Cowboy Alibi

by Paula Graves

  “No! Really?”

  “But I don’t believe you were the one who killed Angela Carlyle. The evidence argues against it.”

  She felt a ripple of relief. “So you believe me about the man?”

  “I believe a man killed your roommate. Who or what he is to you is still a question.”

  “For me, too.”

  He shot her a sidelong look. “My point is, the man is still at large, and if you’re the only witness to his murder of your friend, he might want to shut you up.”

  She tamped down a shudder. “You think I don’t know that?”

  “I think you need a reminder. I know firsthand that you have a tendency to run.”

  She opened her car door and stepped out, turning to look at him through the open door. “I’m not stupid. I know I’m not safe out there on my own. That’s why I agreed to this setup.”

  “Good. Then we’re on the same page.”

  She closed the door a little harder than necessary. “We’ll never be on the same page, cowboy,” she muttered.

  She followed him into the hotel and waited impatiently while he picked up the key to her room from the desk clerk. “You’re in room 223. It’s an adjoining room to mine.”

  “Adjoining?”

  “You know, there’s a connecting door between our rooms?”

  “I know what adjoining means.” She frowned at him as they entered the elevator. “I just wondered why.”

  “Easy access,” he answered cryptically.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t request that Chief Trent just put me in your room with you. Maybe supply you with a set of handcuffs to chain me to the bed or something.”

  “I did. He nixed it. But I have my own set of cuffs if you’re interested.”

  She looked up sharply, surprised at the hint of humor she heard in his deep, gravelly voice. “My God, that was a joke, wasn’t it? Cowboy Joe just told a joke.”

  The half smile quirking his lips faded and his gray eyes darkened. “Don’t get used to it.”

  She sighed as the elevator lurched and settled on the second floor. The door swished open and she started to step out, but Joe swung his arm out, stopping her.

  “Let me check it out first.” Holding the doors open with one hand, he stuck his head out of the elevator and looked both ways. “Okay, let’s go.”

  She followed him into the deserted hallway, remembering her earlier visit to his hotel room. What would Joe say if he knew she’d been here already, conned her way inside his room and gone through his things? Check that. She had a feeling she already knew what he’d say.

  Joe stopped in front of room 223 and swiped the card key in the lock, opening the door. Jane took a step inside ahead of him and stopped dead in her tracks.

  Behind her, Joe uttered a low profanity.

  Spread across the bed, in the unmistakable shape of a body, lay hundreds of blood-red rose petals.

  Chapter Four

  Trinity Police Chief Hank Trent took one look at the rose-strewn hotel bed and uttered a scalding string of epithets.

  “We can’t stay here,” Joe said when he was done.

  “I’ll find you another hotel.”

  “We can’t stay here in Trinity,” Joe said firmly.

  “You expect me to just let you waltz out of town with my only eyewitness to a murder?”

  Joe glanced at the Jane. She stood a few feet away, her gaze still fixed on the rose-petal effigy posed like a crimson corpse on the pale bedspread. She had said almost nothing since they’d opened the hotel room door, but her distress was evident in her pale face and wide, haunted eyes.

  “The only people who knew we were coming here besides Jane and me were you and your department, Chief.” Joe turned his gaze to Trent. “She was in your custody the whole time.”

  “You weren’t.”

  “You want to check my credentials again?”

  Trent frowned. “No. Just guarantee me you’re not pulling some fast one here to get her back to Wyoming.”

  “I just want to keep her alive until we can figure out what the hell is going on here,” Joe assured him. “I’ll take her somewhere safe and get back in touch with you directly to let you know where we are.”

  Though his face reflected his reluctance, Trent gave a grudging nod. “Stay in this state, Garrison. I mean it.”

  Joe nodded. “I’ll be in touch as soon as we settle somewhere.” He crossed to Jane and touched her elbow.

  She gave a little jerk and turned startled green eyes to him. “What’s happening now?”

  “I’m taking you out of town.”

