36 Hours Serial

As a devastating summer storm hits Grand Springs, Colorado, the next thirty-six hours will change the town and its residents forever….

You Must Remember This Part 3

Amnesiac Martin Smith believes if he can solve Mayor Olivia Stuart’s murder he could solve the mystery of his identity. Maybe then the pain of his tortured dreams would stop and he could start a new life in Grand Springs with Juliet.

He and Juliet are closing in on the killer. But when Martin learns the truth of his identity, how will he come to terms with his traumatic past?

And when the chase for the killer leads to a dangerous hostage situation with Juliet at the center, Martin will need to draw on everything he knows about himself—both past and present—to save her.

Dear Reader,

In the town of Grand Springs, Colorado, a devastating summer storm sets off a string of events that changes the lives of the residents forever….

Welcome to Mills & Boon’s exciting new digital serial, 36 Hours! In this thirty-six part serial share the stories of the residents of Grand Springs, Colorado, in the wake of a deadly storm.

With the power knocked out and mudslides washing over the roads, the town is plunged into darkness and the residents are forced to face their biggest fears—and find love against all odds.

Each week features a new story written by a variety of bestselling authors like Susan Mallery and Sharon Sala. The stories are published in three segments, on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, and the first segment of every three-part book is free, so you can get caught up in the mystery and drama of Grand Springs. And you can get to know a new set of characters every week. You can read just one, but as the lives and stories of each intertwine in surprising ways, you’ll want to read them all!

Join Mills & Boon E every week as we bring you excitement, mystery, fun and romance in 36 Hours!

Happy reading!

About the Author

An author of eighty plus books, Marilyn Pappano has been married for thirty plus years to the best husband a writer could have. She's won a RITA® Award, among many others. She blogs at www.the-twisted-sisters.com and can be found at www.marilyn-pappano.com. She and her husband live in Oklahoma with five rough-and-tumble dogs.

You Must Remember This Part 3
Marilyn Pappano

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Chapter Eight Continued

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Martin Smith knows in his gut that Hal Stuart is involved in his own mother’s murder. But Martin needs proof. Juliet Crandall has helped Martin get this far, but things are getting too dangerous. If a man is willing to kill his own mother, he won’t hesitate to eliminate anyone getting too close to the truth. Martin doesn't care about his own safety, but risking Juliet’s life is not an option…

Chapter Eight Continued

“Hal Stuart and Maxwell Brown?” Sherri grimaced. “You know, if I get caught giving you their credit reports, I could expect a little mercy from most people, but not those two. Firing wouldn’t be enough to satisfy them. They would want blood. What could they possibly have to do with finding out who you are?”

Martin Smith felt a twinge of guilt at misleading her but didn’t correct her. “I don’t know. It’s just a hunch.”

“For a man who didn’t want to go out with me even once, you’re asking a lot.”

More guilt. “It wasn’t you. I didn’t want to go out with anyone. There was just so much going on—”

“It’s okay. I’m over it.” She fell silent, and he didn’t speak, didn’t disturb her in any way. It couldn’t be an easy decision for her. Taking a risk for someone important to you was one thing. Doing it for someone who barely qualified as an acquaintance was, as she’d said, asking a lot.

After a while, she clasped her hands together. “I’ve liked you from the beginning, Martin. You’ve made the best of a bad situation, and you haven’t asked for help or handouts from anyone. I can’t even imagine what it’s been like for you, having no clue who you are. If you can promise me that no one will know about these—at least, no one besides Juliet…”

“You have my word.”

She returned to the desk, typed a series of commands into the computer, then, only moments later, presented him with the two reports. He folded them to fit into his hip pocket. “You don’t know how much I appreciate this. If there’s ever anything I can do…”

She smiled sweetly, a little sadly. “Oh, the answers I could have come up with to an offer like that four months ago. Good luck.”

