Cowboy Under Fire

by LENA DIAZ,

  “You don’t like it. Let me guess, too modern? Doesn’t match the outside, right?”

  “Well, it looks cool, like a city loft or a converted warehouse, I suppose. It’s just not what I expected. Seems a shame to cover up the natural beauty of the logs.”

  “That’s Mason’s doing. He has his reasons. Here, follow me and I’ll show you the rest.”

  She motioned toward the empty desks as he led her past them. “Where is everyone?”

  “Conference room. Morning meeting, strategizing what we’re working on.”

  He put his hand on the small of her back. She jerked away, worried he’d feel the bump of her gun. “What are you doing?”

  His brows raised. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend you. Just wanted to guide you away from those steps before you took a tumble.”

  She glanced down, surprised to see she’d been about to put her foot on some steps that seemed to come out of nowhere, curving down to the right. The level part of the floor took a wonky curve to the left before continuing straight. “Wow. I didn’t see that. Thanks.”

  “You have to watch yourself in here. The floors slope and turn unexpectedly. Stay close and you’ll be okay.”

  When he guided her around yet another seemingly random change in the flooring, she shook her head. “Why is the cabin built this way? Seems dangerous.”

  “It is. On purpose. We all know every inch of the building, all the hidden doorways and secret rooms.” He winked and she wasn’t sure whether or not he was kidding. “Even if we lost the lights, we’d be able to walk it in the dark without a problem. Anyone else, not so much. It’s a safety feature for us. Kind of like all the quirks of an old castle in medieval times. It gives the advantage to the inhabitants instead of the intruders. But if things ever got really bad, there are metal shutters that will come down on the front part of the building, sealing it shut. There’s no reason for shutters on the back of the castle since it hangs off the cliff. It’s inaccessible.”

  “Castle? I’d expect that at your house, since it looks like one. But this is just a log cabin, right?”

  He smiled. “Right.” He stopped at the left end of the room. But instead of leading her to the right along the back wall, he pressed his hand beneath another keypad. A panel slid back, revealing a hallway that continued straight toward the back of the cabin.

  He hadn’t been kidding about hidden doorways.

  As they stepped through, everything changed. Gone was the mix of drywall and glass and metal. This section of the cabin was exactly as she’d envisioned the place from the outside. Golden, chunky logs formed the hallway. Wooden planks lined the ceiling. And at the end was a railing that was more like a work of art. Each supporting baluster was a tree branch that appeared to be hand hewn to reveal the beauty of the wood beneath the bark.

  She joined him near the railing but kept back a good two feet.

  He looked at her in question. “Don’t you want to see the living area below? This gallery gives a great view downstairs and the valley far below if you look out those windows.”

  “No, no. I’m good right here.” She forced a smile. “I can see it all just fine. Gorgeous two-story fireplace. Love the stacked stone. Most people do river rock. I’m not a fan.”

  “You’re really pale.”

  “Am I?” She took another step back. “Is the tour over?”

  “Heights. That’s it, isn’t it? You’re afraid of heights?”

  Feeling silly, she forced a laugh. “I know it sounds dumb to someone who isn’t scared of, well, anything, I imagine. But when I was little, about ten years old, I went hiking with a club of other kids and, of course, chaperones and guides. The trail we were on had been damaged from recent rains but we didn’t realize it until it collapsed.” She pressed her hand to her throat, remembering. “I fell fifty feet. The only reason I survived was because I hit enough tree branches on the way down to slow my fall. It took five hours to get a helicopter positioned where the rescuers could rappel down to get me.”

  He took her hand in his before she realized what he was going to do. But instead of feeling afraid, she felt...comforted. She clung to his hand as the images from her near fatal disaster threatened to overwhelm her.

  “I broke three ribs, my left arm, both my ankles. And those were just the bone injuries. I spent months in a hospital, rehab after that. That started my fear of heights, and cemented a phobia of hospitals, too. I’d have to be on death’s door to walk into one of those places ever again.”

  “I’m sorry you went through that.” He pulled her against him and hugged her tight. The logical part of her screamed for her to push him away. But her heart and body craved his touch like air and told her that she had to have misunderstood that conversation he’d had with Mason. There had to be another explanation. Because he’d never, not once, been anything but kind and gentle and achingly sweet to her.

  Cursing her misgivings, she allowed herself to sink against him and wrap her arms around his waist. She was pathetic. She knew it. But she couldn’t have refused his hug for anything.

  It was over all too soon and he was gently pushing her back to look down at her.

  “Better?” He gently feathered her hair back from her face.

  She slowly nodded. “Better.” Because she truly was. Being held by him was like magic. It had chased away the awful memories of the past. Too bad it couldn’t protect her from the future. He wasn’t her friend, or a prospective lover, no matter how badly she might wish he was. She had to keep reminding herself of that.

  It was her uneasiness, and the height scare, that had her thinking and feeling this way. Somehow she had to get her head out of the clouds and her feet firmly planted on the ground again. She needed to get back to her self-appointed mission of finding evidence.

