ROCKY MOUNTAIN REVENGE

by CINDI MEYERS

  Even if that meant depending on Jake in the short term. She needed him—and his gun—for protection right now. But as soon as she had a plan that would keep her safe, she’d say goodbye to him. She didn’t need—or want—him in her life again. In his own way, Jake was as tied to violence as her father had been. The fact that he wanted revenge, even though he wasn’t in law enforcement anymore, proved he was still a part of the violence. She was done with living that way, with danger and bloodshed as commonplace as Friday-night pizza or Sunday drives for other families.

  When she emerged from the bedroom with the overnight bag and her coat, DiCello’s body was gone. Jake had cleaned the floor and thrown a quilt over the back of the sofa to hide the bloodstains. “I’ve done the best I can,” he said. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll take my rental car. It’s parked just down the street.”

  “What kind of car is it?” she asked.

  “A Pontiac Vibe. What difference does that make?”

  She shook her head. “It isn’t four-wheel drive. We’ll take my Subaru.”

  She could tell he wanted to argue. Jake liked to take charge, to have every situation under control. But this was her plan and she’d thought it out very carefully. “We’ll need the four-wheel drive on the Forest Service roads,” she said.

  “Then give me your keys. I’ll drive.” He held out his hand.

  She wrapped her hand more securely around the keys. “I know the way to the cabins and I’m a better driver in mountain snow than you are.” And focusing on driving would keep her from brooding over the man who had attacked her, and the images of him dying right before her eyes. Though her father had been responsible for many deaths, the only other one she’d seen close up had been Jake. She moved past him, out the door.

  She expected him to argue more, but he didn’t, he merely slid into the passenger seat as she started the car. “You should call your friend Maggie, and tell her you’re going out of town for a few days. Tell her your mom is sick or something.”

  “All right. I need to stop for gas. I’ll call her then. And I’ll call the U.S. marshal assigned to my case and let him know what’s going on.”

  “Don’t tell him you’re with me.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m supposed to be retired. They’ll see my presence as interfering.”

  “You are interfering.” She gripped the steering wheel so tightly her fingers ached. “I was fine until you showed up.”

  “It was a coincidence that your father’s goon showed up right after I did.”

  “A pretty big coincidence, if you ask me.” She turned onto the main highway out of town. A few cars filled the parking spaces in front of the town’s only bar, but there was no one outside to see her car glide past, or to wonder what the teacher was doing out so late.

  “Where is this gas station?” He changed the subject.

  “About five miles, by the lake. It’s closed this time of night, but the electric pumps will take a credit card.”

  “I suppose we’ll have to risk it. I’ll stay out of sight of the security cameras, so it will look like you’re alone.”

  “Why do I need to look like I’m alone?”

  “If you’re really on your way to visit your sick mother, why do you have a strange man with you?”

  Right. She’d already forgotten the cover story he’d concocted. Not that she expected anyone to believe it. But maybe it would buy them a little time, and if anyone came around questioning Maggie, she’d have something to tell them.

  Jake hid in the backseat while she fueled the car; then she parked around the side of the building, out of sight of the security cameras, and dialed Maggie’s number. A sleepy voice answered on the fifth ring. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Ty? I’m so sorry to bother you this late. This is Anne. May I speak to Maggie?”

  “Sure, Anne. Everything all right?”

  “It’s fine. I just need to talk to Maggie a minute.”

  After a few seconds of fumbling with the phone, Maggie came on the line. “Anne, what’s wrong?”

  “I just learned my father is in the hospital in New York. I need to go up there and see him.” She was surprised how smoothly the lie rolled off her tongue. She felt like an actress, delivering a line in a play.

  “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. What’s wrong?”

  “His heart. It...it doesn’t look so good, I guess.” Her father didn’t have a heart where she was concerned, but as far as Anne knew, his health was fine.

  “You never talked much about your parents before.”

  “My mother died when I was little.” True. “My father and I aren’t particularly close.” Also true.

  “I understand. You want to try to patch things up before it’s too late. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll call Mr. Strand first thing in the morning and explain.”

  Anne had been hoping to avoid a phone call to the principal. Lying to her best friend was bad enough; the more people she spoke with, the greater the chance of getting her story mixed up. “Thanks. I’ll call you again when I know when I’ll be home.”

  “Don’t worry. Have you told Jake?”

  “Jake?” She glanced at the man in the passenger seat and he sent her a questioning look. “Why would I tell Jake?”

  “He’s from New York, isn’t he? He could fly back with you. Then you wouldn’t have to be alone.”

  Maggie made it sound so romantic—the old flame comforting her in her time of need. In some ways, having Jake with her was comforting; at least he knew the truth about her. But she shouldn’t trust him, and being with him complicated the situation even more. “I haven’t seen Jake. He never knew my father, anyway.” More lies. She hoped her friend would forgive her one day for her deception. Not that Anne would be around to accept that forgiveness. Now that her father had learned her identity, the Marshals office would give her a new one. If she kept this up, she wouldn’t even remember who she was.

