Perfect Wyoming Complete Collection: Special Agent's Perfect Cover ; Rancher's Perfect Baby Rescue ; A Daughter's Perfect Secret ; Lawman's Perfect Surrender ; The Perfect Outsider ; Mercenary's Perfect Mission

by Marie Ferrarella

  “I’m beat, Bo. I just—”

  “Go,” he said. “Leave things to us.”

  She took the gap and rushed off, feeling his eyes burning into her back as she went. He was going to put her under a microscope for sure now. It was just a matter of time before he found something.

  “Samuel will be pleased to see you!” Fargo yelled behind her.

  June hesitated at something in his tone, then decided not to look back as she hurried toward her truck.

  * * *

  June slipped quietly into the back of the community-center auditorium. She was a few minutes late, and the audience was already being held rapt by the charismatic man striding across the stage as he spoke—no one even glanced her way as she quietly opened the back door. But Samuel noticed her entrance. He stopped on the stage and smiled, as if right at her.

  June felt a little punch to the chest.

  She nodded her head and smiled back, hatred filling her body. But she needed to put in an emergency appearance to shore up her cover with Samuel. Her facade had started to slip—the stakes were death.

  This was Jesse’s fault, she thought as she edged along the crowded back row of the auditorium and took a vacant seat, her heart racing.

  “When you become the best you that you can be—” Samuel was saying into his mike “—it can arouse feelings of envy and inadequacy in others who have not yet attained this change for themselves.”

  He stilled, faced the audience. Silence hung. The audience, almost imperceptibly, leaned forward.

  The lights dimmed slightly, while a single spot simultaneously brightened on Samuel. His hair seemed to shine, his shirt turn whiter. His eyes appeared to dance.

  He was a true master of subliminal effect, thought June—the bastard.

  “We’re reformers, all of us here,” he said with a wide sweep of his tanned and muscled arm. “We have found a new way of seeing the world. But—” He paused, seeming to meet each Devotee’s gaze individually.

  “Reformers by their very nature are defined by their adversaries, who feel threatened by the change in status quo—they want to tear down the very houses we build!” His voice rose, and he himself seemed to grow in stature. “They want to break down our community!”

  Heads in the audience nodded and there were murmurs of assent.

  “And it’s appropriate that these adversaries be identified, and the truth of them be told! Our foes are many and they include corrupt and abusive federal officials.”

  He was referring to the FBI, thought June, Hawk in particular.

  Samuel strode smoothly, deliberately, to the other end of the stage, as if pondering something very grave and heavy indeed. “Our foes include corporations, and they include groups who disguise themselves by offering to help Devotees ‘escape’ the perfection we have created here.”

  June felt her face warm. She focused intensely on not showing any further outward reaction, but she feared that somehow Samuel had already seen something change in her, even from where he stood.

  Don’t be ridiculous, June. You’re giving him the same power these Devotees have given him.

  “These incompetent organizations are filled with even more incompetent individuals who want to tear each and every one of you away from the wonderful thing we have built right here, in Cold Plains, Wyoming! Our home!”

  Samuel reached for a bottle of Cold Plains water on the podium. The water seemed to sparkle in the spotlight. He poured a glass, set the bottle down.

  “These enemies,” he said somberly, “also hide among us, I’m afraid. They could be our neighbors.” He watched the audience carefully. “They could wear the guise of friends. They could even be members of our own families. And the closer they are to us—” he held up his hand “—the more dangerous they are to our well-being. We must oust them, each and every one, and they must be cast from our souls and our town!”

  June’s hands tightened in her lap—he was starting a bloody witch hunt! McCarthyism was going to have nothing on this guy, and she was in his crosshairs.

  * * *

  It was dark and still raining by the time June returned to the cave house in the mountains. She was beat, her emotions simmering far too close to the surface. She hugged Eager tightly and put her face in his fur. His doggie scent, his soft Labrador ears, his delight in seeing her always grounded June.

  After she’d showered quickly and changed, she went to the kitchen to feed Eager and prepare a meal for her captive. Guilt gnawed at her.

  Before returning to the cave house, June had checked in on Hannah, who seemed to think their cover was still intact. But they were all on edge now. June had also tried to call Hawk Bledsoe, but the FBI agent’s voice mail said he was out of town.

  June had then driven out to the ranch where Hawk stayed with his new wife, Carly, and Carly’s sister Mia. Carly had informed her that Hawk had flown back to the D.C. field office and would be gone for a few days. She suggested June go to the other FBI agents at their cabin in the woods. But it was Hawk June trusted, and it was his input she wanted. June decided she’d think on it until morning. Until then, Jesse was her responsibility, and it weighed heavily upon her.

  She’d heard no rumors in town about a missing male, and after what Lacy had described, and what June had seen on Jesse’s GPS, plus the freshness of his tattoo, she was becoming increasingly convinced that he was not one of Samuel’s men.

  Then again, after hearing Samuel’s seminar today, June wouldn’t put it past him to try to get a mole into their safe-house system. With eleven of his Devotees suddenly missing now, Samuel knew something was going down. And June couldn’t rule out the possibility Jesse could be Samuel’s mole, and that he’d been sent in over the north mountains with a fresh tattoo as some kind of ruse.

