by Rita Herron
Jacob raised his brows. “You were shot, little brother. You need to rest yourself. You probably haven’t had a decent meal since you left the bar the other night.”
“I’m fine,” Fletch insisted. “Besides, Jane trusts me. So if she’s going to talk, she might open up to me.”
Jacob looked as if he wanted to argue, but finally gave a small nod. “True. But the doc gave her something to help her sleep. She’s out for the night now, so I’ll stay awhile. Go home, shower and sleep, eat something, then come back in the morning when she wakes up.”
Fletch hesitated. But his brother was right. He’d be more clearheaded if he caught some z’s. And he needed a shower badly. “All right. But if she wakes, call me.”
“Will do. Meanwhile, I need to take Jane’s prints and plug them into the system. That will tell us who she is.”
Fletch understood Jacob had a job to do. He just hoped to hell that learning Jane’s identity would save her, not land her in jail.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING Jane was more rested and less achy. The nurse gave her toiletries for a shower, which made her feel like a new woman.
Jacob’s wife sent clean clothes, jeans and a soft blue sweater that were comfortable and warm. A hot breakfast also improved her mood.
Although the grim look in Fletch’s eyes when he entered the room with his brother brought reality back fast.
Fletch’s gaze skated over her, and for just a moment, she sensed the strong connection they’d shared in the wilderness. A sensual awareness that tempted her to hide in his arms where she’d be safe forever.
This morning he looked sexy in jeans and a denim shirt that accentuated his tanned skin. He’d shaved and she missed the rugged stubble. But the heat in his eyes simmered like the embers of a fire. For a brief second, she wished they’d made love so she could have that memory to keep with her forever.
Then his gaze turned hooded, and an awkwardness settled in the room. “How do you feel this morning?” Fletch asked.
Jane shrugged. “Better. At least clean and fed.”
He gave a small smile. “Yeah, me, too.”
Jacob cleared his throat. “Has the doctor seen you this morning?”
Jane lifted her chin. “He said I’m clear to go. I’m waiting on the nurse to bring discharge papers.”
“What was his opinion regarding the amnesia?” Fletch asked.
Jane pulled a card from the pocket of the jeans. “He gave me a referral to a therapist who might help. She specializes in memory recovery.”
“That sounds promising,” Fletch said.
Jane exhaled. “I’m supposed to call and set up an appointment.” She glanced at Jacob. “That is, if I’m free to do that.”
Jacob gave her a flat look. “Last night Officer Clemmens contacted me again. He’s the officer who contacted me with the initial report about you. He sent a photograph and confirmation of your identity.” Jacob shifted. “Bianca Renard, you are under arrest for the murder of Victor Renard. You have the right to remain silent...”
Knots curled in Jane’s gut as he Mirandized her. She’d known this moment might arrive, but being treated like a criminal was humiliating.
“I’m sorry, Jane,” Fletch said.
Jane lifted her chin. “I guess it’s time I face the truth.” Even if she didn’t like what she learned about herself.
The nurse poked her head inside, and Jane waved her in. She signed the discharge papers, and was forced to ride to the exit in a wheelchair where the sheriff’s car waited.
At least he didn’t handcuff her. But the moment the police car door shut, she felt trapped again. She had fought for her life in the woods.
Now she had to fight again.
* * *
FLETCH FOLLOWED JACOB to the police station in Whistler, battling anger at the fact that his brother had just arrested Jane. Why he should care so much about a woman he’d known such a short time, and one he knew virtually nothing about, he didn’t know.
But he did care, dammit. And he didn’t want to see her locked away.
What if she is a murderer?
No...if she had killed her husband, there was a reason. A damn good one. He felt it in his soul.
Although he’d been wrong about another woman once. Hannah. She was beautiful and blonde and had the face and voice of an angel.
Too bad she’d possessed the soul of the devil.
Jane sat stone-still as Jacob drove. Fletch admired her steely determination to maintain her composure.
He understood Jacob had to do his job, and couldn’t ignore the fact that Jane was wanted in another jurisdiction for murder. If he let her go, the people of Whistler would never trust him to protect them.
Still, Fletch didn’t like it one damn bit.
He arrived at the station behind Jacob, his pulse hammering as Jacob opened the back door to his car and helped Jane out.
The hair on the back of his neck prickled. Someone had tried to kill Jane in the woods.
Maybe they still wanted her dead.
As she climbed from the car, he searched the alley by the station and the parking lot for a shooter waiting to ambush.
Chapter Fourteen
A new layer of humiliation washed over Jane as Sheriff Maverick—she couldn’t call him Jacob when he was arresting her—fingerprinted her and swabbed her mouth for DNA. A mug shot photo came next.
He escorted her to a small room off the hallway behind the front office. Interrogation Room 1. She was surprised the small town needed more than one, and would have expected crime to be minimal in Whistler.
Then again, the town was so close to the Appalachian Trail that it might attract criminals who wanted to hide out from the law.
She sank into the hard metal chair in front of a wooden table that was bolted to the floor. The sheriff’s boots clicked on the wood slats as he crossed to the other side, claimed a seat and placed a manila envelope on the table.
