Left to Die

by Rita Herron

  * * *

  JANE DARTED DOWN several alleys, staying in the shadows, keeping low and out of sight as traffic crawled through the sleepy little town. But even as she ran from the police, she knew she couldn’t run forever.

  She might not remember her name, but she wasn’t a coward. She had to face this situation head-on.

  Still, she wasn’t ready to go back to jail. Although Fletch might turn her in to his brother, it was a chance she was willing to take.

  The police car that had been parked at the café suddenly zoomed by. She released a breath, trying to ignore the acrid odor of garbage, rotting food and stale beer permeating the alleyway.

  Knowing Fletch was supposed to meet her at the coffee shop, she turned back toward The Bean.

  The rear door of one of the shops opened, and two employees stepped outside and lit up cigarettes. The scent of smoke mingled with the foul garbage odors, and she hurried away. She wove between two other stores until she had a vantage point to the coffee shop parking lot.

  Fletch’s Wrangler was parked toward the back of the lot beneath a live oak. Jane’s breath quickened, and she scanned the area for signs someone was watching. More police could be looking out.

  Or Halls. He’d had enough connections to get her bail hearing moved up. What if he had other connections with the law?

  She wished like hell she had his cell phone. But he’d had it clipped to his belt and in her haste to escape, she hadn’t thought about grabbing it.

  She rubbed her temple to regroup.

  Seconds ticked by. The feeling that she needed to escape Halls didn’t dissipate. The feeling that she wanted to see Fletch didn’t, either.

  She opened her eyes and glanced across the parking lot again. Two young women and their babies strolled into The Bean. No cops. No one lingering in the parking lot, looking suspicious.

  Deciding it was now or never, she ducked low, slinking between a place called the Burger and Brew and Carlos’s Cantina. She gripped the edge of the concrete wall and watched. Waited. The coast was clear.

  Just as she lunged forward to break into Fletch’s Jeep Wrangler, to hide and wait for him, someone grabbed her from behind.

  She started to fight, but a hand covered her mouth and a firm muscled arm gripped her around the waist, pressing her so tightly against the man’s body that she could barely breathe.

  God help her. Had Halls found her?

  * * *

  “BE STILL, IT’S all right,” Fletch said in a low whisper. “It’s me.”

  Jane froze, her body trembling.

  “I’m going to release you,” he said into her ear. “Trust me, okay?”

  She gave a little nod, and he moved his hand from her mouth and loosened his hold. Her body sagged in relief against him, and she turned in his arms and shoved at him.

  Her eyes were wide, dark with anger. “You scared me to death.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said and meant it. “I didn’t mean to.”

  Her chest rose and fell on a labored breath, and she planted her hands on her hips. “There were cops here. Did you call them?”

  Fletch felt as if he’d been slapped. “No, Jane. I told you that you could trust me.”

  “They’re looking for me, for Halls’s Cadillac,” she said, her breathing unsteady.

  Fletch scanned the alley, then the parking lot. “Come on, let’s get in my Jeep. Then we can talk.”

  Jane’s lower lip quivered. “You’re not carrying me back to Jacob, to jail?”

  “No,” Fletch said earnestly. “But we do need to talk.”

  Jane’s gaze shot to his Jeep as if gauging the distance. Anxious, she started to run, but Fletch caught her and curved his arm around her shoulders. “Hold on. Remember we’re a couple on a romantic getaway. We don’t want to draw attention.”

  Jane’s eyes brightened. “You’re right.” She slid her arm around his waist and leaned into him. “Thank you for coming.”

  Fletch offered her a smile, but his heart was pounding. He wanted the romance to be real. For them to be a couple. For her to be safe and this mess tied up so they could figure out if there was really something between them.

  Together they sauntered toward his Jeep, hugging and taking their time so as not to arouse suspicion. When they reached the Jeep, Fletch unlocked the door and Jane slid inside. Just for show, or at least that was what he told himself, he leaned over and gave her a kiss.

