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Double Play: Ambushed! / High-Caliber Cowboy
B.J. Daniels
Suspense, passion, cowboys and the wide skies of Montana–all the hallmarks of New York Times bestselling author B.J. Daniels combine in this thrilling volume! AMBUSHED! Molly Kilpatrick has kept ahead of the criminals who want to kill her, but her luck is up…until she reads about Jasmine Wolfe. Jasmine has been missing for years, and Molly resembles her enough to assume her identity. She must convince Jasmine's fiancé, Cash McCall, though. One look at the sexy sheriff and she knows it won't be a hardship. But someone wants Jasmine dead, too!HIGH-CALIBER COWBOY As the black sheep, Brandon McCall isn't expected to rescue damsels in distress. But Anna Austin is in trouble, and he's never walked away from a beautiful woman. Anna is determined to find out what happened to her past. And someone wants those secrets to remain buried. Can Brandon protect Anna long enough for her to uncover the truth?


Dear Reader,
USA TODAY bestselling author B.J. Daniels is a master of the romantic suspense genre, with more than fifty books published and numerous awards to her credit. Daniels has lived in Montana since she was five, and her love for the state shines through in many of her most beloved books—including the two favorites showcased here, Ambushed! and High-Caliber Cowboy.
In Ambushed!, Sheriff Cash McCall has spent the past seven years looking for his fiancée, Jasmine Wolfe. When her car is found—with blood inside—not far from his office, the evidence seems to be mounting against him. Then Molly Kilpatrick appears, claiming to be Jasmine, and if Cash can prove that she’s who she says she is, he’ll be of the hook. But Cash has a growing suspicion that Molly isn’t Jasmine, and that whoever she is, she’s running scared from something. Now Cash is fighting on all sides to exonerate himself and protect Molly, both from the past she’s trying to leave behind and the dangerous situation she’s walked into.
The suspense doesn’t let up in High-Caliber Cowboy, featuring Cash’s brother, Brandon. Brandon invites trouble when he decides to work for his family’s archenemy, Mason VanHorn, whose ranch has been hit by a rash of vandalism. Brandon is out to nab the culprit…until he finds out who it is. Suddenly, Brandon is caught between family loyalties, old desires and even older secrets that someone is willing to kill to keep hidden….
Daniels hooks her readers from the very first page with edge-of-your-seat suspense that moves at a breakneck speed. Enjoy the ride!
The Editors,
Harlequin Books

B.J. DANIELS
wrote her first book after a career as an award-winning newspaper journalist and author of thirty-seven published short stories. That first book, Odd Man Out, received a four-and-a-half-star review from RT Book Reviews and went on to be nominated for Best Intrigue for that year. Since then, she has won numerous awards, including a career achievement award for romantic suspense and many nominations and awards for best book.
Daniels lives in Montana with her husband, Parker, and two springer spaniels, Spot and Jem. When she isn’t writing, she snowboards, camps, boats and plays tennis. Daniels is a member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, International Thriller Writers, Kiss of Death and Romance Writers of America.
To contact her, write to B.J. Daniels,
P.O. Box 1173, Malta, MT 59538 or email her
at bjdaniels@mtintouch.net. Check out her website
at www.bjdaniels.com.
Double Play
Ambushed!
High-Caliber Cowboy
B.J. Daniels

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This book is dedicated to Teagan and Hayden.
Thank you, baby girls, for all the hugs and kisses.
I can’t tell you what the tea parties
with you two mean to me. I love you both dearly.

CONTENTS
AMBUSHED!
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
EPILOGUE
HIGH-CALIBER COWBOY
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Ambushed!
B.J. Daniels

CHAPTER ONE
Tuesday
Outside Antelope Flats, Montana
THE ABANDONED BARN loomed out of the rain soaked landscape, the roof partially gone, a gaping black hole where the doors had once been.
Sheriff Cash McCall pulled his patrol car up next to Humphrey’s pickup. Through the blurred thumping of the wipers, Cash could see Humphrey Perkins behind the steering wheel, waiting.
Cash cut the engine and listened to the steady drum of the rain on the patrol car roof, not anxious to go inside that barn. Hadn’t he known? Hadn’t he always known?
Steeling himself, he pulled up the hood on his raincoat and stepped out of the patrol car. Humphrey didn’t move, just watched as Cash walked past his pickup toward the barn.
Five minutes ago, Humphrey had called him. “I found something, Cash.” The old farmer had sounded scared, as if wishing someone else was making this call, that someone else had found what had been hidden in the barn. “You know the old Trayton homestead on the north side of the lake?”
Everyone knew the place. The land had been tied up in a family estate for years, the dilapidated house boarded up, the barn falling down. There were No Trespassing signs posted all around the property, but Humphrey owned the land to the north and had always cut through the Trayton place to fish. Seemed that hadn’t changed.
“I noticed one of the barn doors had fallen off,” Humphrey had said on the phone, voice cracking. “I think you’d better come out here and take a look. It looks like there’s a car in there.”
