SHE FULFILLED A PROPHECY…

For P.I. Paul Grayhorse, there were no secrets—thanks to his special Navajo gift. He knew why U.S. Deputy MarshalKendra Armstrong found him in the canyons of New Mexico. Reopening the case that ended his marshal career and killed his partner did more than haunt Paul; it put him in the crosshairs.

NOW HE FACED A CHALLENGE…

Using Paul to flush out her fugitive was risky, but teaming with him was downright dangerous. In his arms, Kendra felt like a woman, with a woman’s desires. But with his powers, could she hide her biggest secret—that she’d fallen for him? And that for the first time in her career, she was afraid…afraid to live without him if she couldn’t get her man?

“You’re used to getting your way with women, but I’m out of your reach.”

“Not at all,” Paul murmured, the warmth of his breath touching her lips.

Kendra stepped around him. “I came to New Mexico to retrieve a suspect. That and staying alive are my only priorities.”

“Life is short. Enjoying special moments is all we’ve got,” he said. “Don’t pass them up.”

“I’m not your type, Paul. I want a lot more from a guy than a good time in bed.”

“So you’re looking for your forever guy?”

She nodded. “As I see it, the real danger is settling for something less.” She needed to believe that, but Paul had awakened a new yearning inside her. It remained deep inside her heart—a temptation couched in two simple words. What if?

Acknowledgment

With special thanks to the following gentlemen who were there when I needed their help. You’re all terrific.

Art Lester, Retired Deputy U.S. Marshal

Duffy Spies, Retired Deputy U.S. Marshal

Sergeant Ryan Tafoya, Bernalillo County Sheriffs Department

Secrets of the Lynx
Aimée Thurlo

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Aimée Thurlo is a nationally known bestselling author. She’s a winner of a Career Achievement Award from RT Book Reviews, a New Mexico Book Award in contemporary fiction and a Willa Cather Award in the same category. Her novels have been published in twenty countries worldwide.

She also cowrites the bestselling Ella Clah mainstream mystery series praised in the New York Times Book Review.

Aimée was born in Havana, Cuba, and lives with her husband of thirty-nine years in Corrales, New Mexico. Her husband, David, was raised on the Navajo Indian Reservation.

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CAST OF CHARACTERS

Paul Grayhorse—A sniper’s bullet had killed his partner and ended Paul’s career as a U.S. marshal. Now the shooter was back, planning on finishing the job. Paul’s only hope of putting his demons to rest was by teaming up with a sexy marshal who’d already made her own share of enemies.

Kendra Armstrong—Just as she was closing in on a fugitive, she’d been pulled off the operation and reassigned. Was this just a ploy to protect one of their own playing both sides in a gun running operation? Unfortunately, the only man she could trust right now was a dangerous distraction who might just get her killed.

Preston Bowman—A dedicated professional, he was a tenacious police detective who lived for the job, but Paul was his foster brother, and family always came first.

Evan Thomas—Thomas was Kendra’s supervisory inspector, a career man well respected in law enforcement. He’d lost faith in her abilities and wanted her on desk duty. If she couldn’t bring in the fugitive trying to kill a former U.S. marshal, he’d come down from Denver and do the job himself.

Chris Miller—The former military sniper turned hit man had changed his appearance more than once, so he had an edge. He’d been paid to kill only one marshal, but if somebody else got in the way, he’d take them out for nothing.

Yolanda Sharpe—A young woman with a criminal record and an ex-con boyfriend, she’d made the short list after setting an officer up to be killed. Yolanda claimed to be innocent. The only problem was, her alibi was on the run from the cops.

Garrett Hawthorne—He’d escaped the law enforcement net, though his brother was now in prison. With enough money to hire the best wet-work specialist in the country, Garrett stayed in the shadows, waiting for just the right moment to exact his revenge.

Annie Crenshaw—She’d fallen on hard times and now worked the streets. She’d do anything to feed her drug habit, even if it meant selling out one of the few men who still treated her with respect.

To Amy Bennett because her cupcakes and cake decorating skills always make people smile.

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 Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Epilogue

Excerpt

Chapter One

Paul Grayhorse stepped back into the shadows as a jagged flash of lightning sliced across the darkened New Mexico sky. He had a bad feeling about tonight, and it had nothing to do with the storm raging around him.

Ignoring the pain coming from deep inside his right shoulder, he remained focused. The bullet wound had healed, but the nagging ache that remained was a reminder that even the briefest lapse in attention could have devastating results. In less than three seconds, a sniper had taken the life of his partner, Deputy U.S. Marshal Judy Whitacre. Her death, and the high caliber bullet that had torn through his own shoulder that day, had changed his life forever.

He shook off the bitter memory as he continued to keep watch. It was a typically cold, rainless New Mexico storm, one of hundreds he’d seen while growing up in the Four Corners. There was the usual blend of wind and stinging dust, but no rain or sleet to ease the parched desert.

Given a choice, most people would have stayed inside on an October night like this one. That’s where he should have been, too, sitting in his armchair, beer in hand, watching the football game next to a bowl of corn tortilla chips and hot salsa.

Yet here he was, standing on the lawn beside an old brick office building in downtown Hartley waiting for an arranged meeting with a mysterious, prospective client.

The skies rumbled again and the ground shook, rattling windows all the way down the block. Tense and ever alert, he kept his gaze on the darkened street. He’d considered staying in his parked truck, but this wasn’t a stakeout, and his visibility and mobility would be restricted inside the cab of his pickup.

Tonight was a first. Since leaving the U.S. Marshals Service he’d worked several cases that had involved teaming up with his brothers, but this time he was going solo, and he liked it.

The woman who’d called his agency asking for help had captured his interest right from the get-go. Yolanda—at least that was the name she’d used—had dialed his office late last night. She’d spoken in a harsh whisper, her words coming out in a rush. Certain that her abusive, soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, an officer in the Hartley P.D., would be at his own home tonight watching the game, she’d insisted on meeting in this tiny downtown park after hours. It was near her workplace, she’d said, and on her way home.

All things considered, Yolanda, or whoever she was, had come to the right P.I. He’d never had much patience with bullies, particularly those who preyed on women.

As the minutes stretched by and the temperature continued to drop, he reached into his pocket for his cell phone and dialed his foster brother, Preston.

Like it was with all his foster brothers, Preston and he had come from completely different backgrounds. Yet, once they’d been taken in by Hosteen Silver, the traditionalist Navajo medicine man who’d become their foster father, they’d grown as close, or closer, than blood brothers.

Preston Bowman, now a Hartley Police detective, lived for his job. Even though it was getting close to seven, Paul knew his brother would still be clocked in.

Preston picked up on the first ring and barked his name.

“It’s me,” Paul said.

“What’s up?” Preston asked.

“I’m supposed to meet a client—Yolanda—no last name. She contacted me last night claiming she’d been trying to break up with her boyfriend, a Hartley cop. He’s apparently started using her as a punching bag, so she’s asked for my protection.”

“Hook her up with the chief’s office or Internal Affairs. We have ways of dealing with this kind of thing,” Preston answered immediately.

“I suggested that, but she doesn’t trust the police. She thinks they’ll cover for one of their own.”

“No way. We try to keep things in-house, sure, but we make sure the situation gets handled. We take a dim view of domestic abuse,” he said. “Give her my number and tell her to come see me.”

“I’ll pass that on when she shows up, but if she says no, I’m taking her case.”

“You’re waiting for her right now?”

“Yeah. She’s late. She said six-thirty.”

“You thinking maybe her boyfriend found out she was looking for help?”

“The thought occurred to me, yeah,” Paul said.

“She wouldn’t give you a last name?”

“Nope. She was whispering when she called, so wherever she was, she was worried about being overheard. All I got was a description so I could spot her,” Paul said.

“Go on.”

“Blonde, five foot seven, average build. She said she’d be driving a green Ford SUV, wearing a denim jacket and jeans, and carrying a red handbag. She sound familiar?”

“You mean do I know an officer with a girlfriend named Yolanda who fits that bill?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry, doesn’t ring a bell. Give me her number and I’ll run it through the system.”

Paul gave him the number straight from his caller ID, then waited.

“That matches a residential landline for a woman named Yolanda Sharpe. The address is on Hartley’s south side—485 Conejo Road. Hang on a sec. Here’s more. Yolanda’s got a record—shoplifting, check fraud and a few misdemeanors,” Preston said. “She’s served six months jail time.”

“Interesting background, but she still doesn’t deserve to get batted around.”

“True, but I think you should back off, at least for now. Look at the facts. She didn’t give you her full name or even the first name of her boyfriend. Now she’s late. Who knows what might have gone down? What if the boyfriend shows up instead, mad as hell and looking for a fight? With that bum shoulder, if he comes at you, you’re going down hard.”

“Like hell.”