“Thanks, Sherri. Thanks a lot.” He left the office and headed for the police department a few blocks over. Through the window in her office, he saw Juliet Crandall facing the computer. Her hair was pulled back at her nape and tied with a ribbon, and she was wearing his favorite of her dresses, the watercolor he had watched her button that first night at her house. He had helped her put it on this morning, had fulfilled one of his fantasies by buttoning the long row of small buttons himself, gliding his fingers over her skin, straying far from the task to caress and tease. Considering how easily he was aroused, she was lucky she’d gotten out of the house before noon.

He exchanged greetings with Stone, Jack and a few of the uniformed officers before going to her office. By the time he got there, the chair was empty, the computer unattended. She was sitting on the floor in front of the file cabinets, a thick file open in her lap, her head bent over the papers. He closed the door quietly, bent and pressed a kiss to her exposed neck.

The smile she gave him was sweet and a bit timid. She’d lain naked with him all last night without the least reticence, but today, fully clothed and in the businesslike confines of her office, she was shy. “Hi. Have a seat.”

He ignored the chair and sat on the floor near her. “Want to have lunch?” When she didn’t answer immediately, he offered another option. “Want to go home and make mad love? Or would you rather go over Hal Stuart’s credit report?”

“You have it?” One moment her face was alive with interest. The next she looked as if she had serious reservations. “You’re not having lunch with her? Why? Because you’re seeing her tonight?”

“Why, darlin’, it sounds almost as if you’re jealous. Good.” She still waited for an answer, so he gave it. “No lunch, no dinner. She gave me the reports free and clear.”

“You must have been very good.”

“I think I was. I think maybe I was a con artist. I was definitely a liar. Telling Sherri the truth felt awfully good, as if I hadn’t done it much in the past.” He considered that a moment, then gave her a nudge. “So…what would you like to do? Lunch, sex or work?”

She gave him a look that made his skin prickle and left no doubt whatsoever as to what was in her mind. The look was so intimate, though, that he knew he wasn’t going to get the most desirable answer. “How about if we go over the reports over lunch? Then we won’t have to do it tonight.”

Maybe that was the most desirable answer. She put the file away, exited the computer program and took her purse from a drawer before leading the way outside to her car.

They picked up burgers and fries from a drive-through, then went to Vanderbilt Park. With an old quilt from the back of her car, they found a sunny place that looked on distant mountains and settled in. While Martin unpacked the food, she smoothed the papers he’d pulled from his pocket. “Why did you get a report on Maxwell Brown? Isn’t he just a local businessman?”

He handed her a cheeseburger before unwrapping his own. “Monday night, after the dream, I was afraid to go back to sleep, so I went for a walk. I do that a lot. Brown was in his office downtown having a meeting with some guy. There were two other men waiting for them out in the alley. I’d been watching them for about ten minutes when Brown and the other guy came out. The three men got in their car and drove away, and Brown left in his own car.”

“What time was this?”

“Around 3:00 a.m. It gave me a funny feeling in the back of my neck. It just didn’t feel right.” He paused to take a few bites, washing them down with soda. “The next day I saw Brown and Hal having lunch together. Hal was not in a good mood.”

“So you think that not all of Maxwell Brown’s business is legitimate and that Hal might possibly be involved with him.”

“I don’t know. I just thought that getting his records was too good a chance to pass up.”

When they finished eating, she moved closer to him, and they studied the papers together. Hal’s risk score wasn’t very good. His credit cards—and there were plenty—carried high balances, and he was frequently late with his payments on everything from his car to his condo to his utilities. The sixty-six thousand dollars Olivia’s life insurance had paid would have made a good dent in his debt, but he still would have been up to his ears in it. Hell, maybe that was where he’d spent it and he still owed this much.

Maxwell Brown was a different story. His credit rating was perfect: reasonable balances, sensible debt and regular, on-time payments. There was no mortgage for a house or cars, which meant he must own those outright.

“So does that satisfy your curiosity about Brown?”

“It should.” Financially the man was as upstanding as they came. But that funny feeling was there again. If Martin knew only one thing for a fact, it was that he could trust that feeling.

