Uncovering the past

May be the only way to survive

After security specialist Chloe Spencer witnesses a murder on her webcam, the killer faces the camera with a threat: return his disc, or she’s next. Unsure what he’s after, Chloe uses an alias and runs…until she lands in Sheriff Ethan Hoyt’s jurisdiction. When the killer finds her, Chloe must stand alone or trust Ethan—with the secrets of her past, her life…and her heart.

LIZ SHOAF resides in North Carolina on a beautiful fifty-acre farm. She loves writing and adores dog training, and her husband is very tolerant about the amount of time she invests in both her avid interests. Liz also enjoys spending time with family, jogging and singing in the choir at church whenever possible. To find out more about Liz, you can visit and contact her through her website, www.lizshoaf.com, or email her at phelpsliz1@gmail.com

Also by Liz Shoaf

Love Inspired Suspense

Betrayed Birthright

Identity: Classified

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Identity: Classified

Liz Shoaf

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09634-8

IDENTITY: CLASSIFIED

© 2019 Liz Phelps

Published in Great Britain 2019

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

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

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

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Version: 2020-03-02

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The woman was trouble.

He glanced at her in the passenger seat. But she also intrigued him. Not that he’d do anything about it. Chloe had too many secrets, including her identity.

Ethan hit a deep rut in the mountain road and she groaned. “I guess a city girl like you isn’t used to roughing it,” he said.

She snorted. “You’d be surprised at some of the places I’ve been to.”

He jumped on that clue. “Tell me.”

The blood drained from her face.

The cabin came into view and he tabled his interrogation. Right now he needed to get some answers from its owner. “Stay in the car while I go in.” He opened the car door and a bullet whizzed over the top of his head. “Get down!”

“This is starting to tick me off.”

Ethan couldn’t believe it. Someone was shooting at them and she wasn’t afraid? “What kind of life have you really led?”

Chloe didn’t answer.

Didn’t matter. Either way, that life was now his to protect.

Dear Reader,

I love strong, independent women with unique personalities, and rugged, protective men who don’t know quite what to think of the women who land on their doorsteps. Throw in a good dose of suspense and danger, an attack-trained poodle, a precocious six-year-old child, and I’m a happy writer. Let me know if you enjoyed reading about Chloe and Ethan’s adventures as much as I enjoyed writing them. You can contact me through my website, www.lizshoaf.com.

Liz Shoaf

And he said unto them, Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature.

—Mark 16:15

To my own hero, Captain James W. Phelps. Over the years we have traveled the long and winding path that God set us upon. There’s been laughter and tears, but no matter what, we always knew God was there every step of the way, ready to catch us if we fell. I have no doubt that you love me, and that’s a very precious commodity.

To my editor, Dina Davis, who never fails to catch my plot problems. :) Thanks for being in my corner! And to her boss, Tina, who has final approval of all books. The art department always does such a fantastic job, so a shout-out to all you guys who work behind the scenes to make every book possible.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Readers

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

Chloe Spencer tossed a piece of popcorn high into the air and deftly caught it in her mouth. A barely audible whimper rose from the vicinity of the floor beside her office chair. She glanced down and grinned. “Want some, do you, Geordie?”

Her fifteen-pound chocolate miniature poodle stared at her with black button eyes, bright with intelligence. He gently took the snack she handed to him.

Her computer chirped. She swiveled her chair around and rubbed her hands together in anticipation. As head of her one-person security company, Spencer Security, her job was to find and eliminate cyber threats and in-house data theft for companies she had contracted with. Sci-Fi Works Corporation was one of her clients, and a board member suspected someone in the company of stealing data and selling it to outside sources. He personally asked her to look into it on the sly.

She hit a few keys to activate her webcam, and there sat CEO Peter Norris, right in front of his computer in his office. She had a perfect shot of him. Geordie snorted and she grunted back.

Chloe quickly triggered the hidden software installed on all computers within the company—approved by the same board member—which allowed her to view and record anything an employee did on their PC. She also turned on her own camera and recorded everything she did—a security measure that protected her against a disgruntled employee accusing her of planting evidence.

“Yeah, yeah, I know he’s way out of my league, but he’s not my type anyway.”

Out of her league? That was putting it mildly. She didn’t live in the same universe as Peter Norris, the head of Sci-Fi Works Corporation. He was wealthy, successful and, from the information she’d gleaned in a routine computer search, a nice and straight-up kind of guy. And her? Well, she lugged around a ton of baggage. Her background wasn’t exactly what anyone would call squeaky clean, which was why she was sitting home on a Friday night instead of out on a date. She’d probably never marry because she would never tell anyone the reason she had spent time in juvenile hall. Her past held secrets and she meant to keep them.

