She needed a safe haven.

After nearly a lifetime in witness protection, Emma Graves depends on the anonymity of her false identity. But when her parents die under suspicious circumstances, and Emma is framed for murder, all security is gone. There is nothing to do but run.

Cop-turned-rancher Jake Kincaid is an unlikely defender. Why would an ex-cop believe an accused killer? Still, Jake makes Emma feel safe. With his drive to protect, she knows staying on his ranch endangers them both—but now that her heart’s engaged, she’s not sure she can walk away.

The dog hopped out of the truck as soon as Jake opened the door and followed close at his heels when he went back to check on the horses. He’d just opened the back gate of the trailer when she burst into a ferocious round of barking.

“Quiet,” he shouted over the keening wind.

She barked even louder, her attention riveted on the dressing-room door at the front of the trailer.

“What, did we pick up a mouse at the last barn?” He unlocked the door and reached inside to flip on the lights, hoping it wasn’t something larger than a mouse. The last thing he needed was to find that a barn cat had hitched a ride away from that last horse farm.

But it wasn’t a barn cat staring at him from the far corner with wide hazel eyes, tousled auburn hair peeking out from beneath a knitted hat, and pale skin turning blue with cold. It was a woman huddled in a pile of horse blankets, her teeth chattering and hands trembling.

And she had his rifle pointed straight at his chest.

ROXANNE RUSTAND

lives in the country with her husband and a menagerie of pets, many of whom find their way into her books. She works part-time as a registered dietitian at a psychiatric facility, but otherwise you’ll find her writing at home in her jammies, surrounded by three dogs begging for treats, or out in the barn with the horses. Her favorite time of all is when her kids are home—though all three are now busy with college and jobs.

RT Book Reviews nominated her for a Career Achieve-ment Award in 2005, and she won the magazine’s award for Best Superromance of 2006.

She loves to hear from readers! Her snail-mail address is P.O. Box 2550, Cedar Rapids, IA 52406-2550. You can also contact her at: www.roxannerustand.com, www.shoutlife.com/roxannerustand or at her blog, where readers and writers talk about their pets at www.roxannerustand.blogspot.com.

Roxanne Rustand

Duty to Protect

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for what he has done. If you do this, you will experience God’s peace, which is far more wonderful than the human mind can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.

—Philippians 4:6–7

In loving memory of my mom, Arline.

Contents

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 Ninteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

ONE

The soft blanket of new snow glittered under the streetlamp and muffled her steps as Emma strode from the city bus stop at the end of the block to the side door of her garage. Anxiety twisted her stomach into a tight knot of fear.

The snow could muffle the sound of someone else’s steps, too.

And even now, that unknown person could be watching her. Waiting. Just as he had waited for her father last week.

She’d been only a few feet away from her dad, pushing a cart of groceries in the busy Safeway parking lot. He’d suddenly faltered to a stop. “We’ve got to leave,” he’d whispered urgently. “I just saw—”

Then he’d fallen face-first, a widening pool of crimson spreading through the slushy snow beneath him. He died at her feet, and she hadn’t even heard the gunshot.

Had he seen his killer’s face? Why hadn’t the shooter taken her out, too? The melee of screaming frightened people running for cover would have given the shooter ample opportunity to pull the trigger, and he probably wouldn’t have missed. From the perfect placement of the single bullet in her father’s skull, the cops figured the killer possessed sniper experience.

Which meant the killer was someone sent by the drug cartel that had been trying to kill Emma and her adoptive family for years. Orphaned at the age of seven and taken in by an older, childless couple a year later, she’d longed for love and security in her new home but had found little of either.

And now even that connection to a family was gone.

Taking a slow breath, she willed away the horrific images of blood and panicking people, and willed her heartbeat to slow. I’m okay. I’m almost home.

She unlocked the door of the garage and slipped inside, then rounded the rear bumper of her old Blazer, thankful that the dark, smoke-tinted windows hid its contents. No one could look inside and guess at what she planned to do tomorrow—not that anyone was likely to drop by. No one ever did.

The Witness Protection Program was no place to make friends, and with luck, anyone who’d known her in her former life probably figured she was dead.

From somewhere inside the house came a thud. She paused, her hand on the door leading from the garage into the tiny entryway off the kitchen. That hadn’t been the sound of the furnace kicking in. There was no one else who had a key. A crazy longing flitted through her thoughts. It’s just Dad—

But he was dead and so was her mom, and now she was totally and forever alone. Surely she was just hearing things. She lowered her gaze to the doorknob, started to fit her key into the dead bolt.

But then she heard another thud. An anguished moan.

And were those voices inside? They came closer. Both male, both agitated.

She’d locked all the doors and armed the security system when she left. Not even her WITSEC contact knew its code—yet there were intruders inside. So where were the sirens? The squadron of patrol cars that should be closing in? Had the alarm even triggered?

Warning bells sounded in her head.

An inner voice screamed at her to run.

Rising on her tiptoes, she braced her trembling fingertips on the door frame for a quick glance through the window set high in the door. A narrow gap between the loose-woven curtains on the inside revealed just a slice of the kitchen, but the bright lights inside illuminated more than enough.

Horror and disbelief swept through her as she stumbled away from the door, caught herself and swallowed hard, trying to hold back a wave of sudden nausea.

It couldn’t be.

A body was lying facedown on her kitchen floor, the hilt of her favorite carving knife rammed upright into his back. The dark, wet pool of blood spreading from beneath him was a shocking contrast to the white tile floor.

She forced herself to take another quick look.

A vaguely familiar cop hunkered down next to the body, and a tall, dark-haired stranger in a long black overcoat and dove-gray slacks moved into view, facing away from her. A detective, maybe?

A rush of relief swept through her. The cops were already here. Everything would be all right. But just as quickly, she knew this scene was all wrong.

The cop’s face was dark red with anger, and sweat beaded his forehead. “You shouldn’ta done it,” he bellowed.

The other man gestured at the body. “He was a loose cannon, you fool. I had orders.”

“Yeah. But—”

“Okay. So we’ll do the woman with his gun. Get the angle right and the investigators will think she stabbed him, then he managed to turn and fire in self-defense before he went down.”

The cop swore, low and fierce. “Opportunity. Means. But just try and give me a plausible motive.”

“Her dad’s murder. She…figured Todd blew their cover.”

“So a mousy little librarian was able to kill a guy this size? With his self-defense training? Tell me another one.”

“We’ve got time. We can fix this scene—make it look right. No one will ever know different.”

The rising argument between the two men faded away as the walls of the garage started to spin. Todd? Todd Hlavicek?

She wobbled away from the door, her heart in her throat and her knees quivering as she half fell against the front fender of the Blazer.

Todd was her only current contact in the Witness Protection Program. He was the only one in the area who should have known about her adoptive family’s involvement in the WITSEC program and their whereabouts…yet loose cannon implied that his loyalty had been bought.

Had he betrayed her family for money? Had he been coerced? Either way, the fact that he was dead reemphasized just how dangerous her family’s old enemies were. How long they could hold a grudge.

She was the only one left, and she was going to be next.

She had to get out of here. But the garage door was closed and the noise of rolling it up would rumble like thunder in this enclosed space, alerting the men inside. Trying to reach someplace safe on foot would be useless. This was a quiet neighborhood of large yards and inexpensive 1940s ramblers filled with people she didn’t know. As always, she’d carefully avoided friendships with the neighbors. Whose life could she dare risk by begging for sanctuary?

