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Final Stand
Helen R. Myers


For two terror-filled days, Las Vegas cop Sasha Mills has been on the run. Now, in a remote stretch of southwest Texas, she is compelled to take a chance in a town called Bitters.But her timing couldn't be worse. As the only stranger in town, she becomes the prime suspect in an arson investigation–thrusting her into a spotlight that could cost her her life.Because deadly danger is in fast pursuit. An international crime ring has targeted her as one of two loose ends to tie up. They need Sasha silenced. Then tragedy strikes, and running is no longer an option for this tough lady cop.It's time for payback.It's time to make a final stand. For justice.For family. For love.







The bite of gravel at his bare feet irritated as much as curiosity and conscience plagued Gray’s mind, encouraging him to be quick. Upon opening the passenger door, he saw that the van was designed for commercial purposes. There was only the shell of the truck and little else. A suitcase, sleeping bag and pillow were stacked neatly behind the driver’s seat. Anna Diaz was traveling light.

Leaning over the passenger seat, he spotted a black leather purse on the floorboard. Without the slightest twinge of guilt, he lifted out her wallet. Flipping open the buttery-soft flap, he eyed the Louisiana license, then tilted the thing back and forth to get a better look at her photo. No, it wasn’t glare on the plastic that made it so unclear, he realized. The photo was scratched.

His unease growing, he checked the rest of the wallet. All of the credit card slots were empty, and there were no other photos; however, what had him exhaling in a low whistle was the amount of cash she was carrying.

He found yet another stash of bills in a different compartment in the bag. Maybe, he thought with growing bitterness, he would also find the reason for her to have such resources. Simple logic was beginning to offer a few conclusions.

Gray shoved the purse back in place…possibly a bit too roughly because it tipped over. As he reached to straighten it, his fingertips brushed against something in the seat pocket.

Frowning, he eased his hand inside and closed his fingertips around smooth steel. He drew out a Smith & Wesson .9 mm automatic—not the kind of thing a simple working girl relocating toted around with her…unless her work was dangerous.


Also available from MIRA Books and HELEN R. MYERS

DEAD END

LOST

MORE THAN YOU KNOW

COME SUNDOWN




Final Stand

Helen R. Myers





www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)


To Ethan Ellenberg


Acknowledgments

While suspense novels are always and foremost marketed as entertainment, it’s not wholly my approach to writing. Fortunately, I have an agent who both challenges me as he encourages, while I try to transfer today’s social and political issues into scenarios where the Jane and John Does of the world can associate. It was he who pointed out as I developed Final Stand that I’d managed to create the contemporary version of one of his favorite stories, the Western classic High Noon. Seeing the themes of justice and honor, I immediately recognized that we all have mini “high noons” in our lives. To have the opportunity to tell the story with a woman in the courageous role that Gary Cooper made so memorable was both intimidating as it was irresistible.

As usual, Sasha’s nemesis, Melor Borodin, came as a result of disturbing newspaper headlines. That my dialogue with my agent occurred shortly after a fascinating discussion I’d had regarding the Russian Mafia and their growing presence as a result of the World Trade Treaty seemed to me one of those innumerable “gifts” that guide a writer’s way.

In many ways this is once again a personal story. It speaks to a part of my ancestry, and so I’m particularly grateful to my aunt, Pauline Serpas, affectionately known as “The Duchess” by those who have spent any time with her. Without her generosity of sharing her insights into the Russian culture, I couldn’t have gotten beyond my own recollections and textbook agendas. Spasibo, Tante.

Thank you, “Gator,” for being researcher, tour guide and bodyguard as I realized the need to hunt the right location for this story. When you finish building that plane, I want to fly into Sonora with you and watch the field light up.

Gail Reed, you came to my rescue and made the world of the veterinarian a little more clear to this animal lover. Whenever I need a laugh, I will think of the antibiotics line.

Karen Kelley, friend and author, your EMS background was invaluable, even when you had me muttering.

And to Lynette Bagley, who sent the timely bit of inspiration in the epilogue when your own world’s axis was doing a tilt. Once again we learn that timing, intent and heart mean everything.

Readers, please be assured that any inaccuracies that slipped through are completely my error.

Finally, and always, to my friends and family—most of all Robert, for getting us through that five-day, six-hour-and-ten-minute stint without electricity after the ice storm—my love and thanks.

In memory of Jake, who made the title Final Stand literal.


GLOSSARY





Here I stand. I can do no other.

God help me.

Amen.

—Martin Luther




Contents


Prologue (#ue1811086-6b06-55c8-a8f9-276b8635ccfd)

Chapter 1 (#u58368df3-031e-551e-9910-63fdb2803b69)

Chapter 2 (#uf5d51076-0830-557c-8f03-356efdb655b2)

Chapter 3 (#uf84fdfb6-9f58-5bba-96f7-ab48e3556cec)

Chapter 4 (#u9f557375-1848-560d-a026-dcc9daab4072)

Chapter 5 (#u831eec4a-9c2b-5c47-8185-a1354c963af8)

Chapter 6 (#ua0494711-51e9-528c-ab91-e285afec7f36)

Chapter 7 (#u36e734f2-d052-5db5-b841-a73400985da2)

Chapter 8 (#u2dee91ef-1f3c-58f4-a297-15987f554151)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 32 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 33 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 34 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 35 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 36 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 37 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 38 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 39 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 40 (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)




Prologue


Bitters, Texas

Thursday, August 24, 2000

10:30 p.m. CST

With a sharp strike against the small box’s score, the match ignited. A flash of light, a ghostly puff of smoke, the nose-stinging scent of sulfur, and it was done. The arsonist’s ragged emotions were set free. Instantly, any doubt or anxiety about this decision vanished, replaced by righteous conviction.

The flame stayed steady and bright as it was lowered to the mass of dry wood piled on the board stairs leading to the church’s vestibule. Whole lengths of browned evergreen branches and other dead vegetation had been easy to collect, thanks to the wild terrain and yet another year of drought.

As expected, the brittle debris caught quickly. Flowing like liquid, the flames spread, advanced and climbed. It wouldn’t be long before they gave birth to a torch, a pyre, a veritable shaking fist against this serene night, this star-studded summer sky, luminous and wide, unmarred by the slightest hint of a cloud. This silent witness to everything.

Soon the vestibule doors would catch, and then…maybe the interior. It was possible if help was slow to respond.

Tossing the box of matches into the intensifying blaze, escape became the next focus. There might not be anyone on this remote highway tonight, but there was always the chance an alert trucker on I–10, or worse, a state trooper, would spot the distant glow and mention it on his radio, initiating an alarm too soon. However, the arsonist’s escape vehicle was parked facing the road; even that had been thought through. What hadn’t been was the unreliable nature of the vehicle itself.

It took try after terrifying try, but just as the smell of gasoline could be detected, the engine finally roared to life and the arsonist peeled out of the lot making a skidding turn west onto the unlit single-lane highway.




1


“No!”

The dog came out of nowhere, a streak of black, darker than the night, cutting across the single-lane highway, directly into the path of the van. The driver hit the brakes, but in that surreal instant, the young woman noticed that the animal was hobbling along on only three legs. The poor creature didn’t stand a chance.

Tires protested in a high-pitched squeal as she pulled at the steering wheel in an instinctive attempt to direct the vehicle away from catastrophe, and the van slid across the double yellow line. Luckily there was no other traffic on the dark, unlit road. Fully expecting the sickly thud of impact, out of the corner of her eye she caught the brief, amazing glimpse of the black mass hurling itself into a ditch. For a few seconds, she almost got to savor relief—until logic returned with stomach-roiling bitterness.

She may not be responsible for killing the dog, but that survivalist’s dive had probably finished the poor thing. Even if it hadn’t, maimed as it was, it wouldn’t last much longer out here. Either way, she couldn’t let herself care. It was imperative that she keep going.

But no sooner did the van come to a full stop than she shifted into Reverse and backed up. She angled off to the shoulder, all the way until her headlights found the animal.

A pair of glowing amber eyes watched her from the deepest part of a shallow draw.

“Damn it.”

The dog had to have a cat or two in its family tree. Just her luck, since staying in one spot for any length of time was nothing short of an invitation for trouble. She should have taken the chance and gotten on the interstate.

With a sharp, angry yank, the woman shifted into Park, set the emergency brake and turned on the flashers. This surge of compassion was as unwelcome as it was risky. Here she was prepared to kill, and what was she doing? Playing nursemaid. On the other hand, if it was her lying out there…

“Bet it was born crippled,” she muttered as she fumbled in the dark for a flashlight.

Her fingers brushed against the gun that would be hidden in the litterbag and covered with trash should police lights flash in the rearview mirror. For a moment she debated whether to take the automatic, too, but decided against it. The dog might be someone’s pet and known as the friendliest thing since Lassie; however, she’d had enough experience with canines to know they tended to react negatively to firearms, wild or not. Hopefully, this one wasn’t. But better to end up with a tooth tattoo than to disrupt the calm night with a gunshot this close to town.

The dog didn’t budge as she approached it. As she drew nearer, she understood why, and whatever resentment she’d been feeling vanished.

“Oh, hell. Who else did you have a run-in with tonight?”

The woman winced at the sight of the pup that she now guessed was no more than four or five months old. A retriever mix…female, she determined as the dog rolled submissively onto her back. Starved, and scared out of her wits, she concluded as she came close enough to see how the animal was trembling.

Pointing the light beam off to the side so as not to frighten her any more than necessary, the woman crouched beside her. “Hey, little one,” she crooned. “Good girl. I’m going to see how bad things are. No fast moves or rough handling on my part, so no hostility on yours, deal? I’m giving you fair warning—I have a reputation for biting back, and that’s when I’m in a good mood. This isn’t one of those times.”

With a whimper, the dog offered a paw.

“Nice to meet you, too.”

The woman’s crooked smile vanished as she noticed the deep, bloody scratches around the dog’s face, and worse, the torn flesh on the inside of the left back leg. There was a long gash that stretched halfway along the abdomen, and she couldn’t quite hold back a sympathetic groan at the sight of the ugly wound. A gash like that couldn’t be from a run-in with another vehicle; the unfortunate pooch must have been on the losing end of a fight. The question was, with what?

“Who’s the bully in your neighborhood? Some older sibling, or was it a coyote or bobcat?”

