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Ethan turned the key and opened the door. The stench of blood assailed his nostrils. He pushed Sam backward. “This is a crime scene. I’m going in, but do not step past the threshold of this door.” He moved forward but glanced around to see if she was obeying his orders. He was taken aback to see a look of shock, mixed with a healthy dose of fear, on her face.
It was an indication that Sam was in this thing up to her cute little ears. He decided then and there that the woman wasn’t leaving his sight until he had some answers. He touched the wall until he felt the light switch. With a flick of his wrist, the room was bathed in light. Even without taking a pulse, there was no doubt. The two men he’d seen riding in the sedan were dead.
FOUR
The sickly smell of death hit Chloe smack in the face and she took a step back.
She’d helped Stan’s FBI cyber unit on many cases, but computers were her area of expertise, not dead bodies. She’d never visited an actual crime scene.
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath of clear, crisp mountain air and centered herself. A picture of Peter Norris rose in her mind, and she wondered if the same odor had permeated his office by the time they discovered his body.
She could see through the open doorway, and the sight of two men lying separately on two double beds, blood seeping from tiny holes in the front of each of their foreheads, was enough to make her want to toss her cookies. She took another deep breath and swallowed the bile rising in her throat.
Were the two men connected to the Peter Norris murder and her unidentified disc? She took another step back, away from the stench of death. She had to pick up Geordie and get out of Jackson Hole. She’d find a safe place to stay until she could figure this thing out. She turned to flee, but a strong grip on her arm stopped her.
“Don’t even think about it, Sam.”
Chloe schooled her face into a mask of calm as she spun to face Ethan. And when had she started thinking of him as Ethan instead of Sheriff Hoyt? “Excuse me? You told us to stay back.”
His green eyes pierced her pretense. “You were getting ready to run, and I have several questions before you’ll be allowed to leave town.”
The shock of seeing the two dead men quickly receded and self-preservation took over. Something she had become very good at since the death of her parents when she was a child. “You have no right to hold me without just cause.”
His rigid jaw tightened even more. “I have cause since I witnessed you standing in front of room 126. Fortunately for you, I followed you from the B and B. Otherwise, I’d be arresting you on murder charges. Give me your weapon.” He held his hand out.
Panic constricted her throat. She didn’t like feeling boxed in, not after her short stint in juvenile hall before Stan rescued and took custody of her, but she quickly regained her equilibrium. No way was she giving up her gun. She’d been shot at and these two New Yorkers were now dead. She had a burning desire to get out of town, and she’d need protection when she left.
Forcing herself to relax, she took a step back. “You’re way off course, Sheriff Hoyt. As you said, you followed me from the B and B. I didn’t have anything to do with this.”
His hand stayed extended and his jaw looked hard as granite. She got the sinking feeling that she was now seeing the real Sheriff Hoyt, the hotshot Chicago detective Mrs. Denton had described.
“We won’t have a time of death until the coroner arrives. You could have been revisiting the scene. Give me your weapon.”
She had no choice, so, feeling as if she were giving away a part of herself, she pulled the gun out of her jacket pocket and handed it over, butt first. It was an insult when he shook out a handkerchief and took her weapon, but then another thought sent a second panic wave roaring through her. Her prints were on the gun, and she had no doubt he’d run them through the system. Her prints were on file with the FBI because anyone who worked there was fingerprinted as part of their policy.
Chloe quickly reassured herself that he wouldn’t find anything from her past, only her real name. He shouldn’t be able to get into her juvenile record unless he had a valid reason to present to a judge. But even knowing her real name would be problematic. He’d want to know why she’d given him an alias. That would lead to questions she didn’t want to answer. She had to get out of there and away from Jackson Hole as soon as possible.
Her handkerchief-bound Bersa disappeared into his jacket pocket, and she was already thinking of a way to retrieve it when his voice caught her attention.
“Don’t even think about it, Sam. I’ll return your weapon after we get some answers.”