The muffled argument inside the house stopped abruptly. Had they heard her?

Oh, Lord—please, please…

She whirled around, jerked open the SUV’s door and threw herself inside, slamming her hand against the locks as she searched for the keys she’d dropped in her pocket.

Her fingers closed over them and she tried to push the key into the ignition. Fumbled. Tried again.

Please…please…please…

A scream threatened to tumble from her lips when the kitchen door flew open and flooded the garage with light. The cop stood in the open doorway, his face a mask of anger, his right hand already reaching for the service revolver at his side.

With shaking fingers she tried the key again. Felt it slide home. The engine roared when she shoved the gearshift into Reverse and floored the accelerator. Tires squealed as the vehicle launched backward, splintering the flimsy garage door.

A deafening explosion enveloped her as the front windshield shattered and something hot whistled past her ear.

Throwing her weight against the pedal, she flicked a last glance at the two men racing after her. One grabbed at her car door but fell away as the SUV shimmied, nearly out of control. She swung it into a wild arc, over a trash can. She rammed the gearshift into Drive and again floored the accelerator. The SUV crossed an edge of the lawn and shot toward the highway.

Pop.

Pop.

Pop.

The sounds were distant. Toylike. Surreal—until the rear windshield shattered into a glittering network of crystalline fabric. They would be on her tail the minute they reached their vehicles.

She wasn’t armed. She had no experience in high-speed driving. She had to make it two full blocks to the freeway ramp, and pray the Chicago rush hour traffic was still heavy. If she could disappear into that bumper-to-bumper mass of frustrated and impatient drivers before her pursuers caught up, she might have a chance to live until tomorrow.

God hadn’t listened to many of her prayers over the years, far as she could tell, and she’d long-ago drifted away from the silent, one-way conversations she’d had with Him as a child. Yet He must have tuned into her pleas today.

She had no illusions about her odds of evading a determined cop with any number of high-speed chases under his belt. But she hadn’t noticed a cruiser parked near her house and there hadn’t been a civilian’s car parked nearby, either, other than Todd’s black Taurus sedan. If the other two had left their cars far enough away to avoid the curious eyes of neighbors, she could be in luck.

A patrol car still hadn’t shown up in her rearview mirror when she slipped into traffic on I-90 and changed lanes until she was flanked by one semi to the right and another at her rear bumper for cover. Please, God, be with me. Please.

At the Elgin exit she white-knuckled the steering wheel. Held her breath. Then veered off at the last second and wound through the residential areas for twenty minutes, making sure no one had followed, before she headed for the far edge of the Metra commuter train parking lot and pulled in next to the battered Ford Focus she’d left there earlier, for the disappearance she’d planned for tomorrow.

Then, she waited.

Waited.

Waited.

Waited, her hands trembling and heart pounding, until the last train of the night left at 10:15, and no one was in sight. Each endless minute had ratcheted up her tension—but she couldn’t risk the curiosity of anyone who might still be lingering in some unseen corner of the station. One misstep, and someone might remember her.

And then she would be as good as dead.

Finally, she pulled her hat low over her newly dyed auburn hair and quickly transferred her duffel bag and suitcases from the SUV into the trunk of the Focus.

After plugging in her GPS, she began her new route on quiet backcountry two-lane roads.

She had no doubt that her Blazer would be discovered in the morning. The shattered front and back windows would ensure a great deal of interest by the local police. The license plates would be easily traced to her latest identity.

But the Focus would buy her time.

Bought with cash from a sleazy little car lot in a bad part of town, she’d given the seller a false name she fabricated on the spot, stashed the car at the commuter train station. Then she’d taken the Metra downtown and used the city bus system for the final leg of the trip home.

Maybe her pursuers would expect she’d decided to lose herself among the eight million people of the Chicago area. With luck, that’s exactly where they’d search, and eventually they would give up.

Now she just had to make it to the Greyhound bus station in Moline, on the Iowa-Illinois border, pay cash for a ticket to Deer Lodge, Montana, and catch the midnight departure.

And then finally she’d be free.

The Greyhound pulled off the freeway near Ogallala, Nebraska, and stopped at a truck stop with a well-lit mom-and-pop café. Next to it lay a parking lot overflowing with cars and trucks, and beyond that, a Travelodge hotel with Welcome to the Western States Regional Bowling Championship Contestants and No Vacancy lit on its sign.

Through the café’s large front windows Emma could see a long lunch counter and a half-dozen booths, already populated by a crowd of trucker types hunched over large coffee mugs and massive servings of heart-attack-on-a-plate trucker specials.

The bus driver and the dozen other passengers piled out and made a beeline for the café and restrooms. Emma wavered. The darkness in the bus throughout the night had been reassuring, the passengers dozing and otherwise keeping to themselves. But bright lights and the intimacy of the limited seating in the café could provoke conversation and curiosity, something she’d worked hard to avoid.

The granola bars and cans of Coke in her duffel would just have to do, along with the tiny restroom at the back of the bus.

She watched people come and go. A mom heading for the door to the café, gripping the hands of two toddlers bundled into heavy blue snowsuits. A gray-haired couple hanging on to each other for support as they came out and bent into the bitter wind, heading for the hotel with scarves wrapped around their faces.

A tall cowboy sauntered toward the gas station from his truck and horse trailer at the last gas pump, the brim of his Western hat pulled down low over his forehead.

One of the toddlers broke free as his mother opened the door, and made a beeline for the gas pumps just as a rattletrap of a pickup pulled off the highway into the lot, swung wide and started skidding sideways. The mother screamed and threw herself toward her child. Pedestrians swung around. The scene played out in slow motion.

The crushing weight of the truck sluiced sideways, the side of its front wheel aimed straight for the child and coming too, too fast.

And suddenly the cowboy was there—diving for the child. Rolling in the snow, protecting him with his body. Even through the thick, well-insulated walls of the bus Emma heard an uproar of excited shouts as the young mother fell to her knees at the cowboy’s side and opened her arms when he handed over her unharmed child.

The crowd grew around them, slapping the cowboy on the back, then some broke away and loudly confronted the driver of the pickup who staggered out of his truck and leaned against the front fender, pale and shaken and quite possibly drunk.

Emma leaned back, her own fear subsiding as she watched the mother wrap her arms around the cowboy in heartfelt thanks, then hold his hand for a moment. He touched the brim of his hat, then headed into the gas station, while she shepherded her children into the café.

A true hero, Emma thought, the one person among the many who had thought fast and acted in time. Why had she never run into someone like that when she’d needed him most?

She settled back in her seat and read a page of the book in her lap, then idly drew a circle in the frost that had already formed on her window. Rubbing out a bigger porthole, she drew in a sharp breath.

Impossible. She’d been so incredibly careful.

The chill from touching the icy glass rushed through her. Outside the door of the gas station, she could see the bus driver and the cowboy both holding foam to-go cups, listening to a tall man in a dark overcoat and gray dress slacks who was facing away from the bus. All three were hunched against the wind, their collars turned up.

From his rigid stance and forceful gestures it was apparent that the newcomer was agitated and demanding some sort of action. He pivoted and stood in front of the big plate glass window to stare at the people inside. Then he turned back to the bus driver and the cowboy and pointed toward the bus.