The wounds looked fresh, and that had the woman scanning her unfamiliar surroundings with new unease. She should have brought the gun after all. From what she’d determined, this was a wild section of southwest Texas and sparsely inhabited. The town she’d just passed through had been called Bitters of all things, population a whopping three hundred eleven, a road sign had announced. A block-long testament to ghost towns, the sign would have been memorable regardless because of the notation some wise guy had added in spray paint: And dropping. In fact, she’d been thinking of the fitting editorial, which is the other reason for her near miss with the dog. This was challenging land, the geography no less dramatic than what she’d been driving through most of the day—minimal vegetation, rolling terrain interspersed with craggy draws meandering across the prairie and sudden stark outcroppings of weather-and-man-chiseled rock. More than once she’d wondered what people did to survive. The only industry aside from oil-field services appeared to be ranching. Exotic-game farming seemed a particularly profitable investment, meaning there was no necessity for extraneous guessing about what was lurking out in the denser shadows.

All the more reason to get going. There was nothing she could do here. But as she accepted that sad fact, the dog offered her paw again…and again. It was as though it, she, was trying to delay her…or more. Adding to the awkward and grim situation, this time when the pup whimpered, the entreaty sounded human, too similar to “Please.”

Although she eased her hand forward to be sniffed, the woman sighed with regret. “Yes, you’re a sweetheart, but you chose the wrong person, Miss Mess.”

The dog stuck out the tip of her tongue and cautiously licked her fingers.

“Nice try, but my days as a soft touch are behind me.”

Nevertheless, she gently stroked the dog under the chin and glanced over her shoulder. That vet clinic was a mere minute or two drive back into town. She remembered the old timber-framed sign at the entrance because it happened to be right next to the police station.

The dog shifted onto her side again and nudged the woman’s stilled hand with her scratched nose.

“Nothing subtle or shy about you, is there?” the woman murmured. “That’s okay. I prefer the direct approach myself.”

Maybe she could get help and be on the road without losing too much time. There hadn’t been any nightlife to speak of in town, except for the twenty-four-hour convenience store by the service road. There was no round-the-clock patrolling, and the fire department was a volunteer unit. In fact, it had been the lack of traffic that had allowed her to spot the well-lit house behind the vet’s office. Surely veterinarians were on call at all hours, the same as medical doctors?

“I’m not going to lie to you,” she said to the watchful mongrel. “I’m not wild about this idea, and you may end up hating it, but it’s the best that I can do. You’re the one warning me that you don’t stand a chance otherwise, right?”

The dog shifted to lay her head on the woman’s jogging shoe. Her prolonged sigh sounded as though the weight of the world was on her undernourished back.

“You and me both, kiddo. Are you going to let me pick you up? Come on, sweetie. Up. Ti mne i ya tebe. Understand? ‘You for me and me for you.’ Show me that you can stand, or let me lift you. Up, up, up.”

The dog did attempt to stand, but at the cost of most of her remaining energy. In fact, she would have fallen again if the woman hadn’t quickly scooped her into her arms. That’s when her rescuer realized how seriously undernourished the pup was.

“If it wasn’t for the dirt and bugs, you’d weigh less than my sneakers. When was the last time you had a good meal, hmm?”

The dog simply rested her head on the woman’s shirtsleeve and stared off into space.

As skinny as the animal was, the climb up the slope to the van was a challenge and the woman was glad to settle her burden on the passenger seat. “Just don’t get any ideas,” she said. “You may have convinced me to do this, but this arrangement is temporary.”

Carefully shutting the door, she hurried around and climbed in on the driver’s side. She took a moment to check the signal on her cellular phone, only to grimace when she saw it still didn’t register one. Her anxiety deepened when, just as she shifted into Drive, the engine stalled.

Swearing under her breath, she keyed it once, then again. After a slight pause, she tried a third time.

Not now.

On the fourth attempt, the engine started. Exhaling shakily, the woman completed as neat a U-turn as the narrow road allowed.

About to reach over to give the dog a reassuring pat, a light in the rearview mirror drew her gaze. The eastern sky was getting brighter…but it wasn’t even midnight yet.

As she continued to keep one eye on the strange orange-amber glow, headlights appeared, momentarily obliterating everything but glare. She immediately flipped the mirror tab down to cut the sharp light, her heart pounding with new dread.

It was just a vehicle, she told herself, and coming from the wrong direction. Nothing to be worried about. But to give herself peace of mind, she eased off the accelerator to force the driver to overtake her.

Not only didn’t the tailgater do that, the vehicle backed off. All right, she reasoned, fair enough. She wouldn’t jump to conclusions. People often disliked passing slower traffic at night. But could it be determined that she was a woman traveling alone? The back-window curtains didn’t allow for much of a view, and the lack of streetlights had to help. That was why she’d been traveling by night as much as possible. At the same time, the farther east she came, the more she prepared herself for the “redneck syndrome” to kick in. She’d hoped this nondescript commercial-type van would draw less attention to her. It was painted a green the military would reject, and no woman with an ounce of taste would be caught dead driving. Had she subjected herself to this for nothing?

She glanced in the rearview mirror again. Keeping a respectable distance, the vehicle followed her the rest of the way into town. As a precaution, in case it was a cop looking for an excuse to pull her over, the woman turned on her blinker in plenty of time to warn she was turning into the animal clinic’s lot. Only when the other vehicle continued by did she finally relax.

It was a pickup. If the invisible hand around her throat didn’t have such a tight squeeze around her voice box, she would have laughed out loud. A junker! No wonder it hadn’t passed her.

The scare did, however, reinforce her doubts about what she was doing. “That settles it,” she told her wide-eyed passenger. “No offense, but I’m dropping you off and getting out of Dodge, pardner.”

She drove around the unlit clinic to the light brick ranch-style house tucked between a barn and stock pen on the left, and a separate garage on the right. Parking by the house’s front door, she experienced another moment of doubt because there were now fewer lights on than she remembered from before.

“Looks as though they’ve gone to bed. Prepare yourself for a less than cheerful reception,” she told the dog.

After her initial knock on the front door, she spotted the bell behind an overgrown branch of red crepe myrtle, and pressed the glowing button. Beyond the sheer drapes, she could see a picture light on in the living room, but that was all.

She waited a good half minute, and when no one responded, she pressed the bell again. “Hello! Can somebody help me, please?”

A moment after that something changed. She didn’t hear or see anything per se, but suddenly she felt a presence. Instinctively, she shifted her hand to her right hip and glanced around, only to remember what she was reaching for wasn’t there. Nevertheless, she knew the feeling—she was being watched—and followed the gut instincts that had kept her alive so far. She stepped off the stoop and toward the van, ready to dive for cover or drive if necessary. Then her gaze settled on the security hole.

That had to be it, she thought. But whoever was inside watching through the viewer sizing her up, he or she had to be one intense person, because the hairs on her arms had yet to quit tickling.

Finally, she heard a dead bolt turning. As the door opened, she drew a stabilizing breath…only to have it lock in her throat.




2


She stared…and he stared back.

This was the vet? she wondered. Couldn’t be.

“Yes?” the man asked.

Baritone-voiced and bare-chested, he filled the entryway almost as completely as the weathered wooden door had. It was, however, his face that triggered stronger doubts. She’d seen less disturbing mug shots. His eyes were at once eerily light and yet sunken in a way that made her think of utter exhaustion if not long-term illness. Neither of which, she reminded herself, was her problem. What’s more, she’d just added to her already loaded plate.

She cleared her throat. “I found an injured dog.”

The unsmiling giant stepped out onto the stoop into the glow of a yellow insect light that probably had done little for her appearance and certainly didn’t make him any easier on the nerves. Although barefoot, he was the size of a piece of Stonehenge. Unfortunately, the stoop wasn’t more than an inch above the packed clay, sand and gravel she stood on. Even face-to-face she wouldn’t reach his scarred chin. The thought of having to grapple with him for control over a weapon convinced her to take another cautionary step backward.

“Back or front?” he asked.

His jeans were unbuttoned and negligently zipped. While he was hardly her first exhibitionist, she was willing to give the guy the benefit of the doubt. After all, this was the boonies and it was an ungodly hour even for a social call—and he didn’t look like someone who was given to many of those. He could have forgotten to zip up in his haste to get to the door. On the other hand, he hadn’t hurried, and his bloodshot eyes looked too intelligent to make a case for early senility.

When he caught her looking, she expected him to excuse himself and step behind the door, or at least turn away to correct the situation. Instead, he brushed past her.

“While you’re sight-seeing, I’ll find out for myself.”

Thank goodness for the unmistakable scent of scotch. It deep-sixed her self-consciousness and snapped her back into full wariness. Drunks were always a problem, big ones could be dangerous, angry ones could be lethal. The poor pooch, she thought with sympathy. Rescued from one predator only to be placed at the mercy of another.

“Front,” she said at the same moment that he glanced through the passenger window.

Bringing up the rear, she wasn’t surprised that the pup cowered at the sight of him. “Easy does it, sweetie,” she crooned. “Believe it or not, this is the cavalry.”

Stonehenge shot her a sidelong look as he opened the door. “What’s its name?”

“Feel free to pick something. But…I believe it’s a she.”

As he began examining the animal, she found herself hoping he wasn’t one of those incompetents who got into a profession because a parent or spouse had decided it was lucrative. Of course, the thought of his parentage then triggered the wry speculation as to which landmass he’d been excavated from. Moments later she had to acknowledge guilty admiration when she noticed his deft and surprisingly gentle inspection.

“She’s filthy. I can’t believe you put her in your van.”

Charming he wasn’t, however. “Me neither. But considering her condition, I doubted she could handle running tied to the sideview mirror.”

He cast her a brief, but unamused glance. “How old is she?”

“Are we having a hearing problem here or a language one? She ran in front of my car not ten minutes ago on the edge of town.”

“People always say that when they bring in a hurt animal they want to get rid of. Thing is, most don’t have the nerve to try that when it’s in as bad a shape as this one.”

If his intent was to intimidate, the man should have stuck with a stern bedside manner. All he’d succeeded in doing was to push her buttons. “Doctor, one more time…this is not my pet.”

The vet tilted his head toward the wary dog. “And I’m taking her word for it. She keeps looking at you for reassurance as to whether or not she should trust me.”

“Can you blame her?” The blunt response was out before she could edit it, the result of a fatigue brought on by too many hours behind the wheel and stress from too much concern over survival. “What I mean is—”

“Never mind. I’m prone to bluntness myself these days. And you’re right, I do look like hell, and my manners are worse.”

He seemed ready to say something else, but the dog, possibly reacting to a gentling of his gruff tone, edged over onto her back, exposing her belly as she had earlier. Frowning, he took new interest in the creature.