Cash stepped from the rain into the cold darkness of the barn. The shape under the large faded canvas tarp was obviously a car. He could see one of the tires. It was flat.
He stood, listening to the rain falling through the hole in the roof patter on the tarp. Clearly the car had been there for a long time. Years.
Wind lifted one corner of the canvas and he saw the back bumper, the Montana State University parking sticker and part of the license plate, MT 6-431. The wind dropped the tattered edge of the tarp, but Cash had seen enough of the plate to know it was the one a statewide search hadn’t turned up seven years ago.
He’d been praying it wasn’t her car. Not the little red sports car she’d been anxiously waiting to be delivered.
“When I get my car, I’ll take you for a ride,” she’d said, flirting with him from the first time he’d met her.
How many times over the years since she’d disappeared had he heard those words echo in his head? “I’ll take you for a ride.”
He closed his eyes, taking in huge gulps of the rank-smelling barn air. Her car had been within five miles of Antelope Flats all these years? Right under their noses?
The search had centered around Bozeman, where she was last seen. Later, even when it had gone statewide, there wasn’t enough manpower to search every old barn or building. Especially in the remote southeastern part of the state.
He tried to breathe. She’d been almost within sight of town? So close all these years?
Cash opened his eyes, scrubbed at them with the heel of his hand, each breath a labor. He turned away and saw Humphrey’s huge bulk silhouetted in the barn door, the hood of his dark raincoat pulled up, his arms dangling loose at his sides.
“It’s her car, isn’t it?” Humphrey said from the doorway.
Cash didn’t answer, couldn’t. Swallowing back the bile that rose in his throat, he walked through the pouring rain to his patrol car for his camera.
He knew he should call for forensics and the state investigators to come down from Billings. He knew he should wait, do nothing, until they arrived. But he had to know if she was inside that car.
Rain pounded the barn roof and fell through the hole overhead, splattering loudly on top of the covered car as he stepped past Humphrey to aim the camera lens at the scene inside. He took photographs of the car from every angle and the inside of the barn before putting the camera back in the patrol car.
On the way to the barn again, he pulled the pair of latex gloves from his pocket and worked them on his shaking fingers. His nostrils filled with the mildewed odor of the barn as he stepped to one side of the car, picked up the edge of the tarp and pulled.
The heavy canvas slid from the car in a whoosh that echoed through the barn and sent a flock of pigeons flapping out of the rafters, startling him.
The expensive red sports car was discolored, the windows filmed over, too dirty to see inside except for about four inches where the driver’s side window had been lowered.
He stared at the car, his pulse thudding in his ears. It had been summer when she disappeared. She would have had the air-conditioning on. She wouldn’t have put the window down while she was driving. Not with her allergies.
The rain fell harder, drumming on the barn roof as several pigeons returned, wings fluttering overhead.
He walked around the car to the other side. The left front fender was dented and scraped, the headlight broken. He stepped closer, the cop in him determined to do this by the book. Kneeling, he took out the small plastic bag and, using his pocket knife, flaked off a piece of the blue paint that had stuck in the chrome of the headlight.
Straightening, he closed the plastic bag, put the knife and bag in his pocket and carefully tried the driver’s side door.
The door groaned open and he leaned down to look inside. The key was in the ignition, her sorority symbol key chain dangling from it along with the new house key—the key to the house she’d told everyone they would be living in after they were married.
The front seat was empty. He left the door open and tried the back. The rear seat was also empty. The car would have been brand new seven years ago. Which would explain why it was so clean inside.
He started to close the door when he saw something in the crack between the two front seats. He leaned in and picked up a beer cap from the brand she always drank. He started to straighten but noticed something else had fallen in the same space. A matchbook.
Cash held the matchbook up in the dim light. It was from the Dew Drop Inn, a bar in Bozeman, where she’d been attending Montana State University. Inside, three of the matches had been used. He closed the cover and put the matchbook into an evidence bag.
Shutting the back door, he stood for a moment knowing where he had to look next, the one place he’d been dreading.
He moved to the open driver’s side door and reached down beside the front seat for the lever that opened the trunk. He had to grip the top of the door for a moment, steadying himself as he saw the large dark stain on the light-colored carpet floor mat under the steering wheel.
The tarp had kept the inside of the car dry over the years, the inside fairly clean, so he knew the stain on the mat wasn’t from water. He knew dried blood when he saw it. The stain was large. Too large.
As he pulled the lever, the trunk popped open with a groan. He drew the small flashlight from his coat pocket and walked toward the rear of the car, the longest walk of his life.
The bodies were always in the trunk.
Taking deep breaths, he lifted the lid and pointed the flashlight beam inside. In that instant, he died a thousand deaths before he saw that what was curled inside wasn’t a body. Just a quilt rolled up between a suitcase and the spare.
Cash staggered back from the car, the temporary relief making him weak. Was it possible Jasmine had been on her way to Antelope Flats? All these years he hoped she’d run off to some foreign country to live.
Instead she’d been on her way to Antelope Flats seven years ago. But why? His heart began to pound. To see him?