She stared at him, too horrified to move.

It was too far away to see his face, but he was tall, with the same kind of coat and gray slacks as the man she’d seen in her kitchen. It had to be a coincidence. How was it even possible that he could find her this far from Chicago? Unless…

The truth hit her like a punch to her stomach.

Had Todd planted a tracking device on her? Who would have ordered it—the good guys or bad? Either way, she was in trouble.

The man in the overcoat was already striding toward the bus, clearly planning to search inside.

There was no time to hunt for her luggage stowed in the belly of the bus, and even grabbing her duffel could spell danger if it held the tracking device. Grabbing only her purse, she crouched low and hurried to the exit, shoved the door open and bolted for the nearby row of semis along the edge of the parking lot, thankful that the bus had been parked with its exit door facing away from the café.

The semi tractors were idling to keep their diesel fuel warm and all were dark, so the drivers were either asleep inside with their doors locked or were over at the café. There was no time to search out someone in a sleeper cab and beg for shelter.

The wind sent sleet and cold down the collar of her coat as she hurried behind the trucks for cover, then hesitated. The hotel parking lot ahead was packed with cars and pickups, but few people left their vehicles open these days and only a fool left keys in an ignition. There’d be a slim chance of finding refuge there. The hotel itself was too far away—with a swath of open lawn between its front doors and the parking area. She would be spotted in an instant. Please, God, help me find someone, someplace…

Her frantic gaze landed on the rig at the farthest gas pump.

The pickup lights were off, but inside the back of the trailer, a horse whinnied. That cowboy would surely be back soon. Would he help her? Would he give her a ride? Or would he first demand answers that would take far too long?

Already, she could hear a male voice over by the bus. If the bus driver had told that guy about her being a passenger, she was in deep trouble.

Bending low, she crept to the horse trailer and nearly cried out in relief when she read its Montana plates. “Please, please be heading back home,” she whispered to herself.

But the cab of the truck was still empty, save for a big dog that surged toward the window from the shadows of the interior, its teeth bared.

The voice approached the other side of the horse trailer, apparently talking into a cell phone. So close that she could hear him breathing.

“I told you, I couldn’t—not when I took out her old man. Too many witnesses. But when I get my hands on her, she ain’t gonna die easy.”

A wave of dizziness rushed through her and her heart threatened to batter its way out of her rib cage as she glanced wildly at her surroundings.

There was no other place to hide but here—unless she dared step out into the lights illuminating the truck stop parking area.

Her hands shaking, she tried the dressing room door at the front of the trailer. The handle turned easily and the door swung open, revealing a dark, cavernous space redolent of good leather and saddle soap and horse. Thank you, God.

Footsteps crunched in the snow, rounding the back of the trailer. A man cursed.

Her knees threatened to buckle as she slipped up into the dressing room compartment of the trailer and eased the door shut behind her. She took a quiet step back and tried to calm her rapid breathing. The jackhammer rate of her heartbeat echoed in her head—surely loud enough to be heard from outside.

In the dim light coming through the window in the door, she could make out a three-tier saddle rack. Bridles and other leather equipment hanging from hooks. A gun rack cradling a rifle, bolted high on the wall. On the floor were a tire rim and jack, a bag of Purina dog food and several bags of horse feed rich with the warm, sweet smell of molasses.

In the corner—thank you, Lord—was a big pile of winter horse blankets and a crumpled tarp.

She crawled under the blankets, thankful for the wind outside and praying that it masked the sounds of her movements, and wiggled as far back into the corner as she could. The smell of the horse blankets enveloped her…strong and pungent, but somehow the heavy weight of them felt comforting, secure.

A second later, the door hinges squealed as the compartment door was jerked open. The horse in the back whinnied, the noise reverberating through the trailer.

“Hey, what are you doing?” The new voice was deeper. Angry. “Get away from my trailer.”

So this was the cowboy, then—the one who had saved the little boy.

“I already told you—I’m looking for a woman on the run. Cold-blooded killer.”

“Well, as you can see, there’s no one here.” The dressing room door slammed. A key turned in the lock.

“I need to check the back of your trailer.”

“Looks to me like you’ve got a few hundred other vehicles to check,” the cowboy shot back, his voice laced with derision. “And you’d better get moving—I see at least three with headlights on that are gonna be leaving anytime.”

“If she stowed away in your rig, you’d better be ready to watch your back, cowboy,” the man growled, his voice so close to the trailer that Emma’s heart skipped a beat. “I thought I saw something moving over here. I’m only trying to save you trouble.”

Emma heard a pause, then a series of four drop-down feed doors along the side of the trailer squealed open and slammed shut, one by one.

“There. Are you satisfied?”

“No. She’s got to be here somewhere.” A set of footsteps crunched in the snow as the voice moved away.

Someone else—likely the cowboy—headed forward to the pickup. A truck door opened, then closed.

Emma crawled forward into a dim pool of light coming through the foot-square window in the dressing room door and felt through her purse, then ran her fingertips along the seams. Underneath the zipper, she found it—a small, silver disk.

All of her careful efforts had been for nothing, because she’d had a tracking device planted on her all along.

Sickened, she waited until all was silent, and then she stood and surreptitiously slid the window open to throw the device over a bank of snow.

It might not be the only device they’d planted, but finding it was a start.

She would stay hidden in here, but she’d have the rifle in her hands and ready if the wrong person opened that door. And once she was far enough away from here, then she would slip away the first chance she had.

From outside she heard the familiar whoosh of the Greyhound as it rolled back toward the highway, paused, and lumbered away. Now the pickup engine roared to life. An overhead light in the dressing room compartment came on, and through a sliver of space in the back wall, she could see the lights were on in the interior of the horse compartment, as well.

A vibration shook through the trailer, and suddenly it was moving. Unfolding more of the blankets to create a warm nest, she tucked one around herself to guard against the chilled air.

It was cold in here. She had no idea where she was headed, or if she could trust the cowboy at the wheel. But if she’d stayed at the truck stop, she might have been found, and she had no illusions about where that would’ve led. At least now, she had at least a little more time to live.

She started to pray.

Jake Kincaid turned up the truck radio and scanned through the stations. Every frequency coming in loud and clear was focused on one thing: blizzard warnings—the last thing he wanted to deal with after three days on the road.

He flicked a glance in the side mirrors and saw only a wall of white billowing up behind his rig. Now and then another vehicle seemed to come out of nowhere, its headlights suddenly slicing through the heavy snowfall. Ahead, he could only see a couple dozen yards of snow-covered asphalt. Western Nebraska and the eastern edge of Colorado were being hit hard, but the worst of it had passed Denver. If he could just make it to the metropolitan area tonight, he’d be home free.

The Early Spring Color Breed Bonanza Sale was tomorrow, and the two horses in back were consigned. He’d been glad to have a load to help pay for the westward trip home, after hauling one of his champion roping geldings to its buyer in Illinois, but now the weather was giving him second thoughts.

The truck bucked through a drift and the trailer jerked and swayed. Between the narrow, high snowdrifts blowing across the highway like ribs on a skeleton, glare ice now stretched as far ahead as he could see, and the number of cars and trucks in the ditches on either side of the freeway was increasing with every mile. Sensing his tension, the golden lab on the seat next to him uncurled herself to sit upright.

