by Paula Graves
The wounded look deepened, and he clenched his jaw, hating himself for hurting her and hating her for breaching his fragile trust in the first place. He looked down at his own half-eaten bowl of soup.
“I guess I’d better go pack, then. So we can leave first thing in the morning.” She started to push away from the small table, but Joe reached out and caught her hand. Her gaze flickered up to meet his, her green eyes darkening to a mossy hazel.
“Finish your soup,” he said, keeping his voice gentle so that it sounded like a request rather than an order.
She looked down at his hand on hers. Color bloomed in her apple cheeks. “I’m really not that hungry-”
He let go of her hand. “Think of it as medicine. You need to keep your strength up. We don’t know when we’ll get to eat again after we leave tomorrow.”
She picked up her spoon, took a bite of soup. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”
“Not this exactly. I’ve done some cattle drives in the Wyoming Rockies. That can be pretty primitive.” Of course, he’d always known he’d end up back home, sooner or later, for hot food and a warm bed. The unknown stretching out before them at the moment lacked that safety net.
Her lips quirked. “Cowboy Joe indeed.”
He fumbled the spoon at her soft words. Pain made a fist in his heart and squeezed hard, catching him by surprise. He felt her gaze on him, but he didn’t look up, retrieving his spoon from the table and wiping the soup off the scuffed wood with a paper towel.
“Who was I to you?” Jane’s voice was soft. Hesitant.
He made himself meet her wary gaze. “You worked for my brother as his housekeeper. I told you that.”
“And that’s all?”
He put his spoon on the napkin by his bowl. “We saw each other a few times.”
“You mean dated?”
“Yeah.”
A dozen emotions darted across her face in the span of a couple of seconds before her expression shuttered. When she spoke, her voice was neutral. “How long?”
“Five months.”
Her eyes flickered with surprise. “That long?”
He nodded.
She processed the information quietly, but he could see her doing the math. Five months together meant more than just the occasional dinner and movie outing. More than just holding hands while walking through the park or a goodnight kiss at the door.
But she didn’t ask the question aloud, to his relief.
“We’d better finish the soup before it gets cold,” she said, bending her head over her own bowl.
He turned his attention to his own soup, aware that the advice he’d given her earlier was even more important for him. He had to keep up his strength, which had already been compromised by the bullet wound and the infection.
But he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever have enough strength to deal with many more nights alone with Jane Doe.
S HE SLIPPED into the middle of the crowd, catching sight of the dark-haired man. He gave her a quick blink, the signal to sidle up to the mark and put on a show.
He was clearly a tourist, overdressed for the hot, dry climate. He seemed fascinated with the old man’s nimble fingers as they shuffled and dealt the cards.
The onlookers were all in on the scam. They played the game, won or lost as needed, and softened up the mark for the kill. Now it was her turn.
“It’s the second card,” she murmured to the mark.
He looked down at her, surprised.
“Trust me. The queen’s the second card,” she said.
The dealer took the bets from one of the shills and flipped the cards. The queen was the second card.
The mark looked at her. “How’d you know?”
“He shows you the queen every time, right? Don’t watch the queen card. Watch the others.”
He frowned at the advice. “That sounds harder than watching the queen.”
“Just do it.”
The mark turned his attention to the dark-haired man’s hands as they switched around the cards. When he stopped, the mark said, “I think it’s under the card to his left.”
One of the shills who’d placed the bet pointed to the card in the middle. The dark-haired man shook his head and flipped the card to his left instead, revealing the queen. The shill cursed loudly, paid his debt and stomped away.
“You’ve got it now,” she encouraged the mark. “Wanna lend me twenty so I can make a bet? I’ll split it with you when we win.”
“How ’bout I use the twenty myself and keep it all?” the mark responded, pushing his way to the front of the crowd and slapping a twenty-dollar bill on the table.