Or at least that’s what someone wanted him to believe. Wanted the state police to believe.
He thought of the blood on the floor mat, the car hidden just miles from his office, from the old house he’d bought that Jasmine called her engagement present.
He rubbed a hand over his face, his throat raw. Jasmine wasn’t living the good life in Europe, hadn’t just changed her mind about everything and run off to start a new life.
He turned and walked back out into the rain, stopping next to Humphrey’s pickup. The older man was sitting in the cab. He rolled down the driver’s side window as Cash approached.
“I’m going to call the state investigators,” Cash said, rain echoing off the hood of his jacket. “They’re going to want to talk to you.”
Humphrey nodded and looked past him to the barn. “Did you find her?”
Cash shook his head and started toward his patrol car, turning to look back at the barn and the dark shadow of Jasmine’s car inside. All those years of trying to forget, trying to put that part of his life behind him.
He realized now that all he’d been doing was waiting. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.
That shoe had finally dropped.
Las Vegas, Nevada
MOLLY KILPATRICK CHUCKED her clothing into her only suitcase. No time to fold anything.
Since the phone call, she’d been flying around the hotel room, grabbing up her belongings as quickly as possible. She had to skip town. It wouldn’t be the first time. Or the last.
She fought back tears, trying hard not to think about Lanny. Her father’s old friend was probably dead by now. He shouldn’t have taken the time to warn her. He should have saved his own skin. She tried not to think about the horrible sounds she’d heard in the background before the phone went dead.
Even if the police had responded to her anonymous call immediately, they would have gotten there too late. She knew she couldn’t have saved Lanny. All she could do was try to save herself.
Zipping the suitcase closed, she slid it off the bed and took one last glance around the room. She’d never owned more than she could fit into one suitcase, never stayed long in one place and made a point of never making friends. This, she knew, was why.
She’d been raised on the run, she thought, as she picked up the baseball cap from the bed and snugged it down on her short, curly blond hair.
As she passed the mirror, she checked herself, adjusting the peach-colored T-shirt over her small round breasts, tucking a pocket back into her worn jeans, glancing down at the old leather sandals before slipping on the sunglasses and picking up her purse.
She could become a chameleon when she needed to, blending into any environment. It was a talent, the one talent she’d learned from her father that she actually appreciated. Especially right now.
She didn’t bother to check out since she wasn’t registered anyway. For someone like her, getting past a hotel-room lock was a walk in the park.
From experience she knew that entire floors of suites were set aside for high rollers and those rooms got little use even when rented for the night. She was always gone shortly after sunrise and even the couple of times she’d been caught, she’d been able to bluff her way out of it.
She thought about picking up her last check at the café where she’d been working. It wouldn’t be enough money to make it worth the risk.
Vince and Angel would find out soon enough that she’d taken off. No reason to alert them yet. It was too much to hope that the police had gotten to Lanny’s quick enough to catch the two convicted felons in the act.
No, she could only assume that Vince and Angel had not only gotten away but were looking for her at this very moment. If anything, fifteen years in prison would have made them even more dangerous.
On the way through the hotel, she stopped at one of the slot machines. It was foolish. She should be getting out of there as fast as possible. But superstition was something else she’d gotten from her father. And right now she needed to test her luck to make sure it was still with her.
She dropped a quarter into the slot machine and pulled the handle. The cylinder spun, stopping on first one bar, then another and for a moment she thought she might hit the big jackpot, but the third bar blurred past.
A handful of quarters jangled into the metal tray anyway. She scooped them up. Not as lucky as she had hoped but still better than nothing, she thought as she shoved the quarters into her jeans pocket, picked up her suitcase and headed for the exit.
As she moved through the noisy casino, she looked straight ahead but noticed everything, the hectic movement of gamblers pulling one-armed bandits, change girls stopping to hand out rolls of coins, cocktail waitresses weaving through the crowds with trays of drinks.
Goodbye Vegas, she thought as she cleared the door-less opening and stepped from the air-conditioned casino into the hot desert night. She breathed in the scents, knowing she wouldn’t be back here, not even sure she would be alive tomorrow. She had no idea where she would go or what she would do but it wasn’t as if she hadn’t done this for as long as she could remember.
As she headed toward her car parked in the huge lot, a white-haired couple came out of their RV, a homeless man cut through the cars toward the busy street and a handful of teenagers rolled through the glittering Vegas night on skateboards.
There was no one else around. But still she studied her car under the parking lot lights as she neared it. She doubted she had to worry about a car bomb. Vince and Angel preferred the personal touch. Also, they would want her alive. At least temporarily.
She unlocked the trunk of the nondescript tan sedan, put the suitcase in and slammed the lid. As she opened the driver’s side door, she surreptitiously took one quick glance around and climbed in.
Not one car followed her as she wound her way through the lot and exited on a backstreet. She headed down the strip toward Interstate 15, took the first entrance ramp, and saw that she was headed north. It didn’t matter where she was headed, she had no idea where she was going to go anyway.