“That’s a nasty gash. Doesn’t quite look like an HBC, though. Hit by car,” he added at her blank look.

“If I hadn’t braked in time, you could have been looking at that, too. Whatever happened, it couldn’t have been long ago, could it?”

“No, my guess is a confrontation with a raccoon, or else she didn’t quite make a clean pass through barbed wire.”

“Can you help her?”

“I’ll need better light to examine her more thoroughly. Come on. You’ll have to help.”

“Excuse me?” She stared in disbelief as he scooped the animal into his arms and started toward the clinic. Help how? Slamming the van door, she called, “Wait. Hey!”

He kept walking.

“What do you mean help?” she demanded at his retreating back.

“Assist.”

“Not me. I’m no nurse.”

“You’ll do for this job.”

“But I have to go.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

To avoid raising her voice any more than necessary, she ran after him. “Look, undoubtedly you’ve put in a long day and would much prefer being in bed right now. So would I for that matter. Which is why I suspect we’re not communicating well. What I don’t think you’re grasping is that I’m not acquainted with, or in any way, shape or form connected to this dog.”

“I heard you the first time.”

“Then you understand that I’m not taking her with me after you treat her?”

“Did you read that sign out front?”

She was sure she had, but her usually reliable memory failed her. At the moment she couldn’t remember if his name was Sawyer, Sanders or…What did the smaller print say under Animal Clinic?

“What’s your point?”

“I don’t run an animal shelter, that’s up at Sonora. I’ll do what I can for her, but after that she’s your responsibility…and so is the bill.”

She couldn’t believe it. She was trying to perform a simple act of goodwill and he was going to stick it to her? No doubt charge overtime rates, too.

“No way!”

“You brought her in, she’s your responsibility. It’s either that or I’ll be forced to put her down straight off. Take your pick.”

As he said that, the dog whimpered and twisted in his arms with increased anxiety, not unlike an infant terrified that it was being abandoned to a stranger. The woman tried not to notice while struggling to figure a way out of her own dilemma.

This was what she deserved for not following training, let alone instincts. Granted, leaving the animal where she’d found it would have bothered her, but there wasn’t a day that went by when she didn’t see worse. It was the price you paid in her line of work. Now all she’d done was shift the pup from one kind of trouble into another. And there was no option of taking her with her; the dog would be miserable even if she hadn’t been in such poor condition, and in just as much jeopardy. Possibly more.

“Doctor, really—”

“The name’s Slaughter, first name Gray. Try to resist any impulses at humor if you don’t mind. I probably heard most of the nicknames before you were out of braces.”

It wasn’t the name that had her lifting her eyebrows. One of the first writers her father had introduced her to when the children’s section at the library had become boring, was surgeon-novelist Frank Slaughter. What startled her was the vet’s obvious misconception about the difference in their ages.

“Dr. Slaughter, I’ve been out of braces longer than you think, and I’m not about to—”

“Can you get the key?”

He’d stopped at the door and half turned toward her. She followed his glance downward, but only briefly.

“Now who’s being the comedian?”

“You interrupt a man when he’s trying to have a quiet drink in the privacy of his bedroom, you get what you get. Come on. This critter might be starving, but she’s still heavier than a feather pillow, and however old you are, I’m too much of a hard case for you to bother trying for a virginal blush.”

She gave him an arctic smile. Her looks had been a problem for her as long as she could remember, and although there was nothing she could do if he wanted to see her as some kind of vamp, he would be wise not to test whether she would defend herself.

About to say as much, to tell him what he could do with his key, she heard sirens. A fire truck, she concluded, with at least one patrol car. No, here came a second one. Damn. Exactly the kind of commotion she didn’t need. That kind of racket in a community this small was going to rouse the whole town.

“You okay?”

Ignoring him, she weighed her options against her predicament. She didn’t want to stay here a minute longer than necessary, but being on the road now could be a bigger mistake. Chances were no one here knew anything about her—yet—and she might slip through, but if asked tomorrow or the next day, how many details would people remember? Their answers could endanger more than her.

Resigned, she muttered, “Which pocket?”

“Right.”

She leaned from the waist, saw the half moon of a key ring and plucked out the small handful of keys. They sounded like wind chimes in the renewed silence—or a fleeting, mocking laugh. “Which is it?”

“The medium-size silver one with the flattened edge.”

Aware of his scrutiny, she unlocked the door and flipped on the switch just inside. The long line of fluorescent lights burned her travel-weary eyes and, blinking, she stepped aside to let him pass. He turned left at the first room, switching on those lights with his elbow, illuminating a fully equipped examination-operating room.

In the merciless brilliance, his five o’clock shadow added to his haggard, neglected appearance, and she wondered exactly how many drinks he’d already consumed. Was he even in any condition to do what had to be done for the dog?

“Come hold her,” the vet directed as he set the wounded animal on the examination table. He must have seen her hesitation for he sighed. “Look, I’ve been out on a call that took the better part of the day and I only got home a half hour before you arrived. I’m beat, ticked over losing an animal and I can’t remember my last meal. So I apologize if I’m short on manners. Try not to take it personally.”

If what he said about his day was true, she owed him an apology in return. But she’d also met enough barflies to know they were perfectly capable of achieving a considerable buzz in less time than that. So she simply nodded and did as he asked, focusing on keeping the dog calm. It didn’t take much. The pup was remarkably docile and gave every indication that regardless of her pain, she felt safer with them than where she’d been.

Gray worked from nose to wound. “Eyes don’t indicate shock,” he noted. “Gums are a decent pink, so there hasn’t been considerable blood loss. Makes sense. The wound isn’t as deep as I first thought. Let me take a blood sample, and if things look okay, we’ll start an IV and get to work.”

He retreated to the sink and began washing up. With each movement the muscles along his back flexed. Although he was no bodybuilder, his waist tapered and his hips were trim. For a guy who acted as if he went through life on cruise control, he sure didn’t give any indication that he was heading for Flab City.

“You’re not from around here,” he said, slipping on gloves.

She put aside her own speculation. “No.” What she wasn’t going to tell him was that she didn’t exactly feel the place she’d come from was “home” either.

“Didn’t think I detected a Texas accent.”

“Which reinforces my claim that this can’t be my dog.” She willed the animal not to start licking her hand as she’d done earlier.

“You’re consistent, I’ll give you that.”

For the next minute or two he worked in silence. He took the blood sample and withdrew to the adjacent room. There she heard a steady series of movements, things being switched on and off and slid around. Finally he returned and she couldn’t help but notice that, while his feet remained bare, he had slipped on a blue lab coat. He had also fastened the jeans.

“So?” she asked.

“She’s surprisingly strong. Probably hasn’t been on her own for over a week or so. No sign of heart-worm. Except for needing a heap of good food, she’s a healthy enough dog. Do we continue?”

The question startled her. “Of course. That’s why I backtracked, why I came to you.”

He turned away and began collecting all kinds of paraphernalia. “Let’s get her on lactated Ringers before we get her cleaned up a bit.”

“Sorry?”

“An IV.” As he moved around the room, he asked, “So what do I call you?”

“Whatever you’d like. I think we can both agree this isn’t going to be a long relationship.”

He grunted, and the sound could have passed as a brief chuckle. “Fine, I’ll entertain myself by guessing until I see your check or credit card.”

“I’ll be paying cash.”

His slight hesitation, a tightening around his mouth, told her that she’d made a mistake. She didn’t yet know how much his fee would be.

“The name’s Ann,” she said, mentally kicking herself.

“As in Ann Doe? No, that would have to be Jane.”

It took an effort not to grit her teeth. “Anna Diaz.”

“Oh, Anna, not Ann.”

“My friends tend to shorten it.”

“Not very good ones. Anna is a beautiful name. Diminish the name, next they’re diminishing the person.”

“Moonlight as a shrink, Doc?”

“Just another student of life. I guessed you were of Spanish or Welsh descent. Your complexion’s too fair for Mexican, lacks the olive tones for Italian. Could be—”

“In a hurry.” She nodded at the dog. “Couldn’t you put her under for whatever it is you’re going to do? I’ll get your money and—”

“You step out of this room and I’ll call the cops.”

Anna stiffened. It wasn’t often that she heard such a threat delivered in a voice so calm and assured. The man knew how to catch a person off guard.

“The cops. Isn’t that a bit drastic?”

“You strike me as too eager to leave, which tells me that either you have no intention of paying me, or else you’re hiding something.”

He couldn’t be more right—and wrong. The urge to laugh, or run, grew. “That’s ridiculous. If I wanted to avoid responsibility or hide anything, I would be thirty miles down the road by now.”

“Then wash up while I put in this IV, and slip on those gloves I set out for you. I’m also going to remove some of these ticks and clean her as much as I can. We don’t need anything crawling inside her while I’m sewing her shut.”

Grateful that at least he showed some concern for the animal, she did as he directed. After soaping her hands, she ran cold water on her wrists to calm down her racing pulse.

“How long is this going to take?” She wrestled with the gloves as she returned to the table. Spotting the jar of blood-swollen insects floating in what she guessed was alcohol, she grimaced.

“Not very, but you can forget about her traveling tonight. We’ll see how she is in the morning.”

Not “we,” she amended silently. By morning, she planned to be hundreds of miles from here. And the first thing she would be doing was looking for a change of vehicles.

Gray closed the lid on the container and deposited it and the tweezers he’d been using in the sink. When he returned he had another injection prepared.

“What’s that?” Anna asked, eyeing the yellowish liquid.

“Sodium Pentothal. Lidocaine would probably do, but she’s been through a lot. Better to go with the general anesthetic.”

Once he appeared satisfied that the drug had taken effect, he went to work. He’d completed several neat sutures before asking, “So what do you do?”

He didn’t look up, and since they had only the examination table between them, Anna was glad. “I’m…between jobs.”

“Good.”

“Why do you say that?”

“This way you won’t have to feel guilty in the morning for being groggy on the job. Healing, whether it’s man or beast, requires time.”

No doubt, but she took from his sudden chattiness that he was softening her up, fishing for more information. She had no intention of taking the bait. She did, however, approve of how he worked, with speed and efficiency.

“Holding up okay?” he asked midway through.

“Well enough.” And for good reason—she was trying not to look. The last time Anna had been in an emergency room, it was to hold the hand of a kid getting her forehead sewn together. Blood had never bothered her before, but, maybe because the patient was a kid, the room had spun like a carousel gone out of control, almost costing her what remained of a six-hour-old lunch. Somehow this poor pooch brought that all back.

“I’m impressed. Would have bet twenty you’d be hanging over the edge of the sink by now.”