She shrugged, trying for nonchalance, but inside she shivered. “Whatever. I’m in the clear because I had nothing to do with this—” she lifted her chin in false bravado “—and you can tell yourself you know what I’m thinking, but you’re wrong.”
Ethan stared at her hard, but a squad car pulled into the parking lot and gained his attention. She was vastly relieved by the interruption. He must have been an ace detective, because he stood there looking all righteous and dignified, silently urging her to spill her secrets, daring her to do the right thing. The man had probably never even had a parking ticket.
A young, clean-cut guy dressed in a starched police uniform hurriedly got out of the patrol car and rushed toward Ethan.
“Sir, I got here as quick as I could.”
And when, exactly, had Sheriff Hoyt called his deputy? Almost as if he could hear her thoughts, he turned his head toward her. “I texted my deputy to come as soon as I saw the bodies.” It shocked her that he could read her so well, but she covered her surprise by holding up her hands. “Did I say anything?” It came out sounding waspish, but she was in a waspish mood. Things were going downhill fast. Ethan motioned his deputy into the motel room, but not before he gave her instructions. The kind of instructions she didn’t like.
“Stay put. Don’t make me come after you.”
Her gut was screaming at her to run as fast as she could, but the good sheriff had her picklocks, her gun and, worst of all, her prints.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine.”
He gave her one last hard look and disappeared into the room. Thirty minutes later several vehicles pulled up. One man got out of a car carrying a medical bag. She assumed it was the medical examiner. Two men exited the second car carrying an array of cases. They looked like crime scene techs. A few minutes later, Sheriff Hoyt stepped out of the room with a hard jaw and a purposeful stride. He took her by the arm and she jerked it back. She’d give it one last shot.
“I want my picklocks and firearm returned. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
He just stood there, looking all grim and tough. Well, she wasn’t in a good mood, either, and jerked the tiger’s tail. She shouldn’t have, given the situation, but couldn’t seem to stop herself. She gave him a saucy grin. “I had to try.”
He didn’t look amused, and the grin slid off her face as the gravity of the situation hit her. She ran a hand through her short hair.
“It’s late and I’ll give you two options. We can go back to the bed-and-breakfast and make a nice big pot of coffee for our little informative chat, or we can have bad coffee at the station and spend our time in the interrogation room. Your choice.”
Another shiver racked her body at the thought of being in a police station, so she chose wisely, but didn’t give in easily. “Fine, we’ll go to the bed-and-breakfast, but you’re going to have to apologize when you catch whoever—” she waved a hand toward room 126 “—did this.”
* * *
Silence shrouded the patrol car as Ethan drove them to the B and B. He hadn’t taken the time to run the plate numbers he’d collected earlier, but that was fast becoming a priority. He had a bad feeling that Sam was in this thing up to her eyeballs.
Sam stared out the window during the short drive. The coroner had offered to give his deputy a ride home. He and Sam could have walked, but after getting shot at and finding two men dead in the motel room, he didn’t feel it was safe, and that angered him. They had their minor incidents, but Jackson Hole had always been a safe town. Now he had a double homicide to solve.
He parked the car on the side of the street in front of the B and B and cut the engine. He didn’t acknowledge Sam as he dug his cell phone out of his pocket. He hit speed dial, and the babysitter answered on the third ring.
“Margaret, this is Ethan. I’m sorry to call so late, but I’m going to be tied up awhile.”
“Is it true? Did you find two dead bodies in the motel?”
He sighed. Jackson Hole was a small town, and he should’ve known the happenings at the motel would spread like wildfire. “Yes, you heard right. There were two murders at the motel. Listen, can you take care of Penny the rest of the night? And could you swing by my house and pack her enough clothes for several days and bring her to the B and B in the morning? I’ll see that she gets to school. Oh, and pack me a few changes of clothes, if you have time. I sure would appreciate it.”
“Sure thing, Sheriff.”
“Thanks, and make sure everything is locked up tight before you turn in. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. Bye.”