He stroked her soft coat. “Looks like we’d better take this next rest stop, Maisie.”

She whined and licked his cheek, thumping her tail against the upholstery.

He felt the vehicle lose traction, start to slide sideways, then the tires caught and straightened out. He slowed to a crawl, put on his flashers and eased off on the next ramp. The rest stop was already packed with semis and passenger cars, but at the end of the parking area he found one last double-long spot for a truck and trailer to pull in at an angle.

Maisie hopped out as soon as he opened the door and went to do her business in front of the bumper, then followed close at his heels when he went back to check on the horses. He’d just started to open the back gate of the trailer when the dog burst into a ferocious round of barking.

“Quiet,” he shouted over the keening wind.

She barked even louder, her attention riveted on the dressing room door at the front of the trailer. If she wanted her dog food that bad, she must think she was really starving. “Okay, okay.”

He reached down to ruffle her coat, then went to the backseat of the truck for a bottle of water and her two bowls. She growled when he reached for the door of the dressing room.

“What, did we pick up a mouse at the last barn?” He unlocked the door and reached inside to flip on the lights, which had gone out when he turned off the truck ignition, and scanned the insides, hoping it wasn’t something larger than a mouse. The last thing he needed was to find that a barn cat had hitched a ride away from that last horse farm. Especially if it was a favorite of the trainer’s children.

But it wasn’t a barn cat staring at him from the far corner with wide hazel eyes, tousled auburn hair peeking from beneath a knitted hat, and pale skin turning blue with cold. It was a woman huddled in a pile of horse blankets, her teeth chattering and hands trembling.

And she had his rifle pointed straight at his chest.

TWO

Jake took a slow step back and raised his hands, palms up, as he assessed the situation.

The woman staring back at him appeared slender, late-twenties. Caucasian. Probably not more than a hundred-twenty pounds. Delicate bone structure and pretty in an upscale way. In other words, the last person he’d ever expect to find in his horse trailer in a pile of pungent horse blankets, in the middle of nowhere…during a blizzard.

She looked more like the type to be heading to Starbucks, rather than a woman who might be on the run from murder charges, but his ten years in law enforcement had taught him more than he’d ever wanted to know about how looks could be deceiving.

After his ex-wife proved it all over again, he’d become one very jaded man.

“Tell me you’re not the woman that guy was looking for back in Ogallala,” he said on a long sigh. “I really don’t have time for this.”

She raised the rifle, ready to sight her target—his chest—and gave him the answer he wanted. “I’m not.”

A gust of wind-driven snow slammed against him and swirled into the dressing room of the trailer. “Let me rephrase that. Who are you, and why are you in my trailer?”

She was clearly cold, exhausted and desperate, her wild tangle of hair and the intensity in her eyes suggesting that she just might pull the trigger if he pushed her too far.

She visibly shivered, and the barrel of his rifle wobbled. “I…I hid in here when you stopped last.”

“In Sterling?” Not likely. He’d padlocked the dressing room door back in Ogallala. She couldn’t have gained access after that.

Apparently she realized her error. “I…I must’ve fallen asleep. I don’t remember Sterling.”

“Why don’t you come on out of there and we can talk about it.”

She shook her head.

“You look cold and my dog and I are standing out in a blizzard. My pickup is warmer.” When she didn’t respond, he shrugged. “I’ll tell you what. If you want to thaw, come to my truck. If not, this door is open and you can skedaddle. Far as I’m concerned, this just isn’t worth dying over.”

“Wh-where are we?”

“Nowhere close to where I need to be. This here is a freeway rest stop, so there are lots of other vehicles for you to choose from. Tell someone a story about how your car is in a ditch somewhere. If you don’t go pointing that rifle at them, they might think you’re a nice girl and offer you a ride.”

She huddled farther back into the pile of horse blankets, her eyes huge in her pale face. She looked scared to death. “I—I can’t.”

“Maisie and I are going to go get warm.” He touched the brim of his hat. “You’re welcome to join me. If you don’t, I’ll just have to trust that you won’t haul off my saddles or my rifle when you leave.”

He opened the door of the truck and let Maisie into the front seat, then slid behind the wheel and glanced at the clock. Five minutes. Ten. The woman still hadn’t shown up. “What do you think, old girl? Should we see if she’s still back there?”

The dog gave him a reproving look.

A moment later, he heard a soft knock on the passenger side. “Maisie, back.”

The dog jumped into the backseat as the front door squealed open and the woman climbed in, the rifle still in her hands and a big leather purse slung on her shoulder. Her lips were blue and her teeth were chattering so loudly that he could hear them across the seat.

He nudged the heater up a notch. “Glad you could make it.”

She huddled into the corner, as far from him as she could get.

He tapped the insulated coffee mug in the center divider. “It’s cold now, but you could pretend.”

“Y-you said you stopped in Sterling. Are you going to Montana?”

“Eventually.”

She looked up at him in alarm. “Eventually?”

“Why, are you heading for someplace special?”

She didn’t answer. Pulling off her thin leather gloves, she blew on her hands and rubbed them together.

“Maybe we could start with a name. That oughta be easy. I’m Jake Kincaid. And you are…”

“Emma,” she whispered after a long silence. “Emma…White.”

If that was her name, he’d eat his Stetson, but at least it was a start. “Okay, Emma White. How come you stowed away in my trailer? All you had to do was ask for a ride.”

Her answering laugh was bitter. “And you would have picked up some stranger, just like that, and risk being robbed. Or worse.”

Raising an eyebrow, he dropped his gaze to the rifle in her hands. “Looks like that might be happening anyway.”

She stared at the weapon as if it had turned into a rattler, then she leaned it against her door. “No.”

“That man in Ogallala said he was looking for a woman wanted for murder. Despite your first answer, I’m guessing he was hunting for you. Am I wrong?”

After a long silence, she finally nodded. “If that was who I think it was, he told you a flat-out lie. If he caught me, I’d be the one who was dead.”

“He said the authorities were after you too, lady.”

She shivered. “If you think they’re all good people, you’re naive.” She stared pensively through the windshield at the swirling snow, as if debating about what to say. “That was…um…my ex-boyfriend.”

“Now, why would you be chasing off in weather like this, if you weren’t on the run from some serious charges? Seems to me you’d want to pick a nicer day. And maybe it would have been easier to just tell him to get lost.”

She flicked a quick, pained glance at him, not quite meeting his eyes, then she looked away. “I know you can’t relate. But tell me what you’d do, if you were a woman and an abusive man was threatening to tear you apart. Randy is a big guy, and when he starts drinking, he gets violent. Once, he even kicked in the door of my apartment. I always tried to stay out of his way. But it never worked in the past, and this time he came after me with a gun.”

Jake cocked an eyebrow. “How did you get mixed up with someone like that?”

She shuddered. “It was the biggest mistake of my life. Believe me.”

“Why didn’t you leave a long time ago?” He’d been involved in far too many domestic calls when he’d worked as a deputy in western Wyoming. He knew the answer already—leaving could be as dangerous as sticking around. But something just didn’t ring true in this woman’s voice.

“I tried once. He swore he’d track me down and kill me if I tried to leave town.” She visibly shuddered. “And this time he was so out of control that I knew he’d do it if I stayed. I had to run.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“Not yet. I…hitchhiked as far as that truck stop, and when I saw he’d caught up with me, I knew my only choice was to run, or die. So I hid in your trailer.”