Keeping an eye on her rearview mirror, she left the desert behind. But she knew she wasn’t safe, not by any means. Vince and Angel would move heaven and earth to find her.
And they’d kill her when they did.

CHAPTER TWO
Wednesday
Outside Antelope Flats, Montana
SHERIFF CASH MCCALL stood next to his patrol car and watched as the last of the officers came out of the old barn. They’d been searching for hours and he knew without asking that they still hadn’t found her body.
He felt himself sag. He’d hoped that Jasmine’s body was in the barn, that this would finally be over. He hadn’t slept, couldn’t get the sight of her car with the old tarp, the dented fender, the blood stain on the driver’s side floor mat out of his mind.
He rubbed a hand over his face as the lead state’s investigator came toward him.
John Mathews shook his head. He was a large man with a bulldog face. “We’ll continue searching the farm in the morning.”
Cash knew it would take days, possibly weeks, and even using the latest equipment, there was a good chance her body would never be found, that her disappearance would never be solved, that he would have to live the rest of his life without ever knowing when or if she would turn up.
“I’m sorry,” Mathews said. “We didn’t find anything.”
Cash nodded.
Mathews had been furious when he’d realized that Cash hadn’t called him immediately upon finding the car. “That was a fool thing to do. What the hell were you thinking looking in the car before we arrived?” His tone had softened. “I know how hard this must be on you. But you were her fiancé for cryin’ out loud. That makes you a suspect. Especially now that her car has been found within sight of your office.”
“I had to know if she was in the car,” Cash said. “I took photos. I did everything by procedure.”
John had sighed. “If you’re smart you’ll stay as far away from this investigation as physically possible.”
Cash had said nothing. He knew Mathews was right but that didn’t make it any easier.
Now Cash watched Mathews look past him to the lake. “We’ll broaden our search to the area around the barn. When I hear something, I’ll let you know.”
Cash knew that was as good as it was going to get. He took off his western hat and raked a hand through his hair, unable to hide his frustration. “You know that was the year the lake was down because the new dam was being built.”
“Cash,” Mathews said, a clear warning in his voice. “I like you. That’s why I’m going to say this to you. Stay out of it. I realize this is your turf, you know the area, your expertise might be invaluable, but don’t go telling us to look in the lake, okay? If her body turns up in the lake… You know what I’m saying.”
He knew exactly what Mathews was saying. He was a suspect. He’d been a suspect from the moment Jasmine disappeared seven years ago. “I just want her found.”
“We all do. But you’re smart enough to know that the stain under the steering wheel was blood.” He nodded. “It’s her blood type. Given the dent in the right front fender, the fact that the car has been hidden in the barn all these years, the amount of blood on the floor mat and the steering wheel, we’re treating this as a homicide.”
Cash knew that Mathews thought Jasmine had been run off the road and then attacked, possibly hitting her head on the steering wheel, or had been struck while behind the wheel by the attacker, who had then gotten rid of her body somewhere and hidden her car in the barn. Cash knew that because given the evidence as it now stood, he would have thought the same thing.
What hit home was that Jasmine really might be dead. The hidden car, the blood, seven years without anyone seeing her. There was nothing else to surmise from the evidence. The weight of it pressed down on his chest making it almost impossible to breathe. Head wounds caused significant blood loss. He couldn’t keep kidding himself that she’d somehow walked away from a blow to her head.
The facts no longer gave credence to his fantasy that she’d taken off, had been living it up on some Mediterranean island all these years.
“Even if you weren’t a suspect, you’re too emotionally involved to work this case anyway,” Mathews said.
Cash fought to curb his anger and frustration, knowing it would only strengthen Mathews’s point. “Unless her disappearance is solved, I will always be a suspect. You have any idea what that is like?”
“You know how this works,” Mathews said quietly. “You still have your job as sheriff. You think you would if anyone believed for a minute that you had something to do with her disappearance?”
“Let me call the family.”
Mathews raised an eyebrow. “Not much family left as I hear it.”
“Just her stepbrother Bernard. But I’d just like to be the one to tell him,” Cash said.
Mathews nodded. “Maybe he’ll have some idea how her car ended up down here. But then if he knew his sister was coming down to see you, he would have mentioned it seven years ago, right?”
They’d been over this ground before. “She didn’t drive down here to see me. She had plans in Bozeman. But if someone wanted me to look guilty, hiding her car in a barn outside my town would certainly do it.”
Mathews nodded in agreement. “Awful lot of trouble to go to since she was living almost five hours away.”
“Covering up a murder sometimes requires a lot of trouble, I would imagine,” Cash snapped back.
Mathews nodded slowly. “You ought to take a few days off. Didn’t I hear that you have a cabin on the other end of the lake?”
Cash said nothing.
“Fishing any good?”
“Smallmouth bass and crappie are biting, a few walleye and northern pike,” Cash said, seeing where this was going. “I have some vacation time coming. I think I’ll tie up the loose ends back at the office and do that. You have my cell-phone number if you hear anything.”