  Jane’s breath caught when he pulled away, a seed of longing sprouting. Or maybe it was surprise. Either way, he closed the door and smiled to himself as he walked around to the driver’s side.

  A few seconds later, they were buckled up, and he guided his Jeep back onto the highway.

  Jane twisted her hands together and stared out the window as if she might find answers somewhere in the ridges and forests. “Where are we going?” she finally asked.

  Fletch gritted his teeth. He should call Jacob and Liam. And he would. Just not yet.

  “My place,” Fletch said. “No one will look for you there.”

  Except his brothers. And he’d handle them if he had to.

  * * *

  JANE PRESSED HER fingers to her lips. Fletch’s kiss taunted her with what-ifs. What if she wasn’t mired in a murder investigation? What if someone wasn’t trying to kill her?

  What if she and Fletch could run away together, for forever?

  He hit a pothole, and she winced. Get a grip. Running isn’t the answer.

  But it sure as hell was tempting right now.

  Fletch remained silent as he drove, his jaw firmly set. She closed her eyes and forced herself to analyze the shooting and Halls’s behavior.

  None of it made sense, especially the fact that she kept dreaming of her parents’ murder as if it had something to do with the mystery riddling the present.

  Her parents had been killed around twenty years ago. She was almost certain the killer had been caught and locked away.

  The strain of the day took its toll, and she must have fallen asleep because sometime later, she woke with a start. Fletch’s Wrangler bounced over ruts in the road, spewing gravel as he drove down a narrow road into the woods.

  For a moment, fear prickled at her. The place looked isolated, far away from the town.

  She swallowed hard. God help her, she was paranoid. Fletch had saved her life and been nothing but good to her. They’d depended on each other in the wilderness. She had to trust him now.

  He parked in front of an A-frame log cabin with a picture window that occupied the entire front of the house. A chimney and the rustic features gave it an inviting feel. Trees, bare of leaves, snaked across the back, climbing into the snow-capped mountains.

  “It’s beautiful,” she murmured.

  “I like it,” Fletch said, a hint of pride in his tone. “Let’s go inside and talk.”

  Jane opened her car door and climbed out. Mounds of snow and melting slush covered the ground. The sound of river water rippling over rocks echoed from behind Fletch’s cabin. He led the way up to his front porch, unlocked the door and stepped inside, flipping on lights as he entered.

  Jane followed, awed by the stacked-stone fireplace running from floor to ceiling. A black leather sectional and a blue-and-green braided rug made the room look masculine, but homey and warm. Paintings of the wilderness adorned the wall, and an acoustic guitar leaned against the big club chair by the fireplace.

  She imagined Fletch strumming a country song with the firelight flickering off his chiseled jaw, and her body hummed with need.

  He walked straight to a wet bar situated in the built-ins flanking the fireplace. “Wine or scotch?” he offered.

  “Scotch,” Jane said. She wasn’t sure she liked it, but the answer came so quickly that she must.

  He poured them both two fingers into a tumbler, lit the gas logs, t
hen gestured for her to sit on the sofa. She did and he joined her, then handed her the drink. Jane’s hand trembled.

  He took a swallow of his scotch, then pinned her with his dark chocolate eyes. “What happened with Halls?” he asked in a tone tinged with barely suppressed anger.

  “He lied to me, to you,” she said. “He’s not who he says he is. And I don’t think we were friends.”

  Fletch heaved a wary breath. “Go on.”

  “Like I said before, I saw an image of the man with the tattoo, my husband, being shot, his body bouncing backward.” She licked her dry lips. “Then the gun. It was in my hand, but I don’t remember shooting it.”

  She hadn’t mentioned that detail before.

  “Halls was there,” Jane said. “In the room when Victor was shot.”

  Fletch’s fingers curled around the arm of the sofa. “You’re sure?”

  Jane nodded. “Yes, I’m certain of it.”

  “Did he admit this?” Fletch asked.