He hung up the phone, lowered his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. The close call with Sam getting shot in her earlobe, then seeing the two dead men, brought death to the forefront of his mind and stirred memories of his deceased wife. He and Penny had finally found a measure of peace after the long, cruel terminal disease had taken Sherri’s life. He’d hoped his small family would thrive and be happy in Jackson Hole, but Sherri, being a city girl, had never quite fit in with the small-town folks. It wasn’t that she thought she was better than the town’s people—she just didn’t fit in, no matter how hard she tried.
A sharp voice intruded into his thoughts. “Margaret your girlfriend?”
He opened his eyes, the memories drifting away, and turned his head. He stared at the woman sitting in the passenger seat of the patrol car, a woman his gut was telling him had brought a truckload of trouble with her to Jackson Hole. The first woman since Sherri died who had even remotely caught his interest, not that he’d follow up on it. He wasn’t interested in finding a wife, and even if he was, he didn’t want another city gal, especially one who rode a Harley, had guns and knives stashed on her person, and owned an attack poodle. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Margaret is my babysitter.”
Her next question volleyed right on the heels of his answer. Sam was a spitfire. “You going somewhere?”
It took a minute for him to remember she’d heard him speaking to Margaret on the phone. He took grim satisfaction in answering her. “Penny and I will be temporarily staying at the B and B until I can sort things out and get some answers.”
Her right eye twitched, but she kept her expression neutral. At such a young age, Ethan wondered where Sam had acquired skills that took most detectives years to learn. Hiding your emotions was hard to accomplish, which made him all the more curious about her past.
“Why were you following me in the first place? You had no right to do that.”
Deflecting attention away from yourself was another highly coveted skill, one that Sam had learned well.
He shifted in his seat and turned toward her. “I don’t have to give you an explanation. Now, do we have our chat here at the B and B, or do we go to the station?”
She fingered her right cuff with her left hand, and he wanted to kick himself for forgetting about the knife she had hidden up her sleeve. She immediately relaxed her fingers when she caught him staring and grabbed the door handle. He thought about taking the knife from her, but let it go for the moment.
“Fine, let’s get this over with, because I’m shaking this town’s dust off my feet as soon as possible.”
He grabbed his own door handle. “Fine with me.” And it was fine with him. He didn’t like being even remotely attracted to a woman shrouded in secrets. He had enough to deal with trying to raise his daughter. But he had to admit he was curious about Sam, and he was determined to get some answers. Back at the motel, he’d slipped her gun to his deputy and instructed him to put a rush on running the prints. He’d know soon enough if Sam was in the system.
Mrs. Denton had given Sam a key, and it was very late when they entered the foyer. He had just stepped over the threshold when she whipped around to face him.
“I have to check on Geordie before we get started. He probably needs to go to the bathroom.”
He folded his hands across his chest. “Fine, but make it fast.”
A glimmer of annoyance appeared in her eyes before she patted his arm and released her inner Southern charm. “Don’t you worry none, I’ll be back in a jiff.”
He watched her agile leather-clad body take the stairs two at a time. She reminded him of a cat burglar, which was not a comforting thought. He moved into the kitchen and discovered Mrs. Denton, bless her heart, had left a pot of coffee already made.
He knew where everything was from having spent a good deal of his childhood stopping by to nab cookies on his way home from school, so he pulled down two mugs. The cream and sugar followed. He was getting ready to pour coffee into the mugs when Sam rounded the door frame of the kitchen with her poodle wrapped tightly in her arms. He froze when he saw the expression on her face. She was trying to hide it but failed to suppress the underlying fear.
He put the coffeepot back where it belonged and rounded the kitchen island to stand in front of her. “Sam, what is it?”
She finally looked at him, as if just realizing he was standing there, and shook her head. “Somebody’s been in my room. They went through my things.”
It didn’t take but a few seconds for the information to register, and his heart pounded at the implications. “Mrs. Denton,” he breathed. If anything, her face paled even more, in stark contrast to her short black hair.
