She kissed him again. “Where were you?”

“It’s complicated.”

She pulled her head back and stared into his light brown eyes. After a year and twenty-one days, after letting her think he was dead, he needed a much better explanation. “Tell me about it.”

She wasn’t letting him run away after giving her a whisper of sweet talk and “it’s complicated.” She needed a hell of a lot more than that. She slid down his body and planted her boots on the ground. “Sit down, Wade.”

“I already told you. I can’t—”

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

He frowned. “What?”

The hard way, it was. She stalked around him until she had the uphill position. From there, it was easy to shove his shoulder and hook his legs out from under him. As soon as his butt hit the dirt, she was on him. After taking away his rifle, she flipped him onto his belly and cuffed his hands behind his back.

“Wade Calloway, you’re under arrest.”

Colorado Wildfire

Cassie Miles

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CASSIE MILES, a USA TODAY bestselling author, lives in Colorado. After raising two daughters and cooking tons of macaroni and cheese for her family, Cassie is trying to be more adventurous in her culinary efforts. She’s discovered that almost anything tastes better with wine. When she’s not plotting Mills & Boon Intrigue books, Cassie likes to hang out at the Denver Botanical Gardens near her high-rise home.

To the most excellent uncles, Charlie and C.J. Climp.

And, as always, to Rick.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Sheriff Samantha Calloway hadn’t cried this much since her husband went missing and was presumed dead. She swabbed the moisture from her cheeks with the back of her hand. These tears didn’t come from sorrow. Smoke had got into her eyes.

She parked her white SUV with the sheriff’s logo at a deserted intersection, climbed out and rested her elbows on the front fender to steady her binoculars. Beyond a wide field that was green with the new growth of early spring, she could see the approaching wildfire.

Though the crimson flames were far away, barely visible behind a distant ridge, smoke consumed the landscape. A stinging haze draped the spires of pine and spruce at the edge of Swain County in the high Rocky Mountains.

When she licked her lips, she tasted ash on her tongue. Her pale blue eyes continued to ooze with tears.

Caleb Schmidt, a deputy who had been with the sheriff’s department for thirty years, one year longer than Sam had been alive, had followed her to this location. He got out of his vehicle and strutted toward her. A short, wiry man, Caleb thrust out his chest and swung his arms when he walked. Maybe he thought the posture made him look bigger. He pulled the dark blue bandana down from his mouth and squinted at her through his thick glasses.

“It’s time,” he said in a voice of doom, “time to start emergency evacuation procedures.”

“Not yet.”

“Doggone it, Sheriff, we gotta hustle and—”

“I’ve been in contact with the proper officials,” she interrupted. “Fire Marshal Hobbs will tell me in plenty of time if we need to evacuate.”

Caleb scoffed. Before he could say anything more, she stretched out her long arm and tugged on his bandana. “Where’s your smoke mask?”

“Where’s yours?” he retorted.

This morning when she’d started out, she had two boxes full of disposable ventilator masks that she’d gone to the trouble of ordering even though they weren’t in her meager budget. Before noon, she’d given them all away without saving one for herself. Her late husband, Wade, would have pointed to her behavior as an example of her too-too-responsible attitude. And, she admitted to herself, Wade would have been right. Sam knew she couldn’t take care of others if she didn’t take care of herself first, but the other way around felt more natural.

“The wind’s picking up,” Caleb muttered. “The fire’s on the move. I hear it’s already burned two thousand acres. I’m advising you to reconsider.”

“If I had reason to believe it might reach town, I wouldn’t hesitate to get everybody out.” Her five-year-old daughter was smack-dab in the middle of Woodridge at the sheriff’s office in the two-story, red stone Swain County Courthouse, where the dispatch/911 operators were keeping an eye on her. Sam’s regular babysitter had an asthmatic toddler and had driven down to Denver to get away from this awful smoke.

“We gotta be smart, gotta move fast.” Caleb would not give up; he was a feisty little pug with a bone. “It ain’t going to be easy to get some of these old coots to leave their houses.”

He was right about that. A mandated evacuation of Woodridge would be a nightmare. Her county was the smallest in the state in terms of acreage and population. They didn’t have a ski resort or a condo development or fertile land for farming. The entire sheriff’s department consisted of twelve people, including Sam.

She swabbed the moisture from under her eyes and stared at her deputy. “I’m not going to change my mind. No mandatory evacuation unless the fire marshal says there’s an imminent threat. Is that clear?”

Grudgingly, he said, “I guess you’re the boss.”

You got that right. None of her six deputies had been thrilled when she took over her husband’s job as sheriff. That was over a year ago, and she’d been duly elected last February for one big fat obvious reason: she was the best qualified. As a teenager, she’d done volunteer search and rescue. She’d been top of her class at the police academy. Not to mention her three years’ experience as a cop in Grand Junction before she married Wade. Still, her deputies second-guessed her at every turn.

“Deputy Schmidt, I want you to stay right here and keep an eye on things. That’s an order.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, properly chastised.

The two-lane asphalt road pointed south was one of the few direct routes toward the flames. “Except for firefighting personnel, no vehicles are allowed to pass.”

“And what are you going to do?”

She spotted the black Range Rover she’d been waiting for. “I need to go with Ty Baxter to check on a property.”

“It’s that FBI safe house. Am I right?”

“You know I can’t tell you.” Not that the location was a well-kept secret. “And you’re not supposed to say anything about the safe house, either.”

He mimed zipping his lips, fastening a lock and throwing away the key. Then he pulled up his bandana to cover his mouth and marched toward his vehicle.

FBI special agent Ty Baxter jumped from his Rover and came toward her with long strides. In his Stetson, denim jeans, snakeskin boots and white shirt with a yoke and pearly snaps, he could have looked as phony as a drugstore cowboy. But Ty pulled it off. After all, he was the real deal, the son of a local rancher.

He’d been her husband’s best friend. They’d gone to school together, played football together and dated the same girls. Ty had won the heart of the prom queen. The whole county had been heartbroken when he and Loretta moved to Denver to pursue his career.

He gave her a big hug. “Looking good, Sam.”

“Liar.”

She knew better. Her blue eyes were bloodshot. Instead of makeup, she had jagged smears of ash across her face. Under her beige cowboy hat, her long brown hair was pulled back in a tight braid that hung halfway down to her waist. Her boxy khaki uniform wasn’t designed to flatter. Not to mention the heavy-duty bulletproof vest under her shirt and the utility belt that circled her waist. On top of all that, she was fairly sure that she had pit stains.

“How’s Jenny?” he asked.

“Getting taller every day.”

“Like you.”

Sam was six feet tall in her boots. “I kind of hoped she wouldn’t inherit the giraffe gene.”

Ty grinned and his dark brown eyes twinkled. “Both her parents are giraffes.”

Wade had been six feet five inches tall. Whenever Sam was with Ty, her thoughts drifted toward her husband. The two men had been close. They even looked kind of alike. Both were tall and lean. Both had brown eyes and dark hair. Ty had been with Wade when he died.

She shook off the memories and returned Ty’s easygoing smile. “You got here from Denver really fast.”

“I was already on my way when I called about the safe house. Sam, there’s something important I need to tell you.”

She nodded. “We can talk on the way. We’ll take my SUV. I need to be able to hear my dispatcher.”

After reminding Deputy Schmidt to keep this route blocked, she got behind the steering wheel. When Ty joined her, he was carrying a gym bag from his Rover. Before he buckled up, he reached inside and took out his smooth, black, lethal-looking Beretta 9 mm semiautomatic pistol.

“Whoa,” she said. “Are you planning to shoot the fire?”

“I like to be prepared.” He clipped the holster to his belt. “Don’t you?”

Prepared for what? Sam was wary. First, Ty had mentioned “something important” he wanted to talk about. Now he was packing a gun. She had a bad feeling about what fresh disaster might be lurking around the next corner. Hoping to avoid bigger problems, she asked about his family. “Are your twins still playing T-ball?”