“Look, bro, something’s off. You felt that too or you wouldn’t have called,” Preston said. “Anyone who checks you out on the internet knows you like riding to the rescue. Remember that roughneck you threw out the window after he cornered the waitress at the Blue Corral? Made the cable news.”

“That was self-defense.” Paul chuckled softly. “And my shoulder didn’t hold me back. He flew a good ten feet.”

“Okay, so you’re not backing off. Give me your location and I’ll join you. You might be able to use a little backup.”

“Just don’t get in my way,” Paul growled. “I’m standing behind the pines in the park beside the Murray Building on Main. My truck’s across the street.”

“I’m in my cruiser now. My ETA’s only three minutes or less, so try to stay out of trouble till then.”

Paul hung up, his gaze still on the empty street. His brother was right. He had a sixth sense about some things, and right now his instincts were telling him trouble was close at hand.

Muscles tensing up, Paul reached for the lynx fetish he wore around his neck on a leather cord. The slivers of pyrite that comprised its eyes glittered ominously. He’d never been able to figure out why, or how, but whenever danger was near, the eyes of the lynx would take on a light of their own. Tonight, maybe it was the lightning or the cold playing tricks on his senses, but either way, he’d learned not to ignore the warning.

After checking his watch one last time, Paul decided to walk back over to his pickup. He’d just stepped out of cover when a blue truck pulled up to the curb and the driver leaned toward the passenger’s side window. As a brilliant flash of lightning lit up the night sky, he saw the pistol in the driver’s hand.

Paul dove to the ground just as two loud gunshots ripped through the air.

Paul rolled to his right, and using a tree trunk as cover, he rose to one knee, pistol in hand, but it was too late. The truck was already speeding away. Making a split-second decision, he ran after it, hoping to read the plates.

He hadn’t gone fifty yards when he heard the wail of an approaching siren. A heartbeat later Preston rounded the corner and pulled to a screeching stop beside him.

“You hit?” Preston asked, leaning over and shouting out the passenger’s side window.

“No.” Paul opened the door of his brother’s unit and jumped in. “Blue pickup, turned south down Applewood.”

“Make and model?”

“Ford 150, I think,” Paul said, reaching for the shoulder belt as Preston hit the gas. “Or maybe a Chevy. The tailgate was down and it happened in a flash.”

“Let me guess. No Yolanda?”

“I never got a look at the driver. All I saw was the pistol sticking out the passenger’s window. If that lightning flash hadn’t lit up everything at just the right time, I would have been on the ground right now, a soon-to-be chalk outline.”

“You were set up, bro.” Preston turned the corner at high speed, yanking Paul to one side. “The shooter can’t be far. Keep an eye out for taillights on the side streets.”

Paul kept a close watch on the area as his foster brother raced down the street. Traffic here was light. Hartley was barely a city. Most downtown businesses were closed before six, and the area restaurants and bars were all farther east or west.

“In your gut you knew all along that this wasn’t just another domestic abuse situation. I’m right, aren’t I?” Preston said as he took another left, then slowed down and directed his spotlight into the darkened alley they passed.

“I didn’t know, but I had a feeling something wasn’t right,” Paul said. “I’d just decided to call it a night when it went down.”

Preston slowed as they passed a bank parking lot, giving them time to study every inch of the well-lit area. “I think we struck out. The pickup’s gone.”

After another ten minutes, Preston picked up his radio and called off the other patrol cars in the area.

“So, you gonna report this to the marshals service?” he finally asked Paul.

“Yeah. I have to because Miller is still at large.” Paul understood his brother’s lack of enthusiasm. Local departments hated dealing with the feds. But locating Chris Miller, the man who’d killed his partner and wounded him, was a priority. “It’s been ten months since the shooting, so this is probably unrelated, but no matter. I still have to report an incident like this.”

Silence stretched out between them.

“What’s eating you?” Preston finally asked.

“What happened tonight matches the prediction Hosteen Silver left for me,” Paul said. A traditionalist medicine man, Hosteen Silver had respected his culture by avoiding the use of proper names. Instead, he’d gone by a nickname that fit him perfectly. Hosteen meant mister and Silver alluded to the color of his long, shoulder-length hair.

“You’re talking about the letters we all got after his death?”

“Yeah.”

Preston nodded thoughtfully. “The old man...he knew things. At first I thought it was just tricks, him picking up on subtle clues, like some savvy street hustler. But it was more than that. He had a real gift.”

“Yeah, he did, and whatever he foretold was usually right on target,” Paul said.

“So what did he say would lay ahead for you?”

Paul recited it from memory. “‘When Dark Thunder speaks in the silence, enemies will become friends, and friends, enemies. Lynx will bring more questions, but it’s Grit who’ll show you the way if you become his friend. Life and death will call, but in the end, you’ll choose your own path.’”

“You saw the pistol because of the lightning, that’s what you said, right?” Preston said, then seeing him nod, added, “And the business district was pretty quiet.”

“Yeah, but this time, our old man’s prediction is going to be somewhat off the mark. Face it, the day Grit greets me as a friend will be the day after never.” Hosteen Silver’s horse hated him.

“Yeah. Whenever he hears your name his ears go flat and his eyes bug out.”

Silence stretched out again.

“I’ll call the marshals service as soon as I get home,” Paul said. “A landline will get me a better connection, particularly on a night like this.”

“Better not wait or go home either, if it’s really Chris Miller. You should stay at a secure location with backup nearby. Let me get hold of Daniel and Gene and have them meet us in Copper Canyon. For us, that’s the most secure place on earth.”

Paul nodded. All five of his brothers knew that formation like the back of their hands and, there, in a narrow, dead-end canyon, the tactical advantage was theirs.

Paul thought back to the phone call from Yolanda that had led up to this. He had no regrets. He’d been growing restless these past few months, eager to do something more than watch surveillance monitors, the bulk of his business these days.

Now, maybe, fate was finally giving him a chance to get back to the work he loved and pay his debt to the past. Throughout those long months of rehab, he’d kept going by telling himself that someday he’d find Miller, that it was inevitable their paths would cross again.

The possibility that Chris Miller had actually come after him now seemed almost too good to be true.

“Don’t expect me to hide out,” Paul said, then after a second added, “If it’s Miller again, our face-off is long overdue. This is personal. Come morning I’m heading back to town.”

* * *

U.S. D EPUTY M ARSHAL Kendra Armstrong was nearly exhausted after another eighteen hour day. It was two o’clock in the morning, pitch-black outside, and she was alone in a remote corner of New Mexico’s badlands. The headlights of her tiny rental car were the only illumination within miles.

She should have been back in Denver, in on the takedown of the fugitive she’d been after for the past six months. With effort, she pushed back her anger.

According to reports, it was possible that Chris Miller, a high-threat outlaw, had finally surfaced here. Her record for tracking down and capturing runaways fugitives was second to none, so she’d been immediately ordered to New Mexico. Still, the sudden reassignment had taken her by surprise. She hated surprises.

As she eased the tiny rental sedan along a dried-up stream bed, the car’s tires began to lose traction. Feeling the sedan bogging down, she decided to leave the soft, sandy track.

She’d traveled less than one hundred yards when the undercarriage scraped loudly, the screech so loud it hurt her teeth. The car suddenly stopped, her tires spinning from lack of grip. The wobbly tilt of her vehicle told her she’d high centered on bedrock.

Kendra switched off the ignition and climbed out. The light in the distance teased her—the ranch house where former Deputy U.S. Marshal Paul Grayhorse awaited her arrival, no doubt. She was reaching inside the car for the bottle of water on the seat when she heard something moving in the brush behind her. Kendra instinctively reached for her weapon and turned in a crouch, gun in hand.

Three armed figures were standing several feet away from her, but it was too dark to make out their faces. The tallest of the three quickly blinded her by aiming his flashlight at her face.

“U.S. Marshal. Lower your weapons,” she snapped, shifting her aim to the person holding the flashlight. If she went down, she’d take him with her.

“We were expecting you to stick to the road,” the man with the flashlight said, instantly lowering the beam and putting away his gun. He stepped forward. “I’m former Marshal Paul Grayhorse. These are my brothers, Detective Preston Bowman and Daniel Hawk.”

“Kendra Armstrong, Deputy U.S. Marshal,” she said, remembering not to offer to shake hands. Navajos preferred no physical contact with strangers.

Kendra opened her car door, allowing the glow of the dome light to illuminate the area. Even in the muted light she could see the gleam of cold steel in Preston’s eyes, the world-savvy gaze of a seasoned cop. Daniel Hawk had an easy smile, but he stood erect with his shoulders rigid, like someone who’d served in the military. Having grown up with a full bird colonel for a dad, she knew the stance well.

Yet it was Paul Grayhorse, the man with the flashlight, who’d captured and held her attention. Now, there was a man who seemed to be far more than the sum of his spectacular parts. He stood tall, with strong, broad shoulders, and had an amazingly steady gaze. Through sheer confidence, he commanded the situation.

