable, but her simmering hostility was something Grace still did not get. What had she done to make Lily dislike her so intensely?

The dust cloud followed Grace around the circular drive, and she waited for it to settle before she climbed out of the truck and stood for a moment, gazing up at the house.

Built out of limestone, it was two stories with screened-in porches on the front and back where Grace used to sit on summer nights and watch the stars with her father. The only sound, save for the hush of her father’s voice as he pointed out the constellations, was the creaking of the windmill. Even now, that sound was one of Grace’s most vivid memories.

It was the creaking of the windmill that had awakened her that night.

AFTER THE FUNERALS, Grandma Stella had moved the girls into a tiny rental house in town. The change of scenery had probably been the best thing for them at the time, but after a while, it seemed more practical to return to the ranch where they could all have their space.

Some of the neighbors had come over and cleaned up the place. They’d aired out all the rooms, shampooed the rugs and even went so far as to add a fresh coat of paint here and there. But no amount of paint or primer could eliminate the horror of what had happened upstairs. Nothing could ease such a tragic loss except the passage of enough time.

Eventually, the ranch had come to seem like home again, but it was a long time before Grace had been able to be by herself in the house. And no wonder. She and Lily had been there when it happened.

Grace still remembered the exact time when the windmill had awakened her. She knew because she’d glanced at the clock radio on the nightstand between her and Lily’s beds. Throwing back the covers, she’d started to climb out of bed and pad over to the window to stare up at the night sky when another sound registered. Someone was coming up the stairs. Grace wanted to believe the cautious footfalls belonged to one of her parents, or maybe Rachel had come home early from her sleepover.

But something about those footsteps…

About the long hesitation at the top of the stairs…

Looking back, Grace was never sure what had alerted her to danger, but for some reason, she slipped out of bed and shook her sister awake. Then with a fingertip to her lips, she dragged Lily onto the floor and shoved her under the bed where the two of them cowered as the footsteps came closer.

The sound stilled again at the open door of the girls’ bedroom, just long enough for Grace to catch a fleeting glimpse of dark boots—nothing more—before the footfalls continued down the hallway to her parents’ bedroom.

If she’d called out a warning, would she have frightened the killer away? Or would she and Lily have met with the same fate as their parents?

There was no way of knowing, of course. And if she’d learned anything in the twenty-three years since that night, it was that guilt couldn’t change a damn thing about the past, but it could sure play hell with the present.

Using the key Lily had begrudgingly given her, Grace let herself into the quiet house. Since their grandmother had died, her sister had been living there all alone.

I couldn’t do it.

Even after all these years, Grace still didn’t like being alone in that house.

I’m not as brave as Lily, she thought as she climbed the stairs.

The door to her and her sister’s old bedroom was ajar, and Grace couldn’t resist peeking in. She knew she should respect her sister’s privacy, but curiosity got the better of her. Lily had been so careful about keeping that door closed, about shutting Grace out from the space they’d once shared, that the room had become almost symbolic of the barrier she’d erected between them.

She knocked on the door. “Lily, you in there?”

Her sister’s truck hadn’t been in the driveway, but she could have pulled around back to park.

Grace pushed the door open a little wider. The scent of her sister’s perfume—a floral scent with a woodsy undertone—drifted out.

“I just came back to pack up my things. I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

Grace stood on the threshold and glanced around. Gone were the pink ruffles from their childhood and the rock-band posters from their adolescence. Lily had redone the room in a sophisticated palette of beige and grayish blue. Gone, too, were the canopied twin beds with matching coverlets and piles of pillows. In their place was a spacious queen-size with chic but minimalist bedding.

The room could have come straight from Grace’s townhouse in Austin. The sleek, urban furnishings seemed much more in keeping with her taste than Lily’s. Her sister had always been such a romantic. But then, what did she really know about Lily these days? They hadn’t been truly close since they were kids.

Regret tightened Grace’s chest as she backed out the door. She’d been staying in Rachel’s old bedroom since her return, and she hurried there now to pack up her things. As she fastened the lid on her last suitcase, she heard the squeak of a door and went out into the hallway to see if her sister had come in.

“Lily?”

Grace went to the top of the stairs and peered over the railing. “Lily, is that you?”

No answer.

She went back to Rachel’s room, grabbed the suitcases and carried them down the hallway.

As she approached the landing, she heard another sound, this time from Lily’s room.

Or so she thought.

As Grace started to turn, she caught a blur of movement out of the corner of her eye a split second before something hit her from behind.

Her bags tumbled down the stairs as she tried to grab hold of the banister to check her fall.

But it was too late. Already, she was plunging headlong down the wooden staircase.

When she hit the bottom, she rolled onto her back, so dazed she couldn’t immediately process what had happened. Nor did she feel any pain.

In the space of a heartbeat, the only thing that registered was a face at the top of the stairs, peering down at her.

Chapter Two

As Cage Nichols watched the cloud of steam mushroom over the hood of his car, he was reminded of his mother’s favorite saying: “Son, if we didn’t have bad luck, we wouldn’t have no luck at all.”

Back then, Cage hadn’t entirely subscribed to Darleen’s pessimistic outlook on life. Sure, they’d seen a lot of hard times after the old man took off, but Cage had been a good-looking, popular kid with a talent for football and girls, and he’d never minded hard work. Growing up in a small East Texas town, he hadn’t needed much else.

But out in the real world, he’d discovered soon enough that a man needed more than looks and gumption to get by. Even a good education and the right connections could only take him so far. What a man really had to have was a little luck.

Cage could remember the exact moment when his had run out—at precisely 9:56 on a Friday night sixteen years ago.

He’d caught the winning touchdown in the last game of the season just as the clock wound down. In that moment of mindless exhilaration, he’d failed to note the two-hundred-and-fifty-pound linebacker still bearing down on him from his left. The late hit had caught him completely off guard, and the resulting knee injury had ended his dream of a full-ride scholarship to Southern Methodist University.