“They’re getting pretty good,” he said, “and Loretta signed on to be coach of their team.”

“Good for her.” Sheriff Sam was happy to support women who broke the stereotypes.

“Surprised the hell out of me. I never thought my Loretta was athletic, but she’s getting into sports.”

“Imagine that.”

Apparently, Ty had forgotten that Loretta was a rodeo barrel racer and a black-diamond skier. Because his little Loretta was capable of looking like a princess, he forgot her kick-ass side. Wade had never made that mistake with Samantha.

The first three miles of paved road swept across an open field. Under the smoky haze, the tall prairie grasses mingled with bright splashes of scarlet and blue wildflowers. Then the road turned to graded gravel, still two lanes but bumpy. The scenery closed in around them as they entered a narrow canyon.

While she guided the SUV through a series of turns that followed the winding path of Horny Toad Creek, they chatted about family and how much Ty and Loretta missed living in the mountains. His dad wanted him to move back to Swain County and help out at the ranch.

“That would mean giving up your career,” Sam said. “There’s not much need for an FBI special agent around here.”

He exhaled a sigh. “You and Wade had the right idea. Decide where you want to live, and then find a way to make a living.”

When she and her husband started out, she hadn’t been so sure they’d made a good decision. They were newlyweds with six acres and a good well outside Woodridge. She’d just quit her cop job and was trying to make ends meet on one salary. Within two months, she was pregnant. While expecting and unemployed, she was able to oversee every step of the construction.

The house they built was perfectly tailored for them. She’d even made the kitchen counters a few inches taller so she didn’t have to stoop when she was chopping tomatillos for green salsa. She and Wade had made love in every room and on the deck and in the garage...

“The turn is coming up,” Ty said as he squinted toward the left side of the road.

“I know where it is.” She checked on the safe house whenever she was in the area. It hadn’t been occupied in months.

He took a water bottle from his gym bag, unscrewed the lid and poured a splash over a red bandana. Like Caleb, he tied the bandana across the lower half of his face.

She couldn’t stop herself from being Miss Know-It-All. “The fire marshal says the weave of a cotton bandana isn’t fine enough to prevent ash particles from getting through.”

“Don’t care,” he said. “The wetness makes breathing easier. Here’s the turnoff.”

After a quick left, she drove on a one-lane road that ascended a rugged slope. The safe house clung to the side of a granite cliff and faced away from the road. If she hadn’t known where she was going, Sam would never have found this place amid the rocks and trees.

When she exited her vehicle, the smoke swirled around her ankles in a thick miasma. From the wraparound porch of the house, she and Ty had a clear view of the wildfire. The blaze danced across the upper edge of a hogback ridge. With the sun going down, the billowing clouds of smoke turned an angry red. It looked like the gates of hell. A chopper flew over the leaping flames and dropped a load of retardant on the forest.

She watched as Ty wandered around to the side of the house toward the long attached garage. “Looking for something?”

“I’m being thorough.”

She noticed his hand resting on his belt near his holster, ready to make a quick draw. What was making him so suspicious? “Is there something I should know about?”

He joined her on the porch. “Long as I’m here, I might as well look around inside.”

His fingers hovered over a keypad outside the front door. He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Do you happen to...?”

“Remember the code to deactivate the alarm?” She grinned and rattled off six digits. The Swain County sheriff always had the code. When the alarm went off, it rang through to her office, and she had to come up here to turn it off.

Before she could follow Ty inside, her cell phone rang. It was the fire marshal—a call she needed to take. As she answered, she signaled to Ty to go ahead without her.

“Marshal Hobbs,” she said, “what can you tell me?”

“The fire is mostly contained.” His voice was raspy. Sore throats must be an occupational hazard. “You won’t need to evacuate the town, especially not if it rains tonight like it’s supposed to.”

“That’s the good news,” she said. “What’s the bad?”

“Well, Sheriff, I’ve got a favor to ask. The chopper pilot spotted three hikers on the road by Horny Toad Creek. I can’t spare the men to pick them up. Could you take care of it?”

“No problem,” she assured him. “I happen to be in that area right now. How do you know they’re hikers?”

“The pilot said they were wearing backpacks. You know the look.”

“I sure do. Keep me posted on the fire.”

When Ty came out of the safe house, she waved him over to her SUV and told him about the hikers who needed a pickup. “I can’t imagine any sensible reason they’d hike near a wildfire. These guys must be thrill-seekers or morons.”

“Or reporters,” Ty said.

“Same thing.”

She’d had her fill of reporters after Wade’s death. They wouldn’t leave her alone, constantly pestered her for interviews or photos of her and Jenny. All she ever wanted was to grieve in private. But Wade’s accident was news.

One year and twenty-one days ago, he’d gone bow hunting with Ty and two other feds, including Ty’s boss, Everett Hurtado. A kayaker on the river had lost control in the rapids, and Wade had jumped into the frigid waters to rescue him. The kayaker had survived. Wade had been swept away by the white water. His body had never been found.

As Sam started the engine in her SUV, dark thoughts gnawed at the edge of her mind. She had plenty of things to worry about: the fire, the hikers, the lack of ventilation masks and Ty’s “important” news. But she could never escape the pain and the sorrow that had taken up permanent residence inside her. She’d never forget the loss of her husband. He was her soul mate, her dearest lover and best friend.

As she drove along the road that followed the twists and turns of the creek, she turned her head toward Ty. Might as well get this over with. “What’s this important thing you want to tell me?”

“You know, Sam, I can hardly look at you without thinking of Wade.”

“Back at you, Ty. You were one of his best friends. You grew up together.” She guided the SUV into a more open area that deviated from the path of the creek. “Is this important message about Wade?”

“How do you feel about him? Are you, maybe, looking at other men?”

“Hell no.” There was no other man, and there never would be. She only had room in her heart for Jenny and for Wade.

The road straightened out. The right side was a field behind a barbed-wire fence. To the left, a gently rising hillside climbed into a thick, old growth forest. If the fire got this far, these hills would go up like dry tinder.

Ty cleared his throat. “I was just thinking...”

“If you’re going to say that it’s time to move on, that I should get out there in the world and start dating, forget it. Don’t you dare tell me how to grieve.”

He pointed across the windshield to the left side of the road. “Over there.”

In the shadow of a tall cottonwood, she spotted a dark green sedan that apparently had gone across the shoulder and run into the shrubs, rocks and trees at the side of the road. She parked behind it. “Maybe our three hikers came from that car.”

“Makes sense,” Ty said. “Maybe they had an accident and are trying to walk back to civilization. But why didn’t we see them on the road? Why would they go toward the fire?”

She left the SUV and went to investigate. The green sedan blended into the trees and shrubs, which was why the helicopter pilot hadn’t noticed it. She saw the outline of a man’s head and shoulders behind the steering wheel.

He wasn’t moving.

Chapter Two

A rising sense of dread crept up her spine and raised the fine hairs on the nape of her neck. Unlike the distant threat of the raging wildfire, this trouble was only a few steps away. Sam adjusted the holster on her belt for easier access to the Glock 23 she’d used to win marksmanship contests at the academy. Never once had she fired her pistol on the job: her stun gun was usually enough. But her cop instincts told her that this situation might require more firepower.

“Sir,” she called out as she moved closer to the vehicle, “I’m with the sheriff’s department. Show me your hands. Sir?”

Ty came up beside her. He held his Beretta at the ready. “I suggest we proceed with caution.”

“Ya think?”

He immediately backed off. “I’m following your lead, Sam.”

Even if Swain County wasn’t a hotbed of criminal activity, she knew the standard procedures and would adhere to them as much as possible. She pulled her pistol from the holster and went to the driver’s side. The window was down. Fully expecting to find the driver sleeping or drunk, she angled around until she could see inside.

“Sir, are you...?” The words froze in her mouth.