  “There’s a lot more to see back here,” he said. “If you ever want the full tour, just say the word.”

  “Castle stuff? Bolt-holes and secret chambers?”

  He grinned. “You know about castles?”

  “I’ve seen Braveheart and The Three Musketeers. Oh, and Robin Hood—the one with Kevin Costner. Does that count?”

  “Definitely not. We’ll have to work on getting you a more proper castle education some other time. For now, let’s head back to the conference room and I’ll introduce you to the team.” He squeezed her hand before letting go. “Follow me. Careful where you step. I’ll take you back a different way. It will bring us out the other side of the main room, closer to the conference room.”

  “Sounds good.” She turned with him and headed down another hallway. This one had paintings and pictures on both walls. She admired one of the paintings as she passed it, and idly glanced at one of the photographs. Then she stumbled to a halt. She backed up and stared at the picture—of one of her website clients, except the name beneath the photograph was wrong.

  He came back and stopped beside her. “Someone you know? I don’t recall the exact reason he hired us. It’s been a while.” He motioned to the name beneath the picture. Buster Thomas.

  She frowned and leaned in closer.

  “Do you recognize him?” he asked.

  The air seemed to thicken around them with tension, as if her answer was important. Why was he staring at her so intently? And why would he expect that the name Buster Thomas might mean something to her? It didn’t. Because the man in that picture wasn’t Buster Thomas. His name was Todd Bartholomew and she’d been working for him for the past two years.

  Something was off again. Going with her instincts this time, she shook her head. “Can’t say that I do. Should I?”

  He stared at her another moment, then shrugged. “Not necessarily. It just seemed like you did there, for a few seconds anyway.”

  He led her down the gallery, pointing out the paintings, talking about the local artists. But it wasn’t the paintings that held her attention. I
t was the photographs, allegedly of clients of the Seekers. But far too many were her clients. And the names beneath each and every one of them was wrong.

  What did it all mean?

  He leaned past her to push something on the wall and a panel slid back, revealing that they were at the main room, but on the other side. They hurried down the walkway, stepping right when it sloped to the left, or left when it sloped to the right. She definitely would have fallen if she wasn’t watching his every move.

  He stopped beside a closed door. “Conference room. They’re ready to see you now.”

  She nervously eyed the door. “How do you know they’re ready?”

  He smiled and tapped on the door, then pushed it open.

  The conference room was nearly full, with men and women sitting on both sides of a long rectangular table.

  One of them, a dark-skinned young woman with gorgeous, curly black hair that hung to her waist, flashed a bright white smile at Hayley when she saw her. Hayley watched in confusion as the woman shoved out of her chair and jogged across the room.

  “You must be Hayley Nash. It’s so good to finally meet you. I’m Brielle Walker.”

  Hayley awkwardly stepped forward and allowed the other woman to hug her.

  Brielle stepped back and linked her arm in Hayley’s. “Come on. Mason and Dalton said you were going to meet the team.”

  Feeling as if she was in the middle of a nightmare, she was relentlessly drawn into the conference room.

  Chapter Seventeen

  When Hayley entered the conference room, it went quiet. She counted eleven men and women, including Brielle and Dalton somewhere behind her. Brielle gave her a quick squeeze and whispered, “It will be okay,” before resuming her seat farther down the table.

  A hand reached past her, making her jump in surprise. Dalton pulled out a chair for her.

  “Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “Would you like to sit while I introduce the team?”

  “I, ah, really don’t see the need to meet everyone. No offense intended. I just want to help you with your computer problems and...” She stared in shock at yet another picture of one of her clients on the wall behind Brielle. How many did that make? Six? Seven? What was going on?

  She continued to stare at the picture, at the name beneath it. The wrong name. Was this a test? They were a team, after all. They worked together. Did all of the Seekers think she was the bad guy? That she was the one who’d done something wrong? Was it possible that her supposed clients had given her aliases instead of their real names? And it was their real names under these photographs? Or was it the other way around?

  “Are you okay?” His brow furrowed in concern.

  She pointed. “Who’s in that picture on the wall behind Brielle?”

  Brielle glanced over her shoulder. “Timothy Hawkins. Why?”

  No. It wasn’t Timothy Hawkins. She clenched her fingers against her palms, digging into her flesh.

  Another picture caught her attention. This one was larger, a group picture. Mason Ford was standing in the middle, as usual unsmiling. To his right were six of the people in this room, including Brielle and Dalton, and four of the men at the table. To Mason’s left were six more, including one woman who looked vaguely familiar in her business suit with long blond hair slicked back into a ponytail. Didn’t she used to be a prosecutor and she’d resigned in disgrace a few years ago?

  But that wasn’t what had Hayley’s stomach dropping. It was a man in the photograph who wasn’t at the table. A man she recognized.

  “Who...” Her voice came out a gritty croak. She cleared her throat and pointed at the picture. “That picture, the man on the far right. Who is he?”

  “The Seeker I told you about,” Dalton said. “The one who died—Seth Knox.”

