Cindi Myers - Rocky Mountain Revenge

She turned away, but he grabbed her wrist and leaned closer, his voice low but insistent. “I can’t leave you alone, not with some man neither of us knows asking about you. At least let me protect you until your handler from the Marshals office shows up.”

Her eyes told him she hated being in this position—hated having to depend on anyone, but especially him. But she’d always been more intelligent than most people he knew; she could be reckless, but she was never foolish. “All right,” she said, and pulled out of his grasp. “But only until the marshal gets here. And you’ll sleep on the sofa.”

By the time Anne reached her house, she was jittery with nerves and fear and anger. Jake—she couldn’t think of him by any name but Jake—had no right to come here like this. After all he’d done, he owed her peace and an illusion of safety.

But of course her safety was an illusion. It always had been. No matter how many promises the Marshals made to her, she’d never really believed they could protect her from her father.

The phone was ringing when she unlocked the door. She fastened the locks behind her and went to answer it. “How was coffee?” Maggie spoke with a musical lilt, her joy at having the scoop on Anne’s love life—or so she thought—barely contained.

“Coffee was...tense.” The Marshals had drilled into her that sticking as close to the truth as possible was the best way to keep from getting caught in a lie.

“I take it the two of you didn’t part as friends.”

“You could say that.” She and Jake had grown so close in the weeks they’d spent together, but their final night had been all chaos and confusion. One moment they’d been dancing, her head cradled on his chest, wondering how soon they could make their excuses and head upstairs to bed. Nights in Jake’s arms were heaven to her then. The next moment her world exploded in a hail of bullets and blood. Jake lay shattered on the dance floor, the front of her dress red with his blood. Her screams echoed over the music as two men she didn’t recognize dragged her backward out of the room.

Later, still wearing the bloodied dress, huddled over a cup of bitter, cooling coffee in some gray-walled interrogation room, the agents had told her their version of the truth—that Jake West was really Jacob Westmoreland, accountant turned undercover FBI agent, assigned to infiltrate her family and bring down her father.

She hadn’t hated him immediately. Hatred had come later, when the weight of his lies had settled on her. He’d told her he loved her. He’d said he wanted to protect her. He wanted them to get married, to live happily ever after. And all that time she hadn’t even known his real name. How could anything else he’d said be true if his very identity had been a falsehood? He’d used her to betray her family. As much as she’d come to despise her father, she’d despised Jake almost as much.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Maggie asked. “’Cause if I want to talk to myself, I can do that without holding a phone to my ear.”

Maggie must have been talking while Anne took her trip down memory lane. “Nothing happened,” she said. “He said he was sorry. I said I was sorry, too. End of story.”

“Uh-huh.” Maggie sounded skeptical. “How long is he staying in town?”

“I don’t know. Another day or two. We don’t have plans.” As soon as she got off the phone with Maggie, she’d need to call the number her WitSec handlers had given her. Denver was only five hours away—they could have someone here tomorrow, surely.

“He was really good-looking,” Maggie said. “And I think he still has a thing for you. You have to admit, coming so far to say he was sorry took guts. Maybe you’ll get together again while he’s here.”

“Maggie.” Anne said her name as a warning.

Maggie laughed. “I know. I’m an incurable romantic. All right, I’ll shut up about it. What are you doing tonight?”

“The usual. Schoolwork. Maybe some TV.”

“Have a good night. See you tomorrow.”

“Goodbye.” Anne replaced the phone in the cradle and started to the kitchen to make tea. She was only halfway across the room when a knock on the door made her jump. She glanced out the window; the sky was a gray smudge against the black-and-white shadows of mountains, the day rendered in charcoal by the disappearing sun. Jake had said he would come by after dark—maybe a city boy used to all those lights thought this was dark enough.

She strode to the door and took a deep breath, bracing herself, then checked the peephole. She registered a man, about Jake’s height, huddled in the shadows. Apparently, the bulb in her porch light had burned out. As long as Jake was here, she’d ask him to replace it. She threw back the chain, turned the dead bolt and jerked open the door.

A burly, dark-haired man shoved her back into the room and slammed the door behind him. He looked her up and down, his face expressionless. “Long time, no see, Elizabeth.”

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