  Her eyes darkened with suspicion. “To Wyoming?”

  “No. We have to stay in Idaho.”

  “But not here.”

  He cupped her elbow in his palm, trying to ignore the way her warmth seeped into his bloodstream and settled in the center of his chest, the way it had always done, right from the start. He led her out into the hallway, away from the handful of police and technicians examining the hotel room for evidence. “You’re not safe here.”

  She looked away. “I’m not safe anywhere.”

  “Why do you say that?” he asked, tightening his grip on her elbow.

  She pulled her arm from his grasp. “Just a feeling.”

  “Not a memory?”

  She met his gaze again. “Not a memory.”

  “You don’t remember anything.”

  She shook her head.

  If she was faking, she was amazingly consistent about it. He’d watched her carefully over the past few hours as she dealt with the aftermath of her friend’s murder, and not once had she slipped.

  He picked up the small suitcase filled with women’s clothes Hank Trent’s sister had brought for Jane, nodding for her to follow him to his room. He closed the door behind them and turned to look at her. She looked even more wary and pale. “Are you okay?”

  She gave a brief nod.

  He motioned toward the chair next to the bed. “Sit down before you fall down.”

  She obeyed, tucking her feet up and wrapping her arms around her knees. She looked so much thinner than he remembered. Fragile, almost. A fist of tension formed in the center of his chest and he forced himself not to cross to her side and pull her into his arms.

  Once, he’d have done so, without hesitation. But that time seemed like decades ago, not just a short, harrowing eight months. The woman he’d known in Canyon Creek had been an illusion.

  He’d thought he could trust her, just like he’d thought he could trust his stepmother. Like he’d thought he could trust Rita. But they’d left him, just like the woman he’d known as Sandra.

  Women couldn’t be trusted. He couldn’t let himself forget it.

  “Where are you taking me?” Jane asked, her voice raspy.

  “I don’t know. I thought we’d head to Boise and decide from there.”

  “Why are you trying to protect me?” She turned her wide-eyed gaze on him again.

  He swallowed a rush of pure, masculine desire and looked away. “It’s my job.”

  “No, it’s Chief Trent’s job.”

  “I need answers,” he admitted after a brief pause. “I need to know exactly what happened the day Tommy died.”

  “I thought you already knew.”

  A knock at the door kept him from having to say more. He found Hank Trent standing outside. “Just thought you’d want to know that the FBI resident agency in Idaho Falls has offered the services of a profiler on this case. I don’t have a good reason to say no.”

  Probably not a bad idea to have a profiler on this, Joe had to admit, though he generally didn’t like the feds nosing around on a case he was working. But that would be Trent’s headache, not his. Joe turned to Jane. “You ready?”

  She picked up the suitcase he’d set by the bed and squared her jaw. “Let’s do it.”

  He shook Trent’s hand, promised to be in touch and led Jane down to the hotel parking lot.

  CLINT SLOWLY approached the C
hevy Silverado parked in the hotel lot, taking in the Wyoming plates. So Joe Garrison was in town.

  “Guess you got the memo, too,” he murmured wryly. He should have figured. But the cowboy was out of luck this time. He could swagger around in his stupid hat and his Wrangler jeans, but it would make no difference. Clint was no steer to be wrangled into submission nor a horse to be broken. He wouldn’t let a two-bit hayseed hick keep him from getting what he came to Idaho to retrieve.

  He stuck the device to the Silverado’s undercarriage, just behind the passenger door, and straightened, dusting off his hands and tugging at the folds of his dark trench coat. He slipped into the shadows as two people emerged from the hotel and headed for the parking lot.

  From his hiding place behind a mud-splattered Dodge Durango, he watched Joe Garrison open the door for Jane and help her into the truck. What a gentleman. His lip curled in a sneer at the thought.

  He let them drive away before he emerged from the shadows and crossed slowly to the Lexus he’d rented at the airport in Boise. He took his time, placing a call that would put the next phase of his plan into motion. Then he pulled out his palm-size computer and checked the status of the device he’d placed on Joe Garrison’s truck.