  Jane ran her finger around the rim of her glass. “No, that’s just it. He completely denied it, claimed he’d been in the house visiting before, but that he wasn’t there when Victor died. He insisted I was confused.” Her nerves pinged just thinking about being in the car with him. “I know I’ve been confused, but I’m not confused about this, Fletch. I saw his face. And every instinct in my body screamed that he’s dangerous.”

  “What else happened?”

  “He drove me to a remote cabin that he claimed belonged to me and Victor. I...don’t think that was true, either. When we passed this cluster of rocks shaped like a cactus, I got chills. None of it feels right, Fletch.”

  She rubbed her arms with her hands. “When he parked and got out, I had a flash of him shooting Victor. I panicked. Then I shoved him, took his car and drove away as fast as I could. When I reached that town, I called you.”

  Fletch’s silence unnerved her even more. Did he believe her?

  “He probably reported his car stolen,” she said. “That’s why the police were looking for me at the coffee shop.”

  Fletch tossed back the rest of his drink, then set his tumbler on the coffee table and gripped her arms. “You were right not to trust him,” Fletch said. “His story about Bianca and Victor Renard doesn’t pan out.”

  Jane’s breath quickened. “What do you mean?”

  “My brother Liam, with the FBI, investigated the Renards. Jane, there is no Bianca or Victor Renard.”

  Jane’s head swirled with confusion. “Then I’m—”

  “I don’t know who you are, but your name is not Bianca,” Fletch said.

  Jane’s pulse clamored. “I didn’t think that name felt right.”

  “If Halls lied about your identity, he may have lied about everything else.”

  “But I do remember a ring and a man being shot,” Jane said. “And Halls was there.”

  “Then it’s possible Halls is the one who shot the man. You witnessed it, and he’s framing you.”

  “If that’s true, who was the bearded man I shot? And why was he trying to kill me?”

  “Still waiting on information on him,” Fletch said. “But the dead man with the scarred face was a PI. He may have been hired by Halls.”

  “What motive would Halls have to kill my husband?”

  “That’s what we’re going to find out. Liam is putting a rush on your prints and DNA. Soon, we should know who you really are.”

  “I still don’t understand, though. Your brother had all that evidence against me.”

  “Liam discovered Officer Clemmens faked that information. He could be in cahoots with Halls somehow and fabricated it to make you look guilty.”

  A sick feeling slithered through Jane. “Then Halls came to my rescue and bailed me out so he could silence me.”

  “Elaborate but feasible.” Disgust laced his tone. “I guess he thought Whistler had some country bumpkin cop who wouldn’t check things out. His mistake.”

  Jane threw back the rest of her drink. Questions lingered, the future uncertain. She held all those answers inside her head, obliterated as if they’d been erased like words on a whiteboard.

  “Jane?”

  She offered him a tentative smile. “Thank you for helping me, Fletch. I...didn’t know where else to turn.”

  His dark gaze raked over her, sending a tingle of awareness through her. Then he angled his head and tilted her chin up with his thumb. “I’m glad you trusted me.”

  Tears threatened, but she blinked them away. He moved closer, his mouth only inches from hers. Jane wanted him so badly she ached.

  “Fletch, we shouldn’t...not until we know who I am.”

  He grunted, a small sound of frustration underscored with need and desire. “I don’t care what your name is. I know who you are, and you’re not a murderer.”

  An image of her hand holding that gun haunted her. But then Fletch’s lips touched hers, and she blocked out the image as hunger overcame her, and she pressed her lips to his.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Fletch lost all rational sense when Jane’s lips melded with his. When they learned her identity, there might be a dozen reasons she wouldn’t, or couldn’t, be with him.

  Another man. A child.

  But he banished those possibilities for the moment.

  When he’d watched Halls drive away with her, it had done something to him. Scared him because he didn’t know the man or what would happen with Jane.

  Scared him because he wanted her with him.

  He’d never felt this way about a woman before.