Propping her elbows on her desk, Chloe found herself held spellbound by Peter Norris’s stunning dark blue eyes—even though she wasn’t personally interested—when a knock on his office door reverberated through her computer’s sound system. She sat up straight and stared at the screen, curious to see who had arrived. A colleague? A late date with a beautiful woman? A partner in crime, helping him sell company secrets?

The sound of a door opening and closing reached her, and not long after that, a heated argument ensued between two men. She turned up the volume on her PC and Geordie whimpered. She reached down and gave him a soothing pat, keeping her eyes glued to the computer screen.

“Come on, get in front of the webcam so I can see what’s going on,” she murmured to herself.

Two men were shouting at each other, but she couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. Her throat constricted when she heard a loud thump. Were they having a fistfight? Mr. Norris’s body flew past the screen and disappeared, and she heard him hit the floor with a solid thud. Chloe jumped out of her chair and leaned closer to the screen. She jerked back when a hand rose into view and pointed a wicked-looking gun toward the floor near the desk, the direction Mr. Norris had fallen.

“No! This can’t be happening,” she whispered.

The sound of a soft pop filled the room. She reached for the chair behind her as a few tiny red splatters hit Peter Norris’s computer camera, enlarging themselves on her screen. Easing into a sitting position, Chloe’s blood ran cold when a ski-masked face stared at her through the small droplets of blood.

“Yes, he’s dead, Miss Spencer. You’ve been a hard woman to track down. The long delay has cost me a lot of time and money. I’m not happy about that.” He moved his face closer to the webcam. His gritty voice scraped her nerves with its intensity. “I decided to give you a taste of what’s in store for you if you don’t give me the disc. I would advise you to get it now. My deliveryman should be at your door any second.” He turned away but glanced over his shoulder with menace in his eyes. “I wouldn’t advise contacting the police, or Stan will find himself in the same position as Peter Norris.”

The screen went blank, and through her haze of terror, Chloe vaguely registered that the killer had logged off Peter Norris’s computer.

A loud, piercing bark jolted her out of shock. She tore her gaze away from the now-blank screen and looked down at her dog. “Geordie,” she whispered, “we’re in big trouble and I don’t even know what he’s talking about. I’ll worry about the disc later. Right now, we have to get out of here.”

Her heart was pounding and her mind racing. The killer’s so-called deliveryman could be at her door any second, and she needed time to figure out what he wanted and how he knew so much about her.

“Geordie, grab your stuff.” Her poodle was highly trained and must have sensed her urgency. He skidded out of her office and headed toward the kitchen, where she kept his stuff in a bag.

Chloe left her laptop and smartphone where they were—she could be tracked through the technology—and grabbed several burner phones she stored in her desk. Being a computer geek came in handy. Chloe met Geordie in the foyer and tore open the closet door. Having learned a lot during her forced tenure at the FBI, Chloe had a “go” bag ready for any emergency that might arise. It included a new identity, passport, driver’s license, the works.

She threw on her leather jacket, slipped the strap of the duffel over her shoulder and opened the door to her apartment. She locked it quickly after her dog followed her out. Peering at the elevator in the middle of the hallway, she saw the numbers were moving upward toward her floor. “It’s the stairwell for us, Geordie,” she whispered. They were halfway to the exit door when the elevator dinged. She glanced over her shoulder as a masked man stepped off the elevator, saw her fleeing and started running toward them.

His hand reached inside his leather jacket and Chloe slowed down. She’d never make it to the garage and her Harley. She lowered her right arm, and the knife she kept stashed up her sleeve dropped into the palm of her hand. Before the guy had a chance to lift the gun, Chloe turned midstride, lifted her arm and threw the knife. It landed exactly where she wanted it to, in his right arm. He stumbled, dropped the gun, grabbed his bleeding arm and shot her a look filled with rage.

Chloe didn’t wait to see if he followed. She pushed the stairwell door open, and she and Geordie raced down to the garage. She lifted her dog, placed him in the attached pouch strapped to the back of the seat and straddled the bike. The roar of the engine filled the parking deck. She quickly maneuvered the bike around and shot forward. Just as she was passing the stairwell door, it opened, and the killer took aim. Chloe swerved the Harley sharp into a curve and almost laid the motorcycle on its side. Two bullets bit into the concrete above her. As soon as the bike was upright, she headed for the exit.