He’d been shot in the chest. The front of his plaid flannel shirt was drenched in blood from his neck to his gut. Oh God, what do I do next? What’s the procedure? She should check for a pulse, assess his condition. But she didn’t need to touch his pale jowls to know the flesh would be cold. His sightless eyes stared directly at her.

“He’s dead,” Ty said.

“Yes.” She could barely speak. Her throat was dry.

“We need to be careful. The killer might still be nearby.”

Gathering her courage, she backed away from the sedan and scanned the area, peering through the smoke at the rocks, shrubs and trees. No one else was in sight, but these hills were full of hiding places. A murderer wouldn’t put up a billboard to announce his presence.

But would he run away? Was he waiting for them? Harsh little flashes of tension and fear made it impossible for her to concentrate. Oh, Wade, I miss you. He would have known what to do. He was a born leader; giving orders came easily to him. Somehow, she had to pull herself together.

She cleared her throat. “We have to find the hikers.”

“Do you think they did this?”

“I don’t know.”

But she didn’t think those three men with backpacks were in this area by coincidence. Either they were friends of the deceased who were on the run or they were killers.

Ty gently touched her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“This is my first murder case.”

“I’m here to help.”

She’d seen dead bodies before, usually people who passed away from old age or due to an accident. And she’d arrested plenty of bad guys who had hurt someone else. The local violence had always stopped far short of murder.

“I can do this,” she said.

“Hell yes.”

She slapped her Glock back into the holster. “I want this investigation to be done right.” She took out a pair of baby blue latex gloves and slipped them on.

“Do you always have gloves in your pocket?”

“Not my pocket. My utility belt.” She passed a pair to him. “I keep them in here.”

“Isn’t that the place where you should be packing a second magazine for your Glock?”

“Here’s the thing, Ty. I’ve never fired all thirteen rounds from this gun. I’ll carry one mag of extra bullets, but the second one is overkill. But I’ve found the gloves come in handy. I am a mom, after all.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Last time I used my latex gloves was at Jenny’s kindergarten class when we were making a collage of forest animals.”

He nodded slowly. “What’s our next move?”

That was a good question. Swain County didn’t have the facilities to deal with a murder. They had a small clinic and a dentist who doubled as county coroner but no hospital for an autopsy. For forensics, she used a fingerprint kit that she usually carried in her SUV. She had no access to DNA data analysis or a mass spectrometer or any other fancy tools.

In usual circumstances, she’d step aside and happily turn this investigation over to the Colorado Bureau of Investigation or maybe the Grand Junction police. But today was different. Today, there was a wildfire that just might reach this car and obliterate the scene of the crime.

She took her cell phone from her pocket. “First, I’m going to take photos of the crime scene and dust for prints. Then you and me are going to load this body into the back of my SUV and cart him to the nearest hospital.”

“Why move him?”

Pointing toward the flames, she said, “So the body won’t be incinerated along with the rest of the evidence.”

With her phone camera, she took a picture of the windshield and the front end of the car, which was crumpled against the trunk of the cottonwood. The damage wasn’t severe, causing her to think the car hadn’t been going very fast at the time of impact. Pleased with herself for drawing that conclusion, she made a complete circle around the sedan, taking pictures of the whole car. No skid marks in the gravel behind the car. The driver hadn’t applied the brakes.

A theory began to form in her mind. The man behind the steering wheel was already dead when the car hit the tree. Her conclusion fit the evidence. Wade would have been proud of her. He’d always said that she was a natural-born cop, not surprising since her father was a captain in the Portland PD.

She returned to the front window and made observations, sticking her head inside. The dead man was covered in blood, but the rest of the front seat was fairly clean. She looked over her shoulder at Ty. “I don’t think this sedan is our primary crime scene.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think he was killed somewhere else and then put in the front seat, which is why there’s no spatter. And he didn’t crash this car. It was pushed off the road into the tree.”

“How do you know that?”

After outlining her prior conclusions, she stepped away from the window so he could see the final bit of evidence for himself. “No keys in the ignition.”

He peered inside, taking care not to get blood on his white shirt with the pearly snaps, and then he cursed. “I recognize this guy.”

Had she heard him right? “You know him?”

“He’s a cop.” Ty pulled his head out of the car and stood up straight. “A state patrolman. I think his name is Morrissey. Wade introduced us.”

Her husband had been well acquainted with all the law-enforcement guys who worked in and around Swain County. Like her own deputies, they hadn’t been as friendly with Sam. “We’d better do everything right. The staties can be as annoying as you FBI guys. Lieutenant Natchez is a real pill.”

“Agreed. I’ve met Natchez.” Ty whipped out his cell phone. “Do you want me to contact him?”

“I guess that’s the right thing to do.”

If the situation had been reversed, and someone had found Deputy Caleb Schmidt’s body, she’d want to be among the first who were informed. She wasn’t looking forward to seeing Natchez. Somehow, he’d get everything turned around and make this murder her fault.

While Ty placed the call, she continued photographing the inside of the vehicle, starting with the front driver’s side and working her way around. No blood at all in the backseat. When she opened the passenger-side door, she saw a handgun. An attractive piece, it was a Colt revolver with an inlaid copper-colored design on the grip.

The weapon belonged to her husband.

* * *

WADE CALLOWAY EXERTED every bit of his willpower to keep himself from charging down the hill, grabbing his wife and planting a big, hard kiss on her soft, pink lips. The urge almost overwhelmed him. He couldn’t stand to watch her anymore. Ducking down behind a tall boulder at the edge of the forest, he squeezed his eyelids shut, fighting his desperate need to be with Samantha, his angel.

Now wasn’t the time or the place.

If he showed his face, she’d be in danger.

What the hell was she doing on this road? Why did she have to be the one who discovered the body? His fingers curled into a fist, and he hammered the ground beneath his boots. Life was not fair!

For more than a year, he’d fantasized about what it would be like when he came home to his sweet wife. She’d come running toward him with her long brown hair streaming behind her in a silky banner. Her clothing—always flimsy in his imagination—would outline her slender legs and supple torso. Her laughter would ring out, and their perfect daughter would join in with hugs and kisses. Jenny and Sam would treat him to a hero’s welcome.

He peeked around the edge of the boulder. Samantha stalked around the vehicle. He couldn’t actually see her scowl from this distance, but he could tell that she was frustrated and annoyed. More than annoyed—anger radiated from her in waves that were even hotter than the wildfire.

He had a real bad feeling that this hostile version of Samantha was the woman who would greet him when he stepped out of hiding. He could hope for her forgiveness but didn’t expect it.

His life—which used to be so very fine—had become one snafu after another. The murder of Drew Morrissey was the latest blunder. Somebody should have been watching the bum, keeping him from getting shot. Not that Wade intended to waste any tears on Morrissey. The man was a traitor to his uniform. Protecting him would have been a smart strategy. Morrissey was cowardly and weak. He might have turned on his partners in crime. Most likely, that ratlike tendency to squeal was probably why the scumbag was dead.

Wade had found the body behind the steering wheel of his car about a half hour ago and had staked out the area, hoping that the killer or killers might come back. And if they did, what would he do? He wanted to take these guys into custody, to lock them up and throw away the keys. It wasn’t that easy. He’d spent the past year in protective custody, waiting to testify and make things right.

Three days ago the legal case had collapsed for the umpteenth time, and Wade decided he wasn’t willing to wait, especially not after he’d caught a glimpse of a man in the federal courthouse whom he vaguely remembered. The name hadn’t come to him. But he’d seen this guy before. And that was enough of a threat to get him moving. If the bad guys had seen him and knew he was alive and waiting to testify, Samantha and Jenny would be in danger.

He’d escaped from his handlers in Texas and made his way back here. Last night, he’d slept in the FBI safe house, thankful they hadn’t changed the security code from the time he was sheriff. From the house, he’d picked up some important supplies: two semiautomatic pistols and a hunting rifle. In the attached garage, he’d found a lightweight Honda motorcycle with heavy-tread tires that made it suitable for off-road or on-road driving.