“No,” she whispered, then louder, “no!”
She turned and raced toward the stairs before he could get in front of her. He grabbed her arm on the top step and pulled her back. “Wait,” he whispered forcefully. “You wait here while I check out her bedroom.”
She nodded and he removed his gun from his jacket pocket. After one last look to make sure she stayed put, he crept down the hallway and stopped in front of Mrs. Denton’s room. He pressed his ear to the door, but didn’t hear anything. Slowly, he eased the door open and saw the older woman tucked into bed. Nothing looked disturbed, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he heard gentle snoring. The perpetrators were probably long gone. He closed the door and nodded at Sam. Her shoulders sagged in relief, and he was glad to see she cared about Mrs. Denton’s safety. Taking her by the arm, he led her farther down the hall. He wanted to check out her room. They were about halfway there when the fur ball in Sam’s arms released a low, fierce growl.
Ethan stopped walking and looked at Sam for direction. He didn’t know what the growl meant, but he saw fear, mixed with a healthy dose of courage, on her face and watched the knife slip from her sleeve and into her hand. He tensed a second before a closet door to his right slammed open with maximum force. The impact of the door caught him in his right side and he stumbled before falling to the floor. He caught a glimpse of a masked man jumping out of the closet, gun in hand, and knew they were in trouble, and in that moment, he was glad he hadn’t confiscated Sam’s knife.
FIVE
Chloe assessed the situation in an instant and knew that if shots were fired someone might get hurt. She gave Geordie a sharp command, dropped the dog to the floor and, a split second later, released the knife already balanced on the edge of her fingertips.
It flew past Ethan, who was reaching inside his jacket to retrieve the gun she knew he kept there, and embedded itself in the upper arm of the masked gunman. Mean dark eyes glared at her from the holes in the ski mask, and the guy shook Geordie’s teeth off his ankle before he fled down the hallway. Ethan scrambled up off the floor and turned to pursue, yelling over his shoulder, “Lock the doors behind me and take care of Mrs. Denton.”
Chloe picked up Geordie and held him close. She was shaken by the surprise attack, but the assault itself only hastened her urge to flee. It was like a living thing in her body, something she’d battled her whole life. When life got dicey, she ran.
Geordie whimpered in her arms and licked her on the chin. She kissed the top of his soft head and glanced toward Mrs. Denton’s room. As badly as she wanted to throw her stuff in a duffel bag and get out of Jackson Hole, she couldn’t leave a defenseless old lady alone with a gunman on the loose.
She heard the front door slam. Her window of opportunity to flee closed as Ethan’s heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs. His dark hair appeared first, followed by flashing green eyes.
“I thought I told you to lock the door behind me.” His bellow was loud enough to wake the dead, but his belligerence helped her to get rid of the shakes. She could deal with this far better than the mess her life had become.
“I decided it was safer to stay close to Mrs. Denton’s room. What if there had been two of them? You need to give me my gun back, and now I’m going to have to buy a new knife.” She tried to sound nonchalant, and she succeeded, judging by the look on his face. She wasn’t nearly as blasé as she let on, but she’d spent years learning to mask her emotions. First at juvenile hall, and then at the FBI.
He took a deep breath, as if reaching for a fountain of patience, and took several steps past her. “Let’s have a look at your room, then you and I are going to have a nice long chat.”
As she followed him down the hall and into her room, her stomach roiled and her mind worked frantically to separate what she could say that would pacify him long enough for her to leave town. She was a master at doling out half-truths. Not lies, just not the full truth. Sarah Rutledge’s sweet, radiant face swam into her mind, reminding her that half-truths were the same as lies, but Chloe highly doubted that Sarah had ever had a killer nipping at her heels.
If the room toss was connected to the murder, were they searching for the mysterious disc? Ethan studied the room with those eagle eyes of his and, as if echoing her thoughts, said exactly what she was thinking. “Unless you find something missing, it looks to me as if someone was searching for something.” Storm-filled eyes, backed up by well over six feet of toned muscle, turned in her direction. “You know of any reason someone would want to go through your things and shoot at you, Sam?”
