“Crap. I left Pitch shorthanded. He’d asked me to be the drag rider.”
“Don’t worry. No injuries. Pitch got antsy you were late, but I caught them before they started a badly timed search.”
“Why badly timed?”
“Venom needs proof you’re—”
“Oh.” Worry lines creased her brow.
He brushed his fingers over his forehead. “Kat wondered if I’m the boyfriend who’d contacted her first.”
Color drained from her face. “I haven’t had a boyfriend for years.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Your friend, Corrin, called shortly after him. Who all did you give their number to?”
“No one. I booked right before I left and didn’t tell Corrin any details.”
“You don’t have family?”
She covered her face with both hands. “None since I turned twenty.” Her voice dropped. “They were murdered after I gave them bad advice.”
Murdered? Bad advice? He’d never put his own folks in harm’s way. Miranda seemed so innocent.
He’d need to get to the bottom of her past eventually, and maybe more. “I’m sorry for your loss. I can’t begin to imagine how horrible that feels.”
She turned her face to the fireplace. “No, you can’t. I need to call Corrin.”
“I’m certain the ranch told her you’re fine.”
“Corrin thought Venom followed the bus.” She shuddered.
“Well, hell.” He bunched his fist. “To catch him, I need to know how he found you.”
“I have no idea. I used a pay phone in Idaho to alert my business clients I’d be gone.”
“How’d you reserve your room at the Langley’s? Your cell phone?”
“No, it needed charging. I used a public laptop at the coffee shop next door.”
“Bingo.” Grant grabbed a pencil and paper. “Give me the best description you can remember of the detective who appeared in the Justice Building after the gunman left.”
Miranda closed her eyes. “Ike said his name’s Karpenito, and he’s a crooked detective. Seahawks ball cap and blue jacket. Brown slacks, my height. His badge number ended in thirty-one, and he had a beard. I think there was glue on his face next to the sideburns. He walked funny.”
“Good memory. How’d he walk?”
“I sit or kneel by my plants and see a lot of shoes pass by. His gait seemed awkward, not limping. He wore platform shoes.”
“That’s a new one. My boss needs to know the lying bastard’s involved.”
“Ike’s opinion, too.”
“Smart judge. From now on, we stick together, whether Venom’s out there or not. Maybe he’s concluded you’re, ah, not going to be able to testify.”
“You can say dead. I know I’m the hitman’s mistake.”
Her words pierced him like a dagger. “I need to feed the animals. Be right back.”
He closed the door and ran his hand down the weathered outside wall. Venom hadn’t counted on him finding Miranda. They were one step ahead. For now.
Red nickered when he approached, then nuzzled his left pocket.
“Clever boy, already figured out where I stash the oat wafer treats.” He whistled to the jennies while filling their feed buckets.
Judas Priest. Might as well shoot off a flare gun. Funny thing, he couldn’t recall whistling in years.
He finished and slipped into the cabin. Hopefully she’d taken a nap.
Evening sun bronzed Miranda’s profile as she sat on a chair, finger combing her hair.
Miranda projected a sweet innocence. She wouldn’t survive a New York minute in his world.
Didn’t matter. He’d been tasked to solve the high profile case, and she held the brass ring.
No harm in enjoying her company afterward, maybe dating her in Seattle until he got promoted.
He bent to grab a log. His gun pressed his side.
If they both survived.
~ ~ ~
By admitting one more lie to Grant, she’d have a clean conscience. Miranda sat on the edge of the chair and watched him rummage through cupboards. “You need to know—I followed you here to ask for your help, and I talked to your mom on Sunday.”
He turned and faced her. “Why me?”
Her cheeks became warm, and not from the fire at her back. “I didn’t know anyone else who’d protect me.”
The sexy dimple in Grant’s cheek appeared. “I’m glad I found you, or rather your mule found me. Hungry?”
Her mule. The prospect touched her heart. “I’ve never been shy around food.”
He set a jar on the table and pretended to cast out a line. “There’s a fishing hole not far away.”
The movement pulled his Levi’s tight across that perfectly rounded rump. Miranda’s eyes widened. “Fishing and campfires. Boy paradise.”
“Yup. In summer we’d catch a couple brookies first, then dive in for a swim. We’d climb out and jump back in. Second time, the mountain stream’s a lot warmer.”
Wow, Grant in a Speedo. A ripple of unexpected heat ran through her veins. “Is it canned trout in the jar?”
“Yes ma’am. Poppy and Dad put them up if we get a nice mess.”
“Your dad and grandpa sound fun.”
“Most of the time. Dad retired from the Montana State Highway Patrol, my grandpa from the FBI. I finally meet their expectations.”
“So, three generations of law officers. Bet you got the gun gene early.”
“Poppy’s bureau stories made me want to reach Special Agent in Charge, or SAC. It’s been my goal since before I turned eight.”
“Eight? At that age I pretended to swaddle babies and learned how to braid hair. I inherited Mom’s knack for gardening, though.”
“Shows in how you care for your plants.” Grant rotated the glass jar. “This was a sixteen-inch brookie I caught. It’ll taste like summer.”