Ten years later, a hollow-nose bullet fired at close range from a thug’s 9mm handgun into the same knee had ended his career as a SWAT officer with the Dallas P.D.

Now Cage sold oilfield equipment for his brother-in-law, Wayne Cordell. Or tried to.

His sales record had been pretty dismal thus far, partly because of the downturn in the economy, but mostly because Cage wasn’t much of a salesman.

Which was why he desperately needed to close the El Paso deal.

Which was why the steam pouring out of the grill of his car as he coasted to the shoulder of the road made him want to put his fist through the windshield.

Instead, he got out, raised the hood, then slammed it shut a few minutes later. Just his luck. He’d blown a damn radiator hose.

Helluva place to be stranded, he thought, as he took stock of his surroundings. He was literally in the middle of nowhere. A good hundred and eighty miles from El Paso and less than twenty miles from the Mexican border. A no-man’s-land of tumbleweed, cholla cactus, and whatever wildlife could survive the blistering Chihuahuan Desert heat.

Sweat trickled down Cage’s back as he got out his phone and checked for a signal. Nada.

Well, that figured.

What aggravated him more than the inconvenience of the breakdown was Wayne’s warning before Cage left Dallas. “That clunker won’t get you as far as Waco, much less El Paso. Just fly down there tomorrow, close the deal, and get your ass back here with that contract. Or else don’t bother coming back at all,” he’d added with an ominous glare.

If Cage had followed his brother-in-law’s advice, he’d already be in El Paso working on his pitch for the four o’clock meeting. Afterward, he could have hopped on a Southwest Airlines jet and been back home in time for the Mavericks tip-off since they were playing on the West Coast that night.

But, no.

Cage had had the bright idea to drive down overnight, drop in on a few of their best customers and hope that the personal touch and a little charm might persuade them to throw a couple of bones his way.

But that hadn’t exactly worked out like gangbusters. Mostly, it had been a big waste of time.

So, not only would he end up getting canned for blowing the El Paso deal, he’d have to listen to Wayne’s I told you so from now until eternity—or until his sister wised up and divorced the smug bastard.

Not that Cage was in any position to cast stones. He was hardly a catch himself these days. And if he hadn’t been so damn hardheaded, he wouldn’t be in his current predicament—miles off the beaten track, stuck in the desert with a half-empty water bottle and a dead cell phone to his name.

Things are really looking up for you, buddy.

He tried to find the bright side as he watched an earless lizard peeking through the orange blossoms of a prickly pear. At least he wasn’t that far from the nearest town. He’d seen a sign a few miles back for a place called San Miguel.

But when Cage got out his map, he couldn’t find it in the listings. Probably one of those tiny outposts along the Mexican border that time and civilization had forsaken.

He was doubtful he’d find a garage there, but surely he’d be able to use a landline to call for a tow truck…from somewhere. At the very least, he could let the El Paso folks know he’d likely be later than four.

He glanced at his watch. High noon. With any luck—and he’d be a fool to count on that—he could be up and running by two, and if he put the pedal to the metal, he might still make El Paso by five, with just enough time to close the deal and keep Wayne off his back.

Wishful thinking, but what else did he have going for him at the moment?

Grabbing the water bottle from the car, Cage tucked the folded map in his back pocket and struck out on foot. The desert was like an oven this time of day, and his shirt and hair were soon soaked with sweat.

He could feel the hot pavement burning through his boots, and the sight of a rattler sunning itself on the side of the road didn’t exactly improve his mood, nor did the circling buzzards overhead. He ignored the vultures and gave the snoozing snake a wide berth as he kept on walking.

By the time he arrived in San Miguel, a grimy little settlement of crumbling brick buildings and faded adobe houses, the blistering heat had sapped his energy and his bum knee felt as if someone had punched red-hot needles through the muscles.

As he hobbled down the baking sidewalk, Cage took note of the businesses—a pawn shop, a pool hall, a boarded-up gas station, two churches and up ahead, a post office, judging by the flags waving overhead. But no garage.

The main thoroughfare through town was paved, but dust swirled up like a cyclone as a black SUV with tinted windows sped by him. It was a late-model vehicle and expensive. Cage wondered what it was doing way out here in the middle of nowhere. But then, whoever was behind those tinted windows could be thinking the same thing about him.

An old red pickup truck pulled to the curb in front of the post office, and an attractive blonde in tight jeans and a pink T-shirt hopped out of the cab. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, highlighting her smooth, tanned complexion and the shimmering lip gloss that was the exact shade of her shirt.

She was young, but not so young that her lingering glance made Cage uneasy. She was probably in her early to midtwenties. Fair game if he’d been in the mood.

“Excuse me,” he said as he limped toward her.

“Well, hello.” She planted a hand on her blue-jeaned hip as she gave him an interested perusal. “Where did you come from, mister? We don’t get many strangers around here.”

“Just walked in from the desert,” Cage said, and tried to muster up a halfway friendly smile.

“I can believe that. No offense, hon, but you look like five miles of bad road. Better move into the shade before you keel over from heatstroke.”

He stepped under the awning that hung over the post office entrance. “I’ll be fine as soon as I find a phone,” he said. “Or a garage. Or preferably both.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” she said as she lifted her arms to straighten her ponytail. The action tightened the thin cotton of her shirt across her breasts, which Cage was pretty sure she was well aware of. “Most any business along Main Street will let you use their phone and we happen to have a pretty good mechanic in town. And if you flash those dimples again…” She gave him a wink. “Somebody might even rustle you up a drink. You look like you could use one.”

“I wouldn’t say no to a cold beer.”

“I just bet you wouldn’t.” She gave him a knowing smile. “Well, then, you just head on up to Lester’s garage. You can’t miss it. It’ll be on your left, just past the beauty shop. Once you’re done there, have him point you in the direction of Del Fuego’s. Coldest beer in town.”