Jake had no doubt that she was frightened, but not for the reasons she gave. He could see she was lying in the way she fidgeted and avoided meeting his eyes. Mentally reviewing what she’d just said, he rested a wrist on the top of the steering wheel and studied the falling snow.

“Sooo…if I make a phone call and check out your story, my sources will back you up?”

“I don’t know.” She slumped against the seat, her voice weary.

“What about previous assault charges against him? Would I find some of those?”

Her gaze darted to his, then skated away again. “I never dared. It’s a small town, and Randy’s brother is a cop. Even if I’d called 9-1-1 and had him arrested, Randy would’ve been back on my doorstep in no time, and I don’t even want to know what would’ve happened then.”

“Restraining orders?”

“Like I said, I was afraid to take the first step. With him, a court order would be like waving a red cape in front of a bull.” She sighed heavily. “For all I know, Randy and his brother have trumped up charges against me, just to make sure that someone, somewhere, will arrest me and send me back home.”

If her words hadn’t sounded so rehearsed, he might have believed her. Than again, maybe it was a situation she’d been mulling over for a long time. “So you’re telling me that you don’t want me calling the cops.”

“Look, I know you don’t know me. I’m really sorry about pointing a gun at you, but I’m honestly a nice person, and all I’m asking is that you not do that. If you can just give me a ride to the next town, I can start making my way to Montana.”

“What town?”

“Deer Lodge.”

“You have relatives there?”

She hesitated, then shook her head.

“You aren’t sure, or you just don’t know them?” He thought a moment. “Or maybe you have someone there on a semipermanent basis?”

“What?”

“Temporary housing at the Montana State Prison?”

“No! I…I’m just going to start over, that’s all. And that’s all you need to know about me.”

“So if I drop you off at the next town, what then? Do you have money for a bus ticket, or are you going to stow away in the next horse trailer you see?”

She drew herself up. “I’ll be fine.”

“Right. Do you have any money? Credit or debit cards?”

Again, the flicker in her gaze. “I’m set. And I’m not your responsibility, so don’t worry about it.”

And that was the kicker in this whole, strange and unexpected deal. Responsibility.

He’d felt the weight of the world on his shoulders when he’d worked in law enforcement…and one case in particular still haunted him. He and the rest of the department had put in sixteen-hour days, trying to solve a serial rapist case that had terrified women throughout the county. In the meantime, four more women were attacked…including his sister’s best friend.

Could he blithely ignore the possibility that this woman was in real danger? The thought cut through him like a switchblade between the ribs.

He sighed heavily. When he arose this morning at four-thirty, he’d had no idea just how complicated his life was going to become. “You can’t just go hitchhiking into some remote part of the country. I don’t believe you do have the money for another bus ticket, and whoever he really is, there’s no denying that someone is trying to hunt you down. So lady, give me your driver’s license. If you check out okay, I’ve got a proposition for you.”

Emma’s heartbeat faltered as she stared back at him.

She’d always been a terrible liar and hated needing to skate around the truth, even though she’d been living a lie throughout most of her life in WITSEC. Jake had probably seen through every one of the whoppers she’d just told.

An abusive ex-boyfriend? Named Randy?

All of it was straight out of a novel she’d just read, and now she was going to be caught up in a web of those lies, trying to keep things straight, unless she managed to part company with this guy…and soon.

If he had a proposition, she could only imagine that it spelled trouble. Still, to flee instead of calmly letting him check her license would set off alarm bells in his mind and lead to more trouble than she was already in. Please, God, help me out, here.

“License?” Jake repeated. “Or is it conveniently missing?”

“O-of course not.” She bent over her purse and pawed through the contents, delaying the inevitable.

No one upstairs ever seemed to listen to her prayers, but during the twenty-four hours since she’d fled her home, Emma had found herself saying a lot of them, and now she mentally recited yet another as she pulled out her wallet and handed over her freshly minted driver’s license. “I’m sure everything is in order.”

She hoped. During her ten years in the WITSEC program she’d had plenty of new identities come and go, but this was the first time she’d created one on her own.

She’d paid a thousand dollars to a guy with the unlikely name of Lance Mendez for her new identification, but whether or not good customer service and guarantees were part of the business model used by furtive men on street corners wasn’t hard to guess.

“Lance” had been recommended by a man she’d approached outside a seedy bar on the lower south side of Chicago, the day after her father’s murder. She’d never been so terrified in her life, driving into that unfamiliar neighborhood.

But she’d never been so desperate, either, and knowing that her dad’s killer would have her in his sights next, her choice had been simple. Die, or disappear.

Now, she tried to look bored as the cowboy studied her, then shot another glance at her driver’s license. “Can you take off that hat?”

She’d worn the cheap knitted hat with a floppy brim in public since cutting her long blond hair short and dying it auburn several days ago, afraid her father’s killer might be stalking her. She’d wanted to hide the new color until she could reveal a totally different persona when she surfaced a thousand miles away.

She took a quick, furtive glance out the truck windows, then slowly dragged it off and ran her fingers through her hair to fluff the flattened curls. She jerked it back on a moment later.

“Traveling kinda light, aren’t you, ma’am?”

“I didn’t exactly have time to pack well,” she murmured, forcing herself to meet his eyes.

No wonder Jake was suspicious. She smelled like a dirty horse blanket and hadn’t washed her face in a good twenty-four hours. Her suitcase was still on that bus, headed to who knows where. She’d fled Chicago without a brush, makeup or even the most basic toiletries in her purse.

Jake probably thought she appeared homeless, deranged and desperate; capable of any charges that had been trumped up to reel her back to Chicago. The murder of Todd Hlavicek, for instance, unless he was still lying on her kitchen floor.

Jake compared her against her license photo one more time, then grabbed a cell phone from the dashboard of the truck, scrolled through his contacts list and hit Send. “Megan. This is Jake. Right, it’s been a while.” He sighed. “No, not anytime soon. Probably never. Hey, I need a favor. Can you run a driver’s license for me?”

Emma jerked her hat back on and forced a smile, though an icy hand clamped around her stomach as Jake read off her license number and description. Lance had needed a photo of her for the driver’s license, so she’d gone to a drugstore passport photo booth right after dying her hair and cutting it short. Did the license look realistic enough? Would the number actually work, or was her false identity going to shatter, here and now?

The woman Jake called apparently put him on hold.

He moved the cell phone away from his face. “I’ve got Megan Peters on the line. She’s the new Pine County sheriff up in Montana, and an old friend of mine. Is she gonna find out things about you that you don’t want me to know?”

“Only if there are errors in the system.” Emma feigned a disinterested shrug, even though her insides were shaking.

The minutes dragged like hours. Weeks.

Then Jake sat up a little straighter and carried on a cursory conversation before ending the call and tossing his phone back onto the dash. A corner of his mouth tipped up in a faint smile. “Megan did a little research. The internet is just one amazing thing, isn’t it?

His folksy demeanor didn’t fool her for a minute. “And?”

“She checked the NCIS, NCIC and CODIS, and you weren’t listed in any of them.”

“What does all of that mean?”

