Liz Shoaf - Identity - Classified

No tracking devices anywhere.

She reached down and scratched Geordie behind the ears. He grunted and she grinned.

“Whatcha think? Should we move on to safer pastures, or stay here and find out who those two men in the beige sedan are? It could be they’re harmless. Just two men on vacation.”

Her dog grunted.

“Yeah, I don’t think so, either. As Stan always says, there are few coincidences in life. Well, there’s only one way to find out. Let’s get you back inside and I’ll pay our New York friends a little middle-of-the-night visit and see what’s what. Maybe they know something about the disc.”

Geordie knew the drill, and after he settled in, Chloe took off on foot. The air had a bite when she stepped back outside, warning that winter wasn’t far behind. Pulling her leather collar up, she started walking. From her online search of Jackson Hole, there were only a few motels in town besides the bed-and-breakfast. Several blocks away, she circled the first one, but there was no beige sedan. The car was parked right in front of room number 126 at the second motel.

Avoiding the security lights, Chloe stayed in the shadows and ducked to one side of the car. Rising, she peered through the windows, but there was nothing on the seats, front or back. In a crouched position, she ran to the door, then checked the room’s single window. No light from a television or computer screen seeped past the edges of the curtains.

Hopefully, they were fast asleep. Taking a deep breath, she pulled a set of lock picks from the pocket of her leather pants and stood there, staring at them for the longest time. She thought of the people who would be disappointed if she broke the law. Stan, Sarah Rutledge and Uncle Henry. She’d walked on the straight and narrow ever since those harrowing teenage years, and she realized she couldn’t do it.

So she wouldn’t be tempted to change her mind, she tucked the tools away and hurried toward the sidewalk fronting the motel. Turning right toward the bed-and-breakfast, she slipped the knife from her sleeve and into her right hand as a large body moved silently from the woods hugging the sidewalk.

She stopped when she recognized the sheriff and flipped the weapon in the air before shoving it back up her sleeve. She disliked being caught off guard, surprised he’d slipped up on her. That’s what she got for disregarding her own instinct for survival and not paying attention while agonizing over doing the right thing. Had he been in the woods the whole time? Had he seen her standing in front of room 126?

He stood close, his legs spread in an intimidating manner, but she refused to back away. That would reek of weakness. Best to go on the defensive. She looked up—way up—and moved even closer. She’d learned that nifty move while working with dogs. Always move forward and the dog would move back. It put the human in the pack leader position. Only problem was, Sheriff Hoyt didn’t react like her furry friends. He stood firm, as if he was at the top of the pecking order.

She rocked back on her heels and went for the casual approach. “Nice evening for a stroll, Sheriff.”

He glanced at the motel, specifically toward room 126, before refocusing his attention on her. His big grin threw her off balance.

“It certainly is. How about I walk you back to your room? Jackson Hole is a relatively safe town, but we do get quite a few out-of-towners.”

The night’s excursion was shot anyway. Playing it cool was her best option.

“Fine by me.”

In her peripheral vision, Chloe spied movement near the sedan sitting in front of room 126, but she kept her attention on the sheriff. Had the two men slipped out of their room while she wasn’t looking? So as not to arouse suspicion, she turned and started walking. Sheriff Hoyt fell into step beside her. The fine hair at the nape of her neck prickled, and it wasn’t because of the man walking next to her. She needed to shake off the sheriff and find out if the two men had left their room. She could double back and surprise them without breaking into their quarters. Nothing illegal in having a nice, friendly chat.

She aimed an arrow straight at his heart. “So who’s keeping an eye on Penny while you’re patrolling the streets?” She kept her tone friendly, but increased her pace. She’d duck inside the bed-and-breakfast, then slip out the back and hoof it back to the motel. She had to know if they were following her.

He didn’t answer, and she stopped scanning their surroundings to look at him. She didn’t care for the intent expression on his face and stopped in her tracks.

“What?”

He shook his head. “I can almost see your mind clicking a mile a minute.” He faced her, and those emerald eyes bored into hers. Oh, yeah, the sheriff was definitely good at his chosen profession. “Miss Bailey, if you have a problem of some sort, I’m happy to help. You can trust me, you know.”

She might be only twenty-five years old, but she’d had a lifetime of experience. There were only four people she had ever dared to trust. The sheriff appeared to be squeaky clean, but so did a lot of other people. People who were just better at hiding their dark sides.

She’d learned early on she had to look after number one. Even God hadn’t been able to save her parents.

“I appreciate that, Sheriff, but I don’t have any problems other than getting back to Mrs. Denton’s. Geordie could probably use the bathroom about now.”

She snapped her mouth shut, knowing she’d messed up before he even said anything.

“Please, call me Ethan. I have to ask myself why you didn’t bring that cute little dog of yours along with you for your evening stroll.”

Time to get rid of the sheriff. She had to make tracks back to the motel. “Sheriff Hoyt—Ethan—I appreciate the company, but rest assured, I have nothing to hide.” And wasn’t that the biggest whopper she’d ever told? “Tell Penny I said hello and I’ll see you around town.” But not if she could help it. Ethan Hoyt had good instincts, probably sharpened by his time spent as a detective in Chicago, but from the time she was sixteen, Chloe had been hanging around a gang of FBI agents. She could outwit him any day. Stan always grumbled that she had too much confidence, and one day it would land her in a boatload of trouble.

As she turned to leave, a bullet whizzed by close enough to slice the skin on her ear. It pinged into a car parked on the street behind her. Her survival instinct kicked in. She pivoted around and plowed into Sheriff Hoyt, throwing both on them onto the sidewalk, hopefully out of the line of fire. Her mind went into overdrive. They were out in the open, and whoever shot at her could easily have taken her out. Was it a warning shot, letting her know they were watching?

* * *

A big oomph shoved the breath from Ethan’s lungs as Samantha Bailey pushed him to the ground and landed on top of him. Before he could catch his breath, she slid off his body and started belly-crawling toward a parked car on the street. Glancing over her shoulder, she hissed, “Get a move on. Someone just shot at us.”

Stunned, impressed and somewhat put out by Miss Bailey’s quick reflexes, he flipped himself over and followed her. He crouched beside her as she peered around the front end of the vehicle. Where had she learned moves like the one she’d performed after the gunshot?

She twisted her head around and he spotted a thin line of blood trickling from her earlobe. His body tensed, and he pulled his gun from his shoulder holster. “You’re bleeding. Are you okay?”

She grinned and her dimples flashed. “I’m fine. They just nicked my ear.” The grin disappeared. Her lips firmed, and the gold ring around her brown pupils burst into a brilliant golden fire. “But they’ll wish they hadn’t before this is over.”