“Thanks.”

“You bet.”

She hesitated for a moment, as if waiting for another response. When Cage merely nodded, she shrugged. “See you around, stranger.” Then she headed into the post office without a backward glance.

Five minutes later, Cage stood in front of a dilapidated building with a dirt parking lot and a faded sign out front with moveable letters that had once spelled GARAGE. Now it read G RAGE.

It had occurred to Cage about two seconds after the blonde disappeared into the post office that she’d been angling for an invitation to join him for a drink. In another time, another place, he might have made the effort to set something up with her, but right now he had more pressing matters on his mind than taking a beautiful woman to bed.

Which just went to show how pathetically desperate he really was.

The smell of rubber and motor oil permeated the air as he walked up to the open bay and rang the bell mounted on the side of the wall.

After a few moments, a young man in greasy coveralls appeared in the doorway. “Help you?”

As Cage briefly explained the situation, the mechanic took off his cap and mopped the back of his neck with the same filthy rag he’d used to wipe his hands.

“Sounds like a busted radiator hose all right,” he said when Cage was finished.

Cage glanced at the car inside the garage. “I can probably fix it myself if you’re all tied up. All I need is a new hose.”

“I won’t have anything in stock that’ll fit that make and model. You’ll have to get it from the parts store.”

“Okay. Where’s that?”

“Nearest one is in Redford. That’s twenty miles east of here. I’m heading over there first thing in the morning for some brake pads. I can pick up a hose for you then if you want me to.”

“That won’t do me much good,” Cage said. “I need to be in El Paso no later than five o’clock today.”

Lester shook his head. “Sorry, mister, but you won’t be going anywhere with that busted radiator hose.”

He was right about that.

Mentally, Cage tallied up the cash he had on hand. “How much will it take to persuade you to make that trip to Redford today instead of in the morning?”

Lester seemed to consider the proposition for a moment, then shook his head. “I’d like to help you out, but I’m right in the middle of a transmission overhaul.”

“Fifty dollars,” Cage said. “That’ll pay your gas and then some for a trip you’re going to have to make anyway.”

“Like I said, I’d like to help you out and all, but I just don’t see how—”

“A hundred bucks.” That would take a big bite out of his wallet, but Cage didn’t see any other way around it. Besides, he had a company credit card he could always fall back on.

“All right. You got yourself a deal.” Lester tossed the rag into a rusted-out barrel and waited patiently while Cage counted out the money.

“Fifty now, fifty when you get back,” he said. “That okay with you?”

“Fair enough, I guess.” Lester stuffed the money in the back pocket of his coveralls. “Where can I find you when I get back?”

“You know of a place called Del Fuego’s?”

“Just down the street a ways. Not much to look at, but the beer’s always cold.”

“That’s what I hear,” Cage said.

BUT DEL FUEGO’S WENT well beyond not much to look at.

Hole in the wall was Cage’s first impression. The squat building with a flat roof and sagging wooden door reminded him of the places in Saigon his old man used to talk about.

Walk in for a drink, lucky you didn’t leave with your damn throat slit.

For all Cage knew, that story was just a load of crap like all the rest of the lies the old man used to spew. He probably hadn’t even left stateside during the Vietnam era.

Cage might have wondered if his father had actually been in the service, but he’d seen pictures of him in uniform. A handsome, smiling guy with sparkling white teeth and a full head of hair.

The man in those photographs bore little resemblance to the washed-up drunk who’d deserted his family when Cage was barely thirteen.

After a while, his mother had put away all those old pictures, but Cage had once heard her tell her sister that she still sometimes dreamed about his father, the way he’d been before Vietnam had turned him into a stranger. She still secretly hoped that man would someday come back to her.

His mother’s confession had stunned Cage. It was hard for him to reconcile the romantic dreamer pining for her first love with the downtrodden cynic Darleen had become. But then, there were things about his own life that Cage couldn’t reconcile.

A fly buzzed around his face as he stepped through the door and stood for a moment glancing around. A bar to his left ran the length of the place, but the five or six patrons were all seated around a table in the back. The light was so dim, Cage could barely make out their features, but he knew he had their attention. He heard a mutter in Spanish, followed by a mocking guffaw.

Ignoring the stares, he slid onto a stool and placed his phone on the bar.

After a moment, the bartender threw a towel over his shoulder and sidled over to Cage. “What can I get for you?”

“Cerveza,” Cage said. “Whatever you’ve got that’s cold.”

“A man with discerning tastes, I see.” The bartender reached for a chilled mug.

“Discerning, no,” Cage said. “Parched, yes.”

The bartender gave him a curious glance. “Haven’t seen you in here before.”

“Never been in before, but you come highly recommended.” Cage picked up the beer and took a thirsty swallow. “Damn, that’s good.”

“You sound surprised.”

“No, just appreciative.”

“Well, it’s always nice to be appreciated. I’m Frank Grimes, by the way.”

“Cage Nichols.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Cage.”

They shook hands.

“Likewise.”

Frank Grimes was a tall, slender man of about fifty with longish gray hair and dancing blue eyes. His faded jeans and madras shirt looked straight out of the sixties, as did the silver peace sign he wore on a black cord around his neck.

He had the look of an artist, Cage decided. The kind that spent his spare time painting coyotes silhouetted against sunsets.

“So, what brings you to our fair town?” Frank folded his arms and leaned against the bar.

“Car trouble,” Cage said.

Frank nodded. “A story with which I’m intimately familiar. I was on my way to Juarez when my fuel pump went out just south of town. I had to wait overnight for a part that never came in, and I’ve been here ever since. That was three years ago.”

Cage grimaced. “Well, I hope to have a little better luck than you. I need to be in El Paso by five.”

Frank’s brows rose. “Five o’clock today?”