  “I have to go now,” she said. “I’ll talk to you soon.” She hung up before Maggie could ask more questions.

  “Do you think you convinced her?” Jake asked.

  “I think so.” She scrolled through her phone directory until she found the number for U.S. Marshal Patrick Thompson.

  He answered on the third ring, his voice as crisp and alert as if he’d been expecting her call. “Anne. Is something wrong?”

  The concern in his voice brought a knot of tears to her throat. Marshal Thompson had always been kind, gentle even, treating her the way a caring big brother would look after his little sister. He’d done his best to make a horrible situation better, and the memory of that came rushing back at the sound of his voice. She struggled to rein in her emotions. Now was no time to break down. “One of my father’s men, a man named DiCello, broke into my house tonight,” she said. “He’s dead and I’m leaving. I thought you’d want to know.”

  “Did he say how he found you? Did he say where your father is now?”

  “No. We...we didn’t talk much.”

  “You shot him?”

  She hesitated, and looked again at Jake. “Yes.” When they found the body, they’d probably figure out she’d lied; DiCello had been shot from behind, with a different gun from the one she owned—the gun Thompson himself had most likely given her. But none of that mattered now. “I’m headed to a place where I think I’ll be safe, at least temporarily.”

  “Stay in touch and we’ll send someone to get you. We’ll set you up with a new identity.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “I was going to contact you soon, anyway,” he said. “To warn you that Jacob Westmoreland might try to get in touch.”

  “I...why would Jake...Jacob...be in touch? I mean, he’s dead, isn’t he?” She hoped he’d
take her surprise at his mention of Jake as confusion.

  “He was badly injured the night of the raid, but he didn’t die. Apparently, he’s been asking a lot of questions about you. He’s been in contact with some friends at the Bureau.”

  “Why would he be asking questions about me?” She didn’t look at Jake, but she could feel his eyes on her.

  “You’re sure the man who came after you tonight was from your father?”

  “Yes. I knew him. He worked for my father.” Why was Patrick changing the subject?

  “Word is, Westmoreland is pretty upset about what happened. He’s probably blames you for what happened to him and he may come after you, seeking revenge.”

  Chapter Six

  Anne caught her breath, and almost dropped the phone. Patrick sounded so certain, and his words made sense: Jake had lost everything the night of the raid—his career, his bright future, and almost his life. If he thought she’d betrayed him to her father...

  “I’ll be careful,” she said. “And I’ll be in touch.”

  She disconnected the call, then switched off the phone and dropped it into her purse.

  “Why did he ask you about me?” Jake asked.

  She started the car and backed out of their parking spot. She had to remain calm and not let on that Patrick had warned her about him. “He heard you were looking for me. I told him I hadn’t heard from you.”

  “Good girl.”

  The fact that he was so pleased by her deception made her even more nervous. What if Patrick had been telling the truth? So far, Jake had played the role of the wounded lover, but he’d been a good actor before, hadn’t he? He’d fooled her father into trusting him. His love for her had felt real, but what did she know about love?

  She didn’t really know anything about Jake. When they’d been together before she’d only known the man he was pretending to be. Only later had she learned he worked for the FBI. She didn’t know his real background, or what had happened to him during the months of his recovery.

  She glanced at him as she turned the car onto the highway once more. He had his back to her, scanning the road for traffic. He was definitely different from the man she’d known before: he was less brash and more intense. Driven—by revenge? But revenge on her father, or on her?

  “What have you been doing with yourself since you got out of rehab?” she asked, trying to keep the conversation light. If she kept Jake talking, maybe she could figure out his real motives for being here.

  “I’ve spent most of my time looking for you.”

  That wasn’t exactly reassuring. “Did you work, or...date?”

  “I wasn’t interested in dating, and looking for you was my work. I lived off my savings, and I was on disability pay for a while.”

  “You didn’t think about maybe, I don’t know, getting on with your life?”

  “Not while I had unfinished business.” She could feel his eyes on her in the dark.

  She tightened her fingers around the steering wheel. She didn’t like being afraid of Jake; it felt so wrong, since she’d once trusted him with her life.

  “What do you think went wrong that day?” he asked.

  “Wh-what do you mean?”

  “I didn’t have a clue your father suspected me. He never said anything, and he never tried to hide anything about the business from me.”

  “He never said anything to me, either,” she said.

  “If you’d known he planned to attack me, would you have warned me?”

  “Yes!” She’d loved Jake more than she’d known it was possible to love a man. “I would have done anything for you. I thought you knew that.”

  “And now you just think I’m scum for lying to you.”

  “I don’t know what to think, Jake. I gave everything to a man who didn’t even exist. Can you understand how that might make me suspicious of your motives now?”

  “I can understand. And I’m not asking you to pick up where we left off. But believe me when I say I want to help you and protect you.”

  “And you want revenge on my father.”

  “Only so he can’t hurt you—and others—again.”

  She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that his feelings for her hadn’t been lies. But a lot had happened to change both of them in the last year. Maybe in running away from her father’s thugs, she was running into even worse danger with Jake.