She studied the room while avoiding his sharp, intelligent gaze boring a hole through her skull, as if trying to forcefully extract the answers he wanted. Her duffel bag had been upended in the middle of the beautiful handcrafted blanket covering the bed, and her toiletries were scattered alongside the few clothes she’d packed. The blanket had been thrown back, and the pillows tossed to the floor, but all in all it wasn’t too big a mess. Maybe they were looking for identification to confirm they had followed the right person since she’d used a fake name.
As if she’d be stupid enough to leave her information anywhere but on her person. Identity theft was a big international problem, and she knew how to protect herself, online and off. Stealing identities was for the novice hackers. Her skills went far beyond that.
In her arms, Geordie gave a happy bark right before Mrs. Denton rounded the doorway of the room. Her nightgown was one of those old-fashioned numbers with lace on the collar. Her pink bedroom slippers looked ancient.
She lifted a hand in the air. “I heard a ruckus going on in the hall, but it took me a few minutes to find my Taser. It was in the bathroom. Must’ve forgot to put it on my nightstand.”
Ethan’s tight lips softened and his taut jaw relaxed when he looked at Mrs. Denton. Chloe wondered if he’d ever look at her like that, then castigated herself. It didn’t matter how he looked at her. She needed to get out of Jackson Hole so people like Mrs. Denton wouldn’t get hurt because of her.
While giving the older woman a quiet, condensed version of events, Ethan started herding Mrs. Denton out of Chloe’s bedroom, but glanced over his shoulder. “The kitchen in five minutes. We need to talk. And don’t even try to leave. I’ll come after you.”
They disappeared, and Chloe plopped down on the bed with her dog still in her arms. She rubbed her cheek against his soft brown curls. “Why does trouble always have to follow me, Geordie? Why can’t I just be a normal person like everyone else?”
She got a lick on the chin, then she placed her most trusted companion on the floor. She had only a few minutes to get her facts lined up, at least the facts she was willing to share with a man of the law.
* * *
After assuring Mrs. Denton he had everything under control, Ethan closed the door to her bedroom and took a deep, calming breath before starting down the stairs. Sam was an enigma. He shuddered at the thought of being even remotely drawn to a woman who seemed to attract trouble like flies at a picnic. Then those dimples of hers would make an appearance and his heart would almost stop. And she just had to be kind to older ladies like Mrs. Denton. That made it worse. Ethan had a real soft spot for elderly people.
Just because she was the first woman to catch his eye since Sherri had died didn’t mean he had to do anything about it. It was probably nothing, just a passing fancy—an attraction to the odd and unusual—because he certainly hadn’t ever met anyone like Sam. Plus, the woman was in some kind of trouble, and it was his job to dig out the truth.
He wanted answers, and he intended to get them. He’d been a top-notch detective in Chicago, based on the number of cases he solved, and he’d dust off his old skills and get to the bottom of this mess.
He entered the kitchen, ready to pry the answers out of her, and stopped short when she looked up from the coffee mug she was cradling with both hands and smiled at him. Those two cute little dimples popped out on her pixie face, making her look like the most innocent person alive. He didn’t trust her sudden friendliness. Slowing his steps, he moved to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee while planning his line of questioning.
She beat him to the punch and attempted to take control of the interview.
“Listen, Sheriff Hoyt,” she said, and tilted her head to the side and widened her smile. “Sorry, you told me to call you Ethan. I know you want answers, and I’d love to help, but I don’t know anything that would help solve any of the events that have recently occurred.”
She looked relaxed, even sounded relaxed, but her right hand tightly gripping the coffee mug gave her away. The lady was nervous and he intended to use that. He sat down across from her and leaned back in his chair. After taking a sip of coffee, he placed the mug lightly on the table.