  He didn’t like this desperate need, but he couldn’t deny his feelings for her, either. Was this how Jacob had felt when he’d fallen for Cora? She’d seemed unstable to some folks, but Jacob had recognized she was suffering, and love made them both feel whole again.

  Cora kept a magnet on their fridge that boasted the phrase Live in the Moment.

  That was exactly what he wanted to do now.

  Jane murmured a low sound of desire, and he deepened the kiss, tasting her sweetness and passion as he thrust his tongue inside her mouth. She raked her hands through his hair and drew him closer, and he pulled her up against him. Her soft breasts pressed against his chest, heightening his hunger.

  He tore his mouth from hers and trailed wicked tongue lashes along her throat and around her ear. She moaned and clawed at the buttons on his shirt until she opened one, then the other. Her hands dove between the folds of the fabric, then she raked her nails over his bare skin.

  Enflamed with passion, he nibbled at her neck, then tugged at her sweater. She lifted it over her head and tossed it onto the chair, then reached for him. But he held her arms by her sides so he could look at her.

  She was beautiful. The bruises were fading on her creamy skin and her breasts swelled over the lacy bra. He wanted her breasts in his hands.

  He wanted everything off so nothing separated them. Bare skin to bare skin.

  Heat flared in her eyes, and she lowered her head and flicked her tongue against his nipple. He’d never realized how sensitive they were until she ran her tongue over each one then tugged one between her teeth and sucked it just as he wanted to do her.

  “Hell, woman,” he moaned.

  She trailed her fingers lower to the waistband of his jeans and unsnapped them. He moaned and captured her hand in his. If he didn’t slow down, he was going to explode before he was inside her.

  He stood, his voice commanding, raw hunger pulsing through him. “Come on.” Afraid his leg would give way if he tried to carry her, he tugged her hand and coaxed her to his room.

  He paused in the doorway and lifted her chin to study her, to make sure this wasn’t one-sided.

  “I want you, Jane.”

  “I want you, too, Fletch.” Desire flickered in her eyes, the same kind of
desperate hunger mounting inside him. His body was wound tight with sexual tension. His sex throbbed.

  He kissed her again, deep and hard, then walked her back toward the bed. She pulled off his shirt and reached for his jeans.

  He shucked them, and in seconds had her naked in his bed, just as he wanted.

  * * *

  EVERY NERVE CELL in Jane’s body was on sensory overload. Hunger and need built inside her as Fletch trailed his fingers over her breasts and belly.

  His lips came next, painting a sensual trail over her bare body. Her nipples stiffened to peaks, and he teased them with his tongue then drew one into his mouth, firing liquid heat all the way to her womb.

  She raked her nails over his back, feeling his corded muscles tighten as he crawled above her. He sucked one turgid peak, then the other, a throbbing ache consuming her.

  She wanted him. Naked. Hard. Inside her.

  He’d already done away with her panties, and she parted her legs, begging for his body to join with hers. Instead, he trailed his tongue down her belly to her heat. Then he nudged her legs further apart and pressed his lips to her slick, wet center.

  She moaned and gripped his shoulders as he dipped his tongue inside her and teased her unmercifully. A flick of his tongue to her sweet spot, then another and another, and she lifted her hips and urged him to come inside her.

  But he had his own agenda, and he tormented her with his mouth and fingers until pleasure shivered through her.

  Finally Fletch climbed above her, reached into his nightstand, removed a condom and ripped open the package. Seconds later, she helped him roll it on.

  He kissed her again and stroked her hot spot with his thick length. She parted her legs, aching for him to make love to her. He entered her in one quick thrust, filling her completely, then pulling out and thrusting into her body again.

  Time after time, he teased her opening with his shaft, then plunged his erection inside her until they built a frenetic rhythm. Slick, hot skin against slick, hot skin.

  Teasing. Filling. Big. Hard. Her body quivered with sensations that mounted and made her ache for more.