He had intended to find Samantha and Jenny this morning, to take them away with him. A lot of people, including his supposed friend Ty, would tell him that he shouldn’t return to Colorado. The whole reason they faked his death was so nobody would come after Samantha or Jenny to hurt him. But Wade couldn’t stay away.

He’d find a way to keep his family safe. It might not be comfortable or pretty, but at least they’d be together. That was what he should have done in the first place. The time apart had been gut-wrenching.

He peeked out from behind the rock again. Damn, she was pretty. He wanted to caress every inch of Samantha’s beautiful body, to smell the clean fragrance of her shampoo, to taste her mouth and stare into her cool blue eyes. Not even the boxy sheriff uniform could disguise her long legs and well-toned arms.

Not to brag, but he’d done some bodybuilding of his own. One of the ways he’d distracted himself for all these months was by working out. He’d tightened his six-pack, and the biceps and triceps in his arms were sharply defined. Would Samantha notice? He couldn’t wait until she ran her long, slender fingers down his chest and commented on his new physical conditioning.

From the road, he heard her bark an order at Ty. “Just do what I say. Do it now.”

Wade chuckled under his breath. “That’s my sweet, delicate angel.”

He craned his neck so he could see the road more clearly. She had the door of the sedan open and was messing around with the dead body. What the hell was she doing?

Chapter Three

She might not be an expert on how to process a crime scene, but Sam was in charge here. Ty needed to remember that little fact. Swain County was her jurisdiction. And she wanted to move the body of Colorado state patrolman Drew Morrissey into the rear of her SUV before this scene was engulfed in flames and all the evidence destroyed.

“Come on, Ty, let’s do it.”

He groaned. “Didn’t your friend the fire marshal tell you that the burn wouldn’t get this far?”

“Marshal Hobbs said the town would be safe. This location is miles and miles away from there.” She slapped her hands together to start the action. “You take his head, and I’ll take his legs.”

Ty slipped into his black FBI windbreaker to protect his white shirt, but he still complained. “Why do I get the messy end of the body?”

“Don’t be such a wuss. You’re stronger than me and the top half of the body is heavier.”

Also, she intended to use the few minutes when she was alone by Morrissey’s car to shove Wade’s copper-handled revolver under the seat. Removing evidence would be wrong. She was certain about that. Hiding the evidence might be kind of, maybe, a little bit acceptable. It’s not. I know better.

But she needed a couple more minutes to figure out what to do about a gun that should have been locked in a case at her house. It could be the murder weapon. Maybe she’d tell Ty about it before Morrissey’s supervisor got here. She definitely didn’t want Lieutenant Natchez to use her husband’s fancy revolver to tie her to a murder scene.

When Ty pulled Morrissey away from the seat, the man’s head flopped forward against the steering wheel. Seeing him was different than touching. The stench of death cut through the smoke as she helped Ty manipulate the dead weight. Morrissey’s arms dangled. His legs were as floppy as a rag doll. There wasn’t anything she could do about the revolver until Ty had the body halfway out of the seat.

In a quick move, she ducked inside the car, shoved the weapon under the passenger’s seat, emerged and slammed the driver’s-side door. She faced Ty. “Okay, let’s roll.”

He held Morrissey under the armpits with his legs sprawled. “What the hell was that dance about?”

Instead of replying, she grabbed the dead man under the knees. “I won’t be carrying my share of the weight like this. Let me get him around the middle.”

Morrissey’s blood smeared her khaki uniform. She should have put on her windbreaker; Ty was smart to do that. They stumbled a few steps toward her vehicle.

A burst of gunfire echoed against the canyon walls. She looked over her shoulder toward the road in front of them. Through the smoke, she saw the shapes of two men diving across from the right side to the left where the green sedan had run into the cottonwood trunk.

Ty’s reaction was immediate. He dropped Morrissey, ducked behind her car and yanked his Beretta from the holster. “Take cover, Sam.”

Her brain wasn’t so agile. It took a few beats to register the obvious. Somebody was shooting at them. She needed to return fire, needed to find cover, needed to move. Move! But she stood there like a statue, holding the lower half of Morrissey’s legs. She looked down. His sneakers were untied.

Ty’s voice wakened her. “Sam, move! Damn it, move!”

She dropped Morrissey and bolted like a jackrabbit, dashing to her SUV, where she whipped open the driver’s-side door to use as a shield. A bullet pinged against the door. If she’d been standing in the open, she would have been hit in the center of her bulletproof vest. Thank God she was wearing it today.

In the academy and during other training exercises, she’d been in dozens of simulations. But this was her first real-life firefight. As she drew her Glock, her focus tightened. Time seemed to slow. She remembered what was supposed to be done. I can do this. Her confidence returned and with it came courage.

When she spotted a backpack in the middle of the road where the two men had been, she yelled to Ty, “The hikers, these guys have got to be the hikers. The marshal said there were three.”

From the opposite side of her SUV, he shouted, “I saw only two.”

The hikers continued to lay down a steady barrage of gunfire. That was a lot of ammo. She regretted using her storage for a second ammo magazine as a carryall for latex gloves. Ty was aiming at a big, chunky boulder that was about ten yards down the road. She guessed the hikers would try to move toward the wrecked sedan, where they’d have a better angle.

Bracing her gun hand against the window frame of her vehicle, she popped a bullet into the space between the rock and the sedan. The action of her Glock felt good in her hands. She was a fairly good shot, the best in the Swain County Sheriff’s Department...which wasn’t saying much, given that Caleb was second best.

“Cover me,” Ty yelled.

Peering through the space between her car door and the windshield, she fired in the direction he’d been shooting. Every bullet counted. She squeezed the trigger seven times, rapid-fire. Her ears rang with the percussive noise.

In a low crouch, Ty darted to the right side of the road, concealed himself in a ditch and took aim. He fired several times in quick succession.

A man staggered out from behind the boulder into the road. With one hand, he clutched his gut. Blood spilled through his fingers. With the other, he tried to steady his weapon. Ty fired again. The man crumpled to the dirt.

One down, two to go. She saw the second man run from the cover of the boulder toward the cottonwood tree where he could hide in the shrubs behind the car. He was closer to her than to Ty. Keeping her head down, she maneuvered toward the sedan.

The heavy smoke hanging over the trees made her think of a battlefield. Adrenaline pumped through her veins. She was on high alert, shivering and sweating at the same time. She dodged around the body of Morrissey on the ground. Her gloved hand touched the trunk of the sedan. She saw the hiker beside the tall cottonwood.

Ty ran toward the sedan, blasting as he came. She raised her weapon, took aim. She had the best angle—a head shot that was perfectly aligned. Before she could squeeze the trigger, the hiker was hit. He threw both arms in the air as he fell. Two down, one to go.

She could have sworn that shot came from behind her, uphill to her left. But when she looked, she didn’t see anything but a couple of ragged-edged boulders and a dark wall of pine trees. Squinting, she tried to catch the glint of sunlight off a rifle barrel. If there was a mysterious marksman, he’d have to be using a high-powered rifle. A handgun wouldn’t be accurate from those trees.

“Are you okay?” Ty called out.

“I’m fine. You?”

“There’s another hiker, right?”

When the wind rippled the tall buffalo grass, she glimpsed him in her peripheral vision. He was half up the hill toward the trees. His pistol aimed directly at her.

She wheeled to face him. Somebody else fired first, and his bullet hit the hiker in the upper right chest. The hiker let out a fierce scream. He turned on wobbly legs and stared uphill to the point where she’d been looking. Then he went to his knees and curled up on the ground, moaning.

She rushed toward him, kicked his gun out of his reach and unhooked her handcuffs from her belt. With his shoulder wound, it seemed cruel to force the hiker onto his belly, but she wanted to be sure he was subdued and no longer a threat.

Breathing heavily, she got a lungful of smoke and coughed before she called out, “Ty, have you got the other two?”

“The one in the road is dead. The other is unconscious. I secured his wrists with a zip tie.”