As she tried to ignore what her peripheral vision was picking up, she countered, “Does that mean I get a discount?”

“It means I’m grateful that the sight of a half-gutted creature doesn’t make you faint…or worse.”

“Then maybe skipping that grilled chicken salad was my one smart move today.”

The gaze he shot her from under stark eyebrows, though brief, was sweeping and all-encompassing. His eyes, she realized, were neither aquamarine blue nor silver, but the color of the coldest January skies.

“Don’t tell me you diet.” When she failed to respond, he murmured, “Ah, the profundity of the uncommunicative woman. But you’re right, I’ve ventured out of line again.”

He didn’t speak after that, working with such focus Anna almost believed he forgot about her. After knotting the last stitch, he snipped the end, then swabbed the area with what she suspected was another antiseptic. Then he prepared another injection.

“Penicillin,” he explained. “You’ll want to pay special attention to keeping the sutures dry and the area clean. She also needs as quiet an environment as possible. Don’t let her chase any squirrels or rabbits.” He administered the injection. “Otherwise, the stitches can be removed in about a week.”

Anna shook her head, not at all happy with what she was hearing again. “You don’t really expect me to take her in a moving van?”

“Not tonight, no…at least not for a long trip. The motion is liable to upset her stomach more than the wound. How much farther do you have to go?”

She countered with, “What would it cost for you to nurse her back to health and see that she finds a good home?”

He made a face. “Honey, you could tie a hundred-dollar bill to this mutt’s tail and there wouldn’t be any takers.”

Talk about blunt! She took a moment to consider the listless dog and tried to see her from the perspective of a child. “She’d be a cute pet once she was cleaned up.”

“Then you’d better head in a direction where they’ve had rain in the last four months because no one around here has the patience or funds to find out.”

It wasn’t his sarcasm that got to her—she’d heard far worse—but the thought of being responsible for another life right now, even if it was a stray dog that no one else on the planet gave a spit about. “Why did you bother sewing her up then? I thought vets were supposed to help animals.”

“I did,” Gray intoned, pointing toward the door. “Do you know how often people dump their problems on me? Almost every week I find something or other in one of the outside kennels, or litters left by the front door. Occasionally some get out of their boxes and end up on the street. Are you catching my drift? And not just dogs, it’s cats, rabbits—”

“What if I pay for her to be spayed?” she asked, not wanting to hear any more.

“She’s too weak for that. Have your family vet do it in the next month or two.”

“I don’t have a—Why are you being difficult about this?” Anna used her forearm to wipe the moisture from her brow. It wasn’t just her agitated state that was getting to her, the man must shut down the air-conditioning when he locked up every night; it was as hot and steamy as a sauna in here. “I’ve never been on that highway before today, and you said yourself that you didn’t recognize me.”

“I also don’t believe a woman traveling alone at this hour would pull over and pick up a strange dog out of a ravine. Animals don’t like to be touched when they’re hurting, especially not by strangers in the middle of the night.”

“There! Testimony to my personality. If the dog trusts me, why can’t you?”

The look he shot her with those frosty eyes had her closing her own.

“Fine. Whatever. The fact remains that I have to leave, so if you’ll help me get her back in the van, I’ll pay you.”

“And I told you that’s risky.”

“Believe me, that’s the least of my problems.”

He started to reply, but another sound, that of the back door opening, stopped him.

“Slaughter! You in there?”




3


The sharp query yielded a strange reaction in the doctor, an odd stillness and deeper resentment. If that was possible, Anna thought, not exactly happy with the idea of company herself.

“Yeah.” After the curt reply, Gray added to her, “You have a complaint to make? Here’s your chance. That’s your so-called ‘cavalry.’”

“I don’t understand.”

“The Law.”

Before she could recover from that jarring announcement, their visitor appeared in the doorway.

“Well, well.” The man in the summer blues of Bitters’s police department leaned back against the doorjamb, one hand on his hip, the other on the gun strapped to his belt. A slow grin spread across his wide mouth. “What do we have here?”

“Take a wild guess,” Gray replied. “Better yet, tell me what you want since I know better than to think it was concern for my safety that brings you over.”

The sarcasm only made the cop grow more cheerful. He was a ripcord-lean man, surprisingly fair-skinned for someone in this part of the country, yet the muscles on his arms suggested rawhide toughness. Contrasting that were sunny blue eyes as curious and mischievous as a boy’s, framed by hair the color of chili powder and just long enough to curl with its own hint of devilry. He was, she decided, Shakespeare’s Puck grown up. Then his gaze moved over her with the laconic speed of cooled molasses and she knew to abandon the amusing analogies. This man hadn’t been a harmless charmer for decades—maybe not ever.

“Did you happen to hear the sirens earlier?” he asked them.

Gray remained focused on the dog, but allowed, “You know Pike’s not one to be a quiet hero. He sounds those alarms on the truck driving through town after a wash.”

“Well, this was no polishing party. Somebody torched Assembly of Souls Church.”

“Arson…you’re sure?”

“What else would you make of a bonfire built on the front steps? Fortunately, Pike was having a smoke outside the station and spotted the glow. They caught it fairly early on. Only lost the porch. Well, maybe the front wall, too.”

Frowning, Gray carried his instruments to the sterilizing container. “Bitters as the center of hate in Sutton County…that’ll be an interesting sell.”

“Racism is nothing to joke about.”

“What racism? There isn’t one black person in twenty miles, and the Mexicans the mayor and half of your business owners have working in their homes and at their ranches are Catholic. They don’t care about not being welcome at Assembly of Souls. They’re also making more money here in a month than all year at home. Racism…give me a break.”

Instead of answering, Elias switched his gaze back to Anna. “I noticed your Texas plates, but I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

Wishing she could be anywhere but here, Anna was grateful that at least she was wearing surgical gloves and didn’t have to shake hands. “Diaz. Anna Diaz.”

“I’m Frank Elias.”

“Congratulations, Frank,” Gray drawled. “You managed to resist adding your title. He’s the chief,” he explained to her. “Meaning that if there’s any racism to be exercised around here, he claims first rights.”

Elias’s glance was cutting, but he let the dig pass.

Anna remained silent, too, preferring to wait for the point to all of this.

“That your dog?” the lawman finally asked.

She shook her head.

“What did I do, Slaughter, interrupt a hot date? Just when I thought you’d never get back into circulation. But it’s a helluva time to try to impress a lady with your professional skills.”

What on earth was going on? Anna thought, her unease growing.

Gray tossed the bloody bandages into the marked receptacle. “Get to the point, or better yet, get out before I’m tempted to assume you’re here to get something tucked and snipped yourself.”

Sensing that whatever was between them went deeper than a simple misunderstanding, Anna decided she wanted no part of it. “Dr. Slaughter kindly helped out after I happened across this injured dog up the road,” she interjected in the hopes of keeping things from getting uglier.

“Whereabouts?”

She glanced around remembering the layout of the building in conjunction to the street and then pointed east. “That way.”

“You’re sure? How far?”

“Maybe a mile.”

To her surprise, the two men exchanged glances. After a second, Gray merely shrugged.

“Get as far as the church?” Chief Elias asked.

“No, it was mostly woods where I stopped.”

“The church isn’t far beyond the city limits sign. Pretty hard to miss.”

“Then apparently I didn’t get there.”

“Visiting kin in the area?”

“No.”

He waited for her to continue. She didn’t.

“Just passing through?”

“That’s right.”

“Not exactly safe times for a woman to be driving alone, particularly at this hour.”

The heat Anna was trying to ignore manifested into a trickle of sweat streaking down her back. It was no less uncomfortable than the droplets condensing between her breasts, but she did her best to keep her tone and expression calm. “Probably not.”

“So where are you heading?”

“East.”

“Did you happen to see any other vehicles?”

“No…wait. Yes. Someone came up behind me once I started back to town. And come to think of it, there was a bright glow in the sky.” Preoccupied with her own problems, she hadn’t connected the two images until he’d brought it to her attention.

“A bright glow like…streetlights or another vehicle?”

“I honestly didn’t give it much thought. I was concerned with the dog.”

“Right.” Frank nodded, all agreeableness. “Tell me what you can about the vehicle.”

“There’s not much. It stayed behind me all the way back to town. I kept hoping it would pass me—”

“Why?”

“For exactly the reasons you mentioned. Also, I didn’t want to be forced to drive in a way that might cause the dog more pain.”

“This dog that you’ve never seen before tonight?”

Gray smirked. “You think I’m a hard case,” he told her, “when he’s bored, he plucks the legs off crickets and grasshoppers for entertainment.”

“Not everybody sees sticking your hand up a cow’s butt as a religious experience,” Elias replied, crossing his arms over his chest. To Anna he added, “You were saying?”

She shrugged. “It continued on by as I pulled in here. It was a white pickup truck.”

“A pickup, wouldn’t you know it,” the chief drawled. “The one thing we have more of in Texas, aside from beautiful women and bullshit.”

Once again she found herself losing ground to the day, to its demands and dangers, only to be provoked by Frank Elias’s snide tone. “I could say it was a Rolls, but that would be some of that bullshit that you insinuated.”

The laughter vanished from Elias’s blue eyes. “How would you like to walk next door with me and try being cute over there?”

“Calm down, Frank.” Shooting Anna a cautioning glance, Gray passed between them to get to the waste container. “It’s not her fault that you don’t have any clues, let alone suspects.”

The chief rubbed his knuckles against his jutting jaw. “Who says I don’t? Maybe my numero uno suspect is staring me right in the face, eh, Ms. Diaz?”

“I hope that’s your idea of a joke,” Gray said quietly.

“Hey, I have every right to be suspicious, not to mention a little sore, when someone brings trouble to my town.”

“You should suggest the chamber of commerce use that on a billboard,” Anna said, recognizing the man for what he was—a full-blown, narrow-minded redneck. “‘The town where the only trouble is the tourists.’”

Frank straightened and assumed his initial pose. “Yeah, I think you’d better come with me.”

Anna eyed the hand on the holster. “Are you arresting me?”

“Did I say that? No, all I’m saying is that a change of environment will help you answer the rest of my questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“For one thing I’ll want to know where you can be reached should we need your testimony in the future.”

“I don’t have a permanent address yet.”

“You said you knew where you were heading.”

God, Anna thought, this was getting worse by the minute. If only she’d kept her mouth shut. “Generally, not specifically. I’m in the process of relocating.”

“Do you hear that, Slaughter?”

Gray shrugged. “Most people see moving as a constitutional right.”