The dark-haired man met her gaze in the crowd and smiled at her. She tried to smile back, but her stomach hurt. She watched the mark lean into the game, his gaze following the cards as the dealer switched them around.
The man picked the card to the dealer’s right. The dealer flipped it. A seven of hearts.
The mark looked over his shoulder at her, contempt blazing in his dark eyes. She saw the dark-haired man give the signal. One of the shills called out, “Cops!”
The crowd started to disperse as planned, on cue. She started running as well, heading for the nearest alley, but someone grabbed her from behind. She called out, kicking and screaming, but the others had already scattered. She saw the dark-haired man look her way and pause, briefly, before dashing away.
She turned to face her captor. It was the mark, fury darkening his ruddy face. He released her long enough to reach into his pocket and pull out a badge. “Reno Police,” he said. “You’re under arrest.”
Jane woke with a start, her heart pounding. The nightmare remained in hazy fragments that she struggled to put together. A con game. An undercover cop.
Reno Police.
Whoever she really was, she had an arrest record in Reno, Nevada. It was her first real clue to her true identity-and a stark reminder of just why she hadn’t wanted to remember her past.
She shivered as the cold night air curled around her shoulders where the blanket had slipped during the night. She sat up and wrapped it around her, peering through the darkness to get her bearings in the unfamiliar bedroom.
She felt her way to the door and walked a few feet down the narrow corridor to the bedroom where Joe slept. The woodstove cast a golden glow over the room as well as warmth, lighting the path to the bed where Joe lay. She crossed to the bed, gazing down at his sleeping form. She’d double-dosed him with ibuprofen before bed, knowing he’d need as much rest as possible before they hit the road in the morning.
Now, she knew where to go next. Reno, Nevada.
But this time, she was going alone.
A NOISE STIRRED Joe into consciousness. He lay still, listening for a repeat of whatever had jarred him awake, but he heard only the soft hiss and crackle of the fire in the woodstove.
He was about to drift off to sleep again when he heard a soft, scraping noise from the front of the cabin. Instantly alert, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the ache in his side, and pushed to his feet. He left his boots behind, opting for stealth, and grabbed his Colt from the bedside table.
As he stepped into the hallway, he heard the clink of metal on metal-keys rattling, he realized. He crept forward into the darkened great room and saw the front door swing open and a small, thin silhouette start to ease its way through the narrow opening.
He slipped up behind her, catching the door as she started to swing it shut.
Jane whirled around, her face a pale oval in the dim moonlight. Her wide eyes gazed back at him with a mixture of relief and guilt.
“Just where the hell do you think you’re going?” he asked, closing his hand over hers and retrieving his keys from her trembling fingers. “Don’t give me any bull about looking for firewood this time.”
“Reno,” she said, defeat in her voice.
He took a step back, surprised by her answer. “Reno?”
“I had a memory.
A dream, really, but I think it was a memory.” She leaned against the door frame, her gaze turned toward the truck sitting parked just a few feet from the porch. A distant look came over her moonlit profile. “I was in Reno. Someone will know me in Reno.”
He leaned against the opposite side of the door frame, studying her face, trying to figure out what was the truth and what was just another lie. “So you were going to sneak out of here, steal my truck and leave me up here alone?”
She looked down at her feet. “I was going to call Chief Trent to tell him where to find you.”
“Am I supposed to thank you for that?”
She looked up at him. “No.”
“I would have gone with you to Reno.”
“I know you would,” she said. “That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
“I don’t understand.”
Her half smile looked painful. “I know.”
“Then explain it,” he said, his voice deepening with frustration. He wanted to reach out and shake her, to make her remember everything he needed to know, to make her tell him the truth-the whole truth this time-so he could be rid of her for good. Out of his life, out of his mind, out of his-
What? His heart? He tamped down that idea with brutal force, refusing to dredge up that particular part of their past. Those feelings were dead and buried alongside his brother Tommy. All he had left inside him now was a gnawing hunger for answers.