Her breath caught in her throat. His grin took twenty years from his face. The same pride Kenny had displayed after landing any fish. “How long have you lived in Montana?”
“My whole life.”
“And your parents live nearby?”
“A country mile from my place.”
What would it be like to have family so close? “How wonderful to have your folks nearby and live in a beautiful area.” Miranda gently rubbed her nose. “You must be in the platinum air club with the commute to Seattle.”
“I don’t make it to Montana much. My job demands a lot of time. I’m going to sell my spread.”
Her bullet wound was nothing compared to the jolt to her heart.
~ ~ ~
Venom let out a long breath.
His horse stood a few yards away, yanking out tufts of brown grass. If he approached from behind, he’d catch it. Who’d of believed a rental horse for hunters would bolt at a gun shot?
“Hey there, horsey, a little longer until you get back to the barn. He grabbed the dragging reins, and studied the final shades of twilight.
Damn if the light hadn’t given out in the woods, right after he’d found the trampled area and blood.
He slid his rifle into the scabbard.
Too bad he’d missed on the second shot. Her mule had zig-zagged better than an Army Ranger in combat training.
Tracks didn’t show she’d headed downhill, and no birds circled overhead to indicate a carcass. He reached into his saddle bag and grabbed the flashlight.
He’d start from the bloody patch again. She had to be in the woods somewhere. Probably bled out, like the judge. If not, the cold would finish her tonight.
Dead-lips blue would be his new favorite color. His mouth twitched into a smirk. Yup, dead-lips blue could be a popular paint c
hip.
He pulled a handful of feed pellets from the saddlebag and tossed them onto the ground by the horse’s nose. Good thing the army taught him preparation.
Didn’t miss the long marches, though. He rotated one ankle, then the other. The dogs were a barkin’ tonight.
He pulled off his gloves and wiggled his phone from his pocket. Two service bars—a miracle. A text from Karpenito appeared. Judge Gilson survived.
Christ. And the girl would’ve heard him confirming the hit to Karpenito—if she’d been hiding behind her plants, like the cop believed.
He slammed his fist against a tree trunk, then dug into the pack for a water bottle and antacids. Crunching them to bits didn’t extinguish the burn in his stomach.
She would’ve heard him mention Maneski’s name, too. He grabbed a package of jerky and his goose down coat. Even zipped, the chill penetrated to his bones.
He huffed on his fingers and dialed. “Hey darlin’. How’re you doing?” He grinned. “Miss you more. Did you clean out the bank account?” He pressed the phone closer to his ear.
“Say again? Good girl. Listen, if I’m not home tomorrow night, drive you and the boy to your brother’s cabin. Maybe we can get our old jobs back as wildfire scouts. Give the little feller a hug for me. Bye.”
He pocketed the phone. Maneski would be furious he’d taken the payoff on a judge who hadn’t croaked. Tonight he’d earn the hit money offing the plant girl.
You didn’t cheat a mobster. Now it was her life or his.
He ripped open the package and tore off a section of stringy jerky. The salty brine lingered on his tongue.
A coyote howled in the distance. Night hunters, same as him. He flicked on the Maglite.
“Time to earn your keep, horsey.” He wedged his foot in the stirrup and swung aboard, his leg grazing the fold-up shovel strapped to the top of the saddle bag.
The tall rider he’d seen earlier leading two pack mules could be a problem.
If mule-man got in the way, there’d be a second body rotting in a shallow grave come spring.
~ ~ ~
Grant stopped talking and tilted his head. He stepped to the window and peered out.
Her body froze. “Someone out there?”
“Nope. Checking the animals. You kept pretty quiet during my Morley family history session.”
“Your childhood sounded special.”
He patted the table. “I’ve had some great times here.”
The realization stung. Grant must’ve amazed other women using his skills at the remote hide-away, ones impressed by the size of his . . . gun.
She wasn’t invited, she was a duty. The sooner she parted ways with her heartbreak-ready-to-happen, the better. “Can you arrange for me to be in witness protection?”
He narrowed his eyes. “We’ll see.”
“Am I considered a criminal?” Her cheeks flamed.
A big fry pan clanged while he hooked it to an iron arm and rotated it into place over the center of the fire. Oil sizzled after he slid in the trout. “I don’t think of you as a criminal, and I’ll protect you.” He opened a can of green beans and dumped it into the pan beside the fish.
The aroma of pan-seared trout filled the room, and for once it wasn’t pleasant.
Her whole body ached for Ike to be okay, for home, for a rewind of her low-profile life.
Grant dumped a can of sliced apples into a smaller pan and sprinkled on sugar, oatmeal, and cinnamon. He flipped the fish and moved the big skillet to their table.
Dessert now hung over the fire. “As a kid, Mom and I used to cook together. I think she wanted a daughter, even got me a rolling pin one Christmas.” He faked a grin. “I didn’t appreciate my first culinary tool.”
“Sorry to break the news, Agent Morley. Life doesn’t always give you what you want.” She thrummed her fingers on the table.
“Nope.” He transferred a chunk of fish to a plate, added beans and slid it in front of her. “Speckled trout hold their pink color. Bon appetit.”
