by Jodie Bailey
Jenna nearly rolled her eyes. Safe with Wyatt Stephens? Whether it was her issue or his, they couldn’t manage to get along.
The spoon dug into the coffee again, releasing the comforting, earthy aroma of roasted beans, but she hesitated as she held it over the filter basket. What number was she on?
“That’s five.” Wyatt’s voice was at her shoulder, and he reached around, gently taking the silver spoon from her fingers. His warmth loosened the tension in her shoulders, made her stop feeling like someone was peeking through the blinds of her second-story apartment. “Sit. You’re wobbling on your feet. I’ll finish here.”
Normally, when it came to Wyatt she’d argue, but the gelatin in place of her kneecaps was having none of it. Without lifting her head, Jenna sidestepped him and walked around the column at the end of the bar into the small living room at the front of the apartment. She curled into the corner of her gray couch and stared at the picture above the small stone fireplace, the one Erin had painted for her Christmas present. It was an almost photographic recreation of the view from Anson’s Ridge. When the days were rough or the memories too real, Jenna escaped up there to be alone. She’d head that way right now if rain wasn’t moving in.
And if she wasn’t more afraid than usual of what might lurk in the dark.
She’d probably never see Anson’s Ridge again. Her eyes burned, tears pushing to the front. Leaving El Paso had been hard, but with nothing to keep her there, her departure hadn’t ripped her heart into pieces.
This time, leaving might kill her.
Dragging her hands through her hair, she stared at the painting and wished herself into it.
A heavy pottery mug appeared in her vision, steam curling above it.
Jenna jumped, her hand over her heart. She’d have to relearn how to be vigilant.
“Sorry.” With an apologetic smile that looked well practiced, Wyatt backed away, still holding the mug out to her. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I found creamer in the fridge and assumed you’d want it in your coffee.”
His blue eyes were a startling contrast to his dark hair. She’d never noticed before, likely because she’d never been this close before. Then again, maybe without all of the tension that usually flowed between them, she could see him more clearly.
His eyes were actually kind of nice.
He held the cup a little closer, his cheeks reddening as though he could read her thoughts. “You want it or not?”
“Sorry.” Jenna wrapped both hands around the mug, careful not to brush his fingers. They’d been close enough to each other for one night already, and now she was noticing his eyes? No bueno. “Thanks.” The warmth from the ceramic seeped into her fingers, inched its way up her arms and settled into her soul. Finally, she could relax, even if it was all a temporary illusion of peace.
Before her sister, Amy, died, she had gone to a therapist and had doled out advice she received there. Best way to get rid of the ugly is to focus on the right now, Amy’s therapist had said. The whole Matthew 6 thing about tomorrow having its own troubles means you should focus now. Funny how her sister’s secondhand wisdom popped to mind tonight.
Jenna could focus on right now, on the familiar comforting warmth of a mug in her hands. On the creamy walls she’d painted with Erin when she’d first rented the apartment.
On the police officer whose presence seemed way too big for the tiny space of her living room.
Hands practically engulfing his own sapphire-blue mug, Wyatt sat in an armchair in the corner near the window and stared into his coffee. He didn’t move until his radio crackled. He listened, then spoke into the mic at his shoulder, ending with “Ten six.”
“What are those numbers?” The numbers were easier to talk about than any questions he’d have for her. “‘Ten six?’”
“Means I’m busy unless it’s urgent. I’m in the middle of something and can’t be interrupted unless the world’s about to explode.”
He was trying to be funny, but nothing about it was amusing. She was the most important thing on a police officer’s agenda.
Wyatt took a sip of coffee, then inspected the mug. “This is nice. Well made. The color’s rich. You buy them from someone around here?” He lifted the crafted piece to look for a mark on the bottom.
He wouldn’t find one. Jenna had made them herself, but she couldn’t say so. No one around town knew she threw pottery, that she’d done so since she’d learned in one of the after-school programs in El Paso. She took pleasure in the wet clay as she infused beauty into something unbelievably plain, like Jesus had done with her.
She’d love to share her work, but it was one of the things she’d had to keep in the dark, packed away to protect her safety.
Of course, none of her caution mattered now.
The room took on the kind of awkward silence that made the air heavier, as though a black hole spun over the sleek glass coffee table. All she wanted was to be alone, yet Wyatt sat and sipped his coffee, acting like this was some sort of extended social call.
Of course, she’d been the one to tell him he could have coffee, but only because he’d probably saved her life, then made sure her apartment was safe. It would have been kind of rude to kick him out after he’d been on the front lines for her.
Oh, man. He’d been in every room of her apartment. There had better not be any dirty laundry in the middle of the bedroom floor. Her cheeks heated. “You don’t have to stay.”
He met her gaze and held it. “I don’t have a choice.”
“Erin said you had to? Was that your conversation outside when she left?” Jenna’s best friend was the only female firefighter on the Mountain Springs Volunteer Fire Department. She had been the protective type even before she’d almost fallen victim to a serial killer. “You know Erin’s not your boss. You don’t have to do what she says.”