“I was afraid I’d bog down in the sand, so I decided to veer off the path,” she said, holstering her weapon.

Paul gave her a heart-stopping smile. “You’re not the first visitor to get hung up on the sandstone out here.”

“I’m glad we’re all on the same side at least. I would have hated having to take on all three of you,” she said, her gaze studying the men.

Paul smiled. “Preston’s the smallest and he can’t fight his way out of a paper bag. I bet you were planning on taking him on first.”

Daniel laughed. Preston scowled but said nothing.

“What strategy would you have used? Attacking the good-looking brothers, or the one with the flashlight?” Daniel pressed, cocking his head toward Paul.

“None of the above,” she said with a tiny smile. “I’m going to need all of you to help me get off that rock.”

Paul laughed. “We’ll get it back on solid ground for you. Just give us a minute.”

His reassuring, confident tone was soothing. Without thinking, her gaze drifted over Paul’s shoulders. She’d seen him favor his right shoulder slightly when he’d put away his weapon, so she knew it was still causing him some pain. According to what she’d read in his file, that gunshot wound had shredded muscle and forced him to take an early retirement.

“No need for heavy lifting. If we can get a shovel we can scoop up dirt, add some brush, and form a gripping surface beneath the drive tires,” she said.

Paul, who’d already moved around to the back of the sedan with his brothers, looked up quickly. “So you’ve heard about my injury. Don’t let it fool you. I can do whatever has to be done.”

She heard the dark undertone in his voice and realized she’d struck a nerve. Paul was fighting the consequences of his gunshot wound by not allowing himself to accept limitations. Although she didn’t know Paul very well, she liked him already.

She closed the car door, placing them all in the dark again. “I was more concerned about you standing out here in the open when there’s a gunman on your tail, Paul,” she said.

Paul shook his head. “No one’s around.”

“And you know that...how? There’s no telling what could be out there in the dark,” she said.

“Trust me, if anyone was here, we’d know,” Paul said.

“An elephant herd could be out there, and we’d never see them,” she said.

Paul chuckled. “This was—is—our home. Once you’re in tune with the land, you can see beyond the deepest shadows.” He handed Preston his flashlight.

She stared at him for a moment, wondering if he truly believed that metaphysical nonsense. No matter how you felt about the land, no one could see into the night, not without special gear anyway.

“You’re not convinced,” Paul said, not making it a question.

As his brothers crouched by the car, using the flashlight to check out the extent of the problem, Paul gestured back up the dirt track. “Nature itself lets you know if there’s trouble. Look down the road. See that coyote crossing from north to south?”

She strained to peer into the long shadows of night and caught a glimpse of something low, moving fast. “Over there?” she asked, pointing.

“Yeah. If there were human beings skulking around, the animal would have known and never crossed the road, putting himself in full view like that. Coyote survives by staying attuned to his surroundings just like the other animals here in Copper Canyon. That’s also how we knew someone had come into the canyon long before we heard your vehicle. Everything became still—too still.”

“Hey, you two gonna chat all night?” Daniel called out.

Kendra realized that for a few moments she’d totally forgotten about the car and her situation. Paul’s low, gravelly voice and his intense gaze had completely sidetracked her.

“Got a plan yet?” Paul called back.

“Yeah, if we lift the rear tires off the rock, it’ll roll down onto level ground. Kendra, you’ll need to get behind the wheel and put it into neutral,” Daniel said.

“Preston, you take the middle, I’ll take the left, and Daniel can take the right,” Paul said.

“No offense, Paul, but maybe we should trade places so you won’t have to stress your shoulder,” Kendra said.

“No need,” Paul said with a quick half smile. “I can lift more with one hand than my brothers can with two.”

Preston laughed as Daniel answered, “Next time I need to unload a van full of tactical gear I’ll give you a call, bro.”

“Once the car’s free, I’ll drive all you guys back to the house,” Kendra said, then got behind the wheel and placed the sedan in neutral.

A few seconds later, the car rose and began to roll forward. It rocked a little as they set it back down but continued to move forward.

“Okay, guys, jump in,” she said. “We need to get to the house as soon as possible. I don’t think anyone followed me here, but you can’t be too safe.”

Paul’s brothers entered the two-door sedan from the passenger side, and climbed into the back.

“Expect some bone-jarring bumps along the way,” Paul said, taking the seat on her right.

His words repeated themselves in her mind. Something told her this case would play out the same way.

Chapter Two

Kendra drove at a slow and steady pace to avoid losing traction in the sandy ground. Amazingly enough, there were no more mishaps. Although she repeatedly scraped the wheel wells against the brush, a sound like fingernails being raked across a chalkboard, the rest of the drive was uneventful.

Within a minute or two she saw the rectangular stucco frame house nestled against the wall of the canyon. Moonlight shimmered off its metal roof—a touch of civilization in an area that appeared to be largely untouched by man.

“It looks kind of lonely out here,” she said quietly.

“You’re a city girl, I take it?” Paul asked. Seeing her nod, he continued. “Life moves at a different pace in this canyon, but there’s plenty of company. Big cats hunt here, and bears include the canyon in their territory, too, along with coyotes. Then there are all the smaller creatures. Copper Canyon is teeming with life.”

“But no humans beside us, right?” she asked.

“There are several Navajo families within a dozen miles of here, but they’re all pretty scattered. What makes this place an ideal safe house is that there’s only one way to approach it, and the canyon itself transmits sound like a tunnel.”

Kendra pulled up beside the house and parked next to a big blue Dodge pickup.

“You two should probably go inside. We’ll bring in some firewood,” Daniel said, signaling Preston and gesturing to a cord of wood stacked beneath the roof overhang.

Paul led the way to the front door and invited her in. “Make yourself at home.”

As she entered the living room/kitchen combination, she glanced around. The interior had a casual, rustic, Southwest elegance.

To her left along the far wall were kitchen appliances and a wide counter. A half dozen feet away from there stood a dining table and some straight-backed chairs that were handcrafted from knotty pine.

Farther in, near the center of the large open space, was a sofa covered in heavy, rich brown leather. The pine frame, with its decorative grooves and diamond-shaped patterns, matched the design on the table and chairs.

Beautiful red, black, and indigo Navajo rugs were hung on the walls facing the big stone and iron fireplace. A smaller one woven in red, black and white was draped over the back of the couch.

“I like this place,” she said. “It feels...welcoming.”

Paul smiled. “Over the years I’ve heard it described in many ways. Each person sees something different, but the consensus is always the same. Our foster father’s home agrees with people and sets them at ease.”

“I love the pattern on that Navajo rug draped over the couch,” she said.

“That’s an antique blanket our foster father was given in payment for a ritual he performed for one of his patients. Almost everything woven prior to 1890 is a blanket. Navajos had little use for floor coverings since keeping warm was their priority. Then trading post owners started encouraging The People to weave rugs instead. Those were thicker and more appealing to the tourist trade.” He went over to the couch. “Touch the blanket. It’s soft and very warm.”

She ran her fingertips over the woven fabric. “It feels wonderful, and so beautiful, too.”

As Daniel and Preston came back in with armloads of firewood, talk naturally shifted back to business.

“I’ve read through your files, Paul,” Kendra said. “From the reports I saw, you were on protection duty, fully prepared. Things went south for you and your partner after you reached the DC courthouse’s steps.”

He nodded. “I’d checked the whereabouts of the judge’s known enemies, including the ex-soldier Chris Miller, the Hawthorn cartel’s wet-work specialist. Our intel said he was hiding out in Mexico, well out of reach. That turned out to be wrong. Later, video surveillance cameras across the street from the shooting revealed he’d been on the scene.”

She nodded slowly. “Our problem’s been that Miller’s a master at changing his appearance,” Kendra said, glancing at Daniel and Preston who were stacking wood. “Following an auto injury that took place just after he left the military, he had substantial facial reconstruction. The only subsequent photo we have of him is a very low-quality one taken from that video. It was actually thanks to a partial fingerprint lifted from a parking meter, combined with facial recognition software, that we were able to confirm his ID at all.”

“That faulty intel cost my partner her life,” Paul said. “What’s worse, Miller’s still in the wind.”

She could feel the pain vibrating through his words. Though it hadn’t been in his file, she’d interviewed other marshals before coming here and been told that Judy and Paul had been very close. Some had speculated that the two had become lovers.

As her gaze drifted over the man before her, she could understand the temptation he might have posed to his late partner. There was something about Paul, an intangible that went beyond those long legs, narrow waist and a chest any woman would be tempted to nestle into.

Yet all things considered, what drew her most was the mercurial quality reflected in his gaze. Those dark eyes could sparkle with intent, determination, or even gentleness, in a flash.

Paul Grayhorse intrigued her, but this wasn’t the time for distractions. She looked away immediately, refocusing on her mission.

Having replenished the fire, Preston patted his brother on the back. “Police work is always filled with the unexpected, bro. What we do only comes with one guarantee—a lousy paycheck.”