He softened his tone, made it almost cajoling. “I understand, but anything you can think of that could help will be most appreciated. I have two murdered men, a shooting and a break-in to solve.” He leaned forward with what he hoped was an earnest expression on his face. “I have a town full of citizens and tourists to protect, not to mention my own daughter and Mrs. Denton.”
The dimples disappeared, her lips formed a thin line and the ring of gold around her pupils burst into fire. “You need to brush up on your psychology classes, Sheriff. The best in the business have tried to figure me out and come up with zilch.”
Bingo! His first clue. Sam, at some point in her life, had had professional counseling. “Would you care to elaborate on that?”
He saw the moment she realized her mistake. She stiffened, then relaxed, grinned and leaned back in her chair. “You’re good.”
“So they tell me.” It wasn’t bragging; it was fact. He’d always been assigned the toughest cases in Chicago and had had a high rate of convictions.
She rubbed a finger around the rim of her mug, and he knew she was trying to figure out how much she could tell him while keeping herself in the clear. He’d done this hundreds of times and could practically predict how a perp would react. Not that he considered Sam a perp, but he was positive she was at the center of everything that had happened.
She surprised him with her next statement.
“My real name is Chloe Spencer.” She kept her gaze on the coffee mug when she dropped her bombshell but lifted her eyes, full of the earnestness he had projected earlier. It was almost as if she was throwing his psychology manipulation back in his face. “And I witnessed a murder, but that’s all I’m going to tell you, because I’m afraid for my life. That’s why I used an alias.”
Chloe. He rolled the name around on his tongue. It fit her better than Samantha. Then he realized the corner she’d neatly boxed him into.
“You knew I’d find out your real name because I have your prints on the gun I confiscated, and the tag number off your motorcycle. You’ve just given yourself a convenient excuse for not telling me about the murder you witnessed because you’re afraid.” He couldn’t believe she’d outsmarted him. Was any of it even true? He knew her name was real because that could be checked, but what about the rest?
“Where did you witness this murder?” When she stayed quiet, he brought out the big guns. “Well, no matter, we’ll get to the truth soon enough, and you’re not going anywhere until I have some answers.”
That little piece of news broke her silence. She shot from her chair and started pacing the floor. Geordie whimpered, but she ignored him. Finally she turned on him, and for the first time he was certain she was telling the truth. “Listen, Ethan, this has nothing to do with you, and if I leave town, all my problems will follow me. Your town, the tourists, your daughter and Mrs. Denton will be safe.”
She stood in front of him, her eyes filled with the truth of her statement. With the exception of her giving him a fake name, the majority of the time he was able to sort the truth from lies, and Chloe Spencer was telling the truth. Armed with this knowledge, he took another long look at the woman. Running seemed to come naturally to her. Had she done a lot of it in her life? Was there anyone who cared enough to help her?
Well, he was going to help her whether she liked it or not; plus, he had three crimes to solve. The murder, the break-in and the fact that someone had shot at them.
“No.”
“No? Did you say no?”
He saw her absently fingering her right sleeve with her left hand and was thankful her knife had left the premises embedded in the perpetrator, which reminded him. “That’s what I said, and just where did you learn all those nifty moves with a knife?”
She looked over his head, as if remembering something in her past, then looked down and gave him a saucy grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Ethan shoved to his feet. She didn’t seem the least bit afraid. He had some calls to make to get a description—even though it wasn’t much of one—of the perp out on the wire. Maybe the guy would go to an emergency room for the knife wound.
“It’s not long until daylight. I suggest you get some sleep.”
She called her dog to her side and strolled toward the doorway.
“Oh, and Chloe, don’t think of sneaking out. I’ll be in the room beside yours, and I’m a very light sleeper. Ask Penny.” He paused. “I’m going to find out why you were standing in front of room 126 tonight.”
She shot him a disgruntled look and disappeared with her dog trotting at her side.
Ethan grinned, even though he had a big mess on his hands. He hadn’t felt this alive since before Sherri died. Maybe even longer than that.
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