They hit the street and Chloe rode around for a short time, making sure they weren’t followed. She’d stop at an internet café and send an anonymous email reporting the crime. She couldn’t do it under her own name because there was a chance the FBI would become involved due to the high-profile murder. She couldn’t take a chance on the killer going after Stan.

She didn’t even consider contacting Stan. As Director of Criminal Cyber, Response and Services Branch of the FBI, he would end up in the middle of this mess, and she refused to take that chance. Stan and Betty had assumed custody of, and later adopted, a sassy sixteen-year-old girl who had hacked into a bank and gotten sent to juvenile hall. Thanks to Stan, and her extensive hacking skills, the judge wisely, and leniently, allowed her to leave juvenile hall and finish out her sentence working for the FBI cyber unit. Her community service helped the FBI and taught her a lesson at the same time. And, of course, all child labor laws were strictly adhered to.

Stan and Betty had done enough for Chloe already. She had to handle this herself. She’d call them after she decided where she was heading and tell them she and Geordie had taken a little vacation. Risking their lives by involving them wasn’t an option.

* * *

Standing on the sidewalk outside of Lucy’s Café, enjoying the unusually warm late-autumn weather, Sheriff Ethan Hoyt almost spit out the mouthful of coffee he’d just taken when a Harley roared down the street, then swerved into a spot right in front of him. The rider removed her helmet after pushing down the kickstand, then she attached the helmet to the motorcycle and ran her hands through short, midnight-black hair, leaving it spiked all over her head.

His eyes narrowed as he scanned her face and took note of every feature. Pixie face with porcelain skin, narrow nose, sculpted chin, brown eyes, black eyebrows. She had the physique of a runner, he noticed as she lifted a leg over the seat of the bike and shot him a mischievous grin. Two dimples appeared on either side of her mouth, contrasting with the biker-dude appearance. She was a looker, but he wasn’t the least bit interested. He had a daughter to raise, and he had failed to make his deceased wife happy when she was alive.

When she unzipped a partially open attachment on the back of the bike, he took what he hoped appeared to be a casual sip of coffee. She placed both hands inside the leather pouch and lifted something out.

He was totally caught off guard when she folded a small, ugly brown dog into her arms. Ethan didn’t like surprises. He liked to think of himself as being prepared for every contingency. She crooned nonsense to the mutt and placed him on the ground, where he promptly pooped on town property. She praised the critter for doing what nature demanded, then dug around in another bag and lifted a leash triumphantly in the air. After attaching it to the dog’s collar, she approached the sidewalk.

Ethan’s eyebrows shot up when he spotted the studded leather dog collar. The thing appeared to be a poodle and it looked as harmless as a flea. His eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses when she flashed him a big smile before sauntering past, decked out in black leather pants, jacket and biker boots. His gut—that had never failed him—screamed the woman and her sidekick were trouble. He hadn’t missed the wariness in her eyes she tried to hide behind the big friendly smile.

Taking several long strides to catch up with her, Ethan slapped a hand on the door leading to Lucy’s Café, effectively stopping her when she tried to pull it open. “Ma’am, you can’t leave dog poop on the ground. We have city ordinances.”

She lifted her head slowly, an anticipatory gleam in her eyes. “I wouldn’t move if I were you.”

Ethan went on high alert and glanced at her hands for weapons, but they were empty. It was then he noticed she had dropped the leash. A low growl, very close to his right ankle, rose from below him. He removed his arm from the door and the growl turned into a snarl. Without moving, he glanced down. The previously friendly looking little mutt had his gums peeled back, revealing a mouthful of sharp, pointed teeth.

The woman had the audacity to chuckle before snapping out a command.

“Geordie! Off!”

In a split second, the small—Ethan would put the dog at twelve to fifteen pounds—vicious beast closed his mouth and plopped onto his hind quarters, transforming back into the deceiving appearance of a sweet, docile dog. The thing was covered in brown curls. Ethan could barely see its beady little eyes, which were now warm and pleasant looking, as if the thing had never threatened to chew his leg off.

“I came here to grab a bite to eat. Now, are you going to call the police, or am I allowed to go inside the restaurant and get some paper napkins to clean up Geordie’s mess? I ran out of poop bags several days ago.”

Ethan took a deep breath. He’d just made a fool of himself and could only chalk it up to the sudden appearance of Dorothy carting Toto around on a motorcycle.

Time to back up and get some information. He wanted to know where she was from. Evidently the woman and her companion had been on the road for several days. He flashed her an apologetic grin and held out his hand. “The name’s Hoyt, Sheriff Ethan Hoyt,” he said with relish. He tended to dress in jeans and a civilian shirt when he was on duty.