“We all go into this kind of work knowing the risks,” Daniel, a security consultant, said, “but at least we don’t die by inches, chained to a desk.”

Paul crossed the room, stopped at the coffeepot on top of the stove, and poured himself a cup. “That’s exactly why I had to expand my business to include actual cases. Sitting in front of surveillance monitors all day was driving me nuts.”

“No one’s arguing that, but you should have waited until you had full mobility in your arm again.” Preston checked the handgun at his waist, then zipped up his jacket and brought out a set of keys from his pocket.

“You leaving?” Paul asked.

“Yeah. I want to find Yolanda Sharpe, then run tonight’s events past my informants. I also want to know if any new talent, Chris Miller in particular, has shown up in the area recently.”

“That’s why I won’t be staying here long either,” Paul said. “If someone’s gunning for me, I won’t be hard to find. Next time, I’ll be waiting.”

“I can’t stop you, but that’s a bad idea, Paul. You’re too close to this,” Kendra said. “I’m here to bring Miller in, so we both want the same thing. Give me a chance to work this case first.”

“Are you officially taking over the investigation?” Preston asked her.

“Not yet,” Kendra said. “Until we figure out who we’re dealing with I’ll be working closely with your department, but it’s still your case.”

Daniel grabbed his jacket next, then nodded toward a rifle case barely visible beneath the sofa. “I’m leaving you my AR-15, with three full magazines. It’s got a thermal imaging kit you won’t believe. Just take care of it. I’ve got to hit the road, too. I’m conducting a training op at New Horizon Energy, the tribe’s secure facility. Lots of VIPs coming in to observe.”

Kendra waited for the two men to leave, then spoke. “Now that it’s just the two of us, brief me on what went down earlier this evening.”

“You must have seen my report,” he said, taking a seat at the kitchen table. He removed his pistol and holster, leaving them within reach.

“Of course, but I want to hear it directly from you, Paul, particularly anything you may have remembered since then.” She scooted her chair back, then took off her dark blue cardigan. As she did, sparks of static electricity lit the air. Her shoulder-length auburn hair stood out, twirling erratically, some strands tickling her nose. She brushed her hair back with a hand, trying to tame it into place.

As he recounted the events, Kendra jotted down the new details in a small spiral notebook, noting how sharp his instincts were.

Kendra tried hard to focus exclusively on Paul, but one strand of hair kept evading her and tickling her nose. She jutted out her bottom lip and blew hard, trying to force it away.

“Why did you stick around once you realized that something was off?” she asked, wanting to know more about the way he thought things through out in the field.

“I couldn’t be sure that she was setting me up, and I didn’t want to bail on someone who needed my help.”

Kendra watched Paul as he spoke. She couldn’t help but notice how calm he was. It was normal for people to shift and move around when they were being questioned, not necessarily a sign that anything was wrong, but Paul remained perfectly still.

The rigid control he held over himself reminded her of her father, the colonel. Never show anyone what you’re thinking—that had practically been the colonel’s mantra. She and her brother had learned that lesson well.

When he finished his account, Paul waited as she walked to one side of the window and studied the area outside. “You don’t have to keep checking,” he said as she returned to the table. “We’re safe here. If you’re unsure, all you have to do is listen.”

Kendra did. After half a minute, she heard the cry of a coyote baying at the moon.

“Coyote wouldn’t be indulging its instincts to call to the night if intruders were in the canyon,” he said.

“I never heard him at all until right now.”

“No problem. I did.”

She got the message. They were on his turf, and here, Paul held the advantage. “Strategically, Copper Canyon is a great place for you, but not for me. I came to do a job, and the sooner I find what I need, the better it’ll be for everyone.”

“Do you have a specific plan in mind?” Paul said.

“First, I need to find out if Miller’s really here, and if he’s the one who came after you today. I could really use your help with that part of it—but only if you can follow my lead and stay on target. I won’t allow my work to be compromised by someone planning to cowboy up.”

“I can handle it.” He unplugged the coffeepot, then leaned back against the counter and faced her.

“Okay, then. After I grab a few hours’ sleep we’ll drive back to Hartley. I have to find a way to get the cooperation of the local businesses so I can gather up any of the local surveillance camera video within range of the shooting incident. If we have to resort to warrants, that’ll cost us time. I’ll also have to coordinate my efforts with your brother and the Hartley P.D. so we don’t end up tripping over each other.”

“You’re hoping one of those cameras will reveal Miller was the shooter or, at the very least, in the area?” Seeing her nod, he continued. “I can help you get what you need. My company specializes in electronic surveillance, and some of those businesses are clients of mine. The others, well, chances are they’ve heard of me and my agency.”

The logs in the fireplace were burning down, and feeling cold, she jammed her hands into her slacks. “What concerns me is that your right shoulder is still giving you problems. You sure you’re ready to be out in the field?”

His eyes darkened ominously, and she had to force herself to hold her ground.

“Muscle damage restricts my mobility somewhat, that’s true, but investigations are mostly legwork.” He paused. “If what’s really worrying you is that I’ll forget I’m not the one carrying the badge, you’re wasting your energy. I want answers and a resolution to my partner’s murder. I don’t care who gets the credit.”

“Tell me this. Are you looking for revenge, or justice?”

He paused for several moments before replying. “There was a time when there was nothing I wanted more than revenge, but I’ve moved past that. What I need now is to see the case closed and whoever killed Judy behind bars.”

Though he remained calm, Kendra heard the undercurrent of emotions in his words. He was a man on a mission, and she didn’t blame him. Yet the question foremost in her mind remained. Paul was on the hunt for a man who’d killed someone dear to him. Would he be an asset to the investigation or a liability?

“You can accept my help or not, Kendra, that’s up to you. But I’m leaving here early tomorrow and I’m investigating the case.”

“You can’t go home, Paul, not yet. Think about it. If the gunman is still after you, that’s the first place he’ll look.”

“I don’t plan on sitting around. I’ll be on the move, digging for answers.”

She narrowed her gaze. “So, what you’re telling me is that I either accept your help or you’ll go solo and probably get in my way.”

“I won’t give you reason to charge me with obstruction, but unless it’s hard evidence, I’ll be keeping whatever I learn to myself.” He straddled one of the chairs and regarded her patiently. “It’s your call. I’ve got some great sources in town who’ll help me if I ask, but they won’t give you, an outsider and a stranger, the time of day without a warrant. If you want answers quickly, I’m your best bet.”

There was something infinitely masculine about the way he was sitting, his steady gaze on her. Paul was all testosterone wrapped in a nice tight package of muscles, courage and pride.

“You’re trying to push me into a corner,” she said.

“Nah. If I were, we’d both enjoy it more,” he said, giving her the most amazing lopsided grin.

She glared at him, a look she’d learned from her dad, the colonel, but Paul never even flinched. He calmly gazed back, challenging her with his easy smile and iron will.

This was getting her nowhere, and the fact was, he held all the cards right now. “All right, we’ll work together, but I’m wearing the badge, so follow my lead.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” he said, standing.

He’d agreed a little too quickly for her tastes, but she’d take it as a win. “I’m good at what I do, Paul. You’ll find that out soon enough. If Miller’s here, I’ll take him down.” Once again she blew the annoying strand away from her face.

He strode up to her, stopping so close she could feel the warmth of his body. A shiver touched her spine, but refusing to step away, she threw her shoulders back and met his gaze.

Paul smiled, brushing his hand over the side of her face and pushing away the strand of hair. “There you go. I saw you crinkling your nose and trying to blow it away. I thought I’d help.”

He towered over her. Awareness, the raw and totally inappropriate kind, made her heart begin to race. “Static electricity. No humidity here in the desert.” She stepped around him quickly. She’d glom it down with a half can of hair spray if necessary from now on.

“All right then,” she said. “We leave in the morning. You lead the way out so I won’t get stuck again.”

“Why did you rent a sedan? That wasn’t a very practical choice for the Four Corners.”

“No kidding. I flew into the Hartley airport planning to rent something with four-wheel drive, but the agency had most of their vehicles on reserve for an event over at the power plant.”

He nodded. “Daniel’s training exercise. They put on a show for politicians and investors.”

She walked around the big room, putting more distance between them and pretending to admire the decor. Paul was a living, breathing temptation. It had been a long time since she’d met a man who could make her pulse start racing just by stepping close to her.

“As long as the sniper is out there, one of us should stay awake and keep watch. We need a schedule,” she said.

“We are safe,” he repeated with his usual calm. “But, okay, what do you have in mind?”

“How about four-hour rotating shifts?” she said.

“Fine. I’ll take the first watch,” he said. “I’ll need to be a lot more tired before I can doze off anyway.”

As he reached down to adjust a log on the fire, she saw him rub his shoulder. “Do you need painkillers?” she asked, wishing she’d considered that possibility earlier. If his senses were occasionally lulled by medicine of any kind...