“God bless the U.S.A. So, in that case,” the chief continued to Anna, “we’ll take down your statement, get some cellular-phone number or a relative’s address, whatever you have, and you’ll be back on your way in no time at all. Sound good?”

Only if you were a fresh-hatched chick. She didn’t believe him and wouldn’t trust him until she had his office, this entire town, in her rearview mirror. But she was reassured by the “we” part. That must mean more staff would be at the station due to the fire. Reassured, she drew a stabilizing breath and, pulling off her gloves, said to Gray, “Doctor, it appears that I have to impose on your kindness a while longer.”




4


Moths executed jet-fighter maneuvers in the blinding floodlights outside the back of the clinic, but their erratic movements were nothing compared to what was happening behind Anna’s ribs. She wondered what she was heading into. The temptation to risk making a run for it couldn’t be entirely ignored.

I’ve told so many lies, how many more should I risk?

“Whereabouts in Texas do you live?”

Though spoken matter-of-factly, Anna knew there was nothing casual about the question, just as there was nothing innocent about the way Chief Elias maneuvered around her so that she was on his left. It was the opposite side of his gun.

“I don’t live in Texas.”

“That’s what the plates on your van indicate.”

How close had he gotten to the vehicle? Not close enough to have looked inside, she assured herself, otherwise she would be cuffed by now. But she regretted not having taken the time to lock up the way she usually did. Gray Slaughter hadn’t given her the chance.

“They’re Texas plates because I started having transmission trouble and traded in my old car before I ended up stranded,” she replied. It wasn’t the truth, but it was a logical explanation.

“Smart girl. Mechanics always rip you off for that kind of work, and once a transmission is shot, you might as well ditch the vehicle. So where are you from?”

Anna knew she had to give him something. “Louisiana.”

“You don’t say? Huh. Still don’t hear an accent.”

“I’ve been out West for several years.”

He studied her profile, all of it, as they walked. “You an actress?”

She focused on the building they were approaching and the single patrol car parked before it. “A failed one.”

“I bet you’re just being modest.”

The compliment would have been easier to stomach with less oil soaking it. “No, embarrassingly honest.”

She could feel his curiosity intensifying, and tried to tolerate that by getting a better feel for her surroundings, what little there was. Not only was the town small, it was deserted. She’d missed the sign for the health-food store across the street next to the supermarket. Not surprisingly, there was a For Rent sign in the window. Next to that was a non-franchise hardware store.

“Married? Involved?”

“Not interested.”

He grinned, exposing strong, square teeth. “Doesn’t hurt to ask.”

No doubt he asked often, Anna thought gloomily, and with enough success to think women liked his brand of flirtation.

“Did you shoot down Slaughter, too?”

They stopped before the glass door of the station where all that was written was the white lettering for an evening number in case of emergencies. What she didn’t see beyond the door bothered her as much as his question, making her slow to answer. “Pardon?”

“Are you going to pretend that I didn’t sense a little chemistry going on between you and the doc when I came in?”

Here we go again, she thought. Never mind that she’d hidden her hair under a baseball cap most of the day and it had to be a mess, or that she felt windblown and dust-caked from driving with the window down because the van was a rip-off and the air conditioner was trying to die on her.

“Whatever you think you sensed,” she said, frowning into the dark building, “you’re wrong.”

He didn’t reply, merely reached over and opened the front door. But his arm came so close to brushing against her breasts, it was as good as a spoken taunt.

In that instant, Anna knew two things: she wasn’t going to get out of here tonight without a confrontation with Frank Elias…and he was low enough to use his badge as leverage.




5


Pissed didn’t begin to describe Gray’s mood as he carried the drugged dog to a cage in the otherwise empty kennel area. He eased her into one of the larger units, setting her on top of a thick towel he’d placed there a moment ago. His movements were mechanical, like a teacher delivering rote lessons for the umpteenth time, but for a change he appreciated that. He didn’t want to think about the pitiful animal, didn’t want to concern himself with what she’d been through to end up in this fix, or consider the fate likely awaiting her. As he’d tried to make clear to Anna Diaz, he’d seen too many animals like this, and too much rejection in his life. He was coming to the conclusion that the only thing people neglected worse than the pets they claimed to love was each other.

God, he was tired. And thanks to the woman and this mangy mutt, even if he returned to the house right now, he would need another shower before crawling into bed, and it was already closing in on midnight. But that wasn’t going to happen because he had to wait for her to finish next door. Waiting also gave him too much time to think…about how much of what she’d told him was a lie, and how, despite those doubts, for the first time in over a year he’d learned he wasn’t dead from the waist down. Most of all, he had time to think of the expression on her face as Frank had led her away.

Was she worth the strong impulse he was getting to go after them? No way did he believe she was simple Anna Diaz merely passing through town. The woman had secrets. Big ones. But did that make her Frank’s firebug? He couldn’t buy it. On the other hand, he knew Frank.

There had to be answers in her van.

Making up his mind, Gray rechecked the examination-operating room and shut off all but the night-light he kept plugged in the hallway for these kind of occurrences. Then he locked up the building.

The van remained where she’d parked it. A glance over at the police station indicated that he still had time; they were over there all right. He could tell by the beam of light spilling out from the front door and window, further illuminating the street. That the beam looked pretty weak compared to what it should be if all the lights were turned on left a bad taste in his mouth. Then again, Frank knew to keep costs down, to not strain the town’s ever-tightening budget.

The bite of gravel at his bare feet irritated as much as curiosity and conscience plagued Gray’s mind, encouraging him to be quick. Upon opening the passenger door, he saw that the van was designed for commercial purposes. There was only the shell of the truck and little else. A suitcase, sleeping bag and pillow were stacked neatly behind the driver’s seat. Anna Diaz was traveling light and the sleeping bag explained why she didn’t want that flea-and-tick-infested dog traveling with her.

Meaning what—that she’d been truthful about only happening upon the dog? The idea sat better with him than believing she’d let the poor beast degenerate into such a pitiful condition. But something still didn’t feel right.

Leaning over the passenger seat, he spotted a black leather purse on the floorboard. Without the slightest twinge of guilt, he lifted out her wallet. Like the purse, it was made of quality hide. Flipping open the buttery-soft flap, he eyed the Louisiana license for Anna Diaz and discovered that her thirtieth birthday was only a few months away. Then he tilted the thing back and forth to get a better look at her photo. No, it wasn’t glare on the plastic that made it so unclear, he realized. The photo was scratched.

His unease growing, he checked the rest of the wallet. All of the credit card slots were empty, and there were no other photos; however, what had him exhaling in a low whistle was the amount of cash she was carrying. The lady wasn’t going to starve this month, or for a while if she didn’t indulge in too many four-star establishments.

He found yet another stash of bills in a different compartment in the bag. Maybe, he thought with growing bitterness, he would also find the reason for her to have such resources. Simple logic was beginning to offer a few conclusions.

Gray shoved the purse back in place…possibly a bit too roughly because it tipped over. As he reached to straighten it, his fingertips brushed against something in the seat pocket.

Frowning, he eased his hand inside and closed his fingers around smooth steel. He drew out a Smith & Wesson .9mm automatic—not the kind of thing a simple working girl relocating toted around with her…unless her work was dangerous.

Determined to find out what else he could, Gray unlocked the side door, slid it open and climbed into the back of the van. There he unzipped the navy blue weekender-style bag and sifted through the neatly folded, but minimal assortment of clothes. All of it was casual—jeans, a few T-shirts and denim shirts, like what she was wearing. The underwear was no less understated—white cotton. But considering the body on the woman, not even that blandness would disappoint. What pulled his mind away from the unwelcome fantasy of seeing her in it was that most of the stuff either still had tags or remained in their wrappers. The suitcase looked new, too.

Otherwise there was little else…a few toiletry items—soap, toothpaste, toothbrush, mouthwash and a bundle of pocket-size tissue packets. What was missing was makeup. Okay, he allowed, with her exotic features and dramatic coloring, she didn’t need much. But where were the dozen bottles and tubes of hair-care products, the variety of perfumes and body creams, the nail polish if not for her fingernails, then her toes? What planet had this luscious Barbie doll descended from that she packed with the restraint of a special ops commando?

Replacing everything, he checked a zippered compartment and took out a manila envelope. “Bingo,” he murmured as a treasure trove of documents fell out. He sifted through a second license, a birth certificate and a few photos…and froze as he opened a small leather billfold.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

After browsing through everything, Gray repacked it all, but with far less care than before. Closing up behind himself, he loped toward Frank’s office, this time oblivious to the sting of the stones.

A neat brick building, Bitters’s police station remained locked tight more often than it was occupied, partly due to the town’s inability to fund more than a staff of two including Frank, with a part-time night patrolman for weekends, holidays and emergencies. Day Officer Kenny Plummer’s patrol car was undoubtedly parked in his driveway. “Murph” Cox wouldn’t use his vehicle until Friday night, but he was allowed to keep it at his place in case of heretofore-nonexistent emergencies. Gray knew better than most what a dubious department the trio made. Fortunately, until now, this blink-and-miss town hadn’t needed much in the way of law enforcement. They didn’t draw much traffic off of I–10 to worry about crime waves, even with the convenience store–gas station being the only fuel for ten miles.

The news he now possessed could change that, and he wasn’t certain Frank Elias was the one to pass it over to. Frank clung hard to his reckless and irreverent ways with a stubbornness Gray would find difficult to stomach without the bad blood between them. Nevertheless, as he entered the station, he was willing to put that aside. More important at the moment was justice, and making sure the law hadn’t been abused. What he saw across the dimly lit room, however, thrust that into the back of his mind.

Across the room Frank was all over Anna Diaz like latex on a professional wrestler. What’s more, the way his hands were groping her had nothing to do with an official body search.

“Elias.”

Gray stormed across the room, grabbed a handful of the startled man’s collar and yanked him off her.

“What the fuck—Slaughter, get your hands off me!”

Gray obliged by shoving the cop toward his desk. Frank missed his chair and went sprawling beneath the table. “You don’t get enough willing tail, you have to resort to this?”

“She was trying to escape.”

“He’s lying!” Anna turned, but needed the wall to keep standing. With shaking hands, she closed the snaps on her denim shirt. “He attacked me.”

Frank snorted as he rose. “Yeah, and you were fighting so hard. Admit it, you wanted it.”

“Is that why her cheek’s rubbed raw from that wall?” Gray demanded. He shook his head in disgust. “You’re a pig.”