Her attack tally turned to a roster for emergency care: two wounded and two dead, including Morrissey. It was time to call for an ambulance. Proper procedure would have been to dial up the EMTs when they first discovered Morrissey’s body. But she’d figured that the local emergency personnel would already have their hands full, being on call for the firefighters and treating patients with smoke-related illnesses.

As she reached for her cell phone, she looked uphill and saw a tall man in a cowboy hat with his arms raised over his head. This man had fired accurately through the smoke from a significant distance; obviously he was an excellent marksman. He was dangerous. She should have been scared but, for some reason, she wasn’t.

She gave herself a mental slap. Shape up, girl. Just because he had his hands up, he was far from harmless. She could see the rifle strapped across his back and the two holsters on his belt. She lifted her gun and pointed it at him.

“Don’t shoot,” he yelled.

The sound of his voice sliced through her defenses and turned her insides to jelly. “Wade?”

It couldn’t be. He was dead.

But that was her husband walking down the hill. She’d recognize his bowlegged gait anywhere.

He’d come back to her. Either that or she was dead, too. She must have been killed in this shoot-out, and her darling husband had come to greet her and escort her through the Pearly Gates. Their poor little Jenny was an orphan. She shook herself. No way. They couldn’t both be dead.

Ty stepped up beside her. “This is what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“He’s still alive.”

“I’m afraid so.”

She slammed her Glock into the holster, dug in with her toes and started running up the hill. There was not one single instant of hesitation on her part. Maybe she didn’t know why he was back or where he’d been. But she didn’t care. He was back. Wade was alive!

For a year and twenty-one days, her heart had been frozen solid. With one sight of him, the glacier shattered, and a warm, gentle feeling spread through her. As she ran, she heard the sound of her own laughter. Not a fake ha-ha but a real, bubbling, delighted sound. As she got closer to him, the smoke seemed to disappear. The whole world was bathed in golden sunlight.

With a giant leap, she flung herself into his arms. The equipment on her utility belt and her armored vest got in the way, but she did her best to have full body contact. Clinging to him with all her strength, she wrapped both legs around him. He felt different, more muscular. He felt right.

Her lips joined with his. There was nothing shy about their kiss. No clumsy fumbling around. No misdirected pawing. When it came to sex, they had always been good together. His tongue plunged into her mouth, and she welcomed the taste of him.

Neither of them was fresh and clean, and she should have been grossed out. Instead, it was the opposite. She nuzzled the bare skin of his throat inside his collar and inhaled his musky, manly aroma. Wade had never worn cologne, and that was fine with her. She liked the way he smelled.

His lips tickled her ear as he whispered, “I missed you, Samantha, missed you so damn much.”

“Me, too.” She kissed him again. “Where were you?”

“It’s complicated.”

She pulled her head back and stared into his light brown eyes. After a year and twenty-one days, after letting her think he was dead, he needed a much better explanation. “Tell me about it.”

“There isn’t time. I shouldn’t have come down here, but I couldn’t be this close and not touch you. You’re an angel, so damn beautiful. But I’ve got to take off, can’t stay here.”

She wasn’t letting him run away after giving her a whisper of sweet talk and “it’s complicated.” She needed a hell of a lot more than that. She slid down his body and planted her boots on the ground. “Sit down, Wade.”

“I already told you. I can’t—”

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

He frowned. “What?”

The hard way, it was. She stalked around him until she had the uphill position. From there, it was easy to shove his shoulder and hook his legs out from under him. As soon as his butt hit the dirt, she was on him. After taking away his rifle, she flipped him onto his belly and cuffed his hands behind his back.

“Wade Calloway, you’re under arrest.”

Chapter Four

Wade should have known better than to think he could pop back into her life and erase the past with a hug and kiss. He needed to do more, a lot more. But what a kiss! Her lips were delicate soft pillows but her need was hard. Her tongue had tangled with his for an aggressive battle that drew him closer, deeper.

Remembering, he licked his lips. A single kiss from Samantha was better than a week in bed with most women.

He rolled to his back and sat up with his legs stretched out in front of him. After Samantha pulled both guns from his holsters, she stood a few feet away and gave him The Look.

An involuntary grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“What’s so funny?” she demanded with her arms folded across her chest.

Maybe he was still giddy from that amazing kiss, but The Look amused him. She meant for her scowl to be menacing, to strike terror into his heart. Instead, he saw a strong, sensible woman who was plenty ticked off but fair enough to hear him out.

“A question,” he said. “What are you charging me with?”

“Let’s start with attempted murder, two of them.” Her eyebrows pulled down, and her full lips thinned into a straight, angry line. “That was you, shooting from the trees.”

“Let’s call it self-defense,” he said. “More accurately, defense of you and Ty.”

Right on cue, his old pal tromped up the hill. “We could have handled it.”

“You’re welcome,” Wade said.

“Incorrigible,” Samantha growled. “The least you could do is pretend to be sorry. You have so much to apologize for, Wade. Not just to me but to all your friends, all the good people who showed up at your memorial service. Your sister couldn’t stop sobbing, and she claimed to be glad your parents were dead so they wouldn’t have to go through this tragedy. And then there’s Jenny.”

He watched The Look fade from her face, replaced by an empty gaze and vacant sadness that could never be fully expressed. When she spun on her boot heel and walked away from him, it was a knife in his heart.

She muttered, “I can’t stand to look at you.”

“Samantha, wait.” He heard the desperation in his voice. “I can explain everything.”

As she continued to put physical distance between them, she straightened her shoulders. “Ty, I’m going to contact Dispatch and tell them we need an ambulance, maybe two. Keep an eye on our suspect.”

Wade’s head dropped forward on his chest. Earning Samantha’s forgiveness was going to be harder than hell. It was one thing to say that he’d faked his death so she and Jenny would be safe, and another to prove it.

“You’re in big trouble.” Ty hunkered down beside him on the hill. “Consider yourself lucky that all she did was throw you on the ground and slap on the cuffs.”

The handcuffs were mostly a joke between them. Long ago during a particularly wild session in their bedroom, he’d shown her how to pick these locks. With his hands still behind his back, he dug into his pocket for the Swiss Army knife he always carried. His gaze locked with Ty’s. He wanted to trust this guy he’d known since high school, wanted to believe that Ty was on his side 100 percent. Ty was one of a handful of lawmen who knew Wade had faked his death. He’d been nothing but supportive. But Wade had been betrayed by others. He had to be careful.

While he opened the knife and went to work on the cuffs, he said, “Kind of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You and Samantha just happened to be on this particular stretch of road. You just happened to find Morrissey’s body.”

“Accusing me? Really?” Ty sat back on his heels. “You’re a real piece of work, Wade. Do you really think I’d put Sam in danger?”

He wasn’t sure what he thought or whom he believed in. “How did you get to be here? In this particular spot?”

“I sure as hell wouldn’t call down an ambush on myself.”

“Tell me,” Wade said.

“Sam received a call from the fire marshal, who told her that the chopper pilot spotted three hikers near Horny Toad Creek. The marshal couldn’t spare the manpower to pick them up, so Sam volunteered, since we were in the area.”

Ty’s story sounded plausible and bore no resemblance to the conspiracy theories that were running rampant in Wade’s head. It wasn’t likely that the pilot, the marshal and Ty were in cahoots. Still, he said, “And why were you and Sam in this area in the first place?”

“I asked Sam to come with me while I checked out the safe house. And, yes, I had an ulterior motive. As soon as I heard about your escape, I figured you’d hightail it back here. And I wanted to warn Sam, maybe even take her and Jenny into protective custody.”

“The hell you will.” The pocketknife he was using to pick the cuffs slid across the metal and nipped into his thumb. “I know what protective custody is like. I’m not putting my wife and child through that.”

“How are we going to keep them safe? When word gets out that you’re alive, the cartel will use them. They’ll threaten harm to your family unless you turn yourself over to them.”