“Yeah.”

“Life or death?”

“More or less.”

“That stinks for you, then.”

“Tell me about it. I’m still holding out some hope I’ll be able to make it on time,” Cage said as he took another drink of his beer. “The mechanic at the garage is on his way to Redford now to pick up a part for me.”

“You mean Lester?”

“Yeah, that’s him.”

Frank’s eyes twinkled. “How much did you have to pay him?”

“What makes you think I paid him?”

“Because Lester never does anything out of the kindness of his heart. So, how much?”

“Fifty up front and fifty when he returns with the part.”

Frank whistled. “That was a big mistake, Cage. You never give Lester anything up front. He gets a little coin in his pocket, you’ll be lucky if you see him by the end of the week.”

“Damn.”

“Damn is right. Might as well have another beer while you wait. I doubt you’ll be doing any driving today.”

“I don’t suppose there’s a rental car place in town?” When Frank shook his head, Cage said, “What about a bus?”

“Last westbound Greyhound left two hours ago.”

Cage flipped open his cell phone. “What’s up with the signal around here?”

“We’re in a dead zone,” Frank said.

“How the hell can you be in a dead zone? You’re out in the middle of nowhere. The signal should be able to travel for miles.”

“I’ve been told it has something to do with electromagnetic currents in the air.”

“Personally, I think it’s the aliens,” a female voice said behind Cage.

He turned to see the blond woman he’d met earlier in front of the post office. For a moment, he flattered himself into thinking she’d come in especially to see him, but then she went around the bar and kissed Frank on the cheek before grabbing an apron from a nearby hook. As she tied it around her slender waist, she gave Cage another one of those knowing smiles.

“See? I told you this place had the coldest beer in town.”

“Never mind that we’re the only place in town,” Frank said.

“All the more impressive that we maintain our rigid standards.”

Cage hadn’t noticed before the way her lips turned up slightly at the corners, or the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled. She really was a very pretty woman.

“So, E.T. or undocumented workers?” he asked, deciding a little flirtation wouldn’t do any harm. As long as he was stuck here, he might as well make the wait pleasant.

“Excuse me?”

“You said aliens were responsible for the cell phone blackout around here,” he reminded her.

Frank laughed. “That would be E.T.,” he said. “Sadie here drives out to the desert every night with a lawn chair and a six-pack hoping for her very own close encounter.”

“Ha-ha, very funny,” she said as she took a rag and started wiping down the already spotless bar. “I happen to like watching the desert sky. It’s beautiful, and you’d be amazed at some of the things you can see out there.”

An argument erupted behind them, and Sadie’s smile faded as her gaze shot to the table in the corner. But when Cage started to turn, she put her hand on his arm and said softly, “Nah-uh, hon. Best to mind your own business around here.”

“I find it best to do that most everywhere,” Cage said.

She nodded. “Smart man.”

Someone from the table called out her name. She and Frank exchanged a quick look before she rounded the bar and hurried over to the table.

Cage watched in the mirror as a tall, dark man with a ponytail down his back rose from the table and took Sadie’s arm. She flung off his hand and said something in Spanish, her tone furious. A chortle rose from the group, and she shot a murderous look at the whole table.

“Perros mugrientos,” she muttered as she came back over to the bar.

“Everything okay?” Cage asked.

She shrugged.

“Boyfriend trouble?”

“Husband,” she said with an apologetic smile.

Cage’s gaze dropped to her left hand.

“I don’t wear a ring,” she said. “It drives Sergio crazy.”

“From now on, take the family squabbles outside,” Frank said. “I don’t want any trouble in here.”

“You were asking for trouble the minute you agreed to let them meet here,” she warned angrily.

“Why don’t you just take the rest of the day off?” Frank said. “I can handle things here.”

Sadie glared at him. “No way. I’ll tell you the same thing I just told Sergio. I’m not leaving until I’m damn good and ready. Or until you fire me.”

“You know I’m not going to fire you,” Frank said wearily.

“Then let me stay and do my job. You won’t have any more trouble. Not from Sergio. I’ll make sure of that.” She turned to Cage with a weak smile. “Sorry about the floor show.”

He shrugged. “We’ve all got problems.”

“Another beer?”

“I need to find a phone first.”

“There’s a pay phone in the back.” She waved a hand in the general vicinity. “Need some quarters?”

“I’ve got a credit card, but thanks.”

She picked up his cell phone and slipped it into the pocket of her apron. When he lifted a questioning brow, she grinned. “Insurance, so you don’t get the bright idea of skipping out on your bill.”

“She’s only half joking,” Frank said.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back. But you do realize that thing is pretty much worthless around here.”

Cage knew he was the focus of attention from the men at the table, and he sized them up as best he could from the corner of his eye as he headed toward the back. Three young Hispanics and two middle-aged Caucasians. All thugs, by the looks of them, but Cage wasn’t about to involve himself in whatever shady dealings they were plotting. All he wanted to do was get his car running and make tracks for El Paso, the sooner the better.

He located the phone and punched in a series of numbers, including his credit card number. The dark-haired man—Sergio—brushed past him on his way to the restroom. Cage caught a glimpse of a nasty-looking scar that curved around the man’s throat before he disappeared through the door.

Cage had seen a scar like that only one other time—on an ex-con who’d had his throat slashed in a prison brawl.

He stared after the man for a moment, then turned back anxiously to the phone when his party answered on the other end.

“It’s Cage.”

“¿Qué pasa, tío?” Andy Sikes drawled jovially. “You already in town?”

“No, that’s why I’m calling. I’ve run into a little trouble on the road.”

“What kind of trouble?” Andy asked suspiciously. The two men went back a long way, far enough that Andy was a little too familiar with Cage’s track record.

“My car broke down. I’m about a hundred and eighty miles from El Paso in a little Podunk place called San Miguel. Doesn’t look good about making that four o’clock meeting.”