Her eyes widened for a mere moment after he introduced himself as sheriff. She quickly masked her reaction and shook his hand. “Name’s Samantha Bailey.”

Was that a slight hesitation in her voice when she said her name, or was it his imagination?

“Welcome to Jackson Hole, Ms. Bailey. You here on vacation? Visiting friends?”

She grabbed the leash off the ground and petted her dog before straightening and looking him in the eye. No wilting flower here.

“Are you the official welcoming committee for Jackson Hole? If so, you need to brush up on your etiquette.”

Time to back off. Other than his gut tightening, he had no grounds to suspect her of anything, and he was being rude. “I do apologize.” He glanced down at the mutt. “I’m happy to hold on to your, uh, dog while you get some napkins to clean up his mess.”

Her lips tightened. “His name is Geordie, and he’s a highly trained, purebred male miniature poodle.”

Ethan tried to appear suitably impressed, but the scraggly thing didn’t look as if it had an ounce of testosterone backing up her claim that he was male. He barely heard what sounded like a small growl, and it hadn’t come from the dog. He took the leash from Ms. Bailey, and she flung the door open and disappeared inside Lucy’s Café.

He stared at the dog. “So where do you hail from, Geordie?” The dog’s tail thumped on the sidewalk. “I caught a whiff of a Northern accent with a touch of Southern flavor from your mom. You from New York?”

“Are you interrogating my dog, Sheriff?”

His body jerked, and he felt like an idiot. It was an unfamiliar emotion. He never even heard her approach. The woman was light on her feet. He flashed her a big smile when he turned. “Just being cordial, ma’am.”

She cleaned up the poop, took the leash from his hand, scooped up her dog and placed him back inside the black leather satchel.

“There’s a nice bed-and-breakfast down the street, if you plan on staying.” Ms. Bailey intrigued him, and for some strange reason, he wasn’t ready for her to move on if she was just passing through.

Throwing a leg over the Harley, she showed all her teeth. Not exactly a smile. “I did my research, Sheriff, and it so happens I have a reservation at Mrs. Denton’s Bed-and-Breakfast. I’ll grab something to eat later.” Flicking the kickstand up with her left heel, she tugged the helmet onto her head. “And just so you won’t worry, I’m here on vacation, but if I like it, I might stay a few weeks.”

Frowning as she revved the motorcycle’s engine, Ethan stood on the sidewalk and watched her travel two blocks and stop in front of Mrs. Denton’s place. He took note of the motorcycle’s New York tag.

Jackson Hole was a tourist town, and he was used to seeing all types of people come and go, but Ms. Bailey was an entity of her own. Was she an eccentric, wealthy elite with too much time and money on her hands? Or was she running from something? The only lead he had was the moment of wariness he saw in her eyes. That wasn’t enough to suspect the woman of being up to no good, but his time spent as a high-ranking detective in Chicago had left its mark. He’d learned years ago to listen to his gut, and his gut was balled in a tight knot.

He paused on the sidewalk as a beige sedan slowed in front of Mrs. Denton’s place and then picked up speed as it shot forward. It passed by him. Two large men sat in the front seats. They didn’t even glance at him as they passed, but he noticed the New York plate. He pulled his pad and pencil out of his shirt pocket and wrote down both the car and motorcycle’s tag numbers. Odds were the men were in Jackson Hole to hunt and fish, but it never hurt to check.

Interesting thing when two New York vehicles showed up in Jackson Hole within thirty minutes of each other. It was a long way for anyone to drive.

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.”

He briefly wondered about Miss Bailey’s life. Most of the women he knew would be close to hysteria after being shot at, but that was something he could think about later. Right now, he had to protect her, whether she thought she needed it or not.

“Move back. I need to get to the front of the car to see what’s going on.”

She hesitated a second, then shrugged her shoulders and scooted behind him. Ethan took a quick peek around the hood of the car but didn’t see anything. Gun in hand, he dropped back behind the safety of the vehicle and leaned against the front fender.

“Did you see or hear anything, Sam?” He winced when she took a swipe at her ear with her coat sleeve, but the blood kept seeping out.

She squinted down the lane, lit only by streetlamps, then gave him a saucy grin. “We’ve been shot at together, so I guess we’re friends now.”

Her degree of calmness after getting shot at bothered him, but they were out in the open. Now wasn’t the time to delve into Sam’s life.

“Fine, we’re friends now. Did you see or hear anything before the shot?”

He could almost see her mind sifting through different answers. It was a yes or no question. The woman was wily as a cat. His temper got the best of him. “It’s a simple question. You shouldn’t have to think it to death.”