“But it doesn’t. All right. Tomorrow why don’t you go by the courthouse and find out everything you can about him? I’ll check online and at the library.” She folded the papers, offered them to him, then slipped them inside her purse when he refused. “Grand Springs is such a pretty place,” she remarked with a look around. “It’s no surprise that Olivia loved it.”

“Coming here was a big deal for you.” Leaving her home, her family and friends, the only place she’d ever known, for someplace strange and new took courage that she probably hadn’t realized she possessed. “I hope you never regret it.”

“I never will. No matter what.”

He didn’t like the ominous undertones his mind supplied to her last words. Even after last night, she wasn’t convinced that there was no one in his past who could take him away from her. Truthfully, she was right to have doubts. There was the very strong possibility that someone in his past could separate them, though not another woman. The man he had been before the accident, the man who had killed, the man who knew too well how to live in the shadows—that man could come between them. He was his own biggest worry.

She withdrew a paper from her bag, then settled again even closer. “After talking with Stone this morning, I sent this out.”

He recognized the printout as being an NCIC entry—but how did he know that? It listed his name as John Doe, gave a physical description, including details on the scars, and asked each agency to check its records on shooting victims for the last six years.

“He says it could take a long time to get an answer, but unless you were shot outside the country, the chances of hearing something are pretty good.”

The suggestion that he might not have been in the country when the shootings occurred didn’t feel as foreign as it should. Had he traveled overseas often? Had he lived there? Maybe. It could explain why no missing persons report had ever been filed. It could also explain his fluency in Spanish.

After a time, they shook out the quilt and returned to the car. Juliet dropped him off at the church, drove the short distance to the library and went inside. Instead of going to her office, though, she headed for the reference section. She found an out-of-the-way computer and sat down, pulling up the files she needed.

The information available on Maxwell Brown was huge. There was coverage of business triumphs and charitable contributions. There was a wedding announcement, detailing a lavish wedding and featuring a picture of a handsome young man with a beautiful young bride. A few years later, there was a one-line mention of a divorce in the legal news column. He received honors and tributes by the handfuls and was active on Grand Springs’s social scene, though rarely with the same woman on his arm twice. His generosity apparently was exceeded only by his business acumen. His home, the site of charity balls and civic events, was nothing less than a mansion. He gave freely of his money and his time, the townspeople admired and respected him, children adored him, and he was kind to small animals.

He was almost too good to be true.

If Martin’s suspicions were correct, he was too good to be true.

There was much less to find on Hal Stuart, much less stellar. Most of the mentions of him dealt with city council business. There was an announcement of his engagement to Randi Howell, the bride who’d fled her own wedding and fallen in love with someone else. An older story covered his graduation from law school and setting up practice in Grand Springs, and there were mentions of his election and subsequent reelections to the council. There was nothing new or interesting.

With a sigh, she left the library and made the short trip to the police station. There was nothing more she could do for Martin. Now she needed to concentrate on her own work. Even if it was nearly impossible. Even if the hours did drag until the afternoon was finally over. With more relief than she would have believed possible, she shut down the computer, said goodbye to Mariellen and headed for the church.

She hadn’t offered to pick Martin up after work, and he might have already left, but it was only a few blocks out of her way. When she parked at the curb out front, she saw that she wasn’t too late. Several people were inside talking, and one was Martin.

The sidewalk led straight to the porch, where the double glass doors were propped open. She stepped into the hallway and hesitated until one of the men saw her and smiled. Martin turned and smiled, too, and held out his hand to her. He introduced her to the group—the Reverend Murphy and three of his parishioners, two older women and a man.

After a polite hello, one of the women continued talking. “Now, you see here in this picture, the carpet is definitely burgundy—and pretty new, too. This was taken thirty-three years ago at our oldest daughter’s wedding.” She beamed at Juliet. “She’s still married to the same man, and they have four children and three grandchildren. Now, this picture is of Emma’s grandson’s wedding, and it’s this same green carpet, and pretty new, too. This was taken—” She looked at the back, squinted to read the writing, then looked at the woman beside her. “When, Emma?”