“Damn it, Cage—”

“I know, I know, you went out on a limb to set it up for me—”

“Jumped through hoops is more like it. It’s not just your ass on the line here. If you don’t make that meeting, my boss is going to be muy ticked off, and that’s putting it mildly.”

“I hear you. But there’s nothing I can do but wait for a part. If I can get on the road within the next hour, I may still be able to make it. It’d help, though, if you’d run a little interference for me.”

“Stall, you mean.”

“Just for an hour or so.”

Andy’s exasperated sigh came through loud and clear. “I’ll do what I can, but you get your ugly hide to El Paso if you have to sprout wings out your butt and fly here.”

“I will. And I owe you one, okay?”

“No, you don’t. Let’s just call it even. After all, if I hadn’t thrown that illegal block sixteen years ago, you might be playing for the Cowboys instead of hustling drill bits for that pendejo you call a brother-in-law.”

“Water under the bridge. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Cage hung up and looked around. He hadn’t seen Sergio come out of the bathroom, but he tried the door anyway. It was unlocked and he went in to wash up.

As he stared as his own reflection—the gaunt face, the receding hairline, the tiny grooves that had begun to fan out at the corners of his eyes—he thought again of his father. Maybe he was starting to understand a little of the old man’s desperation.

Not much liking what he saw in the mirror, Cage turned on the faucet, and after washing his hands, splashed cold water on his face.

As he was drying off, he noticed that the window was open, and it occurred to him that the reason he hadn’t seen Sergio come out of the bathroom was because he’d gone through the window. Evidently, he was giving someone the slip—

A woman’s scream brought Cage’s head around with a jerk. In two strides he was across the room and flung back the door a split second before another sound registered…the steady spit-spit-spit of silenced weapons.

In the space of a heartbeat, Cage took in the bloody massacre as he stood there in the doorway. Two of the men at the table were slumped over in their chairs and a third had fallen to the floor. The fourth had tried to crawl toward the door and now lay twitching in a deepening pool of red.

Cage saw a bloody hand protruding from the end of the bar, and he recognized Sadie’s pink nail polish. She was clutching his cell phone. Two crimson splatters on the wall behind the bar marked the spot where she and Frank had been caught by the bullets.

The gunmen were still inside the bar. They were young white guys, unmasked, dressed in jeans and T-shirts. As one of them pumped another round into the man on the floor, the shooter nearest the bar looked up and caught Cage’s eye in the mirror. His reflexes seemed almost supernatural as he spun and fired in one fluid movement.

Cage jumped back into the bathroom and slammed the door.

During the hospital stay after his shooting, he’d often wondered what would happen if he found himself again on the wrong end of a loaded weapon. Would he freeze up? Beg for mercy? Roll over and play dead?

Now he had his answer. Instinct and training wouldn’t allow for any of those things.

Cage did the only thing he could do. He dove through the window and ran like hell.

Chapter Three

Keeping to the alleys and using the buildings for cover, Cage made his way back around to Main Street.

He had in mind to locate the sheriff’s office, constable, or whatever manner of law enforcement was to be found in a place that size. Even a town as tiny as San Miguel would have some kind of peace officer, who in turn would be able to summon the state police or highway patrol to provide backup. Without a weapon, Cage was pretty much useless.

Still, he hadn’t given up on the notion of finding a way back inside the bar. He couldn’t desert Sadie and Frank without knowing for certain they were dead, and he also didn’t like the idea of leaving his cell phone. It would be too easy for the bad guys to trace it back to him. Right now, anonymity was on his side. The gunmen couldn’t possibly know who he was.

Cage eased around the corner of a building. One of the shooters stood just outside the bar while the other was still presumably looking for him. Cage ducked back and flattened himself against the wall.

After a moment, he glanced around the corner again. A squad car raced up the street and slid to a halt at the curb. A man in a khaki uniform and aviator glasses got out and propped his arm on the open door. After he and the gunman conversed, the cop strolled leisurely over to the bar and glanced inside.

So much for getting help from the state police, Cage thought grimly.

As he continued to watch, the second gunman came jogging out of a nearby alley. While the three conferred, another vehicle pulled up behind the squad car.

Cage recognized the expensive SUV. It was the same one he’d seen earlier, passing through town.

Two men in dark suits and sunglasses got out. Cage was pretty sure they were cops, too, but a little higher up on the food chain.

One of the gunmen stepped forward and pointed to the bar, then gestured toward the alley from which he’d emerged a few moments earlier, undoubtedly trying to explain how he’d let a witness to the shooting get away from him.

The men in dark suits listened without comment, then the taller of the two reached up and removed his sunglasses. Turning, his eyes traveled slowly over the buildings across the street, as if some instinct drew his gaze straight to Cage.

Cage jerked back, but not before he’d gotten a good look at the man’s face. He’d never seen a crueler expression or a colder pair of eyes, and that was saying something considering the lowlifes he’d encountered.

It was only a matter of time before they found out who he was. Only a matter of minutes if they already had his cell phone. Or found his car.

As the five men fanned out, Cage decided it was time to get the hell out of Dodge.

Slipping behind the buildings along Main Street to the garage, he grabbed a couple of water bottles from Lester’s cooler and headed out of town the same way he’d come in.

“GRACE! SHERIFF STEELE, I mean. Are you okay?”

“I think so.” Grace was sitting on the bottom stair massaging her right ankle when the front door burst open, and Ethan Brennan rushed in. Ethan worked in the county clerk’s office and was a friend of Lily’s. Platonic friend, she insisted, but it had taken Grace about two seconds in Ethan’s company to figure out he had it bad for her sister.

He was just shy of thirty and cute in that intense, techno-geek kind of way. Shoving his dark glasses up his nose, he hurried over to Grace. “What happened?”

