by Jodie Bailey
The fight left Jenna and she sank against her chair, gripping the arms. She rocked the chair silently from side to side. “I’ll do my best.”
“Let’s start with when and how Amy died.”
Jenna kept her eyes on the desk in front of her, the lines in her forehead deepening. She ran her finger along the edge of the huge calendar covering the scarred wood on her desk. “I’d been here about six months. No contact with anyone from El Paso, not even Amy... Not that we’d been in contact before I left. Anthony told me when I ran to keep from reaching out because one slip could lead Logan right to me, assuming he was even interested. Amy and I had been estranged for almost a year and...” Her expression tightened, as though she was trying to hold tears at bay. Her voice strained. “I got an envelope in the mail two years ago.” She leaned over and reached into her bottom desk drawer, then withdrew a folder that appeared to be filled with receipts and tax papers. She extracted a battered-looking sheet of newspaper and handed it across the desk.
Wyatt unfolded it carefully. It had been handled often. The torn edges were soft. Something wet had dotted the page and been allowed to dry, leaving spots across the headline. One Dead in Hit-and-Run. A large color photo revealed a car nearly torn in half by a telephone pole. Further into the article, a photo was set into the text. The woman was a mirror of Jenna, although her hair was lighter, her face leaner. It appeared to be a head shot from a website and identified the woman as Amy Brady of Porter Street in El Paso.
Brady. He lifted his head and studied Jenna, whose eyes were on the clipping he held. “Was Amy married?”
“Briefly. He was killed in combat.”
Not the man who was coming after her then. He texted the new information to the chief and rested his phone on his leg. “Was there anything else with the article?”
Jenna’s hand went to her throat, then her fingers trailed to tug at the chain around her neck, hesitantly revealing a small charm. From where he sat, Wyatt couldn’t quite make it out, but it was silver, some sort of flower.
“The necklace was in the envelope? What is it?”
“It was Amy’s. She always wore it.” There was a sheen of tears in Jenna’s eyes. “I gave it to her for Christmas one year.”
So someone had had access to Amy’s body? Why? Tact, Wyatt. He couldn’t ask such a callous question. It would surely wreck her. They could discuss the necklace another time. “Who sent it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Anthony? No one else knew where to find me. The postmark’s from Indiana, but he probably sent it to a friend, who sent it to another friend and so on.”
“And you’re certain Anthony wouldn’t be involved in this?”
“He was the only man who ever cared about me and Amy. He did what he could for us while he could. He snuck into the hospital to help me when he heard what Logan did to me. It can’t be Anthony. Look somewhere else.”
“I need his last name. We need to be certain—”
“No.” The denial was firm, hard.
Wyatt’s neck burned with the impatient anger he was fighting to keep in check. If he kept pushing, she’d stop talking. For now, he had to let this one slide, but he’d definitely be passing along the first name. The Feds could dig deeper than anyone in the Mountain Springs department.
“Okay, fine. I need to know anything that would point me to why someone thinks Amy’s alive. Where did she work? Who were her friends?”
“How is this helping?” Jenna stood and walked to the window.
The urge to jerk her away from the glass was almost enough to bring Wyatt to his feet. Instead, he prayed the two-way mirror kept her screened from anyone outside.
She paced to her chair, allowing Wyatt to breathe again. “Somebody expects me to walk out the back door, grab a cell phone off a dumpster and meet them in less than two hours. Can’t we trap them? As soon as I grab the phone, you’ll know exactly where they’re going to be and you can just—just...go get them.” She aimed a finger at the door. “We’re wasting time.”
“No. You’re giving me information to pass on and help the men and women outside put together a plan to catch them. I understand you’re frustrated. So am I.” She had no idea. If he was in charge, he’d have already packed her things and moved her to a safe house. Let the Feds sort out who was behind this. At least Jenna would be out of the crosshairs.