Mathews nodded. “I suppose it is a godsend that her father didn’t live to see this.” Archie had died five years ago of a heart attack. Jasmine’s stepmother Fran was killed just last year in a car accident. “Her stepbrother Bernard is kind of a jackass but I liked the old man and he seemed to like you. He really wanted you to marry his daughter.” The investigator sounded a little surprised by that.
No more surprised than Cash, but looking back, Cash knew that was probably why he’d been able to keep his job as sheriff when Jasmine disappeared. Archibald “Archie” Wolfe had never once thought that Cash had anything to do with Jasmine’s disappearance.
Cash had expected the prominent and powerful Georgia furniture magnate to hate him on sight the first time they met—just after Jasmine had disappeared. It had seemed impossible that Archibald Wolfe would have ever wanted his Southern belle socialite daughter to marry a small-town sheriff in Montana. Jasmine had already told Cash that her father never liked any of the men she dated.
But Archie had surprised him. “You’re the kind of man she needed,” the older man had said. “I know she’s spoiled and would try a saint’s patience, but I think all she needs is the right man to straighten her up.”
“Mr. Wolfe, I’m afraid you have it all wrong,” Cash had tried to tell him.
“Archie, dammit. You know I disinherited her recently. I would have burned every cent I had to keep her from marrying the likes of Kerrington Landow. But once Jasmine is found and the two of you are married, I’ll put her back in my will, you don’t need to worry about that.”
“I don’t want your money, Mr. Wol—Archie, and I don’t need it,” Cash had said. “Let’s just pray Jasmine is found soon.”
Archie’s eyes had narrowed. He had nodded slowly. “I think you actually mean that. How did my daughter find you?”
Cash had shaken his head, thinking that’s exactly what Jasmine had done, found him and not the other way around. He’d tried to think of something to say. It hadn’t seemed like the time to tell Archie the truth.
Archie had died a broken man, the loss of his daughter more than he could stand.
“Cash? Did you hear what I said?”
He mentally shook himself. “Sorry, John.”
Mathews was studying him, frowning. “If there is anything you want to tell me that might come out during this investigation…”
Cash shook his head. How long did he have before he was relieved of his position and his resources taken away so he wouldn’t be able to work the case in secret? Not long from Mathews’s expression.
“There’s nothing I haven’t already told you pertaining to the case,” Cash answered truthfully.
Mathews nodded slowly, clearly not believing that. “Let me know how the fishing is.”
As Cash drove back into town, he knew he’d have to work fast and do his best not to get caught. It was only a matter of time before Mathews learned the truth—and Cash found himself behind bars.
North of Las Vegas, Nevada
THE FEAR DIDN’T REALLY HIT her until Molly lost sight of Vegas in her rearview mirror. She was running for her life and she didn’t know where to go or what to do. She had little money and, unlike Vince and Angel who had criminal resources she didn’t even want to think about, she had no one to turn to.
She wiped her eyes and straightened, checking the rearview mirror. In this life there isn’t time for sentimentality, her father had told her often enough. That was why you didn’t get close to anyone. If you cared too much, that person could be used against you. Wasn’t that why the Great Maximilian Burke, famous magician and thief, had never let her call him Dad?
He’d insisted she go by Kilpatrick. He’d told her it was her mother’s maiden name. Since Max and her mother Lorilee hadn’t been married when Molly was born, her name on her birth certificate was Kilpatrick anyway, he’d said.
Molly had asked him once why he and Lorilee hadn’t married before her mother died.
“Your mother wouldn’t marry me until I got a real job,” Max had said with a shrug. “And since I never got a real job…”
Her mother had died when Molly was a baby. She didn’t remember her, didn’t even have a photograph. Max wasn’t the sentimental type. Also, he and Molly were always on the move, so even if there had been photos, they had long been lost.
All she had of her mother was a teddy bear, long worn, that Max had said her mother had given her. The teddy bear had been her most prized possession, but even it had been lost.
She wiped at her tears, tears she shed not for herself but for Lanny. She hadn’t let herself think about her father’s best friend. Lanny had always been kind to her and had remained Max’s friend until her father’s death. That was what had gotten Lanny killed, Molly was sure.
Her stomach growled and she realized she hadn’t eaten. She pulled off the interstate in one of the tiny, dying towns north of St. George, Utah, and parked in the empty lot of the twenty-four-hour Mom’s Home-cooking Café.
A bell jingled over the door as she stepped inside. It was early, but Molly doubted the place was ever hopping. She slid into a cracked vinyl booth and rested her elbows on the cool, worn Formica tabletop.
A skinny gray-haired waitress who looked more tired than even Molly felt, slid a menu and a sweating glass of ice water onto the table. She took a pad and a stubby pencil out of her pocket, leaning on one varicose-veined leg as she waited.
“I’ll take the meat-loaf special with iced tea, please,” Molly said, closing the menu and handing it to her, noticing that the waitress took it without looking at her, pocketed the pad and pencil without writing anything down and left without a word.
Molly watched her go, thinking her own life could be worse. It was a game she and Max used to play.
“You think your situation is bad, kiddo, look at that guy,” he would say.