“Good question,” Grace muttered as she turned and glanced up the stairs. Had someone really pushed her from behind, or had it all happened so fast that she’d only imagined the hand on her back, the face at the top of the stairs?

Luckily, the suitcases that had tumbled down with her had somewhat cushioned her fall. Grace gingerly rotated her ankle. It wasn’t broken, thank goodness, but she was already starting to feel the bumps and bruises where she’d been banged around on the stairs.

She looked up into Ethan’s anxious face and mustered up a shaky smile. “What are you doing out here anyway?”

He held up a large envelope. “Lily asked me to come by and drop off some papers. When I didn’t see her car, I thought she might be down at the barn, so I checked there first. Then I came back up here and I found the front door ajar. I got a little nervous—” His cheeks reddened. “I probably shouldn’t have just barged in like that.”

“It’s okay.”

“I didn’t know what to think when no one answered my knock—”

“Ethan, it’s fine. I’m sure you were worried about Lily.”

His blush deepened as his gaze slid away from Grace. He glanced around at all the suitcases strewn about the foyer. “What did happen here?”

“I fell down the stairs.”

“You—” His gaze lifted to the staircase behind her and widened. “All the way down? You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck!”

“No kidding.”

“How did you manage to do that?”

“Not break my neck?”

“Fall,” he said seriously.

Grace paused. Did she really want to get into her suspicions with Ethan? With anyone, for that matter. Best just to keep her mouth shut until she had a chance to look around. “I’m not sure how it happened. Maybe I hooked my heel on the rug or something. I had my arms full and couldn’t see where I was going.”

His gaze went back to the suitcases. “So…you’re leaving?”

“I’m just moving into town. Maybe you could give me a hand with all this stuff.”

“Be glad to. Just let me put this somewhere first.” He placed the envelope on a table near the stairs, then turned back to Grace. “It’s for Lily,” he said.

“So you said.”

He gave her a sheepish grin that Grace found adorable. How could Lily not just eat him up with a spoon?

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He offered her a hand as she got to her feet.

“Just a few bruises. See?” She put weight on her ankle. “No permanent harm done.”

“Thank goodness. First Sheriff Dickerson and now you. People might start to think there’s a curse on this town.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Grace’s attention was caught by a passing shadow out one of the side windows. A few minutes later, she heard footsteps on the porch, and then Lily appeared in the doorway.

Her dark hair, which she wore in a braid down her back, was slightly askew and she appeared out of breath. She had on jeans and a cotton shirt, which had become the unofficial uniform of the deputies in Criminal Investigations except on days when they had to appear in court.

The lax dress code had bothered Grace at first, but after a few days of coping with the heat and the rugged West Texas terrain, she’d eased up on her expectations.

Since Grace hadn’t heard a vehicle drive up, she had to assume that Lily had been there all along. While Grace had been talking with Ethan, her sister would have had plenty of time to go down the rear staircase and out the back door, then make her way around to the front of the house.

Grace tried to check the direction of her thoughts. Did she really think her own sister had pushed her down the stairs?

“What’s going on?” Lily asked as she stepped through the door.

“Your sister just fell down the stairs,” Ethan blurted.

“Really? All the way down?” Her eyes collided with Grace’s. Lily didn’t seem overly concerned, or even surprised, to hear about the incident. In fact, Grace’s stomach churned at the passive expression on her sister’s face.

“I told her she’s lucky she didn’t break her neck,” Ethan said.

“Well, you always did have all the luck in the family.” Lily’s cool gaze swept back to Grace. “What was it Mama used to say? The more things change, the more they stay the same?”

“But—” Ethan shifted uncomfortably.

“What?” Lily snapped.

“You don’t—”

She put a hand on her hip. “I don’t what?”

“Grace could have been seriously hurt,” Ethan said.

“But she wasn’t. Were you, Grace?”

“I’m fine.”

“Of course you are. No one knows better than you how to take care of Number One. Am I right?”

“If you say so.” Grace wasn’t about to rise to Lily’s bait. She had no intention of airing their dirty laundry in front of Ethan Brennan or anyone else. It was bad enough that Lily could barely remain civil at work.

Her sister spotted the envelope Ethan had put on the table and pounced on it. “Is that for me?”

“It’s all in there,” Ethan said. “Everything you requested—”

“Thanks.” She glanced inside the envelope, then placed it back on the table. As she turned, she made a point of toeing one of Grace’s suitcases out of her way. “So you’re splitting, huh?”

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Lily’s gaze lifted, and the coldness in those gray depths sent a shiver down Grace’s spine. “You have no idea what I want. You never did.”

Suddenly, an image of that face at the top of the stairs came back to Grace. She couldn’t say with any certainty that it had been Lily up there peering down at her, and she wanted desperately to believe that it had not been. But dread tightened like a fist around Grace’s heart. What if it had been Lily?

What if her own sister…had just tried to kill her?

THE DESERT WAS NOT an ideal place to hide, Cage soon discovered as he made his way back to his car.

Putting the manual transmission in neutral, he pushed the vehicle as far out into the barren landscape as he could manage. He hated like hell to abandon it. That car was about the only thing he owned free and clear these days. But in his current fix, there wasn’t much else he could do.

Getting out his map, he decided the best way to evade his hunters was to stay off all roads that led into or out of San Miguel. There was another highway about ten or fifteen miles due west across the desert where he might be able to find a phone or hitch a ride.

He glanced up at the blazing sun. He’d be crossing in the heat of the day, but he had two water bottles and he damn sure had the will to live.

Down on his luck was a helluva lot better than dead, Cage decided as he buried the license plates from his car and the contents of his glove box in the sand.

Chapter Four

Ethan helped Grace carry her bags to the truck while Lily watched from the front porch. When Grace went back in to get the last of her things, Lily followed her inside.

She picked up the envelope and tapped it against her palm. “You may as well know,” she said. “I’m putting the ranch on the market.”