“That was December. December 17, a Christmas wedding. His mother had always wanted a June wedding—”

“Of what year, dear?”

“Let me think. Their oldest boy just turned eighteen this month, so that means they’ve been married…” Emma’s fragile skin flushed a delicate pink. “Eighteen and a half years.”

No one blinked at the discomfort her grandson’s marriage-of-necessity still caused all these years later, but, out of sight, Martin gave Juliet’s fingers a squeeze.

The minister turned to Martin. “So you were here at some point at least eighteen and a half years ago but probably not more than thirty-three years ago. That’s more than a fourteen-year span. Not much help, is it?”

Martin was shaking his head when the other man spoke for the first time. “I don’t remember you. I’ve been here every time those doors opened for a service. I’ve known every family who worshiped here. I’ve been to every wedding, every christening and every funeral, but I don’t remember you.”

“He was a boy, Henry,” Emma said. “Maybe he’s changed.”

Henry stubbornly shook his head. “You look faintly familiar—it’s something about your eyes—but no. You weren’t a regular here, not even a semiregular.”

His very certainty gave Juliet cause to hope, and she said so to Martin once they’d said their goodbyes and reached the car. He gave her a flat, disappointed look. “Then you’re an incurable optimist, darlin’, because he didn’t leave room for hope.”

“What is the one physical feature that doesn’t change with age?” When he didn’t offer an answer, she did. “You can gain weight or lose it. You can straighten a crooked nose or put a crook in a straight one. You can cover a high forehead, reshape cheekbones, reconstruct jaws and straighten teeth. You can make your nose bigger or smaller, and you can change the way your ears lie in relation to your head. You can cut, curl, color or shave your hair. But the only thing you can do to your eyes is a tuck on the lids or change the color with contacts. Henry said there’s something familiar about your eyes.” She smiled. “They are your best feature.”

“They are, huh? And here I thought you were more interested in my—” He finished the sentence in a whisper, his mouth pressed to her ear, making her shiver and squirm before he kissed her mouth. It was the same sort of kiss he’d given her before work this morning, the sort that made her forget everything, including her name.

Sitting back in his seat, he fastened the seat belt. “How about stopping by my apartment? You can keep me company while I clean up.”

For a moment she looked blankly at him, her mind still occupied with sensations and not processing information. Finally, giving herself a mental shake, she started the car and pulled into the street.

His apartment was quiet, dimly lit and still full of the day’s warmth even though outside the temperature had begun its usual evening slide. Juliet wandered around the single large room, half her attention directed to the bathroom, where Martin was in the shower. Naked. Washing, touching himself. Such a simple, everyday task. Such erotic images. They left her throat dry and sent an edgy, dissatisfied feeling through her.

If she were bold, she would take off her clothes and be waiting in his bed when he came out. If she were brash and bold, she wouldn’t wait for him to come out but would shed her clothes and join him in the shower. She would take the soap from him, work up a lather in her hands and rub them over his body. She would tease and torment them both until they couldn’t stand any more, and then she would take him, first in her mouth, in a sinfully wicked kiss, then in her body, right there in the tub, with the water beating on them and around them, until—

Catching her breath on a groan, she stopped in front of one window and stared out sightlessly, all too aware of her body’s needs, of the tightness in her chest, of the tension deep in her belly. She had indulged in a few fantasies before—what woman hadn’t?—but the fantasy of Martin was more appealing, more enticing, than the reality of any other man she’d known. He wasn’t even in the room, but her breasts were swollen, her nipples achy, her muscles trembly. The man embodied pure, raw sexual fantasy, and he was a danger—

His arm wrapped around her from behind, and his fingers slid between buttons to stroke her midriff. He hadn’t made a sound crossing the room, but she could feel him now, could smell him—warm, damp, aroused, masculine. He came closer, until his legs brushed hers, until his erection was pressed against her bottom. Moving his hand lower, he worked a few buttons loose, then slid his hand inside her dress, his fingers leaving a damp, quivering trail across her belly, beneath the elastic band of her panties, probing between her thighs.