This was Frank’s weakness—keeping his hands to himself, discretion, respect, especially when it came to women. Even knowing that his past behavior had cost him the one person he claimed to love, as well as his boyhood friendship with Gray. The man hadn’t learned a damn thing after all these years.

“Stick it up your ass.” Scrambling to his feet, Frank settled on the edge of his desk. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

As far as Gray was concerned, what he had come to say was no longer Frank’s business. If guilty of something, Anna Diaz could take it up with someone who deserved to wear a badge.

“It’s late and I have to get up early,” he replied. “I wanted to settle Ms. Diaz’s account and call it a day. Instead I find this. Do you realize how deep a shithole you’ve dug for yourself this time?”

“I was interviewing her. She went out of control. You heard her pushing it earlier.”

“You were provoking me.” Anna clenched her hands at her sides. “There’s nothing else to say. At least not what you want to hear.”

Some of his bravado was returning and Frank smiled smugly. “The night’s young and the doc here turns in early. Want to keep trying?”

Gray got the gist of what was going on. “You asked for a witness statement. Did you get it?”

“I think she’s lying.”

“You asked for a statement.”

“And I’m telling you that she may be our arsonist.”

“Based on what evidence?”

“She’s too anxious to get away from here.”

Gray could only stare at him. “Do you know the person you’ve just described? Anyone with an IQ over Pike’s brother’s after spending more than ten minutes in your presence. Anyway, guilty or not, you’ve denied her her rights.”

As the old animosity between them heated to its new combustion point, a feathery twitch started at Frank’s right eyelid. “So now you’re an expert in law enforcement as well as horse manure, Doc?”

Undaunted, Gray snapped, “You don’t have squat in evidence, including probable cause. I’ll bet my license on it.”

“A lot that’s worth these days. As for evidence, I’ll get what I need.”

“No doubt. But whether the end result is your plan for outright rape or simple intimidation, unless she’s willing to let you screw her just to get out of here, I’m telling you it isn’t going to happen.”

Frank began to rise, only to check himself. Settling back on the desk, he crossed his arms and resumed that all-too-familiar smile. “My hunch was right. She’s got your juices stirred, too.”

Gray had heard enough. He motioned to Anna. “Let’s go.”

With more eagerness than a pup heading for the exit at his clinic, she started for the door. The next thing Gray heard was the release of the snap on Frank’s holster, followed by him sliding a round into the chamber of his sidearm.

He and Anna came to an immediate halt.

Gray looked over his shoulder. “Are you nuts?”

Frank’s gaze shifted to the gun as though belatedly realizing what he’d done. Redirecting it toward the ceiling, he said to Anna, “You don’t leave town.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Then you don’t need to worry, do you?”

“Take my statement, let me sign it and let me go.”

He tilted his head as though seriously considering the idea. “I think I’ll wait until morning. Give you time to reconsider your attitude.”

Gray pointed at him, intent on drawing his attention. “The next time she comes here, it’ll be with an attorney. Are you prepared for that?”

“Paid for by who?” Frank taunted. “You gonna do it, Saint Gray? The way you’re running down your business, it’s a good thing you collected on all of those insurance policies.”

A red veil of fury dropped over Gray’s vision and he took a step forward. Luckily for him, Anna checked him by gripping his arm.

“I’ll be paying my own way,” she told Elias. “With pleasure.” And this time she didn’t wait for Gray to beckon her, she stormed out of the building.

Fighting his own temper, he didn’t catch up with her for several yards. When he did, she didn’t so much as spare him a glance as she headed for her van.

“You could say thank you,” he said, no less angry than she was.

“If it wasn’t for you giving me a hard time about that damn dog, I wouldn’t be in this mess. You could have taken her and let me go. But no, you had to cop an attitude yourself, and now look at what you’ve done. As far as I’m concerned, you’re no better than he is.”

As that triggered a spasm of guilt, Gray found himself mesmerized by her profile. In the obscure and changing light, passion blazed in eyes as exotic as an Egyptian cat’s, her lush hair lifted off her shoulders like a night raven in a graceful glide. The romantic analogies were ludicrous to someone who’d lost interest in women, in everything he’d ever cared about. But like it or not, there was no denying this woman was something else. He needed grounding fast. He needed to know, was he setting himself up to make the mistake of mistakes?

“Did you set the fire?” he asked.

“Sure. Then I hunted down the dog, half gutted it and came back to Shangri-la here so I could endure Dumb and Dumber.”

Gray grabbed her arm and swung her around to face him. “Knock it off. I’m too tired for your games, and God knows I’m so fed up with things in general that I’m already wondering why I should care what happens to you.”

“Then why did you come over?” she replied, giving as good as she got. “Because if it’s for some of what he wanted, you aren’t going to have any more luck than he did. I don’t put out. Not on demand. Not as an I.O.U. Got it?”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“Let me guess—” she shrugged off his hold “—you’re another one who expects the woman to offer out of gratitude.”

An odd bitterness filled Gray’s mouth, the ashes of old pain. “I lost my wife. I was not asking.”

She grew quiet and slowly, reluctantly, searched his face. “So that’s what’s wrong with you.”

Once again, he appreciated her candor. He also was relieved that she didn’t mouth any meaningless condolences, and accepted his explanation without more questions.

“All right, so tell me what I owe you,” she said instead. “And I’ll leave you in peace.”

Gray sighed because he wanted her to go. It was the strangest feeling, but he almost ached with the need. However, he also knew Elias.

“You can’t.”

“Pardon?”

“In the morning, I’ll call someone, a friend. He’s a lawyer and he’ll know what can be done.”

She purged the air in her lungs in a way that could have been a laugh, if he hadn’t seen her expression.

“I don’t believe this. Why did you bother coming over there if not to help me get away from him?”

“Think about it. I suspect you’ll figure it out.”

Although her gaze searched his face, her expression remained closed.

“Talk to me,” Gray urged. “Or would you prefer dealing with Frank all by your lonesome?”

Her lips compressed, she shook her head. “I’m not staying, Doctor.”

“You don’t have a choice, because he will come after you. That much I can promise.”

“He’ll have to find me.”

“Oh, he’ll do that. You don’t know about Frank Elias and his obsessions. Is that something you can afford…Sasha?”




6


He knew…Sasha could see the truth in Gray Slaughter’s chilling gaze, and she needed only to glance toward the van, remember there had been no time to lock it, to understand how. Her next worst fear realized, she studied the man challenging her, concluding that, no matter how she weighed her chances of fleeing at the moment, they were slight. Almost worse than when she’d first been forced to make a run for it. Time, that’s what she needed. It was already her enemy, but she had to figure out a way to change that and make something work in her favor.

“What do you want?” She took heart in hearing that her voice didn’t sound as unsteady as it had after Elias’s assault.

“The truth.”

“I promise you, Doctor, you want the truth about as much as I’d be interested in a sidewalk mammography.”

He nodded toward the police station. “You almost had worse back there.”

It had been a bad situation, and if she let herself dwell on it, she would probably start trembling again, so she maintained her focus on a counter-offensive. Wasn’t that what her father used to tout? The Vince Lombardi quote: “The best defense is a great offense.”

“All right, let me put it this way,” she countered. “Why, knowing what you think you do, have you stuck your neck out to help me?”

“Forget me for the moment, it’s Frank you should be worrying about. He may be small-time compared to what you’re used to in Las Vegas, but whatever he lacks skillwise, he makes up for in dogged determination, Officer Mills.”

Although it shouldn’t surprise her at this point that he also knew her profession, Sasha dealt with what her paternal grandmother had likened to “Death’s cold grip on the neck” in silence.

“You’re not getting it,” Gray continued. “It’s pride with him, and I think you’re someone who understands pride.”

For his sake, she hoped he never learned how thoroughly. “What do you suggest I do? The man’s intent on framing me.”

“Forget the fire for the moment.” He gestured toward the van. “It’s the automatic and the money that concern me. In this part of the country that kind of paraphernalia usually means drugs or freighting illegals.”

“The gun is my service weapon, my ID is authentic.”

“Then how can you be relocating the way you claimed? If you’d left the LVMPD, you’d have surrendered both.”

Sasha swallowed against the adrenaline charging through her veins; her heart was pumping as though she was pushing to win a mile sprint. She had to remind herself that this man had risked taking a bullet for her—after going through her things and drawing conclusions he clearly saw as incriminating, no less.

The unexpected touch of his fingers against her cheek had her jerking back.

“Come inside,” he said grimly. “I’ll get you some ice for that. The skin isn’t broken, but it still has to burn like hell.”

It did. She also needed the chance to rein in her emotions and cool off. She couldn’t afford any other errors in judgment. Besides, they were too exposed out here. If she was to make her escape, she needed time…and privacy.

“All right,” she murmured. “Let me lock up first.”

“If you don’t mind.” He reached around her to lock the passenger door, then circled the van, took out her keys and rolled up the window. When he finally handed over the keys and her bag, but not her gun, she knew something else—it would be dangerous to attempt anything rash while Dr. Gray Slaughter was awake or conscious, because he was going to be even less of a pushover than Frank Elias.

The wariness compounded as Sasha entered his home. It was darker in here than in the police station, as silent as a mausoleum and not that dissimilar in looks considering the impersonal, old-fashioned furnishings. Usually, she found dimly lit, quiet places soothing, but she had to stop just inside the sparsely furnished living room because of the overwhelming sensation of negatives, what felt like a near vacuum of oxygen. How different things had looked from the outside. There was a complete absence of life. In fact, she sensed death lingering here.

“Something wrong?” he asked after securing the front door’s dead bolt.

“It’s dark. I don’t want to step on the family cat or anything.”

“There isn’t one.”

It probably ran away from home ages ago. “Should I keep my voice down for any sleeping babies?”

“The kitchen’s this way.”

Lifting her eyebrows at his touchiness over the subject, she followed him as he stepped left through a doorway to a combination kitchen and dining area. Visually, it was no improvement, the green-white-and-chrome decor reminiscent of a fifties B movie, on the sci-fi end of budgets. But it was exits Sasha paid particular attention to. She noted the aluminum storm door beyond the half-glass inner one. Double doors weren’t ideal. Until she saw the rest of the place, she decided the route they’d entered remained her best option. As she tucked her keys into the right front pocket of her jeans, she positioned them to be able to grab the van key first…or to use as a weapon if that became necessary.

“Here.” Working by the light over the kitchen sink, Gray took a towel from a drawer and drew a handful of ice cubes from the icemaker in the only modern appliance in the place—the side-by-side refrigerator-freezer. Then he passed the bulky mass to her. “Want something to dull the bruising on the inside?”