Grace looked up in surprise. “When did you decide to do that?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. I’ve already talked to Rachel. She says to do whatever I want. She’ll sign the papers.”

Grace tried to shrug off the stab of betrayal she felt over Rachel’s silence. She wasn’t surprised to be the last person Lily would talk to about this, but why hadn’t Rachel called her? “When were the two of you going to tell me about it?”

Lily’s eyes glinted with a touch of defiance. “I’m telling you now.”

“Do you have a buyer?”

“I’ve had some interest. No firm offers yet.”

“Where will you go?”

Lily shrugged. “I don’t know. Find a place in town, I guess. Or maybe it’s time that I move on altogether.”

“Leave Jericho Pass, you mean?”

She tossed her braid over her shoulder. “Why not? You and Rachel couldn’t wait to get out of this place. Now that Grandma Stella’s dead, there’s nothing keeping me here, either.” Especially now that you’re back, her eyes seemed to taunt.

A sound from the front porch brought both women around in surprise. Grace had forgotten all about Ethan, but there he stood watching them.

He cleared his throat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I just came back to see if I could give you a hand with anything else.”

Grace supposed the offer had been posed to her, but Ethan couldn’t take his eyes off Lily. He looked crestfallen, and Grace thought she knew why. Given his position at the county clerk’s office, he probably knew or at least suspected that Lily had plans to sell the ranch, but Grace was almost certain that until that very moment, he’d never contemplated the possibility of her sister actually leaving town.

When he realized that Grace was studying him, he quickly glanced away.

Lily, of course, noticed none of this. Where Ethan Brennan was concerned, she seemed completely oblivious.

“I think that’s the last of it,” Grace told him. “Thanks for the help.”

“Any time.” His gaze crept back to her sister. “See you around, Lily.”

She seemed to catch herself then and said, “Yeah, thanks for everything, Ethan.”

“Glad to help out.” He hesitated, obviously hoping for another bone, then turned with a defeated little shrug and left.

Grace waited until she heard the screen door close before she faced Lily. “You could have left Jericho Pass anytime you wanted. Why now? Is it because I’m back?”

Anger flared in Lily’s eyes. “Newsflash, Grace. Not everything is about you. If I decide to leave town, it’ll be because it’s what I want.”

Grace stared at her in exasperation. “Why the attitude, Lily? What did I ever do to you?”

Her sister folded her arms. “Like you don’t know.”

“It can’t be just about the job,” Grace said helplessly. “You’ve been like this for years. Why don’t you just tell me so we can try to work it out? We’re sisters. It shouldn’t be like this between us.”

Lily smiled. “Well, see, that’s the beauty of it, Grace. You don’t get to control how I feel about you.”

She turned and bounded up the stairs, then paused on the landing to stare back down at Grace. “Ethan was right, you know. You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck.”

THE SUN WAS ALREADY going down when Cage finally spotted the highway up ahead. He’d been walking due west since he set out, and early on, the light had been blinding. Now, as the sun sank below the horizon, the sky turned blood red, then deepened to a gilded violet.

As he gazed upward, Cage thought of Sadie and the way Frank had teased her about hoping for a close encounter. You’d be amazed at what you can see out there, she’d said. Cage couldn’t help wondering now if she’d witnessed more than just a starry sky on her nightly excursions to the desert. Was there a reason she’d been shot, other than being at the wrong place at the wrong time?

Cage had a bad feeling the massacre at Del Fuego’s was only the tip of the iceberg. Corruption and drug trafficking were nothing new along the border, but he didn’t think what he’d stumbled into was some penny-ante deal gone south.

In spite of their youth, the shooters were highly trained professionals. And the men in suits looked to be upper crust law enforcement. State level, at least. Maybe even FBI or DEA, which left Cage with few options. If he called the state police, they’d likely haul his ass in for questioning, and until he managed to convince someone to believe him, he’d be a sitting duck in custody. Eventually, the truth might come out, but with cops involved, he could be dead by then.

So, at the moment, he had only one clear course of action. Put as much distance as he could between himself and San Miguel.

About a hundred yards up the road, Cage spotted a car pulled to the shoulder. He hesitated, wondering if he should approach or head off in the opposite direction.

Hunkering down at the edge of the desert, he waited several minutes, but he didn’t see any movement. He might have thought the car had stalled and the driver had taken off on foot like he’d had to do earlier, but the top was down and he could hear the radio.

The twang of an electric guitar seemed a good enough omen to Cage, and he decided to move in a little closer, see if he could detect any sign of life.

The car was an old black Cadillac Eldorado, beautifully restored, with high tailfins and a low slung profile that looked about a mile long. Cage took a moment to appreciate the classic lines before he inched in, keeping an eye on the road behind him and the desert on either side of him.

Easing up to the driver’s side, he glanced in. The key was in the ignition. Whoever the car belonged to couldn’t have gone far—

“Hold it right there, mister.”

Cage straightened. A man stood on the other side of the car pointing a gun at him.

“Back away from the vehicle,” the man said gruffly. “Easy does it, slick.”

Cage lifted his hands and took a step back from the car.

The man kept a bead drawn on Cage as he slowly rounded the rear of the Caddy.

“You weren’t thinking about trying to steal my car, were you, boy?”

“No, sir,” Cage said. “I was hoping I might hitch a ride.”

“That a fact.”

They took a moment to size each other up in the gloom.

Then the driver nodded toward the desert. “What the hell you doing way off out here in the middle of nowhere on foot?”

“My car broke down a ways back,” Cage said. “Cell phone wouldn’t work so I had no choice but to hoof it.”

“I just came from thata way myself,” the man said. “I didn’t see no broken-down car. Didn’t see much of nuthin’ but a prairie-dog town.”

“I pushed the car off the road so it wouldn’t get stripped before I could make it back with a part.”

“That’s city-boy thinking. You ain’t from around here, are you?”