  * * *

  AN HOUR LATER, Anne hunched over the wheel of the Subaru wagon, easing it over frozen ruts in the Forest Service road, watching the thick wall of spruce and pine on either side of the narrow path for the gap that would indicate her turn onto an even narrower, less-used route. Clouds obscured the moon and the night was as black as a crow’s wing. They hadn’t passed another car since they’d turned off the main highway half an hour ago.

  She’d decided she’d be cautious around Jake, but she wouldn’t let fear get the better of her. She was armed, and McGarrity had taught her how to defend herself with her fists. She didn’t have to be helpless, and that knowledge alone gave her power.

  “Where are we, exactly?” Jake frowned at the darkness around them.

  “We’re in the Gunnison National Forest. In the summer it’s a popular hiking and camping area.”

  “And in the winter?”

  “In the winter the campgrounds are closed, the trails are usually covered in snow and the roads don’t get much use.” She pressed down on the gas and the car plowed through a snowdrift. It slid and fishtailed a little, but she steered it back onto firmer ground.

  “When my handler from the Marshals office, Patrick Thompson, first showed me this car, I was horrified,” she said. The green Subaru Outback was five years old and had clearly seen better days. Worse, it was a wagon, a vehicle for suburban moms and grandpas, not a fashionable young woman. In New York she’d had a BMW convertible, a silver Roadster she’d driven with the top down on all but the coldest, wettest days.

  “This definitely isn’t a car Elizabeth would have driven.” Jake patted the dash. “But it suits Anne.”

  She sighed. “It does. Half the women in town, including most of the teachers, drive similar cars.”

  “It must have been very strange for you, starting over as someone else.”

  “It’s still strange, but it got easier. When I first moved here, I put a coffee mug with my new name, Anne, on the table beside my bed, where I’d see it first thing every morning, to remind me I wasn’t Elizabeth anymore. My name was Anne.” She glanced at his profile in the darkness. His head was turned slightly and she knew he was watching her, but she couldn’t make out his features, only the curve of his skull and the jut of his nose and chin, like one of those silhouette portraits that had been popular in Victorian parlors. “I spent my whole life until coming here trying to stand out, wanting to be noticed. I had to learn to do the opposite, to become invisible.”

  “I don’t think you have to be invisible,” he said. “You just have to blend in with your surroundings, to fit in context. You’ve done a good job of that. I might not have recognized you if I hadn’t known what I was looking for.”

  “DiCello obviously didn’t have any trouble, either.” She spotted the break in the trees and slowed the car further. “There’s our turn. We’re almost there.”

  The steep, narrow drive was choked with snow. Anne gunned the car up the pitch, relaxing only when it leveled out in front of a gate formed by a single length of heavy pipe suspended across the road between two fat lodgepole pines. She set the brake and took a small flashlight from the console between the seats, then climbed out of the car. Jake followed.

  “How do you know the combination?” he asked as he watched her dial the numbers into the lock on the chain that fastened one end of the pipe to a tree trunk.

  “I came
here with my camera to take pictures of the fall colors. You can’t see it now, but there’s a lovely little aspen next to this pine. Back in September it was covered in golden leaves. I took picture after picture of that tree, while the summer visitors packed up and left their cabins. I had a zoom lens focused in on this keypad, though no one ever suspected.” The lock popped open and she unwound the chain. “My father had employees who used the same trick to steal people’s ATM pin numbers. Wait here until I drive through, then replace the lock.”

  She drove past the gate, then waited while he swung the pipe over the road once more and refastened the lock. “Are you shocked, that I knew so much about my father’s dirty dealings?” she asked as she drove on once more.

  “You mean, would I rather think of you as an unsullied innocent who had no idea her father was a thief and drug dealer and pimp and murderer? I don’t think anyone can live for years in a world of crime and not be touched by it, and that includes me.”

  She hadn’t been unsullied or innocent, but she’d perfected the art of looking the other way, and of telling herself the things her father did were none of her business, that they didn’t matter to her. Jake had made her see things differently. She couldn’t be grateful to him for that, not when it had destroyed the only life she’d known, and taken away the only family she had.

  The cabins sat in a rough semicircle amid the trees, separated from each other by several hundred yards and piles of boulders that rose almost to the roofs. There were five; she chose the smallest, the farthest from the road. Even in summer it had been closed up tight. Unused.

  She parked the car behind a screening stack of boulders and they climbed out. It was after midnight, and the cold was like a slap, hard and stinging. Anne led the way to the door and felt for the key above the lintel. Jake took it from her and unlocked the door and pushed it open.

  The cabin smelled of stale ashes and dust. Jake fumbled along the wall by the door and she laughed. “There’s no light switch,” she said. “No electricity.” She scanned the area with her flashlight beam until she spotted a kerosene lantern sitting on a table next to a box of kitchen matches. She lit the lantern and turned down the wick. Its golden glow illuminated the small main room, which consisted of a kitchen area, a table and two chairs and a worn love seat and armchair.