Wade wasn’t sure how many people knew that he was still alive and waiting to testify against a former DEA agent and a member of the Esteban cartel who were in prison awaiting trial. He was the witness who could make sure those men were convicted of murder, conspiracy, drug trafficking and gun smuggling. His testimony would seal the deal...if he lived long enough to get into the courtroom.

“I’ve got a bad feeling,” Wade said. “I think too many people already know.”

“Is that why you broke out?”

“You make it sound like a great escape.”

“Wasn’t it?”

“Nothing so dramatic,” he said. “After this last trip to the federal courthouse in Austin where—as you know—the trial was delayed for the seventh time, I went back to the safe-house motel with my handlers. Later that night, I climbed out the bedroom window.”

“You just quietly sneaked out, huh? I heard you knocked both guards unconscious. One of them has a bad concussion.”

“Not true. I wouldn’t hurt anybody.”

Ty cast a cynical gaze at the carnage spread across this smoky mountain meadow. “Yeah, you’re a peaceful pussycat.”

“I’m telling you that if my handlers were injured, I didn’t do it. Whoever hit them could have been after me.”

“None of the people who know you’re alive have reason to want you dead.”

Wade thought differently. Three days ago in Austin when he was leaving the courthouse, he caught a glimpse of a face he’d seen before. He didn’t know the man’s name but seeing him set off alarm bells. He needed to get back here, back to Samantha and Jenny as quickly as possible.

He regarded Ty with a steady gaze. His friend’s easygoing manner was well suited to his ranching background, but Wade wasn’t fooled for a minute. This laid-back cowpoke could move as fast as a rattlesnake’s strike. Ty was sharp and smart. He was a good man; he’d earned an FBI Shield of Valor for his work on a kidnapping case.

The question was: To trust him or not to trust him? Even if Ty was brave and loyal, he was also a federal agent who wouldn’t want to risk his job. “I’m going to ask you for a favor, Ty.”

“Shoot.”

“Don’t tell anyone you saw me today.”

Vertical worry lines creased between his brows. “That’s asking a lot, brother. Those guys you shot are going to mention the mystery rifleman. And the forensic investigators are going to find bullets from the rifle.”

Wade nodded toward the gun on the ground. “There it is. You can say that you were using it.”

“You got it from the safe house, didn’t you?”

“The rifle and two handguns,” Wade said dismissively. There were more important issues at stake. Yes, he’d breached the sanctity of a federal safe house. So what? The place was never used. “I’m asking you for twenty-four hours. By nightfall tomorrow, I’ll know what I need to do.”

“I knew you spent the night in the safe house. As soon as I walked through the door, I could see that the dust on the floor had been disturbed.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, and I ran water in the sink. And I ate a can of beans, left a dirty cup and messed up the sheets in the bedroom. Sue me.” He heard a tiny click as the lock on his cuffs sprang open. “I need you to focus. Will you give me twenty-four hours?”

“If you can convince Sam, I’ll do it.”

Wade wished he was more sure of himself as he watched Samantha hike up the hill and stand beside Ty. Turning her profile to Wade, she spoke to his friend.

“My dispatcher contacted police and ambulance services in Glenwood Springs. They said they’d be here in half an hour, but I’m guessing it’ll take longer. We need to do as much first aid as we can.”

“I’ll work on the guy by the sedan. And I’ll get a tarp from your SUV to throw over Morrissey’s body. His lieutenant is on his way. He’ll want to see that we’re showing respect.”

“Even if Morrissey doesn’t deserve it,” Wade put in.

“Truer words never spoken.” Ty backed down the hill. “I’m going to leave you two alone now.”

Her thumbs hooked in her belt, she tilted her head down and stared at the buffalo grass beneath her boots. She’d left her hat in the SUV, and he noticed that her braided chestnut-brown hair wasn’t as shiny as it used to be. Still beautiful but a little bit thin, her hair looked as if she hadn’t been able to spend much time taking care of it. Managing the responsibilities of the sheriff’s office was a lot of work.

A new wave of guilt splashed over him. Though he’d made sure that all her bills would be paid, he’d left her with a lot of loose ends. “Samantha?”

Her lower lip stuck out in a pout. “What?”

Her features weren’t as tense as they’d been before. The deep sorrow had faded. The anger was gone, too. With a shock, he realized that he couldn’t read her mood. They used to be in perfect harmony, perfect understanding. He’d lost that connection.

“Samantha, look at me.”

She slanted a gaze in his direction. “I don’t know what to do.”

He swung his arms apart and made a grand gesture to show the cuffs dangling from his left wrist with the right side completely free.

“Ta-da!” He jumped to his feet. Like a magician, he took a bow. “The Great Wade has escaped the surly bonds.”

Her blue eyes twinkled as though she was about to laugh. Instead, her chest heaved and a harsh sob exploded through her lips. In reaction, she slapped her hands over her mouth.

He caught her before she could run away from him. Gently, he peeled her hands away from her face and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. Her mouth trembled as she held back tears.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “Everything is going to be all right.”

Sobs overwhelmed her. He gathered her close and cuddled her against his chest, holding her shoulders while she poured out a torrent of tears. He patted her shoulders and stroked her hair, her silky-soft hair that smelled of flowery shampoo in spite of the fire and the smoke.

More than anything, he wanted to tell her that he loved her. This was the wrong time, too soon. And he was scared. Wade Calloway wasn’t afraid of much. He was tough enough to take on a dozen rotten cops and a drug cartel, but he knew that Samantha could destroy him. If she denied his love or had given up on loving him, he might as well be dead.

“I have to go,” he whispered to her. Ty had mentioned an officer with the state patrol was on his way, and then there would be the ambulances.

“I know.” Her deep shuddering sobs had subsided to sniffles. Using his shirt, she wiped her face. “I heard some of the stuff you were telling Ty. You want to keep up the pretense that you’re dead.”

“And if the wrong people know I’m still alive and kicking, you and Jenny could be threatened.” Her nose was red, and her cheeks were puffy from crying, but he thought she looked adorable. “You can’t tell anybody you saw me. Within twenty-four hours, I’ll have this straightened out.”

With her right hand, she reached behind her back. Keeping her voice low so Ty wouldn’t overhear, she showed Wade his fancy Colt .45 with copper-inlaid handle. “I found this in the car with Morrissey, and I’m guessing it was put there to throw suspicion on you.”

“Good guess.” He took the gun from her and stuck it into his belt at the small of his back. “You kept this gun locked up at the house, didn’t you?”

She nodded. “They must have broken in to get it.”

A thief had violated the home he and Samantha had built together, their sanctuary, the house where their daughter slept. “Did you notice the break-in?”

She shook her head. “Half the time I leave the doors unlocked.”

“That stops now,” he said. “You can’t trust anyone. Understand? Not anyone.”

“What about Ty?”

Much as he hated to cast suspicion on his friend, Wade would rather err by being too cautious. “Trust him but keep your guard up.”

“Of course I would. Ty told me a whopper of a lie about my husband being killed in the Roaring Fork River. Oh, wait, you told me that very same lie.” Her bloodshot eyes narrowed. “Can I trust you, Wade?”

“I’ll make this up to you. I promise.”

“Not what I want to hear.” She gripped the front of his plaid flannel shirt with both hands and pulled him close. “You need to listen to me, listen hard. You’ve spent a year trying to handle this by yourself. Don’t make that mistake again.”

“What do you mean?”

“You need me.” She released his shirt and stepped back. “You need my help.”

She was right. During the past year, Samantha had proved she was capable of taking care of herself, their child and the entire population of Swain County.

He couldn’t ask for a better partner.

Chapter Five

Sam’s first-aid kit was suitable for scraped knees and poison-ivy rashes. Not life-threatening injuries. She knelt beside the unconscious man with the shoulder wound, which she had managed to bandage while still keeping his hands cuffed behind his back.

Wade had slipped out of his cuffs easily, which was as she’d expected. Arresting him was more of a symbolic gesture, a way of showing him that she refused to be ignored and would never be kept out of the loop again.