“That you’ve got a ride to Montana, if you want it. Apparently—at this point—you’re not a fugitive, missing person, or someone of interest in the criminal databases. I fact, your name is unusually clean. No charges, ever. No convictions, no warrants, no moving violations. Not even a traffic ticket. No record of property ownership, for that matter. It’s as if you just dropped out of the sky.”

Throwing up her hands and shouting “Thank you, Lance!” probably wouldn’t be a good thing right now. She smiled. “I told you so.”

His lips thinned. “There’s still something that isn’t quite right about this, but I don’t want to leave a lone woman to fend for herself at this rest stop, so I can either drop you off at the next town, or drop you off when I go through Denver. Or, you can ride with me until I get back to Montana, and I can leave you off in Deer Lodge. Your choice.”

“Deer Lodge? Really? You’re heading that way?”

“It’s not my destination, but I can take a detour.”

Hope surged through her, then fizzled away. She didn’t even want to think about what he might expect in return. “I…I’d better get out at the next place there could be a bus stop.”

“If you’re short on cash, I can loan you hotel money. With the horse sale and all, it’ll take me a couple days to get up to Deer Lodge.”

She bit her lower lip. Did she dare trust him? Her heart said yes, but every cautious bone in her body was saying no, no, no. Yet what other option did she have? Her pursuers were probably watching the bus lines and airports. If she tried to catch a different ride, the vehicle she approached could be driven by the very people she was trying to avoid.

Given the money behind the Rodriguez drug cartel, there could be any number of people after her, now that the location of the house she and her family had shared had been discovered. And they could be men—or women—whom she might not be able to identify until it was too late.

“Believe me when I say that you’re safe with me. I have no designs on you at all. None,” he added, his mouth kicking up into a wry grin. “You aren’t my type.”

No surprise, there…but what should have felt like an insult just gave her a sense of relief.

He was tall and powerfully built, with a strong jaw and dimples that flashed when he grinned. Adding in the long dark lashes shading his melted chocolate eyes, he looked like he could be in magazine ads for Levi’s jeans or big, tough pickup trucks. His taste probably ran to curvaceous, surgically enhanced blondes with Botox lips and empty smiles.

If such a vacuous creature existed in the wilds of Montana, anyway.

“Then what’s in this for you?”

He laughed at that. “Oh, I still think you’re in trouble. This’ll just give me a few days to figure it all out.”

THREE

After hours of heavy snow and high winds buffeting the side of his rig, the wind finally slowed and Jake heard the approaching roar of a snowplow swinging up through the rest stop.

Wrapped in blankets and asleep for the past two hours, Emma didn’t even stir when the mammoth vehicle thundered by, its blade scraping and clattering and kicking up sparks against the asphalt. He studied the violet circles of exhaustion under her eyes and the lines of tension between her delicate eyebrows, and felt a pang of sympathy. She spelled trouble, no two ways around it.

But even without makeup and her short hair in disarray, she was still a pretty little thing, with those big hazel eyes and the dark crescents of her lashes resting on her delicate cheeks. She was far too fragile to be out here in the middle of nowhere, alone and defenseless. What if she’d stumbled into the wrong stranger’s vehicle and had ended up a bloodied statistic in some roadside ditch?

He had no business getting involved.

Not after the last phone call he’d received from Uncle Oliver, about more trouble brewing of his own.

But there was no way he could let her fend for herself, either, and Megan had promised to let him know if Emma turned up on any new warrants coming through. He’d keep a tight hold on his wallet and a watchful eye on Emma, and in just a couple of days he’d drop her off in Deer Lodge. End of story.

He’d turned on the truck every once in a while to ward off the bitter cold outside. Now, he took Maisie for a quick trip outside, and then he ushered her into the backseat, slid behind the wheel and headed back onto the freeway.

Patches of ice gleamed bare and dangerous between stretches of snow-packed asphalt. Intermittent gusts of snow obliterated the road ahead, threatening to fill in the swath of the snowplow, but at least he was on his way.

He glanced at the clock on the dash and sighed heavily. “Ma’am? You’d better put on your seat belt.”

The blankets stirred. He angled a look in Emma’s direction and saw her blink, then sit up in startled confusion. There was no mistaking that flash of fear in her eyes or the way she visibly reined in her emotions before she settled back against the seat and fastened her seat belt.

“Nice nap?” he drawled.

“Wh-where are we?”

“Heading for Denver, but it’s going to be a long haul in this weather.”

She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “How long will it take?”

“The sales arena is west of Denver, and my GPS says it’s four hours away. But that’s on a good day. Tonight? It could easily be double that. Maybe more.”

Her brow furrowed. “Will you get there in time for…for whatever?”

“The sale starts at nine in the morning. Cataloged horses have to be checked onto the grounds by 7:00 a.m. sharp.”

“If you’re late?”

“The sale barn rules say they’ll put us at the end of the sales lineup for the day. Which is just about the time most of the buyers have loaded up and started home.”

Her forehead furrowed. “That would be bad.”

He shrugged. “My guess is that there’ll be a lot of trailers pulling in late, and they’ll do the best to keep everyone happy. But if not, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

She eyed him thoughtfully. “You sound pretty philosophical. Some guys would be awfully upset.”

“No point.”

Her short laugh sounded bitter. “There doesn’t have to be one.”

He’d doubted her earlier story about an avenging ex-boyfriend and his cop buddy. Now, he wasn’t so sure. “When I started for Denver this morning I left in plenty of time, and there wasn’t anything in the forecast about snow.”

“Tell me about it,” she muttered, surreptitiously glancing at the side mirror outside her window.

“The owner of the horses ought to know that as well as I do. No sense ending up in a ditch trying to hurry.” The snow swirled up into a white wall ahead and he eased up on the accelerator until the visibility improved. “If you’re feeling edgy, you can probably relax. Even if someone passes us, they won’t be able to see you. Not at night.”

“I’ll just feel a lot better when there are a few hundred miles more between me and Ogallala.” She shifted uneasily. “Maybe that guy wrote down your license plate number. People can track down way too much information these days.”

“Oh?”

“Go online with a credit card, and you can find out everything about someone.” She twisted in her seat to look at him. “You seem like a nice guy. I never should’ve gotten you mixed up in my problems.”

He lifted a shoulder. “I’m not too concerned.”

“But—”

“If you turn out to be a felon, I’ll deal with it.”

“I’m not.”

For the first time in three years, he felt an old, familiar surge of adrenaline, and realized he’d missed the excitement and danger of his old career. “Then if some bad guys are after you, I guess I can handle that, too. No worries.”

“For you, maybe,” she retorted drily. “But thanks.”

Despite a few hours of sleep at the freeway rest area, Emma still felt bone tired. But with the truck bucking and swaying through growing snowdrifts and the terrifying shimmy when she felt the wheels lose traction across an icy patch, her attention stayed riveted on the road ahead.

By the time they reached the grounds of the horse show arena at nearly five in the morning, the snow had stopped and the highways were clear. Jake pulled to a stop in front of the main entrance of vast building with Horses painted above the doors. A single outdoor security light blazed above the sign, though the rest of the parking area was pitch-dark.

He slumped against the seat and angled a look at her. “I’ve got stalls here, reserved under the horses’ lot numbers. Once I find the stalls I need to get them bedded down and the horses settled, then I’ll park the trailer and drop you off at a motel.”