“I’m certain it’ll be the most delicious fish I’ve ever eaten as a prisoner. Merci.”
“Welcome.” He ate in silence while she picked at the green beans and bites of fish.
Cinnamon perfumed the room.
He plopped a scoop of apple brown betty onto her plate and dug into the huge portion he’d dished himself.
She put down her fork and pushed away the untouched dessert.
“Just because I believe your story, it doesn’t mean I can skip over the bureau’s rules for this type of situation,” he said.
“Story, as in fable? Seems you’ve questioned my innocence and then sugarcoated your views like the apples on my plate.”
“Your words, not mine,” he said quietly.
“Whatever.” She jabbed a tiny piece of apple, and chewed it slowly. Irritation thrummed in her chest. “I’d bet lots of lucky women have found you at this hearth with your baking tool, Agent Morley.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You owe me a home cooked feast after that comment, Ms. Whitley. Five course dinner and dessert.”
“Your personal chef? I think not. Maybe I’ll spring for a real cup of coffee for you at the espresso shop to pay my debt.”
He cast her a side eye. “Too good for the Coffee Klatch? I observed you spying on us a couple times when you weren’t bending over your pots.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Bending is what you noticed?”
Crimson rose from his collar to his cheeks. “Whatever.”
Logs sputtered in the fire.
“Corrin needs to know I’m safe. My phone’s zipped in my coat pocket, with my tube of gloss.” She rubbed her fingertips across her dry lips.
His eyes followed the movement. “Your cell got damp. We’ll use mine.” He fished the gloss out and placed it on the table. “Let’s make the call before the temperature drops anymore.”
“Good plan.” She grabbed the strawberry scented lip balm, ignored the arm he offered, and took small steps out to where the animals stood huddled together.
Red’s distinctive mule-nicker welcomed her. “You’re happy I’m here, aren’t you?” She ran her fingers through the warmth of his winter coat, and rubbed slow strokes the length of his cheek. “With a fearless mule, who needs a G-Man?”
“Oh brother,” he grumbled from a few steps behind her.
She turned sideways, took out the lip-gloss and slowly glided it across her upper and then lower lip.
Grant stopped dead in his tracks.
His blazing eyes were anything but dead.
~ ~ ~
Blood pounded through Grant’s veins. Her scent, her warm curves, and that smart mouth. Every cell screamed for him to pull her into his arms, and show her exactly what a G-Man could do to those shiny lips.
Worse trouble than an empty magazine in a standoff, but she might be worth the burn. He took a step back. “You forgot a coat.” He held out a giant oilskin cowboy duster.
“I think it’ll fit,” she said.
He pointed to her borrowed sweater. “Mom’s first knitting project. The raincoat belongs to my skyscraping grandpa, or Poppy, as we call him. Didn’t want you getting cold.”
Miranda slipped it on. Her fingers didn’t poke out. “They grow ‘em big in these here mountains.” She tilted her chin to look him in the eyes.
As he smiled down at her, that feeling of being ten feet tall struck. Collateral damage of the worst kind. “Let me handle alterations.” He cuffed four inches on each sleeve. “You need a hat. Check the pocket.”
Her eyes grew wide. “Where’s my Mariners cap? Blue with a white S emblem. Did you find it in the woods? It must’ve fallen off.”
He tugged a soft knit hat from her pocket. “No, I didn’t
see a ball cap, but this should work.”
“I need the Mariner’s cap,” she pleaded. “I’ll call Corrin tomorrow. Let’s search the lower trail.”
“Your ball cap will have to wait, there’s no light.”
Her whole body became still. “It belonged to my little brother. He wore it constantly. It’s all I have left of him.”
No one could fake the sorrow in her eyes.
Needle-like twinges pricked the back of his neck. “We’ll keep our eyes out. We’ll spot it.”
She rubbed the bump on her nose before pulling two fuzzy mittens out of the coat’s pockets. “These have beautiful knit patterns. Did you make them in your spare time?”
“Mom knitted those for Poppy.” He fought a catch in his throat. “She loves to knit and paint.”
“My mom loved to garden, and my dad loved to read. My brother and I studied pollywogs. You’re blessed to have them in your life.”
Loving parents waited for his return. He’d sidelined them for too long and that needed to be rectified. Miranda didn’t have that option, and worse than anything—she’d played a role in their death. How could you overcome such guilt?
“Corrin will be worried,” he said. “It’s not a long way to where we get a signal. We can ride bareback.”
“Sure.” She leaned against Red. “As in you’re on Brasso, and I’m alone on Red?”
“Nope. You’d face plant.”
“Can we ride double on Red?” She moved to pet Brasso.
“I guess. He’s plenty big to haul us both for a short ride.”
Her mule opened his mouth for the bit. “I’m already hosed,” he whispered. “I don’t need a four-legged conspirator.”
“Excuse me?” she called.
“Need a boost up?”
She walked back and stood beside Red. “Unless there’s a spare mounting block.”
Grant centered his fingers on her hips, and lifted her onto Red’s back. “You going to be okay?”
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