Wyatt’s laugh was quick and seemed to come from deep in his chest. In other circumstances, his mirth might have lifted her spirits. “You know you’re living in a fantasy world, right? Erin’s all about taking charge. It’s a good possibility if I don’t obey her commands, I’ll never hear the end of it. It’s easier to nod and agree, especially while she’s living in my house.” His smile slipped and the serious expression that usually resided on his face took over. “This time it’s my real boss who’s calling the shots.”
Jenna leaned forward and set her coffee mug on the table. “What?”
“As long as the guy who tried to take you is out there, I’m supposed to keep an eye on you, at least for the short term. Plus, I still have to take your statement.”
“So I’m your assignment?”
“If you want to use those words, sure.”
“And you have to stay in my home for the foreseeable future?” His constant presence was going to put a definite crimp in her plans.
But maybe...
Maybe there was hope. It fluttered in her chest, daring her to reach out and grasp it.
If Wyatt was watching out for her, she wouldn’t have to leave. Maybe they’d catch whoever the man was before he could try again.
“I won’t crash in your apartment. I’ll be in my vehicle.” Wyatt shifted and sat on the edge of his seat, holding his coffee mug between his knees. “Do you know who the man was?”
“I’ve never seen him before.” Technically, it was true. She’d never seen that particular man in her life. She’d have remembered the dark eyes, the scar along his cheek. But she’d known plenty of men like him.
Jenna was hiding from one.
Logan had been handsome. Charming... Until he had her under his thumb and threw the first punch. She could still feel the shock of it—physically and mentally. Her lower jaw tightened. Her lip trembled. She dug her teeth in and reached for her mug, but her hand shook, and she sloshed coffee onto the glass.
Wyatt pulled in a deep breath, watching her w
ith a practiced gaze before he spoke. “What are you not telling me?”
“Nothing.” She should probably confess, but what good would it do? If there was even the slimmest chance she could preserve her new identity and stay in town, the last thing she needed to do was bust everything into the open.
Wyatt stood, then stalked to the kitchen and set his mug on the bar with a thump, making Jenna jump. “This?” He turned toward her, familiar suspicion in his eyes, making the blue turn granite gray. “This is my problem. This is what frustrates me about you.”
Her head jerked back so hard her neck strained. “What?” She stood and squared off with him, the fear from her earlier encounter finding new fire in her anger. “What exactly are you accusing me of? A man broke in to my shop tonight. Am I suddenly the bad guy?”
Wyatt dragged his hand down his face and along the back of his neck, where he dug his fingers in. “No, but you’re definitely not telling me the truth.”
“I don’t know who the guy was, okay?”
“Fine. Then answer this... Was it a robbery gone wrong? A kidnapping attempt?” Straightening, Wyatt crossed his arms. “You may not know who he was, but do you have any clue why he was there? Give me something to work with, Jenna.”
Wait a second. Jenna backed away, her eyebrows inching closer to her hairline. Something didn’t make sense. For all Wyatt knew, he’d foiled a simple break-in, one where Jenna was merely caught in the middle. He didn’t know the real story, had no idea she’d been targeted. Yet the bodyguard duty, the intensity and direction of his questions...
It seemed as though he did.
Her jaw slackened and she swallowed hard. Maybe Wyatt Stephens had a problem with her all of these years because he knew the one thing she’d tried the hardest to hide.
Exactly who she really was.
THREE
I can’t give you anything. Wyatt dropped his head against the seat of his truck and stared across the street at Jenna’s apartment. Maybe he was being overly suspicious, but it sure did feel like her insistence was a lie. Fine. He’d go around her. He’d find out the truth on his own.
Any news yet? Wyatt tapped out the message to fellow officer Brian Early, then rested his cell phone on his leg, settling in his seat to watch Jenna’s front door. He’d had Early bring his personal truck then take his SUV to the station. He wanted to remain as inconspicuous as possible as he sat parked in the dark end of the alley across the street from Jenna’s apartment. Thankfully, the historic building’s second story offered only one way in, the very stairs he’d practically had to chase her up earlier to keep her from running headlong into the unknown of her own apartment.
In some ways, she appeared to be heedless of the danger. In others, she appeared to be hyperaware of exactly what was going on, of what his department suspected. A brazen attack on Jenna could be random, or it could mean traffickers had already gained a toehold in the town, and they weren’t planning to be too careful about hiding themselves. If that was the case, this could be the start of a violent struggle for control of his hometown.
It was a leap, sure, to go from an attack on one woman to a human trafficking ring that had been dormant since the early fall. But his gut... His gut wouldn’t let him downplay the coincidence of those Texas license plates. A thin thread, but a thread nonetheless.
His phone buzzed on his thigh and he glanced at the screen. Nothing yet. Guy’s a ghost. Could be he cut and ran.
Anything on the car? They’d called in the county and had the car behind Jenna’s shop processed, but it would take time to get more than an owner’s name. Without a clear link to the traffickers, nobody higher up the chain than the county was going to get involved. In fact, the state and federal agents had cleared out weeks ago, their final report stating the gang had either had trouble with the van while passing through, or had been spooked enough by law enforcement’s presence to move on.
The almost-physical gnawing at the back of Wyatt’s brain said no.