“My shoulder aches a bit from time to time, but I don’t take anything for it. There’s no need,” he said. “The reason I wouldn’t be able to sleep right now is because I’m not tired enough. I’ve never required the same amount of rest most people do—a plus in my former and current professions.”

“If I don’t get enough sleep, my brain doesn’t work right, and at the moment, I’m exhausted,” she said. “It’s almost three a.m. now, so let me sleep till seven. Then you can wake me and get some sleep yourself while I get in touch with your brother and see what he or his people have found out. Once you’re up we’ll drive in to Hartley.”

“Preston will have something for you by morning, count on it. When he’s working a case, he sleeps even less than I do.”

“One more thing,” she said. “If you need to go outside for any reason, be sure to tell me. I tend to go on the offensive if an unexpected noise wakes me up.”

“You’re always on alert?”

“Yeah. When I’m running down a fugitive or I’m on a protection detail, a part of my brain is always on duty.”

“Good instincts. They’ll keep you in one piece.”

As he glanced away to turn off a lamp, she unhooked her holster. Leaving her weapon inside, she placed it on the coffee table within grasp.

“Use the blanket,” he said, taking the closest chair. “It’s comfortable and warm.”

She pulled it over her. Wrapped in a comfortable cocoon of warmth, Kendra closed her eyes. Without visual cues, she became aware of Paul in a more primal way. She could hear the even sound of his breathing and enjoyed the outdoorsy scent that clung to him.

Though he was quiet, she heard him get up to stoke the fire. The crackling of the logs and the comfort of the blanket worked a magic all their own and soon she drifted off to sleep.

Paul smiled, his gaze resting on Kendra. Although he knew no one was out there, he remained seated on the easy chair closest to a window. Taking off the lynx fetish he wore around his neck, he held it in his palm and gazed at it for a moment. Like all of Hosteen Silver’s gifts, the hand-carved wooden artifact was far more complicated than it appeared to be at a glance.

Lynx was said to be able to peer into the soul of man or beast and see the secrets hidden there. As the owner of the fetish, he knew that gift was his to use, but for many years he’d refused to accept such things were possible.

Slowly, as his mind had opened to new possibilities, he’d discovered that he could always sense when someone was lying to him, or even holding back. In time, he’d stopped searching for logical explanations and grew to accept his newfound ability.

The gift had served him well during his days as a U.S. Marshal and continued to do so now, even though he no longer wore the badge. He leaned back and relaxed, confident that the terrain around the house held no secrets from him or Lynx.

Hearing the rhythmic sound of Kendra’s breathing, he focused on the woman. The blanket had slipped to her waist, and her simple wool sweater, though loose, accentuated her full breasts. Like many women in the marshals service, she did her best to underplay her curves, but thankfully, some things were impossible to hide.

Kendra was an irresistible blend of toughness and gentleness. She was clearly a fighter who’d refused to back down, even when staring down three gun barrels. Yet, in this unguarded moment, she was the most feminine of women.

He’d known all types of females and enjoyed their company, but he’d always had one rule. He never stayed with any particular woman for long. Some had accused him of deliberately keeping his heart out of reach, and there was some truth to that. He didn’t trust relationships. Promises made in the night didn’t last when exposed to the light of day.

He’d only had one relationship that had stood the test of time, the one with his former partner, Judy Whitacre. The reason was plain. Though they’d cared deeply for each other, the job had always come first to both of them. They’d worked together for three years, and although gossip within the ranks had suggested otherwise, they’d never acted on their feelings. They’d both known that crossing that line would have jeopardized their working partnership.

Paul heard the faint rustling of something moving through the brush outside. Although that type of sound usually indicated the presence of an animal, he’d have to check it out. Seeing Kendra was still sound asleep, he slipped noiselessly out the back door.

Chapter Three

Paul moved silently around the outside perimeter of the house, pausing often to listen while searching the trees just beyond.

He’d made his way to the front corner of the house when he saw the source of the sound.

Paul smiled as the lynx took a step forward, almost as if in silent greeting. The last time he’d seen his spiritual brother had been during a particularly low point in his life—his rehabilitation process.

He’d been wandering aimlessly around the canyon during a long, sleepless night, his shoulder a throbbing reminder of the challenges ahead. Anger and pain, his constant companions in those days, had conspired to undermine him at every turn.

Struggling to find the courage to face what still lay ahead for him, he’d stood alone, waging his solitary battle, when he’d heard the low, throaty growl of the cat. Lingering in the shadows, unwilling to come out into the open, was a lynx.

In the animal’s caution, one born of fear, he’d seen his own inability to move forward, and realized then that life was all about choices. His days as a U.S. Marshal were over, but he was still very much alive. He could choose to let his injury define him or build a new future for himself.

Facing the best and worst in himself that night had given him the ability to go on. A few months later, he’d opened his own private investigations firm.

Tonight, as he looked down at the cat and saw the kill the creature had just made, Paul realized that the animal’s focus was his meal. The moment was all that mattered to him.

He, too, wanted to live in the present and stop looking to the past. Yet the sound of Judy’s startled gasp as the bullet passed through his shoulder and into her body continued to haunt him. Until her killer was caught, he’d never be able to move on.

He clutched the lynx fetish in his hand until the wood bit into his skin.

“Don’t move!” Kendra snapped from right behind him.

The animal disappeared in an instant. As it always had been, the cat showed himself to no one except him.

Having recognized Kendra’s voice, he turned around. “Relax—”

She reacted automatically, raising her gun.

Instinct kicked in, and he countered without thinking, sweeping her gun hand, twisting her around, and pulling her back against his chest. With her gun hand pinned to her side, he held her steady, his arms locked around her.

“It’s me,” he repeated, dodging a kick to his instep.

She relaxed instantly. “Paul? I told you to tell me if you left the house. I thought you were in another room and that someone was tampering with the vehicles—or worse! What the heck are you doing out here?”

“I came to see an old friend,” he said, noting that she wasn’t trying to break free.

“Where?” she asked, trying to wriggle out and look around.

Reluctantly, he let her go, noting she had fit just right against him. “Not a person, an animal.”

“You feeding the coyotes or something?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s more complicated than that.”

She searched the area trying to see what he was talking about, but it was too dark. “Come on, let’s go back inside. I don’t want to stay out here any longer than necessary. This is the best time for a sneak attack.”

“Yeah. It’ll be dawn soon,” he said, letting her take the lead in the walk back around the house. “Why don’t you get a little more rest?”

“Can’t. I’m wide awake now.”

“So, how about a real early breakfast then?” he asked.

“Thanks, but, no. It’s too early for me to even think of food,” she said, glancing at her watch. It was a little after five. “Unlike my brother, I’m not a big fan of breakfast. But our father, the colonel, used to insist on it. Personally I feel more primed for work if I have a mug of strong coffee and something sweet, like a doughnut.”

He laughed. “Not much for health food, are you?”

“Hey, I grab a sandwich at lunch. My anchor is a good dinner, when I’m not on the run.”

When they stepped back into the house, Paul walked over to his chair and picked up his jacket. “Since we’re both up, why don’t we get an early start and head back?”

“If we start too early, we’ll have to wake people up. We want them relaxed, not cranky, when we ask for their cooperation,” she said. “Besides, you need to get some rest, too. I need you alert.”

“I grabbed some shut-eye before you arrived here. I’m not tired, and right now there are some things I need to do, like contact Nick and tell him I won’t be at home. I need him to steer clear of my apartment.”

“Nick?”

“He’s the son of the man who owns my rental unit, which is over his coffee shop. Nick also cleans for me and makes sure my fridge is stocked.”

“With my crazy work hours, the food at my place is usually leftover takeout with a coating of green fuzz.”

“So you’re not exactly a domestic goddess, I take it?”

She laughed. “Not even close. You know what it’s like, working double shifts, pulling all-nighters, traveling the red-eye with a prisoner at your side. When I first started out, I put in long hours, but there was time off the clock, too. Then somewhere along the way, the balance shifted.”

He nodded, setting his jacket down again. “It happens like that.”

“One day I discovered that whether I was on the clock or not, my mind was always on the job.”

“Law enforcement is like that. It starts out as a job you love, but pretty soon it’s your life,” he said.

“It gets under your skin,” she said, nodding. “What I love most about it is that every day brings its own challenge.”

“I miss the constant change of pace,” he said. “When I started my agency, my shoulder was still holding me back. All I could really do was set up security, conduct interviews, and manage surveillance monitors for my clients. I spent most of my time pushing paper or watching screens.”

“And it drove you crazy?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I’m a lot happier in the field.”

“I asked you about painkillers before. How much trouble does your shoulder give you these days?”

“It aches from time to time, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. It’s healed up nice.” Rather than have her wonder, he stepped over by the fire and shrugged out of his wool shirt. “Take a look.”