“Fine.” With a hefty sigh, Jenna leaned against the wall behind her chair and crossed her arms, probably too restless to sit. “She worked at a place called New Horizons Day Spa. She was a personal trainer and an assistant manager. Up until Logan managed to steer me away from her, I’m not sure she had friends outside of work. In fact, she’s the one who introduced me...” Jenna’s jaw slackened, her eyes growing wide. “She was friends with Logan.”
Jenna grabbed the back of her chair and stared at Wyatt, unseeing.
“Jenna.” Wyatt’s voice was low. He set his phone on the desk and leaned closer. “Talk to me.”
“Yesterday I was probably the safest I’ve ever been. I had friends, a job I love, a place to live that feels like a home... Now I’ve never been in more danger. And my sister? She might be connected to—”
His phone buzzed and she stopped, watching, her lips tight. She knew as well as he did what was coming.
And neither of them was ready.
Team’s in place. Have Jenna go get the phone.
The timing was terrible. He tapped his thumb on the screen. Do we have a minute?
There wasn’t a pause. No.
One word. No choice.
Jenna pushed away from her chair on shaky legs, her earlier determined demeanor set into place. She was very, very good at slipping behind her carefully crafted mask. “I can do this. If it will put a stop to everything, I can do it.”
Earlier, when she’d first seen the email with her sister’s name in the subject line, the instinct to put his arm around her and be her strength had propelled him with a force he couldn’t resist. He’d never felt the drive to protect so strongly.
This moment dwarfed everything else. Jenna shouldn’t be a target in a game where no one even knew who their opponent was. The urge to pack her into his truck and drive as far out of town as he could built in his chest until it almost cut off his air.
“Jen, you don’t have to go. Say the word and we can wave off, get you somewhere safe, somewhere away from here. The team can snag the phone, move in on the chance the bad guys are already at the location. We can hide you until—”
“Seriously?” She jerked her head, a strand of hair catching one of her eyelashes. “What happened to ‘you don’t have to run, Jenna’ and ‘we all have your back, Jenna’?”
“I said those things before, when I thought we were dealing with a crazy ex-boyfriend. There are too many unknowns. Let me take you somewhere safe.” Wyatt stood, desperate to make her see logic. The thought of her walking into some psycho’s crosshairs ate at his gut in a way he’d never imagined it would. She had no idea what was coming next, but he did. They’d have her get the phone, then they’d have her go to the rendezvous point alone. She’d be trailed by the Feds but she’d still be alone. Anything could happen, even with a federal team feet away.
Jenna shook her head and stood and smoothed the front of her jeans, then eased around him to look out the two-way mirror into the front of the store. “I want this finished. I don’t want to leave Mountain Springs. If there’s even a remote chance I can keep my life here—”
“Listen to reason.” Wyatt blocked her path to the door. “If you—” His phone vibrated.
She turned. “What do they say?”
Lord, let it be we’ve somehow already caught them, and this is all finished before it even starts. Wyatt lifted the phone and read the screen out loud. “‘Move out. Now.’”
With time short, there wasn’t room to bring in reinforcements or decoys.
Jenna would have to walk out the back door of the building, retrieve the device and drive to the rendezvous point.
Alone.
The whole thing was risky, dangerous, but there hadn’t been time to plan anything else. The FBI wanted these guys as badly as Wyatt did.
Lifting her chin, Jenna moved to edge around Wyatt and out the door. She pulled her car keys from her pocket and gripped them tightly.
As she passed, he slid sideways and blocked her, their faces mere inches apart. He scanned her green eyes and the small scar at her hairline, then let his gaze brush hers. His heart hammered harder. At some point last night, while he’d held her until the shaking stopped, his life had shifted. Jenna was a friend. Her protective instinct for her sister resonated with him, linking them.
She didn’t deserve to be hurt.
Her eyes widened, then became hooded before she laid a hand on his arm and brushed past, headed for the door. “Just pray, Wyatt.”
She stopped at the door, her hand on the knob, and straightened her shoulders, once again slipping into the false front she wore too well. Without turning back, Jenna went to the back door, opened it and stepped into the alley out of his line of sight.