He called her kiddo. She called him Max and had since she was able to talk.
“Better no one knows we’re related,” he’d always said. “It will be our little secret.” He told everyone that he’d picked her up off the street and kept her with him because she made a good assistant for his magic act.
There was a time she’d actually believed he was just trying to protect her by denying their relationship because Maximilian Burke had always been outside the law.
He’d raised her, if a person could call that raising a child. He’d let her come along with him. He used to say, “You’re with me, kiddo, I’m not with you.” Which meant she didn’t get to complain, even when he didn’t feed her for several days because he had no money. He would hand her a couple of single-serving-size packets of peanuts and tell her they would be eating lobster before the week was out.
And they usually were. It had been feast or famine. A transient existence at best. Homeless and hungry at worst. Her father was a second-rate magician but turned out to be a first-class thief.
She glanced out the café window, remembering late nights in greasy-spoon cafés, lying with her head on her arms on the smooth, cool surface of the table, Max waking her when the food was served. Too tired to care, she ate by rote, knowing that tomorrow she might get nothing but peanuts.
“You have to learn to live off your wits,” Max used to say. “It’s the best thing I can teach you, kiddo. Some day it will save your life.” That day had arrived.
The waitress brought out a plate with a slice of gray-colored meat loaf, instant mashed potatoes with canned brown gravy over them, a large spoonful of canned peas and a stale roll with a pat of margarine.
Molly breathed in the smell first, closing her eyes. This was as close to a mother’s home-cooked meal as she’d ever come. What she loved was the familiarity of it. This was home for her, a greasy-spoon café in a forgotten town.
She opened her eyes, tears stinging, and picked up her fork, surprised that she still missed Max after all this time. Surprised that she missed him at all. But as much as he’d denied it, he was all the family she’d ever had.
She took a bite of the meat loaf. It was just as the meat loaf she’d known had always tasted, therefore wonderful.
After she’d finished, the waitress brought her a small metal dish with a scoop of ice cream drizzled with chocolate syrup as part of the meat-loaf special.
She got up to get the folded newspaper on the counter where the last patron had left it, opened it and read as she ate her ice cream, feeling better if not safer.
The article was on page eight. She wouldn’t have even seen it if the photograph of the woman hadn’t caught her eye. The spoon halfway to her mouth, the ice cream melting, she read the headline.
Missing Woman’s Car Found in Old Barn.
She put down the spoon as she stared at the woman’s photograph. The resemblance was uncanny. Looking at the photograph was like looking in a mirror. Or at a ghost. Molly could easily pass for the woman, they looked that much alike.
Heart pounding, Molly read the entire story twice, unable to believe it. Fate had just given her a way out. Her luck had definitely improved.
Las Vegas, Nevada
VINCE WINSLOW PULLED UP in front of the motel room and honked the horn of the large older-model car he’d bought when he’d gotten out of prison.
Vince thought of himself as a fair man. He’d been a mediator in his cell block at prison and everyone agreed he had a way with people. It was a gift. He would hear gripes and grievances, then he would settle them. One way or another. Sometimes he’d just bang a few heads together. Whatever it took.
The one thing he couldn’t stand was injustice. It made him violent and that was dangerous for a big, strong man who’d spent most of his fifteen-year stint in the weight room at the prison, planning what to do when he got out.
He honked again and Angel Edwards came out of the motel room scowling at him. Vince slid over to let Angel drive.
“What? Are your legs broken? You can’t get out of the car? You got to honk the damned horn?” Angel slid behind the wheel, cursing under his breath.
Compared to Angel, Vince was a saint. Angel was a hothead. Short, wiry, all energy with little brains.
“Haven’t you ever wondered why I put up with you?” Vince asked in his usual soft tone. Right now he was definitely wondering that very thing himself.
Angel snorted. “I’m the best getaway-car driver in the business and you know it.”
Vince couldn’t argue that. Angel had lightning-fast reflexes. But since that life was behind them, Vince didn’t need a getaway driver anymore.
“You also love me,” Angel said without looking at him.
Vince stared over at him, realizing that was the only reason he didn’t take Angel out into the desert and put a bullet through his brain. Angel was his half brother. Blood was everything, even if your mother had no taste when it came to men.
“Damn, it’s like a refrigerator in here,” Angel complained, reaching over to turn off the air-conditioning. “You tryin’ to kill me?”
All those years of being locked up in the same cell block had made Vince even more aware of his brother’s shortcomings. Not that it had ever taken much to set Angel off, but now, once angry, Angel was nearly impossible to control. That had proved to be a problem. On top of that, now that Angel was out of prison, he had unlimited access to sharp instruments and a fifteen-year fixation on getting what he had coming.
“We need to talk,” Vince said.
“What is there to talk about?” Angel demanded, glaring over at him. “We find the bitch. We get what’s coming to us. This ain’t brain surgery.”
“My fear is that when we find her, you will go berserk like you did with Lanny and kill her before she tells us what we want to know,” Vince pointed out calmly. “If I hadn’t gotten you out of there when I did last night, we would be on death row right now. We almost got caught because you can’t control your temper.”