  * * *

  Carrying the tray of food and some clean clothes, June took a deep breath as Brad, who’d taken over the guard position from Molly, unlocked the bedroom door for her.

  She entered and he locked the door behind her.

  Jesse was reclined on the bed, shirt off, and he was reading a book. He glanced up. Nerves bit at her.

  He made her room seem small, intimate, warm. He made her feel ridiculously feminine. And the partial nakedness of his body, the casualness with which he relaxed in her space, made her ache suddenly for a once-familiar feeling of having a lover, a partner. Someone, just sometimes, she could lean on. A team. As she’d once, so long ago now, been with Matt.

  This vignette, irrespective of who he was or where he’d come from, just drove home how lonely June really was.

  “It got a bit hot in here.” He closed the book, sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Some fresh air would be nice.”

  She cleared her throat and approached the bed. “I brought you some clean clothes and some supper,” she said, setting the tray on the table. The neatly folded jeans, socks, shirt and underwear she placed in a pile on the bed beside him. His belt lay atop the pile.

  He stared at the buckle—the bronze letters: Jesse. A strange look crossed his face.

  June dug into her jeans pocket and handed him his watch.

  “I took it off when I stitched you up.”

  He looked up into her eyes, and she felt a jolt of electrical energy.

  “So now I’m allowed to know what day it is, even if I can’t see daylight?”

  June swallowed, still holding the watch out to him. “I’m sorry, Jesse. It’s only…for a short while.”

  “What’re you waiting for? The feds to arrive?”

  “You really that afraid of law enforcement?”

  Slowly, he reached up, took his watch from her hands. His skin brushed hers as he did. His hand was warm, rough, and the touch sent a wave of goose bumps chasing up her arm. The
n suddenly, he grabbed her wrist.

  And before she could even think, he had her Glock out of her holster with his other hand.

  June cursed her stupidity as panic licked through her stomach.

  “June,” he said quietly as clicked off the safety, his eyes intense, “I don’t want to hurt you, but I need to get out of here.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Jesse could see the fear and anger in her eyes—fear he’d put there.

  “I should have known better than to trust you.” Her voice was hoarse.

  He could smell her shampoo—she’d just had a shower, and her hair was drying in loose waves over her shoulders; it looked like it did in the photograph on the dresser. She was wearing a soft blue-and-white-checked flannel shirt over a white T-shirt and her narrow jeans were tucked into Ugg boots. Not an ounce of makeup adorned her finely boned features. Apart from the angry flush in her cheeks now, she looked tired.

  Compassion mushroomed softly in his chest.

  “I need to go to Cold Plains,” he said quietly. “I need to find Samuel Grayson.”

  She swallowed, her gaze flicking to the gun. “Why?”

  “Because it might help me figure out why I came here.”

  “Maybe you’re his mole,” she said.

  “Why would I be wanting to leave, then?”

  She was silent for several beats. “I don’t know. Samuel is a sociopathic con artist, a master at mental games. Perhaps he sent you in over the mountains to play one of those mental games with me.”

  “I don’t think so, June.”

  “Maybe you don’t know so.” Her features were tight. “Maybe your amnesia is genuine—you did get a knock on the head. And you could regain your memory, recall why you’re here and then hurt the people I’m trying to save.”

  Jesse got up suddenly and she tensed. He went to the dresser and put the loaded gun on top, then he put on his watch. He walked over to the chair where she’d set the pile of clothes and pulled a fresh white T-shirt over his head.

  “I see you found some jeans my size,” he said, taking off his track pants.

  Her gaze darted between him and the gun on the dresser as he pulled on the jeans and put on his belt. The anger spots high on her cheekbones darkened and confusion crept into her eyes. Be damned if it didn’t make her sexier.

  “What’re you doing?” she said.

  “Getting dressed.”

  She hesitated, then edged toward the dresser, picked up the gun, turned to face him. “Why’d you do that?”

  She was shaking slightly.

  “Because I can, June. I wanted to show you that I can overpower you if I want to. I can hurt people if I choose to.” He faced her squarely. “I wanted to prove to you that even when the situation is in my control, I won’t hurt you, or anyone else in this house.”

  She moistened her lips. He could see conflict in her features, and Jesse had an absurd desire to hold her, comfort her, tell her she should get some rest from saving the world.

  “Maybe it’s just part of your mind game,” she said coolly, holstering her weapon.

  “Not going to keep the gun pointed at me?”

  “There’s a loaded twelve-gauge outside that door.” She jerked her chin toward the door. “I just have to scream.”

  He smiled. “You trust me now, even just a little.”

  “I don’t trust you as far as I could throw you.”

  “But you’ll let me out.”

  She said nothing.

  Jesse inhaled deeply. He had to try another tack.

  “How far is it into town?” he said

  “A few hours on foot.”

  “You said you were a part-time paramedic. You spoke about a cult of Devotees and this being a safe house. Did you bring the occupants in here—did you rescue them all from Samuel Grayson’s cult?”

  “Jesse, I—”

  “Please,” he said. “Help me. The more I know, the more it might jog my memory.”