She gasped when he touched her, when he found her hot, damp and craving his attention. When he slid his fingers inside her, whatever sound she might have made was lost in the flood of sensation. He stroked deep inside her, then outside, concentrating his touches where her response was most powerful, his talented fingers drawing her closer and closer, coaxing her to feel more, to want more, demand more.

She clenched her fingers, then flattened them against the cool glass pane. She was so hot, so desperate, able to breathe now only in soft gasps that threatened tears, and still he tormented her, robbing her of everything but need, aching, killing need. It became unbearable, but she bore it, became painful, but she loved it, until finally, her body quivering, her back arched, with one great rush, with one writhing, whimpering shudder, she collapsed against him. She trusted him to hold her, to keep her on her feet, and he did. He wrapped his arms around her waist, held her tightly against him and spoke for the first time. “Hey, darlin’.”

Chapter Nine

Maxwell Brown’s house sat on the highest hill in Grand Springs, a monument to money, ego and the determination to succeed. With its Mediterranean styling, lush grounds and elaborate security fence, it would have looked more at home in the Caribbean or on one of the tiny exclusive islands between Miami and Miami Beach, but even high in the Rockies, it was beautiful. Both the house and the grounds were brightly lit in the night. No one would ever slip in there unnoticed. No doubt, there were perimeter alarms, motion-sensitive detectors and burglar alarms all over the place.

“What a great place to live.”

Martin glanced at Juliet, who was staring up at the house from their place on the dark street. Frankly, he couldn’t imagine her in a place like this, maybe because he identified her so strongly with her neat little green house. Oddly enough, though, he could see himself living in a place like this. Maybe…

Damn, how he hated that word.

She smiled at his fierce look. “Feeling cranky? You should have taken me up on my offer.”

Tension born of frustration was immediately replaced by tension of a sexual nature. Back in his apartment, once she’d found the strength to lift her head from his shoulder, once she’d been able to speak coherently, she had made him several offers—to take off her clothes, to take him to bed, to do things to him that he might never have had done to him before. She’d offered earthy, lusty promises, made all the more indecent by her utterly innocent face, and he had been tempted, heaven help him, more than ever before. But the condoms were at her house. She hadn’t minded, but he had. No matter how urgent the desire, he couldn’t risk her future, maybe even her life, not even for the most incredible lovemaking that existed.

So he had torn himself away from her, dragged on clothes that she’d kept trying to remove and made himself a promise. Later. He could have her later. The prospect was enough to give him some measure of control.

“Exactly what kind of business is Maxwell Brown in?”

He looked back at the house. “He used to be a stockbroker. Now he’s into a little of everything. He owns both residential and commercial rental property. He has a construction company, a trucking company and a couple of car dealerships. He owns an interest in the mall, one of the banks and in the commuter airline out at the airport. He’s also part-owner of the Squaw Creek Lodge.”

“So he’s a respectable businessman whose interests are diversified. But you still have this feeling.”

“I know it sounds silly—”

“Not at all. I work three days a week with people who get paid for heeding their ‘feelings’—only they call them hunches. Instincts.”

He gestured toward the endless wrought-iron fence that circled the property. “I know there’s money in business, but look at that house. There’s no mortgage on it. The fence alone cost more than most houses in town. Grand Springs is a small city. Just how much money can one man make here legitimately?”

“Do you have any theories?”

He looked at the house, then closed his eyes and saw similar houses in south Florida. He thought of the trucking company, the airplanes, the auto dealerships where nondescript cars could be easily brought in or disposed of, and the bank. “A wild guess? I’d say drugs. If I didn’t know he was a respectable businessman.”

Juliet’s voice was soft in the darkness. “I think of drug lords as South Americans who have no heart or soul, who live surrounded by armed men and kill anyone who gets in their way.”

“They come in all nationalities, darlin’, including upper-class American. And not all of them are heartless. Some of them love their families very much. They’re generous with the people around them. They’re protective, almost fatherly. The drug business is just that—business.”