“I don’t know if I can explain-” Jane’s words cut off abruptly, and her brow furrowed as she stared into the woods behind him. He turned, following her gaze, and saw what had caught her attention.
Car lights, moving slowly up the winding gravel road toward the cabin.
“Oh, God,” she whispered.
He watched for a second to make sure the lights were actually coming toward them. “How much traffic does this area usually see at this time of year?”
“Angie said not a lot. There aren’t any cabins between here and the road, and none beyond here.” Her voice sounded small and scared, catching him by surprise. To this point, she’d been tough as rawhide, taking on everything thrown at her with pluck and grit. He turned to look at her in the pale glow of moonlight. She looked tiny. Fragile.
The way she’d looked the first day he met her.
He knew better, now. He knew there were more layers to her than just the wounded bird who needed a little tenderness and patience to thrive.
But God help him, she could still get to him in spite of everything.
He touched her cheek. “It’s going to be okay.”
She put her hand over his. “What are we going to do?”
He pulled her inside the cabin and shut the door, locking it behind them. The flood of adrenaline coursing through his veins started to clear the cobwebs from his sleepy brain. “We have a few minutes. I need you to go to your room, put on extra clothing. Grab anything we can carry on us-matches, snack bars, whatever. I don’t know if we’re going to have to make a run for it without the truck, but we better be prepared. Got it?”
She nodded and hurried off to the bedroom.
He crossed to the window and moved the curtains aside, peering out at the lights moving closer, and prayed those headlights belonged to a tourist who’d taken a wrong turn.
JANE RETURNED to the great room to find Joe shrugging on his heavy suede jacket. He’d already put on his shirt and boots. She didn’t see his gun anywhere, but she knew it had to be within reach.
Outside, the low growl of the car engine continued its inexorable approach. “It’s my fault, isn’t it?” she murmured. “For calling Doris.”
“We don’t know that,” he answered, even though she could tell he thought she was right. He didn’t seem angry about it, though.
The sound of the engine grew louder, then suddenly died. Jane met Joe’s gaze, her heart pounding.
The knock on the door made her whole body jerk.
“Shh,” he murmured.
“Maybe if we don’t answer they’ll go away.”
“I don’t think so,” he whispered. “That doesn’t sound like a tourist.”
The next knock proved him right. “Smith County Sheriff’s Department!”
Jane tried to calm her racing heart.
Joe looked at her. “Two tourists, vacationing in the mountains,” he whispered. “That’s all we are.”
“Why don’t you flash your badge and tell ’em to butt out of your investigation?”
He grinned a little at that. “That’ll be plan B.” He flicked on the light and crossed to the door as their visitors knocked a third time.
He opened the door a crack. “What is it?”
“Smith County Sheriff’s Department. May we come in?”
“Can I see your identification?” Joe asked.
Jane heard a rustle of movement and caught a flash of metal in the narrow opening of the doorway.
Joe looked the badges over carefully for a moment, then stepped back. “How can I help you?”
Two deputies in tan uniforms stepped inside the cabin. The taller of the two tipped his hat at Jane. “I’m Deputy Lowell. This is Deputy Garland.”
A nervous bubble of laughter caught in Jane’s throat at the polite introduction, so at odds with the terrified tension that had her wrapped up in knots.
“We’ve had a citizen issue a complaint against a Mrs. Sarah Holbrook, and he told us we could find her here.” Garland, the shorter deputy, looked pointedly at Jane.
“I don’t know any Sarah Holbrook,” she blurted.
“Neither do I,” Joe agreed. “What sort of complaint?”
“Armed robbery. He said Mrs. Holbrook pulled a knife on him and stole his car and several thousand dollars in cash.” Garland took a step toward Jane. “What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Jane,” she answered.
“Last name?”
Jane looked at Joe. He gave a little nod, and she answered, “Doe.”
Garland’s eyebrow ticked upward.
“She has amnesia,” Joe said.