She still couldn’t believe it. Her husband was back. He was alive. She wiped the smile from her face and tamped down her sense memory of how his arms felt when he embraced her and how his lips tasted when they kissed. Not now! She had to wait, couldn’t allow her emotions to run rampant. And the anticipation was making her as edgy as a prairie dog surrounded by lawn mowers.

Her focus needed to stay on the practical aspects of how to handle his return from the dead. He’d promised to talk to her later tonight. The waiting was hard, but she believed him when he said it was necessary. And he’d spoken of possible danger to Jenny.

A worse brand of anxiety sped through Sam’s veins when she thought of her daughter. Jenny was her precious girl with jagged bangs across her forehead that she’d cut all by herself and a strong singing voice that the church choir director said was remarkable. If anything happened to her precious five-year-old daughter...

Sam’s attention returned to the injured man. He wasn’t bleeding badly, but his chest heaved as though he was struggling for breath. A punctured lung? Internal bleeding? Where the hell were the ambulances?

If he died, it was her fault. Never mind that she hadn’t fired the bullet that caused his wound. It didn’t matter that the injured man was trying to shoot her and Ty before he was brought down by the expert marksmanship of her husband. Sam was the sheriff; therefore, she was responsible.

A fat lot of good all her training did. Yes, she was certified in CPR. Yes, she’d taken dozens of first-aid classes from the Red Cross. She’d heard of sucking chest wounds and septic shock and all sorts of emergency treatments for all sorts of injuries. However, until this moment, she’d never had to test those procedures.

She needed help. Why were the ambulances taking so long? She had to get out of here, had to get back to Jenny.

She stood and called to Ty. “I’ve got an idea. We could forget about the ambulances, load these guys into my SUV and drive them to the hospital. It’d be faster.”

He was in the road, standing over the first man he’d shot, the dead man. In his gloved hand, he held a wallet. Though she was at least thirty feet away from him, she heard him muttering under his breath. Angrily, he wheeled around and shook the wallet at her. “Do you know who this guy is?”

How could she possibly know? “I’m sorry. Why should I recognize him?”

“Do you ever look at the BOLOs we send you?”

A bunch of law-enforcement offices, ranging from the FBI to the local Fish and Game warden, sent out computer notices or faxes of APBs and BOLOs to “be on the lookout” for certain license plates or vehicles or individuals. She always took a look at them and often hung them on the bulletin board. Ultimately, they became scrap paper that she handed to Jenny, who drew pictures with crayon or marker on the back. Passing a BOLO to her kid wasn’t something she’d mention to Ty. She’d once caught Jenny drawing lipstick and purple eye shadow on a felon’s mug shot.

Her ears pricked up as she heard the sound of a motorcycle engine cranking to life. Ty had heard it, too. He glared up the hill toward the place where Wade had disappeared into the trees.

“Oh, that’s just great,” Ty growled.

“A motorcycle,” she said. “Why is that a problem?”

“I’m guessing that your husband swiped a very nice little Honda from the safe house. A good bike, it’s got heavy tread for off-road and goes a decent speed on the highway.”

“He wouldn’t have taken it if he didn’t need it.”

“But it belongs to the FBI.”

“Don’t even think about whining. I had to dig deep into my sheriff’s department budget to buy disposable smoke masks, and the FBI can afford to leave an entire house standing empty.”

“Point taken.” His tone became more conciliatory. “I just hope he doesn’t wreck it, that’s all.”

She walked down the hill toward him. “Let’s get back to what you were talking about. Tell me who our dead man is.”

“Tony Reyes,” he said. “He works for the Esteban cartel, and he’s on the short list of Most Wanted for both the US and Mexico.”

She’d heard horror stories about the drug cartels: beheadings, torture, brutal murders of women and children, and human trafficking that amounted to a slave trade. Never in her wildest imagination had Sam thought she’d be in contact with this type of criminal. Swain County was a lazy little territory with one semicharming town and a couple of local ranches. Nothing ever happened here, and that was the way she liked it.

“Why does this Reyes person rate so high on the Most Wanted list? What has he done?”

“He’s an enforcer. He kills people, especially cops.”

Like Morrissey. The murdered state trooper lay at the side of the road covered with a tarp. If the smoke hadn’t already been blocking the sun, she would have sworn that the day turned darker.

She hated the way these pieces were falling into place. Had Reyes been the one who took Wade’s gun from her house? Did he know where she lived? “Are these the people Wade is testifying against? How did he get mixed up with a drug cartel?”

“It’s worse than that, Sam.”

“Worse?” Her frustration erupted in a burst of absurdities. “What could be worse? Vampires? Zombies? Oh, wait, maybe Wade actually is dead and he’s the zombie.”

“What?” Ty looked concerned.

His frown made her laugh. Her grandma always said that nothing was so terrible that you couldn’t laugh about it. Oh, Granny, you’re so wrong. For the past several months, Sam had few reasons to giggle. Even now, after learning Wade was alive, her chuckle sounded a little hysterical.

As she paced up and down on the road, she indulged in wild speculation. “Let me see, what could be worse? Did Wade do something to upset the Nazis or the terrorists or, maybe just maybe, he’s being pursued by undead Nazi zombies.”

“Are you done?”

She paused by her SUV, leaned forward from the waist and rubbed at the two bullet holes in the driver’s-side door. “This has been a lot for me to absorb. First, I’ve got a dead husband who isn’t dead. Then I find out that my daughter might be in danger. And now you’re talking about drug cartels.”

“It’s more than drugs. There’s also evidence of human trafficking. A cache of high-tech weaponry was discovered, thanks to information from Wade.”

The scope of these crimes sobered her. They were dealing with very evil, very scary people. “Is this as bad as it gets? Is there more?”

“Rogue cops,” he said. “Wade witnessed criminal acts and transactions between the cartel and law enforcement. We’re not sure how far the corruption spreads.”

“Is that why you and Wade hated Morrissey?”

He nodded. “My boss is running the task force. They were keeping an eye on Morrissey, hoping he’d lead us to others. And there are a lot of others. Cops, patrolmen, inspectors, DEA agents, maybe even FBI agents, who are taking kickbacks from the cartel.”

Literally, there was nobody she could trust, nowhere she could turn for help and no way to escape. The idyllic time in her life was over. When she and Wade were first married, they’d been so happy while building their house, having a healthy baby and making their dreams come true. Now the future looked a hundred times more complicated.

Ty had his cell phone in hand. “I need to tell my boss about this.”

“Wait.” She stopped his hand before he could lift the phone to his ear. “You aren’t going to tell your boss about Wade, are you?”

“Come on, Sam, you can trust him. Everett Hurtado is a decent guy. Kind of a bureaucrat, he probably won’t even come out here into the field.”

“You promised Wade.” She’d overheard that much. “You gave him twenty-four hours.”

“Like I told you, Hurtado is running the task force. He already knows Wade is alive and escaped from custody. He’s the one who suggested I come up here and poke around at the safe house.”

Also to make contact with her. If his boss had been looking for Wade, it stood to reason that Wade would be drawn to his family and would show up in Swain County. Ty’s SSA might not be as upstanding as he thought. “Your supervisor doesn’t know where Wade is. You can’t tell him. Not until tomorrow.”

“Okay, fine.”

This was important. She stuck out her hand and pinned him with a gaze. “Deal?”

When he shook her hand, he gave an extra little squeeze. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think that you and Wade were out to ruin my career.”

“Maybe I am,” she teased. “Then you and Loretta would have to move back here and go to work on your daddy’s ranch.”

“The twins would love that.”

He turned away to place his phone call, and she saw the red and blue flashing lights from a Colorado State Patrol vehicle—a Crown Vic, silver with a blue-and-black dash and a logo. Most of the staties were nice guys who were willing to do the paperwork on traffic citations, but she was seeing law enforcement through a different lens. Both Ty and Wade had agreed that Morrissey was corrupt. Why not his boss?