“Dangerous business.”

“Extremely so. The cops either want to stop you or bleed you dry, and the competition wants you dead—” Abruptly he stopped. Why was he speaking with such authority? Because he’d lived that life before? Was that why someone had tried to kill him? Why he spoke Spanish fluently for an apple-pie American? Why the pictures of Miami had seemed so familiar? Why he knew that there were little islands in Biscayne Bay where houses like Maxwell Brown’s were abundant? Was that why Juliet heard trucking company, airline, car dealers and bank, and thought business, while he heard them and thought drugs?

Was that why he dreamed of killing men?

“What is it?”

Ignoring her question, he stared away from her. Maybe Maxwell Brown was nothing more than a legitimate businessman. Maybe the only person involved in the drug trade around here was him. And maybe that was why no one had tried to find him after his disappearance: they simply assumed that he was dead, that whoever had wanted to kill him had succeeded.

Juliet wrapped her fingers around his hand, squeezing tightly enough to make him wince. “Not you, Martin. Maybe someone you knew, but not you.”

She sounded so sure, but she could be kidding herself. She wanted to believe the best of him, but he had to face the fact that there might not have been any “best” in him. He might have been the worst sort of person imaginable.

In the silence that followed her assertion, headlights appeared at the top of the hill as Brown’s Lexus came into sight. “Duck,” he commanded, sliding Juliet half under the steering wheel, bending low over her. The lights bounced across Juliet’s car as the Lexus turned toward town. Martin waited a moment, then another before lifting his head in time to see the taillights disappear around a curve.

Juliet started the engine and swung the car into a tight U-turn.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to see where he’s going.”

He smiled faintly. Prim, shy Juliet, tailing the most influential man in the county. Who ever would have believed it? Then he thought of last night in her bed and this evening in his apartment. Prim and shy, yes, but also sensual, sexy, uninhibited, wild, tempting and seductive. “I think I’ve been a bad influence on you.”

She flashed him a smile. “If you’ve been bad, I don’t think I could survive good.”

They came out of a curve into a straightaway just as, several blocks ahead, Brown made a right turn onto the main road. “Slow down,” Martin instructed. “Wait until he’s almost out of sight.”

“But what if we lose him?”

“We won’t.” He watched the Lexus for a moment, then nodded. “Now. You know, one-car surveillance is damned hard to pull off. Ideally, you should have at least two cars and radios or cell phones to stay in touch. Then if your guy gets suspicious, you can turn off and let your partner take over.”

She was giving him a curious look. “Spoken like a cop.”

“Or the subject of too much surveillance.”

Brown’s car was several blocks ahead as they entered the main part of town. When his brake lights and turn signal flashed, Martin instructed Juliet to pull over and shut off her lights. She obeyed, stopping behind a delivery van that blocked them from sight, and he slipped from the car and moved to the side of the van to watch.

Brown pulled into the parking lot beside the Monroe Building, took a quick look around, then headed for the alley entrance to the building. He was carrying a briefcase and looked as if he were just starting his business day, not ending it.

Martin returned to the car. “He went to his office.”

“Oh, wow, that’s exciting.”

“Who ever told you that surveillance was supposed to be exciting?”

“So now what?”

“Want some dinner?”

“What if he leaves while we’re gone?”

“Then we go home.”

“Aren’t you curious about what he’s doing in there?”

“Yes, but we’re not going to find out from here.” He looked at her for a moment, then relented. “All right. Let’s find a better place to park.”

She backed up, went around the block and parked near the corner on a side street. Their position gave them a good view of the parking lot, part of the alley and the front entrance to the building without being too noticeable. As soon as she shut off the engine, Martin unfastened his seat belt. “I’m going down the block to the Saloon to get some burgers. Don’t go anywhere. If he leaves, let him go and wait for me. Don’t get out of the car for any reason. Don’t do anything.”

“I’m not a child, Martin, and I’m not going to do something foolish.”