The last hours of battling bad roads and poor visibility had consumed her thoughts, but now she felt a renewed frisson of unease slip through her. “There’s one close by?”

“A few miles.”

“What about you?”

He wearily rolled his head against the neck rest to look at her. “I need to be here in a couple hours anyway. I’ll just doze in the truck and set my cell phone alarm.”

“I might as well stay here, too.” She shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not worth getting a room for such a short time.”

“Go ahead—there’s nothing for you to do here, and maybe you can sleep till noon or so. I’ll pay for two nights so you won’t have to check out.” A corner of his mouth kicked up into a tired grin. “If the motel I’m thinking about has a room available, you’ll find a dollar store a few doors down.”

His thoughtfulness surprised her. Most of those stores carried basic clothing and toiletries, and just the thought of a long, hot shower and clean clothes was pure bliss. “Let me help you here. Can I carry anything?”

“I’ll bring in the horses and feed. But if you want to grab a couple of water buckets out of the trailer, I’d appreciate it. I’m sure there must be spigots inside the building.”

Pulling her hat down over her ears, she zipped up her jacket and stepped out into the cold. After finding the buckets in the dressing room of the trailer, she followed Jake, Maisie and the two horses into the building.

It was wonderfully warm inside, pungent with the rich scents of hay and horse and leather. Dim lights glowed from up in the rafters. Horses already in the stalls stirred, rustling their bedding and nickering as Jake led the mares down a long aisle, the metallic four-beat clip-clop of their shoes echoing in the cavernous space.

“This place is huge,” she whispered as she watched him snug up each mare’s blanket surcingles and put her in the appropriate stall.

“There are indoor and outdoor arenas on the grounds, one of the biggest sales barns in the country, and five hundred stalls here in the horse barn, I think.”

The sharp angles and planes of his jaw, darkened by five o’clock shadow, gave him the air of a rugged, handsome hero on the Western reruns she often watched late at night, and there’d always been something about a confident, skilled and easygoing man that had appealed to her…maybe because nothing in her life had ever been stable.

Watching Jake stirred feelings that had no place in her life right now, and she struggled for a moment, trying to recall the conversation. “So this is a horse palace.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Not quite. You oughta see some of the horse operations in Texas and Oklahoma.”

“And where you come from?”

He laughed at that. “Where I come from, things are just a tad more rustic.”

“But beautiful, I’m sure.”

He gave her an odd look. “You’re sure you want to go someplace where you don’t know a soul?”

“I may know…someone. But it’s been many years, now. I’m not even sure I can find her.” Or if I dare. Bringing trouble to her sister’s door after all this time was the last thing she wanted to do. “So, where do I find water for these buckets?”

He nodded toward the end of the aisle. “Go down there, take a left. I think there are faucets just around the corner. I’ll go back outside and get the grain, hay and ground feeders.”

Maisie followed at Jake’s heels as he strode back toward the entrance. Emma walked down the aisle, listening to the sounds of his fading footsteps as she passed another dozen horses in stalls, six on each side of the aisle. Most were dozing, heads low and a hind hoof cocked, or laying down. A couple of them moved up against the vertical bars at the front of their stalls and eyed her expectantly, as if hoping for early breakfast.

Beyond those horses was a long stretch of empty stalls, the stall doors open, the interiors shadowed and dark as the mouth of a cave. She felt a prickle of unease crawl across the back of her neck as she passed each one.

The barn had seemed warm and welcoming when she’d first arrived, alive with the peaceful presence of the horses. Back here, anything—or anyone—could be lying in wait for her.

But of course, that was ridiculous.

No one from Chicago could’ve predicted that she would be here. The man she’d seen back in Ogallala would’ve had to battle the same tough winter conditions if he’d tried to follow, and with such poor visibility he would’ve had to second-guess every exit, wondering if Jake might’ve turned off and headed for parts unknown.

Until she and Jake reached the Denver metro area, she’d never even noticed any headlights in the rearview mirror, other than those of a few semis that had crawled slowly past. And she certainly hadn’t heard anyone enter the building since they’d arrived here.

Taking a deep breath, she reached the end of the aisle and turned the corner. Sure enough, there was the water spigot a few yards ahead for filling buckets. “Just a few minutes more, and I’ll be in some nice comfy motel,” she muttered under her breath. “Door locked, nice and safe.”

Warm, stale breath fanned across the back of her neck. Or did it?

A hand clamped down on her shoulder, the fingers digging painfully into the hollow above her collarbone. The cloying order of cheap aftershave filled her nostrils.

“Stop right there.”

She froze as panic raced through her.

“I wouldn’t make a sound, if I were you. Now drop those buckets, nice and easy, and start walking. We’re going to make a phone call and take care of you, believe me.”

Her heart lurched. All of the lights were off in this section of the barn. The shadowy aisle ahead faded into complete darkness. It was the last direction she dared go—yet her attacker behind her stood between her and possible safety with Jake.

Jake.

What if he was…what if he was already dead?

She forced herself to take a step. Then another, her thoughts racing, her knees weak with fear. Two things were clear. Cooperation would leave her dead. With an escape attempt, it was just a strong possibility.

“Please—just let me go.”

The grip on her shoulder tightened as the man behind her forced her to walk faster. “Shut up.”

His voice grated across her skin. She edged a hand into her jacket pocket, praying that her car keys were still there. Fought back the shivers racing through her as she judged her surroundings. “You’ve got the wrong person. Honest. I—”

“You’ve caused enough trouble already,” the man snarled, giving her shoulder a sharp jerk.

She surreptitiously unzipped her jacket a millimeter at a time, offered a fast, silent prayer, then she slashed at his fingers with the jagged edge of her car key and let her knees buckle.

“Hey!” He clawed at her loosened jacket, his grasp broken. She spun around. Rammed her elbow into his side. He swore, flailing his arms as he stumbled sideways and fell, but he was at her heels in a split second, grabbing for her collar.

She struggled. Slipped free of the jacket. Then she raced back toward the way they’d come, screaming Jake’s name, skidding on the smooth cement as she rounded the corner, her heart thundering and her lungs raw.

Somewhere ahead, she heard Maisie break into furious barking, the sounds coming closer. The dog burst into view around the corner and Emma dared a glance back.

In the next heartbeat she slammed into a solid wall of muscle. Powerful arms surrounded her. Maisie anxiously danced at her feet, whining and jumping up against her.

Emma screamed, fought to escape.

“Emma.” Her captor loosened his grasp. “Emma, it’s me. Listen to me.”

It was Jake. Relief flooded through her, followed by another wave of fear. She threw another wild glance over her shoulder and saw only an empty aisle behind her. “Th-there’s a man. He’s back there. He—he grabbed me.”

Jake held her at arm’s length and studied her face for a second, then looked over her shoulder. “Quiet.”

They both stood still, listening. All she could hear was the uneasy rustlings of the horses she’d just passed.

“He was back there,” she said urgently. “He was. He tried to make me go with him.”

“I believe you.” Jake frowned. “Where’s your jacket? You must be cold.”

“He was grabbing for me. It—it fell off back there.”

Jake reached for a cell phone clipped to his belt. “I’ll call the cops.”

That wasn’t a good idea, and now another kind of fear sped through her.