Before she could answer, he stooped before the cabinet next to the refrigerator and took out an unopened bottle of scotch. That had her wondering where the opened one was. Had he already emptied it?

“No, thanks,” she said as he reached for a second glass. One wouldn’t be enough and two would be too many. “Just a glass of water if you don’t mind.” She had aspirin in her bag to address the headache she was developing. But as he turned away, she amended, “On second thought, yes. Please.”

If he was confused or suspicious of her change of heart, he gave no indication. “On the rocks or with water?”

“Plenty of ice, please, then just a splash of water. And if it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate an extra glass of water on the side. I’m feeling pretty dehydrated.”

The drink he handed her would put her over the legal limit for driving—probably what he intended—but what interested her more was seeing that the one he made for himself could have been mistaken for apple cider.

“Are you catching up for lost time,” she asked, “or is that a sign of how upset you are with me?”

Gray took a leisurely drink before replying, “Why don’t you just tell me what triggered what happened next door?”

“You’re the one who has the history with the man, you explain it to me.”

“There’s nothing complicated about Frank. From the instant he laid eyes on you, his chronic itch wanted scratching. I’m sure that’s nothing new to you.”

“I can’t believe you’re blaming me for lucky genes, Doctor.”

“I’m not referring to your looks, and you know it. But the plainest person can possess an intrinsic animal magnetism, or sexuality, call it what you’d like, that’s equally if not more provocative…and can be tempered.”

“So now I provoked him?”

“For all of his flaws, Frank tends to stick with sure things, and he’s got plenty of those right here in town.”

At this rate, he would have her draining her drink, after all…if she didn’t throw it at him. “Okay, Doc, I confess. Once I realized how easy it was to make the jerk act like putty in my hands, I couldn’t resist. Fighting off rapists beats watching late-night TV anytime.”

“What I think is that in your eagerness to get away, you made a poor judgment call. That begs the question, what could be so important to put yourself at such risk?”

To answer that even in the most vague way would initiate a whole new series of questions, so she bought time by taking an initial sip of her scotch, then a few seconds longer by taking a deep swallow of the water to keep from choking. It didn’t help much. “Look, I’m grateful for your assistance. But if you hadn’t been such a hard case to begin with, none of this would have happened.”

Gray saluted her with his glass. “I can see Frank will have his hands full tomorrow with or without counsel.”

“Chief Elias couldn’t recognize a serial killer if he stood at his door with a trick-or-treat bag full of body parts.” Sasha hesitated a moment and then ventured, “What will it take for you to let me go?”

“I gave my word.”

She pretended resignation and asked, “Then where’s the closest motel?”

“Sonora, east on the interstate about twenty miles. But don’t insult my intelligence by asking me to believe you’d stop there, let alone be back here first thing in the morning.”

“What else do you expect—”

The ringing phone had Gray scowling and then motioning for her to give him a moment. From the sound of his side of the conversation, she surmised the caller was a customer with an ill animal. It was exactly the opportunity she needed.

Signaling to him that she wanted to wash up, she snatched her purse and exited through the other passageway she assumed led to the hall and the rest of the house. It did. Directly opposite the kitchen, she found a room set up as an office. Next to it was a bedroom, and after that the bathroom. Closing and quietly locking the door, she eyed the window over the tub.

“Small gifts,” she murmured.

Knowing that sound would be her enemy, she turned on the water faucet in the sink and placed the towel with ice in the base of the bowl, listening for a certain splashing sound. Satisfied with the tone, she stepped into the bathtub and eased open the window. Relieved that the window didn’t squeak, she jimmied free the screen, then tossed out her purse. Hoisting herself up and through the narrow opening, however, was a feat better suited to a member of Cirque du Soleil. She was agile and small enough overall, but the window was higher due to its location, and she had to be careful not to hit the shower door while twisting like a theme-park trained dolphin to get herself out. Easy enough normally, though she wasn’t feeling “normal” these days.

But escape she did. Dropping to the ground with a grunt of pain that had little to do with the distance of her fall or the dry, packed ground, she grabbed up her bag and took off to the left—immediately crashing into something that shouldn’t have been there.

“I’m sincerely disappointed.” Gray Slaughter gripped her arms to steady her.

Deciding that she had nothing to lose, Sasha lunged at him with the determination of a line-backer at a playoff game. Shouldering him in the belly, she sidestepped left and took off running again.

She made it around the first corner, but as she rounded the second at the front of the house, she went flying forward, hitting the ground like a safe dropping three stories onto concrete.

The next thing she was conscious of was the dirt in her mouth and something as heavy as a buffalo crushing her. Just as she was certain her lungs would explode, the weight eased off her…but then her arms were being twisted behind her back. Spitting out grass and dirt, Sasha gasped from pain as much as the need for oxygen.

“Wait…”

“That’s what I asked you to do while I was on the phone.”

“I can’t…breathe.”

To her great relief the knee trying to permanently fasten her spine to her navel lifted. With no time to adjust, she was yanked up like a stuffed toy. Slaughter kept a firm hold of her, but Sasha didn’t care. She was too grateful that her lungs were working again, and for the chance to blink away the tears and dirt from her eyes.

“You’re faster than you…look,” she wheezed.

He picked up her bag. “And you’re not as bright.”

She couldn’t argue with him there. “Where—where did you learn that tackle?”

“Worry about it.”

Grasping her by the waist with his free hand, he started directing her back toward the kitchen door. It was the worst of all places he could have touched her.

Gasping, Sasha fought the blinding pain and would have fallen again if not for his equally fast response.

“What is it?” he demanded, steadying her with his body.

Muted by the wave of nausea that followed, she could only bend forward and struggle to get past the worst of it. “Nothing. I’ll be okay in a second.”

“All I did was—” Dropping her bag, he tugged at her shirt.

“What the—Hey!” She pushed away his hands, having had her fill of groping men for one night. “I said I’m okay.”

“Let me see, damn it.” Freeing the shirt from her jeans, he lifted it and turned her into the faint light off the back porch. “Christ. Why the hell didn’t you say you’d been shot?”

Once she was fairly confident that her stomach was going to stay inside her body, she threw him a resentful look. “When would have been a good time? At the start, when you decided I was a lousy pet owner? Or later, as the tramp willing to do anything to get my way?” Feeling the day, the last week catching up with her, Sasha looked away and continued to blink hard, this time against overpowering emotions. “It’s only a graze,” she muttered. “And nothing compared to what will happen if you don’t let me go.”




7


12:59 a.m. CST

Shortly after passing the road sign indicating Bitters 5 Miles, the woman driving the BMW Z8 stiffened with new alarm as the engine light flashed on.

“Stupid automobile!”

It wasn’t a year old and outrageously expensive, how could the engine be sick? This is what she deserved for her extravagance. God was punishing her, would punish her like the angel pursuing Adam and Eve out of the Garden of Eden.

But this was no garden. She was in the middle of nowhere, a hideous, barren place not that different than where she’d come from, but without the luxuries. She’d noted all its deficits during the meandering, desperate attempt to find her way back to the interstate and here. Considering the endless darkness stretching before her, she had no hope that this “Bitters”—Americans forever perplexed her with their town names—was an improvement over the last disaster she’d exited at. There the gas pump had been malfunctioning, and the toilet—She would rather have risked the wildlife and peed behind a bush.

Now she couldn’t afford disdain. She had to seek help at Bitters because the stupid car was running on fumes as well as whatever that light meant.

Clinging to the steering wheel with a grip that triggered the cramps she’d been experiencing since the first night she’d been traveling, the woman checked her rearview mirror. At least she was safe again. No one else was on the road. Spasibo, Mama. Now if only her sainted mother could convince the Holy Virgin to forgive her for her vanity and self-indulgence, and bring her to someone who understood overpriced sports cars. This was exactly what she’d been warned when she’d bought it, how no one outside of a metropolitan area would be able to fix it should she have trouble. The head mechanic at the dealership had insisted, begged her, to pull over immediately should anything ever go wrong.

Pull over? Easy for him to say, she thought with another spasm of self-pity. He wasn’t the one in a strange place with a phone that refused to work, worried that when it finally did there would be no answer on the other side.

“I hate you,” she cried, pounding on the dash. “Turn off!”

The light stayed on.

Blinking at tears that threatened to lead her off the road, she eyed the odometer again, gauging how far away she now was from the exit. Two miles? It had to be less.

“I am strong,” she recited, remembering the therapy and self-help books she’d read by the dozens. “I can do it.”

Sniffing, she shifted into Neutral, turned off the ignition and let the Z8 cruise on its own momentum. The night was mild. Walking would be nerve-racking, but what hadn’t been so far? She could manage.

As the car began to slow, she steered to the shoulder until the vehicle came to a full stop.

Would it ever start again? She had counted on this sleek, red beauty to finance her future. But, she allowed with a sigh, that was the way of life. As her baba used to lecture, “To live a life is not so simple as crossing a field.”

Feeling tears collecting again, she pulled free the keys, climbed out of the BMW and locked up. Brushing back her shoulder-length hair, she inspected her surroundings. The other warnings flooded back into her memory, how not to venture off into the prairie if something went wrong, how there was as much danger out there as there was on the road, things that did more than bite or sting.

“All I ever wanted was to be warm again,” she whispered to the night.

With no desire to find out what creatures stalked this unwelcoming terrain, she began walking briskly toward the lights. Although dim and minimal, they consoled her somewhat. She was a woman who needed her solitude, needed it desperately, but the company of people, especially strangers, would be reassuring right now. If she could also get a cup of hot coffee and use a clean rest room, she would endure. Blossom.

“I am strong…I am strong.”

Her jogging shoes, still too new to be comfortable, made each step awkward. She was used to high heels, expensive leathers, not these heavy things with soles she suspected were made from military-truck tires. As ugly as they were stiff, they were no less foreign to her than her jeans and Texas T-shirt. Her style was the business suit, preferably silk and exquisite, and handcrafted shoes. These monstrosities reminded her of the old country, difficult times and too much she wanted to forget.

“The point is to blend in with the tourists, not stick out.”

Remembering those cautionary words, her lips, bare of the expensive makeup she was envied for, twisted without mirth. “What tourists?”

All but lost in her dejection, she was slow to realize something was missing.

My bag.

Horrified, she began running back. But after only a few steps, the lights of another vehicle appeared.

What to do? There was no choice but to seek shelter in the first shrubs large enough to hide her. Even as she sent up another prayer, she nevertheless veered off the road and down a craggy draw to seek cover in the deeper terrain. Stumbling over the uneven ground, she barely missed a dive into a thatch of prickly brush.