  She looked up at him accusingly. “He was in that picture I showed you at the police station. The last one I put up against the glass before you ended the interview.”

  He slowly nodded. “Yes. He was. Have you seen him before?”

  She scrambled for her gun and jerked back, holding it with both hands out in front of her. “Nobody move. Don’t you dare come near me. Any of you.”

  Dalton took a step forward.

  She jerked the gun toward him, aiming for his chest. “Don’t. I swear I’ll shoot.”

  “What’s wrong, Hayley? This is a friendly meeting. Why are you pointing a gun at me?”

  She nearly choked, then cleared her throat again. They were all in on this, whatever it was, against her. It was the only explanation that made sense. Otherwise, she was losing her mind.

  “Friendly? Who are you people? Really? Not my friends. And you sure aren’t the good guys. One of you, this Seth guy, is in a photograph that I have showing known gun runners and drug dealers. I’m supposed to believe he’s another Justice Seeker undercover, right?” She snorted. “Great way to cover up your own crimes, pretend you’re trying to bring criminals down when you’re actually in cahoots with them.”

  Dalton’s eyes widened. “That’s what you think?”

  She motioned with her head toward the picture that she’d asked Brielle about. “That man, in that other photograph, another one of your clients, right?”

  He slowly nodded.

  “And yet, I built a website for him and his company this past year. His name isn’t what Brielle said it was. His name is Frank Johnson.” The gun started to shake and she had to concentrate hard to steady it. “You’re all in on this, whatever this is. Some kind of massive conspiracy or something. You’re all in on it together aren’t you?”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked. “What conspiracy?”

  “The pictures, in here, in the gallery. One picture, maybe even two, could be a coincidence. But six? Seven? No way. Something is going on and I don’t want any part of it.”

  “I don’t understand,” he insisted. “What pictures are you talking about?”

  Everyone was staring intently at her. She felt as if she was a bird staring back at snakes waiting to strike. She moved another step back.

  “The names are all wrong,” she said. “And they can’t be your clients. They’re mine! None of this makes sense. You’re playing some kind of twisted game with me.”

  “Calm down,” Dalton urged. “Let’s talk this out. Put the gun down and—”

  She scoffed. “So you can make me go missing like you did to Bethany? That’s what you and Mason said last night, isn’t it? When you discussed me in your truck?”

  His eyes widened. “The satchel. You put a listening device in there.”

  “Thank God I did. Now I know the truth, or part of it. I was right all along about Bethany, about you.” A tear rolled down her cheek and she bit her lip to keep from giving in to her grief. “I trusted you, Dalton. Even after hearing that conversation last night, I was hoping that somehow I’d misunderstood, that you were the good guy my heart wants to believe you are.”

  “Trust your heart,” he said. “I can explain all of this. Put the gun down.”

  She shook her head, tears flowing freely. A noise sounded behind her. She whirled around, just as Mason stepped into the room. A hand reached over her shoulder and plucked the gun from her hands. She whirled back the other way to see Dalton handing the gun to one of the men seated at the table.

  “No!” She lunged for her weapon.

  Every single person at the table drew their own guns and aimed them at her.

  She froze. Dalton didn’t. He stepped in front of her, facing the others.

  “Put them away,” he ordered, his voice harsh and loud in the room. “She’s not armed and the gun she had wasn’t even loaded.”

  After some hesitation, they slowly put their weapons away.

  Hayley stared at him in confusion as he faced her again. “My gun was loaded. After last night, I didn’t dare go so
mewhere with you without it being loaded. I checked it several times this morning.”

  “The gun you had when you walked into the cabin was loaded. I switched it out. For your safety and ours.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “When you put your hand on my back, in the hallway? You switched guns?”

  He nodded.

  “How did you know?”

  “I saw the bulge beneath your coat when I helped you out of your Blazer.”

  She cursed viciously. “What are you going to do now? Kill me?”

  He sighed heavily and looked past her at Mason, who still hadn’t said anything.

  “She told the truth,” Dalton said. “She admitted they all hired her to build websites and that their names were different than the fake names that we listed beneath the pictures. She pointed out Seth in the team photo. If she was in on this, she never would have admitted any of that. She’d have bluffed her way through.”

  Dalton was defending her?

  His gaze was riveted on Mason, as if her fate hung in the balance. Did it?

  Mason looked as morose and cold as always, but he nodded, as if agreeing to some secret pact. “Let’s do it.”

  “Do what?” she demanded. “Please. Someone explain what’s happening.”

  Dalton’s gaze filled with sympathy. “You’ll have all of your answers in a few minutes. And you’re safe, I promise. There’s no reason to be scared.”

  “I want out of here.” She stepped toward the door. Mason blocked her way.

  She wrapped her arms around her waist.

  Dalton’s jaw tightened. “Everyone out.”

  Hayley backed against the wall, feeling as if she was in another dimension as everyone filed out of the room, everyone except her and Dalton.

  “What do you want from me?” she whispered, unable to force anything louder through her chattering teeth.

  “I want what you want,” he said. “I want the truth.”