A sharp crack and a metallic ping crashed into the building.
Jenna cried out in pain as the door slipped shut.
Wyatt ran, glancing into the corner at the security monitor, but the angle gave a view of the steps alone.
He jerked open the door, aware too late the next shot could have his name on it, and bolted down the steps, nearly tripping over Jenna, who was lying in a motionless heap on the pavement.
SEVEN
Frantic shouts. Footsteps. Distant radio transmissions.
Jenna curled into a tighter ball and huddled next to her car. Someone had shot at her. She’d walked out the door and someone...had...
A hand pressed into her back, and the familiar clean scent of Wyatt’s soap filtered through the haze as he leaned close. “You okay? Were you hit?”
Wyatt was here. She was safe. Trying to calm her rapid breathing, Jenna inventoried her limbs. The only pain was in her knees, where she’d dropped to the ground like a ball of wet clay. “No. I’m okay.” She dared to lift her head and look at Wyatt.
He was crouched beside her, one knee on the ground, his pistol drawn and held at the ready in his right hand. His left hand still rested on her back. His dark blue eyes scanned the alley, from side to side, from top to bottom.
The radio on his shoulder crackled. “Suspect apprehended.”
There were more words, but the buzzing in her ears wouldn’t let her hear them. Jenna rocked onto her heels then turned, drew her knees to her chest and sagged against her car. “They got him?”
Still on one knee in front of Jenna, Wyatt holstered his pistol, nodded once, then let his eyes sweep her face, her arms, her legs as though he didn’t quite believe she was telling the truth when she said she was uninjured. He rested a finger on her knee, sending a stinging, shooting pain along her leg and into her hip. “You tore your jeans.”
Jenna leaned forward to inspect the damage, her hair brushing his cheek. “If a hole in my jeans is the worst thing to happen to me today—”
“Come on. I want to get you inside. Just in case.” Staying low and keeping himself between Jenna and the alley, Wyatt ushered her inside and shut the heavy metal door behind them, twisting the lock before he guided her into her office.
She was settled in her chair, safe from spying eyes and flying bullets, when the shaking started. Her stomach rolled and quaked, seeming to reverberate throughout her body until her hands and knees shook with the tremors.
Wyatt opened the mini fridge wedged between a bookcase and the wall, found a bottle of water then brought it to her, cracking it open before he reached for her hand and wrapped her fingers around the bottle. “Drink. Your nerves will settle in a minute.”
Her teeth knocked together. “Need coffee. Warmth. Not cold. Shivering.”
“I get it.” He graced her with a reassuring smile then knelt in front of her, pressing her hand so she lifted the bottle. “Drink something. I promise we’ll get you some coffee in a little bit. Decaf.”
His teasing brought a slight smile. Jenna managed to drink a couple of sips without letting water dribble down her chin. Thankfully. Even with everything happening outside, drooling in front of Wyatt felt like it would be a catastrophe of epic proportions.
His phone buzzed, too loud against her frayed nerves.
Jenna jumped and squeezed the water bottle, cold water shooting onto her jeans and Wyatt’s shirt. Her teeth dug into her lip, her cheeks heating. “I’m—”
He shook his head with a slight smile, then grew serious as he read the text, then stood. “I’m going to let the chief in. It won’t take but a second.” His gaze lingered on hers as though he was considering something before he turned and walked out of the office.
Jenna watched him go, then set the water bottle on her desk and dropped her head into her hands. She ought to be scared. Terrified. Already running. Other than the tremors from the shock, she felt nothing. Numb. Empty. It was as though her emotions had overloaded and blown a fuse.
She’d felt such a deep, hollow darkness one other time, when Logan’s first blow landed against her cheek. The sheer shock of it had somehow managed to knock her mind loose from her body. If she wasn’t taking it all the way in, maybe it wasn’t really happening.