“You were going too easy on Lanny. I had him talking. He was just about to tell us. If he had lived just another few seconds…”
Vince groaned. “When we find Molly, you have to refrain from that kind of…persuasion, or we will never get the diamonds.”
“If she hasn’t already fenced them,” Angel snapped.
“She hasn’t,” Vince said for at least the thousandth time. These particular diamonds couldn’t be easily fenced—they were too recognizable. And Vince had his sources on the outside watching for them. There was no way Molly could have tried to fence the uncut stones without him knowing about it.
Angel shifted in the seat, his left cheek twitching from a nervous tic. “Okay, okay. So why are we still sitting here? Let’s find the bitch.”
“I found her before I found Lanny. She’s working at a greasy spoon off the Strip,” Vince said.
“You’ve seen her?” Angel asked, his voice high with excitement and suspicion. “Why didn’t you take me with you?”
Vince raised a brow as if to say, “Isn’t it obvious?”
“You wouldn’t try to cut me out of my share, would you?” Angel asked, going mean on him. Angel didn’t trust anyone, but still Vince took it as an insult.
“You’re my brother.” As if that meant anything to Angel. Vince reached into the backseat and picked up the latest in laptop computers. Opening it, he booted it up.
“What? You going to check your email?” Angel snapped.
“Patience. She isn’t going to get away,” Vince told him calmly. “I put a global positioning device on her car.”
“What?” Angel swore. “You were close enough to her to put some damned gadget on her car but you didn’t grab her? Are you crazy?”
“Like a fox,” Vince said.
“So where is she, Mr. Smart Guy?”
Vince studied the screen and smiled. “She’s running for her life.”

CHAPTER THREE
Antelope Flats, Montana
WHEN CASH GOT back to his office, he found his sister Dusty sitting behind his desk. She leaped to her feet like the teenager she was and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck.
“Did they find her?” she asked stepping back from the quick hug, a mixture of hope and fear in her expression.
He shook his head and stepped around behind his desk.
Dusty was dressed in her usual jeans, western shirt, boots and a straw cowboy hat pulled low. A single blond braid trailed down her slim back. She was a beauty, although she seemed to do everything possible to hide the fact that she was female. Cash wasn’t sure if it was because Dusty was raised pretty much in an all-male household or because she actually loved working on the ranch more than doing girl stuff.
“You’re going to keep looking though, aren’t you?” She sounded surprised he was here rather than out with the other officers searching the Trayton place.
“I’m off the case, Dusty,” he said dropping into his chair. His sister had been only eleven when Jasmine disappeared. He doubted she understood the implications of Jasmine’s car being found so close to town, but she would soon enough, once the Antelope Flats rumor mill kicked in. He wanted to be the one to tell her, but still the words came hard.
“I was her—” he paused, the word coming hard “—fiancé and with her car found near here, I’m a suspect in her homicide.” He waved a hand through the air, knowing there was more that would come out but no reason to open that can of worms until he had to.
“Homicide?”
“A sufficient amount of her blood type was found in the car to change her disappearance to a probable homicide,” he said.
“How could anyone think you would hurt her?” Dusty cried. “She was the love of your life—is the love of your life. She can’t be dead. She’s probably in Europe just like you thought. She’ll come back once she hears about her car being found and, when she sees you again, she’ll remember what you shared and she’ll be sorry she stayed away and she won’t ever leave again.”
He smiled up at her, surprised that his tomboy sister was such a romantic and touched that she cared so much. He didn’t have the heart to tell her how wrong she was. “What are you doing in town? I thought you were helping with branding?”
“Shelby sent me in to check on you and tell you that you’re expected at dinner tomorrow night.” Dusty rolled her eyes. “Who knows what big bombshell she’s planning to drop now.”
Shelby was their mother, but it was complicated as all hell. Just a few months ago, out of the blue, Shelby Ward McCall had shown up at the ranch. What made that unusual was that Cash thought his mother had died when he was just over a year old.
Shelby had not only announced that she was alive, but that she and their father Asa had cooked up her demise. It seemed they had thought it would be better for Cash and his three brothers to believe she had died rather than just left. Shelby and Asa couldn’t live with each other and didn’t want the children to have the stigma of divorce hanging over them.
At least that was their story and they were sticking to it. But to make matters worse, he and his brothers had always thought that their little sister Dusty was the result of an affair their father had nineteen years ago. Asa had brought Dusty home when she was a baby with some cock-and-bull story about her being orphaned. He’d legally adopted her and Cash guessed he thought his sons didn’t notice how much she looked like them.
Turned out that Dusty was the result of Asa and Shelby getting together years ago in secret to “discuss” things.
Well, now Shelby was back at the ranch and tongues were wagging in four counties. Cash was trying to keep both of his parents from going to prison for fraud and Dusty was hardly speaking to either parent.
His family had always been the talk of the town for one reason or another. Cash knew that was partly why he’d become sheriff. He was tired of being one of the wild McCall boys.