She drew closer to him, started to touch his shoulder, but then changed her mind and dropped her hand to her side. “Through and through, though it must have taken out a lot of muscle. A rifle bullet can do a lot of damage. Rehab must have been tough,” she said softly.

He nodded. “It was, but the daily grind of exercises helped me get everything working again.”

He saw her gaze drop from his shoulder and run slowly down his chest. Women generally liked what they saw, and he was man enough to know when they did. As Kendra licked her lips, a flash of heat shot through him. His shoulder had taken a hit, but the rest of him worked just fine.

“It’s cold. You better put your shirt back on,” she said, her voice husky.

Following an instinct as old as time, he curled his fingers beneath the curtain of her auburn hair and pulled her closer to him. His kiss was gentle, coaxing, not forcing, and as her lips parted, he deepened the kiss, tasting the velvety smoothness inside.

Kendra moaned softly, then pulled away, sucking in her breath. “Whoa!”

“My fault,” he said.

She shook her head. “If I wasn’t working a case I wouldn’t have pulled back. That felt...really nice,” she said, then took a steadying breath. “Paul, you’re a player. I’ve already picked up on that. But I’m here to take down a high-threat fugitive. Getting sidetracked could cost us our lives, so this stops now. What happened is just the result of tension and fatigue. You know that, right?”

He said nothing, but in his gut, he knew differently. The attraction between them was real, and it was strong. He watched her for a moment longer. It was exciting to see the play of light and shadow in her hazel eyes. Kendra wanted more, just as he did, but she was right, the timing was all wrong.

“I’m going to get myself something to eat. Fresh coffee for you?” he growled, walking toward the back counter.

“Please.”

“No doughnuts in the house, so how about leftover fry bread and honey?”

“That sounds great,” she said.

An hour later, though it was still early, she’d finished her report, stowed away her laptop, and was on the phone with Paul’s brother, Detective Preston Bowman, who was en route to the station from his home. “If you turn up any connection between Ms. Sharpe and Chris Miller I want to be there for the interview. Let me know what you get as soon as possible.”

When Paul came into the front room moments later, Kendra was putting her cell phone back into her jacket pocket. As her gaze took in his backpack, she stood. “Shall I follow you into town?”

“I have an idea. We’ve already agreed to work together, so it makes a lot more sense to ride together, too. My four-wheel drive pickup will get us anywhere in the Four Corners that a vehicle can go. Your sedan—not so much. Why not just leave it here?”

“All right,” she said after a beat.

They collected her gear and headed to his truck. “While you stow away your stuff I want to make a quick call to the kid who takes care of my place,” he said. “I already left a voice mail for Nick, but I want to talk to him and make sure he got the message.”

“Sure. Go ahead,” Kendra said, placing her luggage behind the front seat.

Paul placed the call from his truck while the engine was warming up, and a few seconds later Nick answered. “Hey, Mr. Grayhorse, you want me to bring breakfast up now?”

“No, Nick, I’m not at home. There’s something else I need you to do. If you notice anyone hanging around my place, or if someone comes by asking about me, call my brother, Detective Bowman, ASAP. Then call me,” Paul said, and added, “Avoid anyone who looks the least bit suspicious or dangerous. I’ve made some enemies, and I don’t want you involved. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Paul ended his call, but before they were halfway down the dirt road to the gate, Kendra’s phone rang.

“Armstrong,” she clipped, then listened for a moment. “Good job, Preston! Keep an eye on her, but hang back till I get there if possible. If Miller’s at the apartment, I want in on the takedown.”

Kendra placed her phone back in her jacket pocket. “Your brother’s got it together. He’s tracked down Yolanda Sharpe. She’s home right now and, according to her neighbor, has a new boyfriend visiting. Preston doesn’t have the guy’s name, but the description he has of the subject doesn’t exclude Miller.” She paused, then continued, “The way Miller managed to disappear until now makes me think he’s changed his appearance again, but what’s hard is faking height. Miller’s six foot one.”

“So you want to meet Preston at Sharpe’s place?” Paul asked.

“Yeah. Let’s head there,” she said, giving him the address.

“When you question them, let me sit in. If either Yolanda or her boyfriend lies to you, I’ll know,” he said.

“You sound awfully sure of yourself.”

“I am,” he answered, feeling the weight of the lynx fetish around his neck.

Chapter Four

Although she’d placed her small carry-on in the rear of the cab, she’d kept her laptop with her. While Paul drove, Kendra worked on the updated report she’d have to file tonight.

They’d reached the outskirts of Hartley when Paul finally broke the silence between them. “I know you’ve been working and that’s part of the reason you’ve been so quiet, but I have the feeling that something else is bothering you. If you tell me what it is, maybe I can help.”

“One thing at a time,” she said, closing the laptop. “Right now let’s concentrate on the operation underway.” She checked the GPS on the dash. “Turn right. Yolanda’s apartment complex should be just ahead.”

“There’s Preston,” he said seconds later, and gestured to an unmarked police car parked behind a cable company van.

“From that location, the complex’s vehicle entrance and exit are both covered,” Kendra said with an approving nod. “They can be blocked off in a few seconds.”

“You can bet he’s got backup already in place too,” Paul said, and parked.

Preston glanced at them as they approached on foot, then got out of the cruiser. “Yolanda’s apparently been traveling and got in early this morning. According to the DMV that’s her SUV over there—the green Ford with mud on the fenders. Not a blue pickup, obviously.”

“Which one’s her apartment?” Kendra asked.

“Two-oh-four, second floor, toward the middle,” Preston said.

“Have you found any connection between her and Miller?” Kendra asked.

“Not so far. I also haven’t been able to confirm the presence of a second person inside the apartment. My men are watching her, and she’s been unloading the vehicle by herself.”

“All right. Let’s go upstairs and pay her a visit,” Kendra said.

She led the way, walking briskly. As the three of them approached apartment 204, Kendra pushed back her jacket so that both her service weapon and badge were clearly visible.

Paul remained beside Kendra. Preston, who’d crossed to the other side of the doorway, gave Kendra a nod. She knocked loudly, but before she could identify herself, a female voice from inside called out.

“Hold on, Alex. I’m putting the beer in the fridge.”

There was a clanking sound, then steps across the floor. The door opened a second later and a dark-eyed, long-haired blonde in her mid-twenties answered.

Seeing them, her expression changed from a grin to a scowl. “Whadda ya want? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I’m Marshal Armstrong, Ms. Sharpe. This is Detective Bowman of the Hartley Police Department, and I believe you’ve already spoken to Mr. Grayhorse.” Not giving her a chance to reply, she added, “We need to ask you a few questions.”

“Show me your ID. Anyone can buy a badge these days,” Yolanda snapped at Kendra.

Kendra reached into her pocket and brought up her ID.

Yolanda shrugged. “Yeah, okay. So what’s this all about?”

Kendra watched her closely. “You can start by telling us why you wanted to hire Mr. Grayhorse.”

“What do you mean, ‘hire’? I’ve never seen or spoken to that guy before in my life.” She took Paul in at a glance and smiled. “Looks like I may have been missing out.”

“Are you telling me that you’d never heard of Mr. Grayhorse?” Kendra pressed, watching the woman’s expression.

“That’s right, but if you want to set us up...” She winked at Paul.

“Where were you yesterday between four p.m. and, say, nine at night?” Kendra continued, undaunted.

“Camping up at Navajo Lake with a friend. We spent the past three days there. The weather was cold and lousy, but it was plenty hot inside the tent, if you get what I mean,” she said, giving Paul another smile.

Paul, who’d deliberately hung back, heard footsteps coming up the stairs. As he turned his head to look, a short, barrel-chested man wearing a plaid shirt came into view.

“Hey, Alex,” Yolanda said, “tell them where we’ve been.”

Alex looked at Paul first, then as his gaze traveled to Kendra and Preston’s badges, he spun around and raced back down the stairs.

“Police officers. Stop!” Preston yelled.

Paul knew instantly that it wasn’t Miller. The guy was too short. Though unsure who Alex really was, he raced after him.

Alex had a lead and was as fast as lightning. By the time Paul reached the stairs, the man was stepping onto the parking lot. Paul took the stairs in three steps, but Alex was already climbing into the Jeep.

“Preston, he’s heading north!” Paul yelled as he ran to his pickup.

The guy’s vehicle was already on the move. The Jeep’s tires squealed as Alex swerved, scraped a carport support pole, then sideswiped a parked motorcycle.

Suddenly a police cruiser raced up, blocking his exit.

Alex hit the brakes, sliding to a stop inches from the squad car, and ducked down, reaching for something on the floorboard.

“Gun!” Kendra yelled, approaching in a crouch from the passenger’s side of the Jeep, her pistol out.

“Police!” Preston yelled, taking aim over the hood of the cruiser. “Put your hands up where we can see them.”

Alex’s arms shot up into the air. As he rose to a sitting position again, Kendra rushed up, pistol aimed at his chest.