  She raked her hands over that gorgeous red hair. She was unsure about him, yet she cared, too. She was a good, strong and fascinating person, clearly with a keen sense of duty that kept a fire burning in her.

  “June, you said earlier that you do what you do because of your husband—that’s why you wear his ring, as a symbol. Can you tell me about him? What happened?”

  She glanced toward the photo on the dresser.

  “Is that him in that photo? Is that your son?”

  Her eyes flashed to him with such a sudden fierce and crackling energy it took him aback.

  “If you need anything else,” she said coolly, “just call out to the guard outside.” She turned to leave, her shoulders tight, and Jesse saw that her hands were fisted at her sides.

  “June, please, talking to me might help me figure out who I am. I—I need you to talk to me.”

  She stilled, her back to him. And she stayed like that for several beats.

  Jesse came up behind her and he placed his hand on her shoulder. It was slender, her muscles tight.

  “June,” he said very softly, turning her around, and he saw tears pooled in her eyes.

  “Come,” he said, sliding his hand down her arm and taking her hand. “Come sit down.” He tried to lead her to the bed.

  But she shrugged him off and swiped the tears from her face.

  “I’m tired,” she said crisply. “That’s all.”

  “Tired of doing what you do?”

  “Look, it’s been a long day.” She reached for the door. “Please, just stay in here tonight. I’ll have something worked out by tomorrow.”

  “What were their names—your husband’s and son’s?”

  She seemed suddenly frozen.

  “At least you have your memories, June,” he said quietly. “I have nothing but the present.”

  “That’s how he does it, you know. Samuel finds the chink, then he pries it open, makes you talk, and then he’s got you.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing, June.”

  “And how would I know?”

  He hesitated a beat. “You wouldn’t.”

  She studied him, and he could see the intelligence in her features. He also wanted to kiss her mouth. Damn, he wanted to take her in his arms, do a lot more.

  But as the thought occurred to him, he was slammed by an image of a dark-haired woman, screaming, in pain. And in his mind he heard a child crying—terrible cries. And he felt desperate, helpless. Responsible. Then there was just blackness—an awful, aching void of nothing.

  The blood drained from his head. He reached up, touched his stitches.

  “Are you all right?”

  Her gaze shot to her. “I don’t know.”

  She hesitated. “I’ll talk to you, Jesse, but only if you eat while I do. You need to eat something. Is that a deal?”

  He snorted softly at the power shift. “Deal.”

  June moved to a chair near the stove and sat. Light from the flames inside flickered like soft copper fire over her hair. She released a big breath of air. “I feel bad enough as it is about locking that door—I suppose I owe you. I just wish I could trust you, that I had some kind of proof you don’t belong to Samuel.”

  “Believe me, I’d like to know, too.”

  “Case rested for locking you up.” But a smile curved her lips when she said it, and Jesse’s heart stalled for a nanosecond.

  “You should do that more often,” he said quietly.

  “What?”

  “Smile.”

  She flushed, and his blood heated. Jesse seated himself at the small table where she’d placed his food. He picked up the knife and fork. “See? Eating.”

  “My
husband’s name was Matt,” she said quietly. “Matt Farrow.”

  “He was a pilot?”

  She nodded, hands tight in her lap.

  “It’s difficult to talk about?”

  She nodded again, eyes glimmering, her nose going slightly pink. Then she lurched to her feet.

  “It shouldn’t be,” she snapped and began to pace the room, her long legs sexy as all hell in those jeans. An image of getting those sheepskin boots off her flashed through his mind. On the back of it came the faceless image of the dark-haired woman. His pulse quickened.

  “Why shouldn’t it be difficult?”

  She spun to face him.

  “It’s been five years, Jesse. Matt and Aiden have been gone that long now. I—I’ve been fine—dealt with it.”

  “You’re still wearing his ring, June.”

  “I don’t mean that I want to forget him. I mean I thought I’d put the grief into perspective, that I’d gone through the stages. But…I don’t know. It’s just hurting at the moment. I don’t know why.”

  Jesse set his knife and fork down slowly, a sense of loss filling him, as if June was reminding him of something. He heard the baby screaming again in his memory somewhere. Then he saw an image of a hospital. He felt the guilt again. The name Samuel Grayson began to circle in his head.

  “Is the food not good?”

  He stared at it—vegetable lasagna and salad. “No, it’s great, I…thought I was remembering something, that’s all.” He glanced up at her.

  She assessed him for a beat, then reseated herself beside the stove. “My son’s name was Aiden,” she said.

  “How old was he?” Jesse asked quietly

  She inhaled deeply. “Jesse, I really don’t want to do this, not with you. I’m beat. This whole thing…this day…no sleep…it’s just left everything a little raw. I’m not usually like this.”

  “What whole thing?” he said, a kind of desperation rising in him.

  She turned her face away from him, stared at the flames in the little window of the stove.

  “Finding you,” she said finally. “Finding you has messed everything up. I… Jesus, I’m sorry, Jesse, but my actions, the fact I brought you here instead of going on an official search—it’s made my cover thin. It could cost lives. And I don’t know what the hell to do with you.”