He and Fletch looked like brothers, although their eyes were different and Fletch’s hair was longer and shaggy-looking. Fletch also possessed a sexy rawness that made her stomach flutter where Jacob seemed closed off.
Part of his job. He was here to question her, wrangle a confession from her, send her to prison for murder. Not be her friend.
The stain from the fingerprint ink mocked her, and déjà vu struck her. Something about the room, the table, the situation seemed familiar, as if she’d sat at a table like this before. Had she been arrested in the past?
The sheriff pushed a bottle of water in front of her. “The doctor said to stay hydrated.”
A sarcastic chuckle rumbled from her. “You’re concerned about my health?”
The man’s eyes turned stony. “Listen, Jane or Bianca, whatever your name is. I’m aware my brother thinks you’re innocent, and I’m not here to railroad you into jail for a crime you didn’t commit. But we have to talk.”
Jane bit her lip. He was right.
“Let’s start with what happened to you. How you ended up on the trail where Fletch found you.”
Jane inhaled a deep breath and relayed what little she remembered.
The sheriff studied her, his expression neutral. “So you remember seeing the man you believe to be your husband fall to his death. Then the next thing you remember is running from a man in the woods?”
Jane nodded, straining to recall more details, but the effort was futile and made her head throb.
“What do you remember about the man chasing you? Body size? Height? Color of hair?”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “He was tall, I think, taller than me. He approached me from behind, so I didn’t see his face.” She traced her fingers over the back of her head. “He hit me and knocked me out.”
Jacob continued, “Then he tied you up and left you in a cave?”
Jane pursed her lips. “I think so, although I just vaguely recall being dragged through the snow there, then I passed out. When I came to, I untied myself and was escaping when he caught me again.”
The sheriff folded his arms. “Do you think he was the man you shot?”
Jane released a weary breath. “I honestly don’t know. Have you identified him?”
“Not yet. The rescue team recovered his body, and he’s on the way to the morgue. So is the other dead man you guys found on those rocks.”
She shifted. “I have no idea who he was, either. Although something about him seemed familiar.”
“Interesting.” He worked his mouth from side to side. “What about the name Bianca? And Victor Renard?”
She fisted her hands on the table in frustration. “Not really... Bianca doesn’t feel right.”
His mouth quirked up. “Well, we should know soon enough. We’re running the DNA and your prints ASAP. Meanwhile, Officer Clemmens faxed me photographs of your husband’s murder.”
His look darkened as he opened the envelope and spread several photographs on the table.
Jane’s pulse hammered at the sight of the man’s bloody body. This man was supposed to be Victor, her husband.
She leaned closer and peered at his twisted arm and hand. The tattoo...it was there. The wolf...
Lone wolf... He’d given himself the nickname because he considered himself a loner.
But he’d definitely slipped the wedding ring on her finger. If he was a lone wolf, why had he decided to marry her?
The sheriff pointed to another photograph. This one of a .38. “This is the gun that killed Victor Renard,” he said. “We’re running the prints on the weapon and will compare to yours. The crime report from the scene revealed a hair strand was found, one that matches your color and length.”
Of course they did, Jane thought. Everything, even the snippet of her memory, pointed to her as the killer.
He set a sheet of paper on the table. “This is a printout showing financial reports from Victor and Bianca Renard’s account. It appears there are large sums of money that disappeared, payouts to an offshore account in the name of Sonja Simmons. Does that name sound familiar?”
“No,” Jane said flatly.
“The policeman I spoke with believes she was Victor’s lover, and that they were planning to disappear together.” He produced another sheet with a photograph that resembled her. “He also discovered that you had another alias. Geneva Armstrong.”
Jane didn’t know what to make of the alias or any of this. “Let me guess,” Jane said. “They think I killed Victor because he was leaving me for another woman.”
Jacob lifted his shoulders in a small shrug. “It’s a motive.”
Jane kept her mouth shut. Somehow she didn’t picture herself as a jealous woman. Or one who cared about money.
But it was difficult to argue with cold, hard evidence.
* * *
WATCHING HIS BROTHER interrogate Jane gnawed at Fletch’s nerves. It had taken a half hour to convince Jacob to let him watch the interview, but he’d finally persuaded his brother he could read the nuances of Jane’s expressions.
Jacob had stipulated that Fletch remain in the viewing room and not interfere.
It was getting more difficult every second to keep that promise.
Especially when Jacob was presenting such strong evidence against Jane. Evidence that made Fletch question whether he really knew her.
Jacob gestured toward one of the crime photos. “Do you recognize Victor Renard?”
Jane’s face looked ashen. “Yes. And no.”
“What does that mean?” Jacob asked bluntly.
Jane sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t really remember him, but I had a nightmare about him. It was just a quick flash, but I saw his body bouncing backward as the bullet struck him.”
Fletch swallowed hard. For the first time since Jacob had met them outside that cave, he realized Jane probably needed a lawyer.
* * *
“DID YOU SEE the murder weapon?” Jacob asked.