Her chin shot up and she wore a mulish expression. “Fine. Right before we walked away from the motel, I saw a shadow moving around the car in front of room 126.”

“And you didn’t see fit to tell me?” His voice echoed incredulous anger.

Her gaze shifted away. “I’m used to handling my own problems.” She thrust her sweetly pointed chin forward. He had to bite back a grin. In some ways, Sam reminded him of Penny with her stubbornness.

“I’m sure you are, but I’m the sheriff and we’ll do this my way. By now the shooter could have circled around us. We need to move.”

Her eyes shifted toward the motel before they settled back on him. “I’m sure the shooter is long gone, but if you want to accompany me back to the bed-and-breakfast, I’d appreciate it.”

He wasn’t a fool. He knew exactly what the clever woman planned. “And after I drop you off, you’re going to sneak out and come right back to the motel.”

Her eyes widened and she dipped her chin. Jackpot!

“Admit it,” he said.

“Seems to me you already know everything, Sheriff.”

She smiled, but he didn’t trust the sassy upturn of her lips. He might as well let her tag along while he checked out room 126. Maybe it would keep her safe and out of trouble. Later the two of them would have a nice long talk. He wanted to know what she was doing standing outside the room of two men from New York so late at night.

He heaved a heavy sigh. “I know you have a knife and a gun. I want to see the permit later, but for now, stay behind me and do exactly as I say, or I’ll take you to Mrs. Denton’s and lock you in your room while I check this out.”

She flashed him a full-wattage smile, and her dimples made another appearance. She looked young and innocent, nothing close to the wily woman she had already proved herself to be.

“Sounds like a plan.” She tilted her head. “You’re a real by-the-book lawman, aren’t you? It’s all black-and-white for Sheriff Hoyt. No wiggle room for extenuating circumstances.”

He harbored the uneasy feeling that her whole life revolved around “extenuating circumstances.” “I told you to call me Ethan. We’re not very formal here in Jackson Hole. Come on. Let’s move quickly. We’ll make our way down the street, using the cars for cover, and check out room 126. Stay close behind me,” he added when she tried to slip past him.

She did as he asked and stayed behind him as they crouched behind cars and wound their way around the back of the motel. There was no sign of movement anywhere, so Ethan stepped in front of room 126. He raised his hand to knock, but Sam grabbed his arm, effectively stopping him.

“What now?” he muttered, pulling back his arm and facing her.

Exasperation covered her face. “You’re just going to knock on their door? In the middle of the night?”

He raised a brow. “I’m the sheriff, Miss Bailey, and we were shot at. I have every right to investigate the situation.”

She seemed to ponder that a moment. “Shouldn’t you call for backup or something?”

He ignored her and rapped his knuckles against the wooden door. The room stayed quiet. He knocked louder this time. “This is Sheriff Hoyt. Open the door, please.”

Nothing. Sam tried to nudge him out of the way.

“What are you doing?” She was fiddling with something in her hand and approached the door lock. He couldn’t believe it. She was going to jimmy the lock. He grabbed the set of picklocks out of her hand.

“You can’t break into a motel room. It’s against the law.” And then it dawned on him. Earlier, when she’d been standing at the door to room 126, she’d planned to break in. But why? He’d get answers later. Right now he had his hands full.

Her face scrunched into a scowl. “You are the law, and I’m with you. That makes it legal, right? Besides, you got a better idea, hotshot?”

They struggled a moment for possession of the picklocks, but brute strength gave him the advantage. The woman snarled at him like a rabid dog when he jerked them out of her hands.

“Yes, I have a better idea. I’ll wake the manager and ask him to open the door.”

That took the wind out of her sails.

“Fine, but I want my hardware back.”

“I don’t think so.”

She scowled again. “Whatever. Let’s get this show on the road.”

It didn’t take long to rouse the sleepy manager, and soon they were again standing in front of room 126. Ethan stepped in front of everyone and inserted the key. “Stay back.” The manager had already moved away, but Sam was still breathing down his neck. The woman was like a barnacle.

Ethan turned the key and opened the door. The stench of blood assailed his nostrils. He pushed Sam backward. “This is a crime scene. I’m going in, but do not step past the threshold of this door.” He moved forward but glanced around to see if she was obeying his orders. He was taken aback to see a look of shock, mixed with a healthy dose of fear, on her face.

It was an indication that Sam was in this thing up to her cute little ears. He decided then and there that the woman wasn’t leaving his sight until he had some answers. He touched the wall until he felt the light switch. With a flick of his wrist, the room was bathed in light. Even without taking a pulse, there was no doubt. The two men he’d seen riding in the sedan were dead.

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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