“Who is this idiot?” Preston said as he came around the front of his unit.

“Not Miller, that’s for sure, but from the way he took off, I’m guessing he’s got a record.” Paul glanced at Kendra. “Where’s Yolanda?”

Kendra cocked her head back toward the staircase. “Unless she’s got a lock pick, she’s still handcuffed to the railing.”

After Alex had been read his rights, Kendra examined the ID Preston had fished out of the man’s pockets.

“Alex Jeffreys, make it easy on yourself and explain why you ran,” Kendra asked.

“I want a lawyer,” came the clipped, clearly practiced reply.

As Preston turned Alex over to a uniformed cop on the scene, Kendra holstered her weapon. “He’s all yours, detective. That isn’t the fugitive I’m after.”

“Let’s see who we’re dealing with.” Preston went back to his cruiser and ran Alex’s name through his computer. “Jeffreys has an outstanding warrant for check fraud and ID theft. He’s never been with the department,” he added, obviously remembering Yolanda’s story about her boyfriend being a cop.

“We still need to know how Yolanda’s connected to what happened to Paul last night,” Kendra said.

“I’ll place her under arrest, then meet you at the station,” Preston said.

Paul remained silent long after they were back on the road. “Alex is going to be a hard nut to crack,” he said at last. “And I’m thinking that Yolanda may not be the same person who called. Her voice sounds different, for one.”

“Maybe she was disguising her voice on the phone,” Kendra said. “Either way, it’s still possible Alex used his girlfriend to set you up.”

“Maybe,” he said. “If you let me sit in during questioning, I’ll be able to tell you for sure.”

Kendra remembered one report she’d read. Paul’s first partner, the one before Judy Whitacre, had claimed that he had an almost uncanny ability to separate lies from the truth. “Your foster father was a medicine man, and I know there’s a lot of psychology involved in healing rituals. Did he teach you how to read people?”

“No, it’s not like that.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “What Hosteen Silver did was open my mind so I could use the gift he’d given me.”

She gave him a curious look. “I don’t understand. When you say ‘gift,’ are you talking something supernatural?”

He shrugged. “I can get you results. Do you want my help or not?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Okay, but I’ll take lead. Agreed?”

“Sure.” He pulled into the parking lot beside the police substation. “You don’t really trust me, do you?”

She weighed her answer carefully. “Intuition tells me that there’s more to you than meets the eye, and intangibles make me uneasy.”

“Just remember we’re on the same side.”

“I know. That’s the only reason I’ve allowed you to get actively involved.”

“No, there’s another reason—one you’re keeping to yourself.”

His insight was right on target and took her by surprise. She suspected that Paul held the key to taking down Miller. If Miller was really in the area, and he’d come after Paul ten months after his initial attempt to kill the judge, there had to be a reason. Providing she could figure out what that was, she might be able to use it to draw Miller out of the shadows.

She looked at Paul with new respect. No one had ever been able to read her like that, yet Paul had somehow guessed that she’d been holding out on him.

“See? That’s part of what I do,” he said.

“How? Will you ever tell me how you developed your...skills? I’d be interested.”

“Maybe someday,” he said quietly. “For now, let’s go see what we can learn from Yolanda and her boyfriend. Hopefully, they’ll actually know something of value.”

* * *

T HE ROOM USED to question suspects was purposely kept just a little too warm. The subject was meant to be uncomfortable. The straight-backed wooden chair and simple wooden table were other ways of cutting creature comforts.

Paul and Kendra were in an adjacent room with Preston. Standing next to the two-way glass, they watched Alex, who was sitting alone in the room.

“He’s an old hand at this,” Preston said. “He’s only said one word—‘lawyer.’ You’ll have more leverage with Yolanda. She wants to cooperate. It’s clear to her that she could go to jail if convicted of harboring a fugitive.”

“It’s good that you have her thinking about that. I’ll interview her now,” Kendra said.

“You going in, too?” Preston asked his brother.

“Yeah.”

“Down the hall, second door on the left,” Preston said, indicating the direction with a nod.

They walked into the room several seconds later and found Yolanda pacing like a caged lion.

“Sit down!” Kendra snapped.

Yolanda obeyed instantly. “You’ve got to believe me. I had no idea there was a warrant out on Alex. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have gone within a mile of him.”

“The fact remains, you were harboring a fugitive. We could send you right back to jail.”

“No, listen, I didn’t know!”

Kendra sat across the table from Yolanda while Paul leaned against the wall, watching them.

“You called Paul Grayhorse yesterday afternoon and asked for his help. You claimed to be afraid of your boyfriend, a police officer, but Alex isn’t a cop. So what’s the deal, Yolanda? What were you trying to pull?” Kendra demanded.

“I didn’t call anyone yesterday. My cell phone didn’t even work up by Navajo Lake,” Yolanda said.

“You weren’t at Navajo Lake. You were home. You telephoned me from your house phone,” Paul said. “I recorded the call, which came at 4:27 p.m.”

“I never made that call! I wasn’t here,” she said, her voice rising. “And I don’t have a boyfriend who’s a cop. I hate cops. N-o offense,” Yolanda told Kendra quickly, clearly regretting the comment. Looking back at Paul, she added, “Dude, I never even heard of you before today.”

“Did anyone actually see you over at Navajo Lake?” Kendra asked her.

“No, we were in the tent most of the time. Remember I told you—” She stopped, then added, “Wait a sec. You said I called you yesterday from my apartment?”

“Yeah,” Paul said.

“Then someone must have broken in,” she said. “That’s the only thing that makes sense. Maybe it was the landlord. He’s kinda creepy.”

Kendra said nothing. Sometimes, unnerved by the silence, a suspect would talk and in the process reveal something important.

Prepared to wait, Kendra glanced casually at Paul and saw that, although his face was void of expression, his eyes were alert. He was taking in everything around him.

For a moment she wondered what lay just beyond that steel-edged resolve. Paul kept his emotions well hidden, yet she knew just how close he’d come to being killed twice in the past year. He’d also lost his partner, and she suspected that beneath the surface he was concealing a lot of anger. Paul carried himself well and was the sexiest man she’d ever met, but was he also a dangerous man, now on the edge?

Kendra stared at the floor for a beat, forcing herself to concentrate, then focused back on their suspect.

The interview continued. “I’d like to believe that you had nothing to do with that phone call to Paul Grayhorse, but you’re going to have to convince me, Yolanda,” Kendra said. “A woman called, so it couldn’t have been your landlord. He’s male.”

Paul came up and stood behind Kendra. “She’s not lying,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Surprised, Kendra turned and saw the utter calm she’d come to associate with Paul etched clearly on his face. With effort, she tore her gaze from his and looked back at Yolanda.

“You said you had a recording of the call I supposedly made to you?” Yolanda asked Paul.

“Yeah, it’s in my voice mail,” Paul said.

“Let me hear it.”

Paul pulled out his cell phone and played it for her.

“That’s not my landlord, and not his wife either. Her voice sounds gravelly. But you can tell it wasn’t me!” Yolanda protested.

“She was whispering,” Kendra said. “For my money, it was you.”

Yolanda shook her head. “Play it again, louder this time,” she asked Paul. As he did, she smiled. “Now I know who it is. That’s Annie, Annie Crenshaw. We used to be friends, but she’s got so many problems now I can’t stand to be around her. I forgot she still has a key to my place.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Now I know what happened to some of my Navajo jewelry. I thought I’d misplaced it, but Annie probably ripped me off. She’s hooked on meth and always needs cash to make a buy.”

“Tell us more about this Annie Crenshaw,” Kendra pressed.

“She got clean about six months ago, then her boyfriend dumped her and she started doing drugs again. She ended up losing her apartment. Now she’s working the streets.”

“Where does she hang out?” Paul asked.

“You might try the old brick building where Hensley’s Gym used to be. It’s supposed to be empty now. Last I heard she was sneaking in at night and crashing in one of the old locker rooms,” Yolanda said. “But I doubt she’s there right now. Once she’s on meth, she finds it hard to stay still. Last time she was using she hung out in the alley between the bus station and the free clinic.”

“Do you happen to have a photo of Annie?” Paul asked.

“No, but I’m sure you’ve got a mug shot somewhere,” Yolanda said, looking over at Kendra.

“What about Alex? Does he know Annie? Could they be working together?” Kendra asked.

Yolanda stared at Kendra as if she’d suddenly lost her mind. “No way. They can’t stand each other. Last time they were in the same room, they went at each other major league and she threatened to have him killed.”

“All right, then. We’ll look into this,” Kendra said.

“So, can I go?” Yolanda stood, looking toward the door.

Kendra shook her head. “Not yet. Detective Bowman still wants to talk to you about Alex. What happens after that is up to him,” Kendra said.

They walked to the door, Kendra knocked, and Preston let them out. He’d been standing in an adjacent room, listening and watching through the one-way glass.