Jane cut her eyes toward the camera in the corner. Fletch shifted restlessly. Did she know he was watching?
Jacob leaned across the table, hands folded. “Did you see the gun, Jane?”
“I saw the gun dropping to the floor, but I don’t remember seeing the shooter’s face.”
Jacob drummed his fingers on the table. “Victor was a real estate broker. He and Bianca worked together,” Jacob paused. “Apparently they made millions in Florida and recently moved to North Carolina.”
Jane sat unmoving, her shoulders squared.
Jacob removed another photo from the envelope and pushed it toward her. The photograph was an advertisement for Renard’s Real Estate and Brokerage Company with a picture of her and Victor smiling side by side in front of a large Colonial house.
Her stomach fluttered as she examined it. “I... This can’t be real.”
Jacob crossed his arms. “What do you mean, it can’t be real?”
Jane stared at him blankly, then a knock sounded on the door, and Jacob stood and went to answer it. Jacob’s receptionist appeared at the door and spoke in a hushed tone.
He frowned, then turned, and walked back to the table. Anger hardened his voice as he began to shove the pictures back in the envelope. “I guess this interview is over. Apparently your lawyer has arrived.”
Jane’s brows shot up as if she hadn’t expected the lawyer’s appearance. “My lawyer?”
“That’s what he said,” Jacob replied. “I’ll show him in.”
Jane looked baffled as Jacob left the room, and Fletch hurried to talk to him.
He cornered him in the hallway before he reached the front. “What’s going on? Did Jane call a lawyer?”
“No,” Jacob said. “But one showed up.”
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know. I’m going to meet him now.”
As they stepped into the front reception area, a tall man with short dark hair stood by the receptionist’s desk. He was slender and polished, his expensive suit and manicured nails screaming old money.
He buttoned the top button of his charcoal gray jacket, then extended his hand to Jacob. “Sheriff, my name is Woodruff Halls. I’m here about Bianca Renard.”
As Jacob shook the man’s hand, Fletch couldn’t help but compare the two. Like Fletch’s own hands, Jacob’s were calloused and rough from doing hard work. This man’s skin looked so smooth he’d probably never done a minute of physical labor in his life.
Jacob cleared his throat. “How did you know Jane Doe, the woman you call Bianca Renard, was here?”
Halls tapped his finger on his phone. “I spoke with Officer Clemmens.” He adjusted his tie. “I also happen to know Mrs. Renard personally. She and her husband and I were friends. I understand Bianca is accused of murdering Victor, but I believe wholeheartedly in her innocence. That’s the reason I rushed here. I don’t intend to allow her to be tried and convicted for a crime she didn’t commit. Or...to be assigned some legal aid attorney who has too many cases to investigate and represent her properly.”
Fletch jammed his hands in the pockets of his jeans but kept his eyes trained on Halls. The man spoke with conviction, as if he strongly believed in Jane’s innocence.
But Fletch still couldn’t reconcile what he’d learned about Victor and Bianca to Jane. She didn’t strike him as the type to care about money or fancy houses, or to hang around with men like Halls.
Of course he’d only known her for a few days, and in that time they’d been fighting to survive the blizzard and a hired gunman.
Jacob cleared his throat. “May I see your ID please?”
“Of course.” Halls removed a business card from the top pocket of his jacket and handed it to Jacob. “Now I�
��d like to see my client, please.”
Jacob gestured for Halls to follow him. He shot Fletch a look warning him to stay put. But Fletch didn’t intend to stand by and let this guy take over without seeing Jane’s reaction to him.
He waited until Jacob and the lawyer entered the interrogation room, then he hurried down the hall into the viewing room.
Jane’s jaw worked as she swallowed, and when she raised her head to look at the lawyer, every muscle in her body stiffened. She went so still that for a moment, Fletch wondered if she was even breathing.
“Jane,” Jacob said. “This man is Woodruff Halls. He claims he’s representing you.”
She folded her arms and offered the man a cool look.
Halls’s tone turned curt. “I’d like to speak to my client in private.” He gestured toward the small camera in the top corner of the room. “And shut that thing off.”
Jacob held his arms by his sides, but Fletch recognized anger in the slight tensing of his body. “Jane?”
Her eyes turned to ice chips as she stared at Halls. Then she lifted her hand in a tiny motion signifying it was okay for Jacob to leave her alone with the man.
Fletch didn’t like what was happening, but he felt helpless to stop it.
A second later, the TV screen blurred into snowy static, and he was left in the dark as to what was happening in that room.
* * *
JANE FELT AS if she was shutting down. She had no idea who this man who claimed to be her lawyer was.
But something about him sent chills up her spine.
“Bianca, or should I call you Jane?” the slickly dressed man asked.
“Jane for now,” she said. Bianca still didn’t feel right. Maybe she was in denial because she didn’t want to believe that she was a cold-blooded killer.
“All right, Jane, I have to warn you that as of this moment, you talk to no one but me. Don’t answer any more questions. Don’t make any calls. Don’t give in to the sheriff’s pressure tactics and confess to something you may or may not have done.”