  The signal was strong and clear.

  He smiled.

  “WHAT KIND of provisions can we find here?” Jane looked at the gas-station food mart, skeptical. They were about thirty minutes out of Trinity, still on the main highway to Boise.

  “Food. Water. I thought we might find a couple of prepaid disposable cell phones to make it hard to trace any calls we have to make. I have a first-aid kit but it wouldn’t hurt to stock up on extra supplies-aspirin, antihistamine cream, antibiotic ointment-”

  “Are we going to need those?”

  “Be prepared.”

  She couldn’t stop a soft giggle. “Should’ve known you were a Boy Scout.”

  He looked up sharply. “You remember Boy Scouts?”

  She frowned. “I guess I do. I mean, I know what they are. I think.”

  She didn’t like the suspicion in his eyes as he studied her face. He made her feel like a chronic liar, the way he looked for subterfuge in everything she said or did. Was he that way with everyone? She supposed, being a cop, he had to be skeptical by nature, but she didn’t like being the focus of so much disbelief.

  It made her wonder if she deserved it.

  The worst thing about not remembering her past was not knowing what kind of person she really was. People these days were big on the idea that the past didn’t matter, only the present and the future. Angela had even expressed envy, seeing in Jane’s situation a golden opportunity to wipe the slate clean-whatever her past had been-and start fresh as a brand-new person.

  Easy to say when it was someone else’s past that was erased. Not so easy when you had to create a life, a personality, out of nothing but a complete blank.

  She didn’t wait for Joe to open the door for her, meeting him in front of the truck. “I guess we should concentrate on food staples, since we don’t know how long we’ll be out here on our own, huh?”

  “Yeah.” For once, there was something besides suspicion in his gray eyes. Was it admiration? She didn’t dare hope.

  She followed him into the food mart. “Why don’t we split up? It’ll go faster that way. I’ll get the food, you get the other supplies-”

  “No. We stick together,” he said firmly.

  And the suspicion was back, she thought. She sighed as he picked up a shopping basket and headed down the first aisle. She grabbed a basket of her own and fell into step with him.

  She picked up a jar of outrageously expensive peanut butter and put it in the basket. “A grocery store would’ve been a whole lot cheaper.”

  “And more exposed.”

  His dead-serious tone unnerved her. “You’re trying to scare me now.”

  “You’re not scared already?” He glanced her way.

  “Okay, you’re trying to scare me more.”

  He dropped a large loaf of bread into the basket and headed for the drink coolers at the end of the aisle, not answering.

  By the time they reached the checkout stand, both of their baskets were full. Joe paid the bill with a credit card and turned to Jane. He handed her his keys. “I’ll get the bags. You get the doors.” He took the two full sacks of provisions from the cashier and followed her outside.

  Jane unlocked the passenger door for him and took one of the bags, sliding it into the narrow space behind the seats. As she took the other bag from him, Joe suddenly lurched toward her with a low grunt. Almost simultaneously, she heard a loud thumping sound and the whole truck shook.

  “Joe?”

  Joe closed his fingers around her arm, the grip painfully tight. “Get in the truck!” he growled.

  She pulled up into the cab. A loud thunk shook the truck again, and Joe pushed her to keep going.

  “Get behind the wheel!” He pushed her until she crawled over the storage console and settled behind the wheel. Joe hauled himself into the passenger seat and slumped low. “Drive!”

  She fumbled the key into the ignition and started the truck. “What’s going on?”

  Another metallic thud made the truck rock. Joe grabbed her arm and squeezed. “Just drive, damn it!”

  She put the truck in gear and pulled onto the highway, realization settling over her in cold waves. “Someone was shooting at us.”

  Joe remained silent. She shot a look at him, alarmed by the way he lay half-sprawled across the seat. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” he gritted in a tone that told her he was anything but.

  Her heart dropped. “You got hit.”