Both Garland and Lowell stiffened at his words. Garland’s hand dropped to his hip holster as he exchanged a look with his partner.
“I’m going to have to ask you to put your hands up against the wall, ma’am,” Garland said, motioning toward the wall by the fireplace.
“What’s this about?” Joe asked, taking a step forward. Lowell put out his arm, blocking him. Joe turned toward the deputy, his face flushed with anger. “You don’t know what you’re doing here. This woman is not who you’re looking for.”
“How do you know? You said she had amnesia,” Lowell responded, drawing his weapon.
Joe held up his hands. “I’m a cop, that’s why. Let me get my identification out of my pocket.”
“That won’t be necessary,” a new voice interrupted from the doorway.
Jane’s body stiffened at the familiar tone, her heart lurching to a stop before skittering into hyperdrive. She forced her gaze upward.
A tall, sandy-haired man in a black overcoat moved unhurriedly into the cabin, his gaze seeking Jane’s. He locked eyes with her, a slow, satisfied smile creeping over his full lips as he saw that she recognized him.
“Hello, Sarah,” he said.
He was clean-shaven and well-dressed now, but she’d remember those cold blue eyes till the day she died.
He was the man who’d killed Angie.
Chapter Eight
Joe looked from the newcomer to Jane, taking in the look of horror on her face. The hair on the back of his neck rose. “Would someone like to tell me what the hell’s going on?”
“Mr. Holbrook, you were supposed to wait in the car,” Deputy Garland gave the man a stern look, but Holbrook didn’t even look at him. His gaze remained fixed on Jane’s pale face.
Joe stepped between Jane and Holbrook, blocking her from his view. “Who’s Sarah?” he asked.
Holbrook looked at him through narrowed eyes. “This woman. My wife. I’m Clint Holbrook, Sarah’s husba
nd.” His voice softened. “She’s not a stable woman. You realize that, don’t you?”
“That’s enough, Mr. Holbrook.” Deputy Lowell moved in close, taking Joe’s arm. “Sir, we’re taking Mrs. Holbrook in for questioning. I’m afraid we’ll have to ask you to come in with us, as well.”
“On what charge?”
“Right now, it’s just for questioning,” Garland answered in a soothing tone Joe knew well. It only served to irritate him.
“I’m a policeman. I know how this works, and I want to know what this man told you to get you out here in the middle of the night instead of waiting until morning.” And how had he found them? Had Jane’s friend Doris spilled the beans?
“Sarah has already shown herself to be a flight risk,” Holbrook answered smoothly. “Haven’t you, darling?”
Joe felt the heat of Jane’s body as she moved up behind him. She curled her fingers in the back of his shirt, just above where his Colt nestled in the waistband of his jeans.
“He’s the one who killed Angie,” she said, her voice low and strangled.
Joe looked up at Holbrook, trying to square him with the description Jane had given to Hank Trent. Add a beard, mustache and a baseball cap, put him in all-black clothing-
“My wife is delusional, Mr.-?” Holbrook paused, waiting for Joe to supply his name.
Joe didn’t bite, pretty sure that Holbrook, whoever he was, already knew Joe’s name and probably a whole lot more about him. He turned to the two deputies. “Mr. Holbrook is wanted in Trinity, Idaho, for questioning in a murder.”
Garland and Lowell exchanged glances. “He told us you’d say that.”
“I’m afraid the man has been infected by my wife’s paranoia.” Holbrook’s voice was tinged with a hint of sadness. He met Joe’s gaze, a triumphant light burning in the blue depths of his eyes. “You see, she’s a very sick woman. Paranoid schizophrenia. She needs to be in a hospital, not in a cabin in the wilderness.”
Jane’s fingers tightened their grip on Joe’s shirt.
“I suppose you have proof of what you’re saying?” Joe asked, fairly sure the man would produce papers to support his statement. Clint Holbrook looked like the kind of man who tied up all his loose ends.