Ducking behind it, she watched as a vehicle slowed, then pulled in behind hers. Thieves? Of course! Who would ignore such a beauty standing alone for the taking? And in it all that was left of her future.

She cursed the interlopers in the large vehicle parking behind her car. Then she bit her lower lip as her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she could tell more about it. Oh, no, she thought. Please God, no.

Both driver and passenger doors opened. Two men emerged, the cab lights exposing that both dressed in dark attire. They were barely a hundred feet away, yet she couldn’t make out many details about them except that they appeared large, intimidating. Then they spoke and she knew visual identification wouldn’t matter.

The Russians.

An involuntary cry burst from her.

In the next instant the man on her side turned his flashlight toward where she hid. She ducked lower. The beam slid right over her hiding spot and passed. A second beam duplicated the trail of the first. It wasn’t unlike the prison camp searchlights from the old days, and she knew like those, these dogs of war would not give up easily.

Her worst fears materialized as the men started down the steep incline.

Terrified, certain that she’d been spotted, she turned blindly into the darkness and began running.




8


1:07 a.m.

Once they returned inside, Gray handed Sasha her glass and directed her toward the hallway.

“What for?”

He understood her wariness, realized she wasn’t convinced that, despite what he’d said earlier, he wasn’t ordering her to his bedroom to take up where Frank had left off. In his opinion, he was probably the safest male in Bitters tonight, as physically spent as he was emotionally finished, and from more than wrestling and playing verbal chess with her.

It had been an altogether shitty day thanks to Dub Witherspoon’s favorite cow needing help in delivering a dead bull calf. Dub hadn’t taken “I don’t do house calls anymore” for an answer. As a result, all Gray wanted when he got home after the nine-hour ordeal was to get quietly drunk and escape from that latest scenario and the scent of death.

But to his unwelcome and reluctant houseguest, he merely said, “You’re under my roof, you don’t take foolish chances with infection.”

To his surprise, she went without any additional lip.

In the bathroom, he motioned for her to hop up on the vanity, then shut off the water she’d left running and squeezed out the washrag. Afterward, he locked the window. Replacing the screen would have to wait until morning. He hoped she was intimidated by him; he didn’t think he was in good enough shape to do many more rounds with this spitfire.

With her semi-safely perched, he opened the linen closet to rummage through the offerings there. Most of his medical supplies, even those appropriate for humans, were in the clinic, so he settled on hydrogen peroxide, antibiotic ointment, cotton balls and whatever he had in the way of gauze pads and bandages.

He set everything beside her. “You’ll have to lift your shirt again and open the jeans.”

Hardly voiced as a request, he accepted that she first took a good swallow of her drink. The wound had to be giving her more trouble than she wanted to admit—denim tended to be abrasive even without a pair of male hands working it like sandpaper against tender skin—but he knew it wasn’t pain alone feeding her reluctance. It was him. He’d proven to be not much better than Frank. She had to detest him for that.

When she finally relented, Gray grunted at the inflamed slash marring the left side of her small waist. In this brighter light, the shocking contrast against skin otherwise flawless filled him with an even deeper outrage. He understood too well the brutality behind such an assault, and how lucky she was to be sitting there shooting mental arrows into him.

All he said, though, was, “Roll the waistband down a bit more, or I’ll get this crap all over everything.”

“Just do the best you can.”

“Suit yourself.”

He opened the new package of cotton balls and the peroxide and went to work.

“You took a huge risk not bothering to get this tended to properly.”

“I’ve been a little busy.”

“How did it happen?”

She acted as though she’d suddenly gone stone deaf, which was just as well. The condition of the wound demanded his concentration. And although peroxide didn’t usually sting—at least not in comparison to what he should be using—this abrasion was no simple scratch. It was also inflamed, the tissue swollen. That meant his slightest touch had to sting like a needle in the eye, and Gray thought she did pretty well to simply stiffen and suck in a sharp breath with every new dab.

“Hang on. I’ll finish as fast as I can.”

Like a model posing for a sculpture, or an assassin contemplating a target, she simply stared out into the dark hallway, lost in her own focus.

Hoping she wasn’t plotting some new attempt to outwit or outmaneuver him, he said, “You need to know something. I may not like what you just pulled, but it doesn’t change anything. You’re in my home and that means something to me. Elias won’t touch you again.”

“And who’s going to keep you in line, Doc?”

“I did not take you down for a free grope. That tumble left me sore, too.”

“I was on the bottom.”

“You betrayed my trust.” Then Gray swore softly. Not due to her attitude, rather for the discoloration he noticed on the cotton. “You’d better take a bigger swallow of your drink, think up a few new expletives, something, because I’ve got to get a little rougher than I intended.”

He held up the stained cotton for her to see and she gazed at it with eyes darker than New Orleans coffee, almost as dark as her lashes. Raising her glass to her lips, she murmured, “Do what you have to do.”

The drink wasn’t as potent as a shot, and before Gray reached for another cotton ball, her hand was shaking enough to bounce an ice cube out of the glass. It skidded off the counter and directly into the commode.

“Five bucks says you can’t do that twice.”

For such rich-colored eyes, her answering look cut like a laser.

“That’s what I like about you,” he countered. “You’re no chatterbox.”

“And you were right to stay away from plastic surgery. At least you put the dog under before starting on her.”

“That was a low blow, even if you are hurting, Officer.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“If only I believed you meant it.”

“I—” Gasping, Sasha fell silent as she endured the most painful swab yet. “Believe this then…that money you found belongs to my mother’s lover. I figured it was small retribution for this graze. I also took it knowing it wouldn’t be smart to stop at an ATM machine.”

Gray tossed the last soiled swab into the trash and washed his hands. “Is your mother okay?”

“Do you think that son of a bitch would be alive if he’d hurt her?”

God almighty, he thought. Who was this woman? “Has there been a murder?”

“Not by me.”

Maybe he was a fool, but he believed her. “So who’s Anna Diaz?”

“My—best friend.”

“Isn’t that a bit risky?”

“She died just over a year ago.”

“Then she’s in no way connected to whatever is going on?”

“Not in the least. But we could pass for sisters, and I loved her as though she was. I wouldn’t have taken her identity if it wasn’t necessary.”

Gray reached for the antibiotic ointment. “You shouldn’t have scratched the photo. I would only have glanced at it otherwise. The scratch made me look more closely.”

“Uh-huh. You tackle like a pro, your observation skills are better than the average person’s…Anything else I should watch out for?”

“As I said before, worry about it.” He spread the ointment, frowning at the unexpected pleasure he took from her curiosity and reluctant admiration. As a rule, he shut down any questions about himself or his past. Knowing how unwise this breach in pattern was, he attempted to alleviate that. “So where’s your mother?”

“I don’t know.”

He didn’t miss the lower pitch in her voice, the strain that lay beneath that admission. It had him thinking of what she wasn’t saying, and he didn’t like the possibilities, disliked them so much he abruptly wiped his hand in a tissue and took her glass out of her hand.

“By all means,” she drawled as he gulped down the rest of its contents. “Help yourself.”

“I’ll freshen it up when we get back to the kitchen.”

Opening a pair of large gauze bandages, he secured them with several Band-Aids. “That should hold. We’ll have to repeat the process in the morning, though. You were a few hours away from a serious infection.”

He tossed away the wrappings and washed his hands again, almost smelling smoke from the mental brakes locking in her head. That told him she still planned to be out of here by then. So much for thinking he’d gotten his point across.

Taking up her glass again, he led the way back to the kitchen.

Once there, he refilled both of their drinks. “About your mother…”

“She’s not up for discussion.”

“I’ll ask anyway. Are you looking for her? You said you don’t know where she is. And if you’re on the run because you stole her boyfriend’s money—”

“Correction, he shot, then I took the money.”

Gray slid her freshened drink toward her. “Then it’s reasonable to assume that he’s not too happy with her, either, if only because of her relationship to you.”

Sasha ignored the offering and walked around the room like a caged animal. The way she slid her hand to her side told Gray that she could use the help against the pain. Guessing why she refused, he eyed his glass longingly, but slowly placed it down beside hers and tried a different angle of questioning.

“Cops get shot at every day. Generally they’re seen as heroes not fugitives. Or is it just the gun-happy boyfriend you’re running from?”

“How many ways do I need to tell you to butt out, Slaughter? I’m saying this for your welfare as much as my own.”

“But you believe information can keep a person alive. Hasn’t it allowed you to assume another person’s identity?”

Sasha laughed briefly, the sound hard. “Stick to vaccinating pups and kittens. Anna was an orphan. I’m not compromising anyone’s safety by using her ID.”

“What about me? As far as I’m concerned, there’s no more vulnerable place to be than in the dark, where you’re leaving me.”

She spun away from him to circle the dinette table. “I didn’t invite you to snoop around in my van. And I don’t—damn.” She grasped her side.

“You’ll want to avoid sharp turns like that one, fast moves of any kind for the next several days,” Gray told her.

Holding herself rigid and then sighing with relief, Sasha said with surprising mildness, “You’ve been decent, and I’m grateful. As for the subtle interrogation, forget it. I’m the best judge of what is and isn’t viable.”

To hell with it, Gray thought, and swept up his glass. He welcomed the cold sting from the ice against his teeth as much as the bite from the alcohol. “This boyfriend has a record, doesn’t he?”

Completing the turn around the kitchen table, Sasha stopped before him. “Look at me.”

That was one thing he didn’t want to do, at least not when he wasn’t in his doctoring mode. Especially not when there was little more than his imagination between them. Because a god with a fondness for Mona Lisa–like smiles had designed Sasha Mills’s lips. Only he hadn’t been able to resist adding just enough fullness to trigger erotic thoughts. Perfect torment for melancholy bastards like him who thought they already knew all the tricks hell had to offer.

“Now hear me, Slaughter,” she continued. “Once and for all—leave it alone.”

“No can do. You ended up on my doorstep, and as you’ve already heard and surmised, I have too much time on my hands to weigh and analyze. Okay, so at least tell me this,” he said as she began to argue. “Are you, for want of a better word, AWOL from your job? I’m assuming your precinct commander doesn’t know your whereabouts?”

“Every time I tried to talk to him, it almost got me killed.”

Now he understood the hunted look in her eyes, the pacing and edginess. “What do you think has happened?”

“I suspect someone I trusted sold me out. Nothing else I can think of would explain it.”

“Call IA.”

She lifted a finely arched eyebrow. “You know about police procedure?”




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