  “I don’t think it’s bad.”

  Jane gripped the steering wheel and pressed the pedal to the floor. “God, where’s the nearest hospital? Maybe we should stop and call 911-”

  “No!” Joe pushed himself up to a straighter sitting position. “No paramedics. It’s not that bad.”

  She flicked on the interior light and he squinted at her, his face pale and sweaty. “Not that bad?”

  “Just-the next wide place on the shoulder, pull off. Okay? And turn off that light!”

  She turned it off, plunging the interior of the truck cab into darkness again. She could hear Joe’s soft pants of pain and considered defying his wishes. But then she spotted a widening of the shoulder straight ahead and slowed to pull to the side of the highway. She put the truck in Park and turned to Joe. “What now?”

  “I need you to get out of the truck and start feeling around the undercarriage.”

  “What?”

  “Just do it!” He took a couple of swift, shallow breaths and added, “Please?”

  Jane cut the engine and got out of the truck. She left the door open so she could hear Joe. “What am I looking for?”

  “Anything stuck to the truck’s underside that doesn’t feel like it belongs,” he answered, his voice thready.

  That’s helpful, she thought. She ran her hands along the undercarriage from the back of the truck to the front bumper. “Nothing so far.”

  “Keep going.”

  She felt her way around the front of the truck and started down the passenger side. Just behind the passenger door, her fingers ran into something hard and cold. “I think I found something.”

  Joe lowered the window. “Can you pull it away from the truck?”

  She jerked her hand away, a sudden, horrifying thought darting through her mind. “Is it a bomb?”

  “I doubt it. Why shoot at us if we were rigged to blow?” Joe leaned his head against the window frame. “Just see if you can pull it off.”

  She reached under the truck, grabbed the edges of the square object and gave a tug. It popped free and she stood up straight, holding it out for Joe to see.

  He took it from her and studied it in the pale glow of the truck’s dome light. Muttering a soft curse, he handed it back to her. “Throw it as far away as you can.”


  “What is it?”

  “Just throw it away and get back in the truck. We need to get a move on.”

  Biting back her irritation, she hurled the small metal box into the scrubby underbrush lining the highway, then slid behind the steering wheel. “Done. Now, are you going to tell me what the hell that was?”

  “It was a GPS tracker.”

  It took a second to place what he was talking about. “Someone was tracking us? Who?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?” He reached for the seat belt, grimacing as he tried to slip the metal tab into the buckle.

  Jane reached across and buckled the belt for him. She took a moment to adjust her own seat forward so she could better reach the pedals. Taking a couple of slow, deep breaths to fight the flood of adrenaline coursing through her bloodstream, she pulled onto the highway. “So, what do we do now?”

  “We don’t keep going to Boise,” Joe said. “We need to find a place that nobody would think to connect to either of us.”

  “Somewhere secluded?” she asked, her mind racing to think of an answer.

  “Yeah.”

  The problem was, she was almost as much a stranger to the area as he was. She’d spent most of the past five months in the little apartment she’d shared with Angie. Most of her trips out of town had been doctor’s appointments in Ketchum or the occasional day trip to Boise. The only time she’d spent more than a few hours out of town had been the previous Christmas, when Angie had invited her to spend the holiday with her family up at their cabin in the Sawtooth Mountains-the cabin!

  “I know a place,” she said aloud.

  THOUGH JANE had closed the door to the tiny bathroom, Joe couldn’t miss the retching sounds. He had to hand it to her, however; she’d made it through the nasty job of cleaning up and binding his gunshot wound before her stomach finally rebelled.

  He pressed his hand to his aching side, where Jane had carefully picked singed pieces of his shirt from his ragged bullet wound, then bandaged him with what he suspected was a sanitary napkin, although he hadn’t wanted to ask. At this point he hurt too much to care.

  He heard the bathroom door open and Jane’s soft footfalls moving up behind him. She smelled like mint toothpaste and soap. He pushed himself up to a wobbly sitting position to watch her approach.