His phone buzzed. Registered in Texas. Same county as the box truck. Working on getting more.
Thanks. Pushing deeper into his seat, Wyatt worked his shoulders back and forth, trying to ease some of the tension building there. Jenna had been cagey tonight. She tended to keep a low profile, and she was definitely hiding something. She’d asserted a dozen times that she didn’t know the man who’d been waiting for her in the shop, and Wyatt had finally stopped asking.
But something about her answers to his questions rang false. No, he didn’t think she was a criminal, but she certainly was not telling him the truth. Frustrating would be an understatement.
Chief Thompson was going to have to put someone else on this protection detail. Even with thin evidence, the man was cautious, wanting to be certain the smugglers weren’t behind this. Mountain Springs wasn’t a town with a high crime rate, even with all of the tourist activity. Violent crime was practically nonexistent. A kidnapping was unheard of.
The suspect was definitely an outsider, and no one randomly came to town to cause trouble. Until they knew for certain Jenna was safe, they’d keep an eye on her. But Wyatt couldn’t be the guy on point this time. The two of them had the worst kind of personality conflict. Worse than oil and water, they were ammonia and bleach. Put them in the same room and everyone else fled to get away from the toxic reaction.
And that was on a normal day, when she had no reason to lie.
Wyatt had had his fill of lying women. After what Kari had done to him, it was hard enough to trust anyone else. Nearly a decade later, the wound his former fiancée had inflicted still smarted, mostly in his pride. She’d strung him along for months, her eyes on what she viewed as “the prize.” Wyatt had been a young soldier from a small town, ignorant of the fact there were women in the world who preyed on guys like him, on the steady paycheck and benefits the army offered.
Hearing Kari tell a friend on the eve of their wedding how she’d “hit the jackpot” in death benefits and insurance if he died while deployed...
Her callousness had gutted him. The calculated way her expression shifted from disdain to adoration when he made himself known and it was clear what he’d heard... She’d tried to play it off as the nervousness of a young bride, as a joke.
His life was no joke.
His heart hadn’t shattered when he’d turned and walked out of the room, away from his dreams for the future. It had hardened into a mountain of stone.
Jenna Clark’s behavior since she’d arrived in town shook that mountain like an earthquake every time he looked at her. Something about her had a way of tweaking his attitude.
Leaning forward, he studied the front of the building that housed Higher Grounds Coffee Bar downstairs and Jenna’s apartment upstairs. Lights still shone from the coffee shop, which had stayed open past its usual eleven o’clock closing time due to the shows at the Fine Arts Center. Couples and groups of all ages flowed in and out of the large glass front door, seeking warmth against the cold, likely too full of energy from the bluegrass concert to head to the bed-and-breakfasts in town or the hotels about half an hour away. Nobody seemed out of place or overly interested in Jenna’s apartment upstairs.
He leaned forward an inch more. Light poured from the upstairs windows. If he’d expected Jenna to make her way to bed and at least try to rest by now, he’d have missed the mark. She probably wouldn’t catch five minutes of sleep tonight.
Leaving her alone had felt wrong, as though he had abandoned her, but he couldn’t stay after she’d turned on him and practically threw him out. Wyatt’s question had hit a nerve, but as much as he’d replayed their conversation before she showed him the door, he couldn’t figure out what was wrong.
Unless, though she’d denied it repeatedly, she truly knew the man who’d had his arm wrapped around her throat.
In the big picture, did it matter? The image of Jenna being treated so roughly made
him bristle with anger and dredged up memories he fought daily to keep buried. Nobody did that to a woman.
Nobody.
A crowd of seven or eight college students exited the coffee shop and made a right up the hill toward the Fine Arts Center and the parking lot beyond it. A man at the rear of the pack broke away and edged to the left. He wore a hat pulled low so that his face was hidden in shadow. He leaned against the faded brick at the end of the building closest to Jenna’s, seeming disinterested in the crowd. The way his head moved, though, he was watching. Waiting.
Wyatt sat taller and wrapped his fingers around the door handle. The guy could have a buddy inside paying their bill. He could be two seconds from lighting a cigarette.
Or he could be trouble.
After double-checking to make sure the interior lights in the truck were off, Wyatt slipped out and eased the door shut.
The stranger didn’t seem to notice. He simply stood, leaning against the wall, watching as a chatting, laughing group passed between his position and Wyatt’s.
When the people cleared the space, the man lifted his head and looked directly across the street at Wyatt. With a sly half smile, the man lifted his hand and flicked a two-fingered mocking salute against his forehead before he turned toward the stairs to Jenna’s apartment.
A jolt of familiarity shot through Wyatt. He was the same man who’d tried to kidnap Jenna at her shop. Wyatt shifted to run, but a weight slammed into the small of his back, driving him to the ground and forcing the breath from his lungs. His cheek smacked the pavement and he slid several inches on his chest, rough gravel grinding into his shoulder. Using the momentum from the fall, he rolled onto his back and threw his arm out in time to deflect a blow from a muscular man wearing a dark shirt and a baseball cap.
His face wasn’t covered, which could only mean one thing...