Wyatt walked into the room with the chief and two other people behind him. Her heart stuttered, then fired a rapid rhythm even she couldn’t decipher. If this didn’t end soon, nobody would have to kill her. She’d land her own self in the hospital.
Four people in her minuscule office packed the room and stifled the oxygen. Wyatt edged around the desk to stand beside her, while Chief Thompson and the man and woman who’d followed him in took positions near the door. The woman wore faded jeans and a T-shirt featuring a band from the bluegrass festival. She didn’t look a day over twenty. The man looked like an ad for hipsters, from his beard to his hiking boots. She didn’t recognize either of them from around town. Probably the federal team. FBI? Homeland Security? Both? Everything Wyatt had told her leaked from her mind and left her empty.
Arch Thompson studied Jenna for a long moment before he sat in the chair in front of her, propping his ankle on his knee and settling in like he was on his mama’s front porch ready for a long chat. All he lacked was a tall glass of sweet tea.
Chief Thompson was like that. Every time Jenna had met him, he’d been friendly, laid-back, helpful. Though he was barely four years older than she was, he approached his job with a serious work ethic and quiet humor as well. With his dark hair, even darker eyes and athletic build, it was no wonder half of the single women in Mountain Springs had set their sights on him.
Today, more than ever, Jenna appreciated the way nothing ever seemed to rile him up or surprise him. His presence and demeanor settled a calm over the room, a sharp contrast to the two strangers who stood by the door and studied her as though she was hiding something.
Sort of the same way Wyatt used to look at her.
As though he knew she’d thought of him, Wyatt rested a hand on her shoulder. “The chief has a few questions.”
Nobody moved to introduce the strangers. Jenna didn’t ask. Instead, she focused on Chief Thompson. “I have no idea who’s doing this or why they’re doing it.”
“I don’t doubt it. None of us do.” He glanced over his shoulder at the agents in the doorway then turned to Jenna. “Can they get a look at your computer?”
She nodded once. “It’s out front.” She scribbled the password on a sticky note and passed it across the desk to the chief, who handed it over his shoulder to the woman. “This password logs you in to the main system. My email is already open.”
“We need your phone as well.” The female agent too
k the device, then looked at Jenna again. “Social media?”
“I don’t have any.” Too risky. One loose picture of her out on the internet could have led Logan right to her.
If he had even been looking. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
Jenna pressed her fingers to her temples and kneaded the tension building there. “Somebody thinks I’m my sister.”
“Officer Stephens told me in his texts. You want to fill me in on the story?” Arch pulled a notebook from his belt and poised a pen to write.
Still numb, Jenna recited the bare facts to him, the same ones she’d told Wyatt less than half an hour earlier, ending with “I don’t understand.”
The chief tapped his pen against the arm of the chair, his dark gaze set on Jenna. “Tell me about the man who ran the gym where your sister worked.”
She blinked. What? This was about her sister, not about...
Her stomach twisted as realization dipped the roller coaster into a whole new loop. Another twist. Another segment of her life was no longer what it had always appeared to be. She looked up over her shoulder at Wyatt. “Logan was... You said he was making deliveries all over Texas.” At his nod, she turned to the chief. “He delivered and maintained equipment for New Horizons Day Spa and they had locations all over Texas. Logan Cutter was working with New Horizons. What do you know about the owner?”
Chief Thompson said nothing, simply kept a level gaze on Jenna, waiting.
“I think...” Jenna had met the spa’s owner once, when she worked part-time one summer at the mall, getting people to register for week-long free trials. He’d come by the kiosk, chatted briefly, given her a hearty handshake, then disappeared. At the time, he’d appeared to be nothing more than a charming, friendly, regular guy. A normal business owner working a normal job.
She swiped her hand on her jeans, still feeling his touch. Now that she knew what he’d been doing behind the scenes, his touch burned through distance and time. “His name was Grant...Meyer?” She shook her head. “I saw him one time, and it was briefly. He had a lot of locations around Texas so he was rarely in El Paso.”