Preston nodded to Kendra, then looked at his brother. “So what’s your take on Yolanda? Do you think she’s telling the truth?”

“I do, which means we need to track down Annie Crenshaw. My guess is that she was paid to make that call, and we need to know by whom,” Paul said.

“That person is probably our shooter, maybe Miller, so finding Annie is our top priority now,” Kendra said, glancing at Preston. The man was a hard-assed cop, yet he never questioned Paul’s take on Yolanda’s credibility. Something told her there was more to Paul’s ability than he’d said.

Maybe he’d trained with covert ops somewhere, working closely with their professional con men and other highly skilled consultants. Federal law enforcement agents often had interesting, varied backgrounds.

Kendra looked at Preston, then at Paul. “How about going behind closed doors right now and tossing around a few ideas? Whatever we say stays there.”

Preston nodded. “My office.”

* * *

P AUL FOLLOWED K ENDRA into Preston’s spartan office, which held only a small desk, file cabinets and two folding chairs. There were no photos on the wall, only documents listing Preston’s credentials.

Once they were seated, Kendra began. “What evidence did the crime scene team find at the site where Paul was ambushed?”

“Two slugs from a .45 were found embedded in the bricks of the Murray building.”

“I was standing with the building at my back when the shooting started,” Paul said.

“The shots were grouped tightly, the sign of an experienced marksman,” Preston said.

Kendra leaned forward, resting her forearms on her legs. “My theory is that the gunman who came after Paul is probably someone with a personal grudge, maybe someone linked to his P.I. business. With a rifle, Miller can hit a target at a thousand yards. With a .45, he can make a head shot at one hundred feet. The only reason he failed to kill the judge last November was because two U.S. Marshals got in his way. This can’t be his work.”

“I get what you’re saying,” Paul said. “When I got shot at last night I was the only target around and I was less than fifty feet away from the gunman. Miller’s weapon of choice is the rifle, but he shouldn’t have missed at that distance with a handgun either. I’d just been illuminated by a lightning flash—like I was standing beneath a flare. It was an easy shot for anyone with his level of training.”

“Maybe he choked,” Preston said.

Kendra shook her head. “Professional hit men don’t choke and still group their shots that tight.”

“Well, if it wasn’t Miller, I have no idea who it could have been. Grayhorse Investigations primarily handles routine video and electronic surveillance,” Paul said. “The reason I got involved in this last case was because a police officer was allegedly involved in domestic abuse.” He paused, then added, “Anyone who wears a badge should be held to the highest standard.”

She heard the barely concealed anger in his voice and realized the case had clearly struck a chord with him. Another idea suddenly popped into her head. What if the shooter had known Paul would react exactly as he had and used that knowledge to set him up as a target?

“Who would know that’s how you feel about those who carry a badge?” she asked.

Preston answered her instantly. “Anyone who knows Paul or has worked with him.”

“That’s not going to narrow things down much for us,” Kendra said.

“To track down whoever set me up, we’ve first got to find Annie,” Paul said.

“I’ll get you a booking photo of Annie Crenshaw. If you need backup, call,” Preston said.

“Do you know the alley that Yolanda spoke about?” Kendra asked Preston.

Preston looked up from the computer screen and nodded. “Downtown, between Third and Fourth streets. Strictly small-time dealers hang out there, but they watch each other’s backs and usually see our people coming. It’s hard to set up a sting there.”

“I hear you,” Kendra said, then glanced at Paul. “Street people are usually unpredictable and half the dealers are high themselves. You want to sit this one out? Someone’s likely to pull a weapon once I show a badge.”

“A lot of people around here know I’m private, not a cop, and I’ll get farther than you can flashing your badge. Let me help out.”

“All right, then. Let’s go,” she said, leading the way out of the building.

“Unless we actually see Annie, let me pick who we approach. We’re more likely to avoid trouble that way,” Paul said.

Kendra didn’t answer. In situations like these, only one rule applied. Whatever could go wrong would—and at the worst possible moment.

* * *

T HEY WERE BACK in Paul’s truck moments later. “Before we head over to the alley, let’s stop by Hensley’s Gym. It’s on the way,” Paul said. “I’d like to check out the place where Annie supposedly crashes at night. It might give us some insight into her current situation that’ll help when we question her.”

“If we go onto private property without probable cause we’ll be trespassing, and that’ll place us on shaky legal ground. Do you know someone who could give us access?” Kendra asked.

He nodded. “I went to school with Bobby and Mike Hensley, the sons of the late owner. I’m sure I can get a key from one of them.”

Several minutes later they arrived at a large sporting goods store on Hartley’s west side. The place was bustling with customers.

“Looks like a sporting goods store is more profitable in Hartley than a gym,” she said.

“No, that’s not it. The gym was Jim Hensley’s dream. He was really into bodybuilding and training. After their dad passed on, Mike and Bobby followed their own interests and started this business instead.”

“Paul, is that you?” a voice called out.

A man in his early thirties came out from behind the counter and shook Paul’s hand. “I heard you’d moved back home. I’ve been wondering how long it would take for you to come by and say hello. Man, it’s good to see you again.”

“Sorry, Mike. I’ve been getting things sorted out and haven’t had time to touch base,” Paul said.

“Yeah, I heard. It sucks having to give up your career like that,” he said. “You were the only one in our class who knew what he wanted before college. It took guts, reinventing yourself like this.”

“At least I was able to walk away,” Paul said.

“True enough.” Mike took Kendra in at a glance and smiled.

“This is Marshal Armstrong,” Paul said, introducing them. “We came hoping you might be able to help us out.”

“Of course. Whatever you need, buddy. Let’s go into my office and talk.”

Once the door was shut and Paul explained what they wanted, Mike reached into the open safe behind him. He pulled out an envelope and slid it across the desk. “The key’s inside. Guess Bobby and I should have boarded up that place.”

Just then the door flew open and a boy who looked about three came bouncing in. He leaped into Mike’s arms, and squealed with delight as his father lifted him into the air. “This is little Mike, guys.”

Kendra smiled. She loved kids, but particularly ones close to that age, full of energy and innocence. The thought filled her with a familiar yearning, one that had become a permanent part of her these days.

For the past few months she’d been looking into the possibility of single parent adoption. She’d never met Mr. Right and wasn’t sure he even existed, so she’d checked out other options. As she’d researched the adoption process, she’d discovered a series of holdbacks, some due to her profession, and all valid issues she’d need to resolve before she could take things any further. Unfortunately, she still hadn’t come up with any solutions.

Paul shook Mike’s hand and thanked him. “You’ve done really well for yourself, buddy. I’m glad to see it.”

“My wife, Cynthia, and little Mike changed my life. I never thought I’d get married, but it was the best thing I ever did.”

As they walked back out to the pickup, Kendra noticed how quiet Paul had become. “What’s up?”

“I’ve seen two of my brothers settle down and I know they’re happy, but the marriage scene....” He shook his head. “It sure isn’t for me.”

“How come?”

“I’m a confirmed bachelor,” he said, then before she could press him for more of an answer, he added, “What about you? Is there a guy back in Denver?”

“Not in Colorado, not anywhere at the moment, but in case you’re wondering, I have no intention of becoming one of those career marshals married to the job. I want...more...for myself.”

“Like what?”

She shook her head, signaling him to drop it.

“A woman of mystery...” Paul smiled slowly.

The impact of that very masculine grin spread an enticing warmth all through her, and she avoided looking at him, afraid she’d give herself away.

Paul was big trouble, no doubt about it. He was a man who loved flying solo, yet he was built to perfection and could entice any woman with a pulse. Everything about him, from those wide shoulders to those huge hands, spoke of raw masculine strength. The steadiness of his gaze mirrored courage.

“I imagine you’ve got no shortage of girlfriends,” she said.

“I can usually find a date,” he said.

She suspected that was the understatement of the year. A man like Paul probably left a trail of broken hearts in his wake wherever he went.

* * *

T EN MINUTES LATER they reached their destination, an old brick building just one block south of Main Street in the business district. Paul drove his pickup down the alley, then parked beside what had been a loading dock. The big steel back door had a massive padlock attached to it. This entrance had clearly not been the one compromised.

“Let me go in first,” Paul said, pointing toward the door and interrupting her thoughts. “If we come across squatters, I don’t look like a cop, so we’re more likely to avoid a confrontation.”

“I don’t look like a cop either. I’m in plainclothes, just like you.”

He shook his head. “You’re wearing business district clothes—dressy slacks and a matching jacket to look professional and cover up your handgun. You’re also wearing sensible shoes, not heels, so you can fight or chase a perp. I’m wearing jeans, a denim jacket, worn boots and a working man’s shirt.”

“Okay,” she said, glancing down at herself and shrugging. “Remind me to dress country. For now, take the lead.”

She smiled as he moved ahead of her. He was long-legged, slim-hipped, and had the best butt she’d seen in a long time. Sometimes being second in line had definite advantages.

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