“I know. Just don’t get carried away. If anything happened to you…” He stopped, unwilling to finish the statement, unwilling to admit the truth aloud—if anything happened to her, it would destroy him.

“I’ll stay here. I’ll lock the doors, and I’ll be good.”

He got out quickly so the dome light wasn’t on one second longer than necessary. Sticking close to the building, he backtracked half a block to the alley, then made his way to the Saloon, placing their order at the bar, waiting impatiently. Maybe he shouldn’t have left her. Maybe he should have forgotten about dinner or insisted that they go home. Maybe—

“Hey, Martin, Stone and the chief and a couple of the guys are over there in the corner. Come join us.”

He glanced at Jack Stryker, then at the long table of cops before shaking his head. “Thanks, but not tonight.”

“Haven’t seen you around the department lately, though I hear you met Juliet there for lunch today.”

Martin let that slide. “Anything new on the Stuart case?”

“Dean Springer has gone to ground, and he might never come back up. We reinterviewed everyone in town who knew him, and we still can’t connect him to anyone with reason to want Olivia dead. Of course, part of the problem is we can’t find anyone with reason to want her dead. And it’s easy for someone like Springer to hide. He’s one of those forgettable sorts. Hell, he lived here for twenty years, and only a few people knew him.”

Martin was one of those forgettable sorts, too. He’d been missing for more than ten months, and no one had missed him yet.

“Sure you won’t join us?”

“Thanks, but Juliet’s waiting.” He pulled some money from his pocket as the waitress brought his order. He was across the bar and on his way out when he met a crowd coming in. One of them bumped into him, then released the woman with him and stuck out his arm to block Martin’s way.

“Hey, why don’t you watch where you’re going?” the man demanded, his tone belligerent, his manner blustery, posturing for his girlfriend.

Martin switched the paper bag to his left hand, then tilted the cowboy’s hat back so they could see eye to eye. “Jimmy Ray,” he said softly. “Haven’t we danced this dance before?”

The cowboy’s eyes widened, and he swallowed hard. “Man, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I didn’t know—”

“That’s right. You didn’t know. That’s why you need to be nice to everybody, because you never know.” He leaned closer to emphasize the last words. “The next time you bump into somebody, you handle it right. You say, ‘Excuse me. I didn’t mean to do that.’ Try it now.”

“Ex-excuse me. I didn’t mean to—to…” Jimmy Ray’s Adam’s apple bulged as he swallowed again.

“Close enough. Nice seeing you again.” He stepped around the cowboy and left the bar. A glance down the street showed the lights were still on in Brown’s office. A closer glance showed just the front end of Juliet’s car on the next street over. It wasn’t attention grabbing, since there were other cars parked nearby. Of course, Maxwell Brown hadn’t seen any of those other cars parked outside his house a short while ago.

He returned down the side street and through the alley, tapping on the window so she could unlock the door. He handed her a burger, Coke and napkins and unwrapped his own burger before speaking. “I ran into a friend of yours at the Saloon.”

“Really? Who?”

“Jimmy Ray.”

“Jimmy—Oh, the cowboy.”

“You say that as if it’s something special,” he teased. He could afford to tease because, in fact, she’d said it as if the other man was totally inconsequential. “Of course, being Texas born and bred, I imagine cowboys do carry some significance for you.”

“Not in the least, though if you put on a pair of boots and a Stetson, I imagine it might raise my temperature a degree or two.”

“I could do more than that, darlin’. In my apartment this evening you were steaming.”

She blushed in the dim light and picked for a moment at her hamburger before asking, “You don’t think anyone could see…do you?”

The window was set high enough that his hand underneath her skirt had been hidden from view. But anyone with any imagination whatsoever would have known what he’d been doing to her, where he’d been touching her, what she’d been feeling. The look on her face, the taut line of her body and the arch of her back had all but shouted pure sexual delight.

“No,” he said quietly. “I’m sure no one saw a thing.”

