Cassie Miles - Unforgettable

“You’re a reporter. You know how the drug cartels deal with people who get in their way.”

Though it was difficult to imagine grisly violence in the Colorado mountains under peaceful blue skies, she knew he was right. Revenge from the drug cartels was equal to the horrors she’d seen in the Middle East. Whole families—women and children—were brutally slaughtered, their bodies dismembered and left to rot.

Those images completely doused her desire. Jack had to go. He had to find his way to safety.

“I’m worried for you,” she said. “I don’t suppose you’d consider taking me along.”

“Not a chance.” He grinned, and she realized that it was the first time she’d seen him crack a smile. “Why would you even ask?”

“A federal witness on the run? It’s a damn good story.”

“Not unless it has a happy ending.”

He mounted the palomino stallion. Though Jack wasn’t a cowboy, he looked real good on horseback. She hated that he was on the run, couldn’t accept that she’d never be with him. There had to be a way to see him again.

Of course there is. She knew where the trial was taking place. If she pulled some strings and used her press credentials, she could wangle a seat inside the courtroom. “I’ll see you in Chicago.”

“If I make it.”

With a wave, he rode from the barn.

She was left standing in the corral, watching as Jack rode into the forest behind her cabin. If she’d been riding beside him, she would have told him to go the other way. Across the meadow, he should have headed southeast. The terrain was less daunting in that direction, and there was water. Eventually, he would have found the Platte River. What if he doesn’t make it?

Being left behind while someone else charged into danger wasn’t the way she operated. She had to do something.

Taking the cell phone from her pocket, she called Heather to get her brother’s phone number.

DANNY LAURENCE WASN’T as yummy as she remembered from her high school years. Though he looked sharp in his dark blue deputy uniform shirt, he was developing a bit of a paunch—a testament to being settled down and eating home-cooked meals every night.

He took off his cowboy hat as he sat at the head of her dining room table. His short hair made his ears look huge. Had he always had those ears?

“Good to see you,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to drop by and talk about old times.”

“Same here. And I want to meet the woman who finally got Danny Laurence to take that long walk down the aisle.”

“Sandra.” He spoke her name fondly. “You’d like her. She’s kind of a goofball.”

“Is she Baby Blue or Green Light?”

He laughed. “It’s been a long time since I heard those code words you and Heather made up to describe the guys you met. Baby Blue means a sissy, right? And Green Light is good to go.”

“And Red Fire means trouble ahead.” A particularly apt description. The English translation for Rojas was “red.”

“My Sandra is Green Light all the way.”

She was glad he’d found happiness. Not that a rosy future was ever in doubt; Danny had always been the most popular guy around—the captain of the football team, the president of the senior class.

Joining him at the table, she set a glass of fresh-squeezed lemonade in front of him. This was exactly the same seating arrangement she’d had with Jack, but the atmosphere was utterly different. With Danny, she felt friendly—as if they should tell dumb jokes and punch each other on the arm. There was none of the dangerous magnetism she experienced with Jack. The thought of him reminded her of their kiss and made the hairs on her arm stand up. Somehow, she had to help him.

She wished that she could come right out and ask Danny the questions she needed answered: Was there a WitSec safe house in the area? Did he know about a federal witness on the run? How could Jack be protected from a drug lord bent on revenge?

The direct approach wasn’t an option. If Danny knew nothing, she wouldn’t be the one to tell him and bring down the wrath of the Rojas. Caitlyn didn’t want to be responsible for a bloodbath in Douglas County.

Danny took a swallow of lemonade. “What’s up?”

“I was concerned about that horse I found.” Jack had used the gray mare for his escape. Finding the owner meant locating the safe house. “Has anybody claimed her?”

“We haven’t had a report of a stolen horse. Which isn’t surprising. Livestock gets loose now and then. Nobody wants to make a big fuss only to have the horse come trotting back home.”

“Have you checked the brand?”

“Not yet. A runaway horse isn’t top priority. I’ve got other things to do.”

“Such as?”

“The usual.”

His attitude was way too laid-back to be dealing with the aftermath of a shootout at a WitSec safe house. She doubted that the marshals had reported Jack’s disappearance, especially not if they were in collusion with Rojas. As far as she knew, federal marshals weren’t required to check in with local law enforcement. It defeated the purpose of a safe house if too many people were aware of its existence.

“I was wondering,” she said, “if there’s been any kind of unusual activity around here?”

“Like what?”

“Oh, you know. Strangers in town. Suspicious stuff.”

“You’re working on some kind of news story, aren’t you? You haven’t changed a bit, Caitlyn. Always have to have the scoop.” He sipped his lemonade and licked his lips. “Little Miss Know-It-All.”

His teasing annoyed her. “You haven’t changed, either. You’re still the mean big brother, looking down his nose.”

“I remember that time when you and Heather followed me and my date to a party in Bailey and I ended up having to escort you home. You two used to drive me crazy.”

“Ditto.” She actually did punch him on the arm. “Suppose I was working on a story. I’m not saying I am, just suppose. Would you have anything to tell me?”

“Could you be more specific?”

Not without putting him in danger. “I’m wondering if the FBI or maybe the federal marshals have any current operations in our area.”

His expression turned serious. “If you have some kind of inside track on FBI activity, I want to hear about it.”

“Nothing. I’ve got nothing.”

“Why did you want me to come over?”

Aware that she’d already said too much, Caitlyn changed directions. “Do you know a guy named Jack Dalton?”

“As a matter of fact, I arrested that sorry son-of-a-gun last night at the Gopher Hole. Drunk and disorderly. He’s sleeping it off in jail.”

That solved the mystery of her missing handyman—the real Jack Dalton. “I almost hired him to work for me.”

“Aw, hell, Caitlyn. Don’t tell me this Dalton character is some kind of FBI agent.”

“He’s just another troubled soul.” And not her responsibility. “When he wakes up, tell him he lost the job.”

“You’re acting real weird. You want to tell me what’s wrong?”

“I’m just nervous. Because of the horse.” She thought about mentioning the two armed thugs and decided against it. There wasn’t anything Danny could do about them. “Lately, I’ve been jumpy.”

As he studied her, his expression changed from irritation to something resembling compassion. He reached over and gently patted her arm. “Heather told me that you’d been through a lot, reporting on the war. She’s kind of worried about you.”

The last thing she wanted was pity. “I’m fine.”

“It’s okay to be nervous.”

“I told you. I’m doing just fine.”

“Whatever you say.” He drained his glass of lemonade, stood and picked up his hat. “I want you to know, it’s all right for you to call me any time.”