Liz Shoaf - Identity - Classified

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.

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