For the next hour, they talked, sat in silence and listened to music. Martin was about to suggest that they call it a night and head home when finally something happened. The lights went off in Maxwell Brown’s office, and a moment later he came out of the building and climbed into his car. If he turned toward home, they would let him go, Martin decided. If he didn’t, they would follow.

When Brown turned the other way, Martin opened the door. “Let me drive, Juliet.” They switched places, then he pulled to the corner. As soon as the Lexus was out of sight, he turned.

Once the road left town, it wound through valleys and over passes. Eventually, it reached the interstate, and from there it was easy going to anyplace in the country. Brown didn’t go that far, though. Only a couple of miles out of town, he turned into a broad driveway, slowed at the security gate, then went inside. Martin drove past, pulled to the side of the road and cut the engine and the lights. “Wait here—”

“No way. I’m going with you.”

“You’re not dressed for a nighttime walk through the woods.” Her skirt was full and would snag on bushes, and her shoes, while sensible flats, weren’t designed with hiking in mind.

“I’ll be fine.”

“That dress will reflect every bit of light in the sky.”

She reached in back and came up with a black trench coat. Her smile was smug. “I like to be prepared. I don’t trust Colorado weather.”

He wanted to argue with her, but he didn’t have time. If there was anything to see inside the fenced-in compound, he needed to get close enough. “You do what I say without question. Stay behind me. And if I tell you to run, you run like hell and don’t look back. Understand?”

Her only response was to shrug into the coat, then climb out of the car. With the coat covering her to the ankles and its hood drawn tight around her face, she was less visible than he was, making him wish once more for a knitted black cap to cover his blond hair.

What little light the moon gave disappeared as they moved deeper into the woods. They followed the concertina-topped fence, keeping to the shelter of the trees, around to the back of the compound. There, a drainage ditch that ran the length of the fence provided them cover. Martin found a good vantage point and eased onto his stomach, his feet braced on chunks of granite in the bottom. With a rustle of nylon, Juliet joined him.

The back of the warehouse was brightly lit, and there was a good deal of activity going on. Three tractor-trailers marked Grand Springs Trucking were backed up to the loading dock, and another three sat off to one side, motors running, awaiting their turns. On the dock Brown stood out in his suit. Everyone around him wore jeans or work clothes.

“How’s your neck?”

Juliet’s whisper tickled his ear, but he didn’t twitch. “Itchy as hell,” he whispered back.

“It’s not really unusual for deliveries to come in at night, is it?”

“I don’t know. But do you think Brown comes out to personally oversee the unloading of every nighttime shipment?”

“Probably not.” She wriggled around, then came up with a small rock that had been somewhere underneath her. She was about to toss it aside when Martin grabbed both it and her hand. With a weak smile, she gave him the rock, which he laid silently in front of them.

As he watched the men work, he made up a mental wish list: electronic equipment for listening in on Brown’s conversation, binoculars for closer examination of the crates being unloaded, and a gun, a nice little SIG-Sauer. He felt damn near naked without the comfortingly familiar press of the pistol in the small of his back.

He became still, his thoughts distracting him from the activity at the loading dock. He’d carried a gun. His subconscious must have been aware of that—after all, guns were the weapon of choice for killing, and he knew he’d killed—but it was still a disconcerting idea. A lot of people carried guns. Cops. Burglars. Thieves. Rapists. Murderers. Drug dealers.

Maybe his business in Grand Springs had had something to do with Maxwell Brown. Maybe he’d been looking for work. Maybe he’d been checking out the competition.

“Martin.”

Maybe he had come here to make a deal…or a hit or—

“Martin!” Juliet whispered his name and tugged his jacket even as she slid further down into the ditch. A big, burly guy was coming their way, and he didn’t look particularly friendly.

Snapping out of whatever bleak possibilities he’d been contemplating, Martin moved quickly, silently, to the bottom of the ditch, pulling her with him. For a long time they lay motionless, listening as the footsteps came closer. Just when it seemed as if the man must be walking right up to the fence, a truck door opened, then closed. A moment later the engine rumbled to life, the gears ground and the truck pulled away.