“Just passing through,” Cage said. “Never been out west before. Thought I’d like to see it before I die.”

“You don’t expect that to be imminent, do you?”

“Hope not.”

The man seemed to consider Cage’s explanation. He looked to be in his early to midforties, but he had the kind of round, boyish face that made age hard to determine, especially in the dusky light.

He was average height, with broad shoulders and a wide chest that seemed to strain the pearl snaps of his western shirt, and a gut that was just starting to protrude over his silver belt buckle.

As he eyed Cage suspiciously, he shifted the gun to his left hand and used his right wrist to wipe away what Cage thought at first was sweat from his brow. Then he saw that it was blood.

“Hey, mister, you okay?”

“I’ve been better.” When he edged around the car to open the front door, Cage got a better look at him. He was flushed and his breathing sounded strained. “Just need to sit down for a minute,” he said and waved his gun toward Cage. “Better not get any bright ideas, though. I can pick a fly off that cactus over yonder even with a pea shooter like this.”

“Gotcha.” Cage backed up another step. “That’s a pretty nasty-looking cut. You may need some stitches in that thing.”

“I’ll get it cleaned up soon as I hit the next town.”

“How far is that?”

“Thirty, forty miles.” His breathing was becoming more labored by the minute. Cage thought he looked on the verge of passing out.

“What happened to you, anyway?”

“Been on the road for hours. Started feeling poorly so I pulled over and got out to walk around for a spell.” He took another swipe at the blood trickling down his face. “Damned if I didn’t pass clean out. Never done that before in my life. Must have hit my head on the bumper when I went down. Didn’t feel a damn thing.”

“Look, it’s none of my business,” Cage said. “But you really need to get to a hospital. You don’t look so hot.”

“Don’t feel so hot. But I can still put a lead cap in your ass, you try anything.”

“Tell you what,” Cage said. “I need a ride and you need a driver. What do you say we help each other out?”

“Do I look like the kind of ignoramus that goes around picking up strangers? Why, hellfire, boy, for all I know, you could be one of them serial killers I read so much about. I pass out again, you’re apt to slit my throat and steal my car.”

“Mister, if I wanted to steal your car, I’d already be ten miles down the road by now.”

He drew another bead. “You sure about that, son?”

Cage grinned. “Pretty sure, yeah.”

“Big talker,” the man said, and then he laughed. “But damned if I don’t believe you.”

“WHAT’S YOUR NAME, SON?” the stranger asked over the roar of the wind as the convertible glided like a sailboat down the highway.

Cage hesitated as he pretended to fiddle with the rearview mirror. “Frank. Frank Grimes.”

“Pleased to meet you, Frank. I’m Dale Walsh.”

“Where you headed, Dale?”

“Up the road a ways.”

“Where you coming from?”

“Galveston.”

Cage shot him a glance. “You’re a long way from home. What brings you out west?”

“On my way to see a man about a job.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m headed to a place called Jericho Pass. Ever hear of it?” He laid his head back against the red leather seat and closed his eyes.

“Can’t say as I have.” Cage’s gaze dropped to the gun that rested on the top of Dale Walsh’s thigh. “What do you do?”

“I guess you could say I’m a people person.”

“People person?” Cage said. “You mean like, sales or something?”

“Or something. Business ain’t been so great lately. Damn recession’s killing me.”

“I hear that,” Cage muttered. “So, what do you sell?”

When Dale didn’t respond, he glanced over at him. “Hey, Dale? You okay over there?”

Dale’s head lolled back against the seat. “I don’t feel so good.”

“So you said. You need me to pull over?”

“No, just keep driving, boy. I think you better get me to a doctor real quick. Something’s not right.”

“Hang in there,” Cage said. “And try to stay awake, okay? That head injury worries me.”

“I just need to rest my eyes a spell.”

“Here. How about I turn back on some music? Maybe you could try singing along or something.”

He turned up the volume, but Dale was already looking pretty out of it and Cage was starting to worry that he might be more seriously hurt than either of them had first thought. Head injuries could be deceptive. Cage had seen a guy walk away from a car crash once, perfectly lucid with only a few scratches and bruises, only to die a few hours later from brain swelling.

Hitching a ride with a guy on death’s door was not exactly the way he’d planned to make his getaway, but there was nothing he could do now but get the poor bastard to a doctor.

As they neared the next town, Cage stopped at the first gas station they came to and asked about a hospital. By the time he drove up to the E.R. entrance, Dale was unconscious. When Cage couldn’t rouse him, he flagged down a couple of orderlies to help him.

They loaded Dale onto a stretcher and whisked him into the hospital. The woman behind the desk gave Cage some paperwork to fill out.

“But I don’t even know the guy,” Cage said as he looked down at the form.

“Just do the best you can,” she said wearily. “When you’re finished, bring it back up here to me.”

Cage sat down in the noisy emergency room and looked over the questionnaire. A news broadcast on the television caught his attention, and when he looked up, he saw a map on the screen with San Miguel circled in red.

He laid aside the clipboard and went over to the television so that he could hear over the E.R. chatter.

The bodies of six gunshot victims including one female had been found in a bar in the small border town of San Miguel in Presidio County. A man who was seen entering the establishment was wanted for questioning in the shooting, which authorities believed was drug related. The suspect was described as being a white male, midthirties, six feet tall, lean, and walked with a noticeable limp.

Cage stared at the news anchor in shock. She’d just described him. He was the suspect.

And it was a damn clever ploy, too. By going public with his description, the bad guys would have every local lawman and highway patrol officer in the area on the alert for a man fitting his description. Cage had just become the target of every hotshot cop in West Texas looking to make a name for himself.

“Sir?”

Cage spun, startled. The man who had come up behind him was a doctor, not a cop, thank goodness.

He gave Cage a curious look. “Are you the man who brought in the heart-attack victim?”

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