Too many questions, a deputy’s request to see her ID, and in an instant, her chance to slip into anonymity somewhere in Montana would go up in smoke. Being in police custody back in Chicago wouldn’t guarantee her safety. If the powerful Rodriguez family learned she was there, money could exchange hands and she’d be a defenseless, easy target.

Alarmed, she shook her head. “No—really. Let’s just leave. The sound of patrol cars coming would make that guy disappear into the night anyway. I’m not injured. There’s no proof of anything.”

“I’m taking you out to the truck. Stay in there with Maisie and lock the doors while I take a look around. Do you have a cell phone?”

This option was even worse.

“Don’t go back there. It’s not worth the risk. Please—let’s just go.”

“Don’t worry about it. Now, do you have a cell phone?” His voice was gentle, but laced with steel, and she knew there’d be no point in arguing.

She nodded once, hoping the prepaid, anonymous cell phone she’d bought at a drugstore still held a charge.

“Come on.” He took her hand and headed for the front door. At an electrical panel just inside the entrance, he studied the switches, then flooded the entire interior of the building in blazing lights. Horses whinnied. One of them kicked the side of its stall.

If her attacker had decided to flee the bright light in the building at this moment, any sound had been lost in the racket.

Jake settled her in the truck, with Maisie in the backseat, then he reached across her lap to put a key in the ignition and start the engine. “Stay warm. If you see anything, call 9-1-1, then start honking and keep at it. Nonstop. Don’t hesitate, understand?”

“Please, you’re not armed—what if something happens?”

A wry smile briefly touched his lips as he retrieved a gun from the glove box. “Then your friend will soon have second thoughts.”

She blinked. “But he could be hiding in the building, and he could get you before you even knew where he was. At least take your dog with you.”

“I want her here.” Jake rested a hand on her arm. “Now look at me.”

His voice was low, warm, compelling. She slowly lifted her gaze to meet his.

“I was a deputy for ten years. I’m not a careless man. But I’ve found it’s sometimes better to seek out a rattler instead of leaving it be. Understand?”

She nodded, too numb to answer.

“But don’t go calling 9-1-1 just because I’m not back right away. If I don’t show up in thirty minutes, drive to the nearest well-lit gas station and make your call then. Not before.”

He hit the lock button on the inside of her door and slammed it shut. And then he disappeared into the night.

FOUR

She’d wrapped herself in the blanket as soon as she got into Jake’s pickup, but she couldn’t stop shivering as the minutes ticked by.

Five.

Ten.

Fifteen.

Each interminable minute seemed like an hour, with her guilt and fear over Jake’s safety holding her heart in an icy grip. God, please watch over him. He seems like a nice guy. He doesn’t deserve to get hurt. Not over this. Not because of me.

She gripped her cell phone and peered out into the darkness. She already knew that her attacker was far stronger than she was. For all she knew, he was armed and dangerous, and if cornered might not hesitate to shoot. Getting out of the truck and going after Jake herself fell into the too-stupid-to-live category.

But even if Jake had made it clear that she shouldn’t call 9-1-1 for at least thirty minutes, who knew it would seem like this long? He could be lying on the cold cement floor in that barn, bludgeoned from behind or shot. No matter what happened to her if the police became involved in this, she couldn’t let another moment pass.

She started pressing the buttons. 9…1…

“Emma! It’s me.”

Startled, she look up and quickly scanned the darkness.

“Over here.” Jake stepped out of the gloom at the corner of the building. “And I’ve got someone with me.”

Wary now, she twisted in the seat and tried to make out the features of the person limping beside him. The two of them made their way slowly to the side of the truck.

She hesitated, her finger poised over the window button on the inner door.

“I found your ‘attacker,’” Jake said quietly. “But Tom is a little worse for wear. And if you don’t want the police involved, I think you’d better talk to him.”

She blinked. Then lowered the window halfway.

The man next to Jake was a good five inches shorter and fifty pounds heavier, wearing a well-worn denim jacket and a heavy growth of salt-and-pepper beard. He glared at her as he rubbed his left shoulder with a bloodied hand.

“This—this is the man who grabbed me?” She resisted the urge to close the window and retreat to the far corner of the front seat.

“You were trespassing,” Tom snarled.

Jake rested a hand on his uninjured shoulder. “Apparently they’ve had considerable problems with theft from the barns here. So now they keep at least one barn hand on duty twenty-four hours a day.”

“He threatened me!”

“I wasn’t gonna let some thief get away, missy. I could lose my job.”

“I wasn’t stealing anything.”

“So you say. I needed to hang on to you and call for help. Only you slashed my fingers and made me fall, and if this ripped up my rotator cuff again, I’m going to call the police and press charges against you for assault.”

“Y-you work here?”

“That’s what your friend just said.”

Embarrassment started crawling through her. “Oh.”

“And you were sneaking around in the dark.”

“I was just getting some water. That’s all.” She bit her lower lip, wondering if she really believed him. But Jake apparently did, so she finally nodded. “I’m sorry that you got hurt.”

“Humph.” He scowled at her.

“No, really. I am. Is there anything I can do?”

“No. You’ll be gone soon enough.” Muttering under his breath, the older man hobbled back to the barn.

When he disappeared inside, she sank against her seat and watched Jake climb behind the steering wheel of the truck. “Well, that was embarrassing. Now you’re going to think I’ve been crying wolf all this time.”

“Could’ve been worse. He took a pretty hard fall, apparently.” He handed over her jacket. “I found this on the floor by the water spigot.”

“I was already jumpy, but then he came out of nowhere and clamped a hand on my shoulder. He scared me half to death.” She tried for a rueful smile. “He was like my worst nightmare. But now you probably don’t believe a word I’ve said.”

“About being threatened?” He glanced over at her as he buckled his seat belt. “Remember, I did meet your old boyfriend back in Ogallala.”

“About that….” She fell silent and looked away, uncomfortable with the lie she’d told. Unsure of what she could dare share with Jake now.

He turned on the ignition, then shifted the truck into drive and headed toward the field marked Trailer Parking that they’d passed when they’d first pulled into the grounds. “I don’t think you need to worry. Even if he did see my license plate back in Ogallala or at that truck stop and traced it, he’d have no idea that I was heading to this sale. And I don’t think we were followed.”

“I hope not.”

“We were both checking the rearview mirrors, and I sure didn’t see anything suspicious. Of course, once we hit the freeways in Denver, it’s anyone’s guess. One set of headlights in the dark looks pretty much like the others from a distance, and I wouldn’t even know what kind of vehicle to be watching for.”

“Me neither,” Emma said, trying to not sound as edgy as she felt. “But think about it. A guy who just happened to be in the barn at the moment we arrived? Ready to pounce on a lone woman who suddenly showed up in the middle of the night? Maybe that guy wasn’t really a barn worker at all. Maybe he just came up with that cover when you confronted him.”

“He looked nothing like the man back in Ogallala. And he also has a Colorado driver’s license.”

“You checked?”

Jake shrugged, a corner of his mouth lifting briefly. “A flashback to my cop days, I guess.”

But there could easily be others who had been sent after her—not just the man in Ogallala. And how could she explain that? It would hardly fit with the story about her troublesome ex-boyfriend.

Jake drove into a parking spot. She twisted in her seat and watched him unhitch the trailer, breathing a sigh of relief when he finally got behind the wheel again and turned toward the highway. “Maybe you should get a room at the motel, too. I don’t think it’s safe out here.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.