She’d never particularly liked Lieutenant Trevor Natchez. When it came to appearances, he was one of the most by-the-book officers she’d ever met. His white-blond hair had a short military cut. His shirts were always crisp. The dark stripe down his beige trousers was never rumpled. According to rumor, he washed his vehicle at least once a day. His vocabulary, however, was gross. It always surprised her that someone with such a high regard for cleanliness could talk so much filth.

Natchez swore constantly. Whenever she was around him, Sam used a mental (bleep) so she wouldn’t be distracted and wouldn’t show him that his bad language bothered her. He enjoyed irritating her and never failed to come up with borderline sexist comments when they met. Given those ugly characteristics, she halfway expected Trevor Natchez to be up to his elbows in dirty dealings.

After he parked his vehicle behind hers, he climbed out from behind the steering wheel, straightened the flat brim on his uniform hat and strode toward her.

“If it ain’t Little Miss Sheriff,” he said with a sneer. “What happened to my man Morrissey?”

She glanced around him to look at his car. The inescapable dusting of ash from the fire must be driving him nuts. “You left your flashers on,” she said. “Were you hoping to keep the crowd at bay?”

“When I want advice from you, honey, I’ll ask for it.”

She directed him to the tarp, squatted beside it and held back the corner to reveal Morrissey’s face. The folds of his chin were slack. His skin had taken on a grayish hue. Sam couldn’t stand the dead man’s stare and had pulled his eyelids down.

For a brief moment, Natchez seemed shaken. He clenched his jaw, and his thick blond eyebrows lowered so much that she couldn’t see the blue of his eyes. He flipped the tarp to cover the dead man’s face and tilted his head upward. While he scanned the skies as if looking for heaven behind the clouds and smoke, a litany of profanity spewed from his mouth.

“Where did you find him?”

“In this car.” She pointed. “Shot in the chest, he was behind the wheel, but there wasn’t any spatter. He must have been killed somewhere else.”

“Did you come up with those conclusions all by your cute little self?” He glanced at Ty. “Or did this FBI stud help you?”

Ty ended his phone call and greeted Natchez with a pat on the back and a handshake. The two of them were as friendly as could be. They stood over the body of their fallen comrade and said a few things about what a truly great guy Morrissey had been, quick with a joke, sharp as a tack, a credit to the uniform, blah, blah, blah...

Earlier, Ty hadn’t been so complimentary. He’d as much as told her that Morrissey was under suspicion for working with the cartel. She supposed Ty’s conversation with Natchez fell into the “never speak ill of the dead” category.

Natchez scanned the area. His gaze paused on each of the dead or injured men. “What happened here? Did our sexy lady sheriff pitch a fit?”

Her hand rested on the butt of her gun. It would have given her great pleasure to shoot this man between the legs and ruin his perfectly neat uniform. “We were ambushed.”

“No way.”

“My dispatcher has already put in a call to the ambulances,” she said. “They should be here any minute.”

“Who told you to move the body?”

“Nobody had to tell me anything,” she snapped. “These murders were committed in my county, and I have jurisdiction over the investigation.”

“The heck you do. Morrissey was my man. I should be the one who looks into his murder.”

She got in his face. This was one of those times when Sam was glad for her giraffe-like height. Natchez was an inch or two shorter than she was, and she made it seem like even more by stretching her neck and straightening her shoulders. “Here’s the deal, Lieutenant Natchez. The investigation is mine. But I’m aware that I don’t have the facilities to do thorough forensics.”

“Damn right you don’t.”

“Neither do you. The state patrol doesn’t have a coroner. You can’t do an autopsy.”

He opened his mouth, no doubt to swear, but nothing came out. Maybe Swain County was too small and too limited in resources to handle this case, but Natchez wasn’t equipped for doing a murder investigation, either.

“I suggest,” she said, “that we request assistance from the FBI on these cases.”

“Good plan,” Ty said as he held up his cell phone. “I just talked to my supervisor, and he mentioned the same thing.”

Natchez gave a nod. “I’m okay with that. If you need my help, I’ll do whatever I can.”

Ty asked him, “Is losing a man going to cause you any problem in scheduling?”

“To tell the truth, Morrissey was cutting back on his hours. He used more sick time than a teenage girl getting out of gym class with the cramps.”

She turned away. Where, oh where, were the ambulances? There was no hope of providing sensitivity or enlightenment to Natchez. She tried to ignore him, but he was like a rash that wouldn’t stop itching.

Natchez swaggered around the scene with Ty. They paused beside the dead man on the road, whom Natchez recognized immediately from a BOLO. Well, of course he would. The guy probably had every notice on file going back ten years, probably practiced with them every night like flash cards.

“I heard a rumor, Ty. Maybe you can verify. I heard that Wade Calloway is still alive.”

Too much! Hearing her husband’s name on the tongue of this bigmouthed jerk sent Sam right over the edge. In a couple of quick strides, she was beside Natchez. With her right hand, she yanked his wrist behind his back, putting a nasty crease in his shirtsleeve. Her left hand held her stun gun at his throat.

“Never speak of my husband again, unless you intend to humbly and without profanity praise him for being an American hero. And show some respect for me, the grieving widow.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Finally, she’d got through to him. All it took was an outrageous act of violence on her part.

Chapter Six

When Sam drove past the supermarket on the east edge of Woodridge, she noticed more activity than usual in the parking lot, and she wondered why. Typically, if a blizzard was predicted, everybody rushed to stock up on food and necessities. The fire might be having the same effect, even though gathering more supplies wasn’t a good idea if your house might be burned to rubble.

On the wide main street that went through the center of town, every slanted parking space was taken outside the diner, the coffee shop and the two taverns. This was something she understood. People liked to huddle together and reassure each other when trouble was near.

She wished that she could do the same.

But she couldn’t talk about Wade’s return from the dead or the possible danger from a criminal cartel. Not even Ty knew the whole story; she hadn’t shown him Wade’s gun that had been planted in Morrissey’s car. Besides, Ty wasn’t here. He’d gone with the ambulances. One would deliver the wounded to the hospital in Glenwood Springs. The other would transport Morrissey and Reyes to wherever their bodies would be autopsied.

Sam was alone with her problems.

Somehow, she had to cope.

After a stop at the one traffic light in town, her SUV cruised past the Swain County Courthouse, where the 911 dispatchers were babysitting her daughter. Sam’s bloodshot eyes bored a hole in the two-story building, wishing she could see through the chiseled red stones to where her daughter was drawing or skipping rope in the wide corridors or sitting at a desk and rearranging the clutter.

Before she picked Jenny up, Sam needed to be certain that her house was safe from intruders. Somebody had sneaked inside to steal Wade’s revolver. They might come back, might want to grab her to get to Wade. Worse, they might come after Jenny.

The threat to her daughter enraged her, made her as fierce as a mama grizzly. But it also terrified her. Was she tough enough to keep her child safe? Sam couldn’t take that chance; she needed to get Jenny far from harm’s way.

Luckily, the solution was obvious: her dad was a captain in the Portland, Oregon, police department. Sam had already called him and arranged for Jenny to visit Grandma and Grandpa. The approaching fire provided a good excuse for sending her daughter to safety, while she herself stayed here and helped Wade investigate.

About six miles outside town, she made a left onto a curvy asphalt road that she paid extra to have cleared by the snowplow in the winter. Now, in springtime, the drive was green and pleasant with the new growth of shrubs and leaves sprouting on the trees. Runoff from the snowmelt made a sparkling rivulet in the ditch beside the road.

After her SUV passed the neatly lettered sign that marked Kendall’s Cabin, her nearest neighbors, she drove around a stand of aspen to the two-story log home that she and Wade had built. The peaked roof above the second floor covered a balcony that stretched across the front of the house and provided shelter for the wraparound porch. A huge cedar deck jutted from the south end of the house outside the kitchen. At this time of year, she and Jenny usually ate dinner at the picnic table on the deck, where they could watch the hummingbirds zoom around the hanging feeders filled with red-tinted sugar water.

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