“Say you will come to dinner,” Dusty pleaded. Dusty had taken the betrayal the hardest. It didn’t help that she looked so much like her mother. She’d also been the closest to their father and felt betrayed by him. But she was especially angry with her mother. While Dusty could possibly understand how Shelby might walk away from four sons, she couldn’t forgive her mother for giving up a daughter.
Since Shelby’s astonishing reappearance, the family undercurrents were deadly. She never had explained why she’d returned to the living. But it was obvious a lot more was going on between her and Asa than either had let on. Cash had seen the looks that had passed between them, seen Shelby crying and Asa hadn’t been himself since she’d come back. Their father, a cantankerous, stubborn, almost seventy-year-old man who’d alienated all four of his sons on a regular basis, was actually trying to be nice.
It worried the hell out of Cash.
So it was no wonder that the last thing he wanted to do was attend one of the McCalls’ famous knock-down-drag-out family dinners—especially now.
But he knew that an invitation to a family dinner was really a summons to appear. If he sent word back that he wasn’t coming, Shelby herself would drive into town to try to change his mind. He didn’t need that.
“I’ll be there.” He hated to think what new surprises might be sprung at dinner tomorrow night.
Dusty sighed in relief at his acceptance. “I think the dinner is probably about Brandon. You know he’s been acting weird lately.”
Cash had noticed a change in his brother, but didn’t think it weird. Brandon, at thirty-three, seemed to have finally grown up. He’d taken on more responsibility out at the ranch, had really seemed to have settled down. He was talking about attending law school next fall and, according to their older brother J.T., had opened an account at the bank to save for it. “Isn’t it about time Brandon grew up?”
Dusty didn’t seem to be listening. “He comes in really late at night. I think he has a girlfriend, but he denies it.”
Cash laughed. “If you’re right, he’ll tell us when he’s ready.”
She made a face at the “if you’re right” part. It was a given that a McCall was always right, especially a female one. “Aren’t you even curious why he would try to keep a girlfriend secret?”
“No, we’re a family of secrets,” Cash said, realizing just how true that was. He thought of his own secret, pushed for years into some dark corner of his heart.
The problem with secrets was that they didn’t stay that way. It was only a matter of time, now that Jasmine’s car had been found, before his came out.
Somewhere outside St. George, Utah
AFTER LEAVING THE CAFÉ, Molly found a newspaper stand and bought a copy of the paper. She ripped out the article and sat behind the wheel of her car, studying the photograph of the missing woman.
On closer inspection, the woman didn’t look that much like her. The resemblance was in the shape of the face, the spacing and color of the eyes, the generous mouth. The hair was different, long, straight and white-blond compared to Molly’s curly, short, darker blond locks.
But with some makeup, a few highlights in her hair and the right clothes… The clincher was that the woman was close to her age—just a year and a half older—and about her height—an inch taller and ten pounds heavier.
As Molly looked into the woman’s face, she felt a chill at just the thought of what she was thinking of doing. Talk about bad karma.
According to the article, Jasmine Wolfe was last seen at a gas station on the outskirts of Bozeman seven years ago. The clerk at the station had noticed a man approach the blond woman driving the new red sports car. The man was about average height wearing a dark jacket, jeans and cap. The clerk didn’t see his face or note his hair color.
When the clerk had looked up again, the man was holding the woman’s arm and the two were getting into the car. They appeared to be arguing. The clerk hadn’t thought much about it, just assumed they were together, until she’d read about the search for the missing woman and remembered Jasmine, the new red sports car and witnessing the incident.
It was speculated that Jasmine had been abducted by an unknown assailant who had forced her into her car at possibly knife-or gunpoint. That theory was heightened a month later when a man was arrested outside of Bozeman trying to abduct a woman at another gas station in the same area.
The man was sent to prison and, while he never admitted to abducting Jasmine Wolfe, he was believed to have been involved in several other missing persons’ cases in the area, including hers. The man had committed a murder in prison and was still serving time there with little chance of parole.
That was good news. But not as good news as who Jasmine Wolfe was—the daughter of Archibald Wolfe, a furniture magnate from Atlanta, Georgia. Archie, as he was known to his friends and employees, had offered a sizable reward for any information about his daughter. The reward had never been collected.
Molly let out a low whistle. “You’ve just hit the jackpot, kiddo,” Max would have said. “All you have to do is convince the sheriff that you’re the missing woman, then the family will be a snap. Seven years. People change a lot in seven years.”
Maybe, she thought. But Antelope Flats Sheriff Cash McCall would definitely be the one she’d have to fool. Jasmine had been engaged to him, according to the newspaper. A man would know his former fiancé. Except if she kept him at arm’s length, which shouldn’t be that hard to do. There was no photograph of the sheriff but Molly could just imagine some backwoods local yokel.
She reached into the backseat for her old road atlas. Antelope Flats, Montana, was on the southeastern corner of the state just miles from the Wyoming border. Bozeman, where Jasmine Wolfe had been a graduate student at Montana State University, looked to be a good five hours away.
Antelope Flats had to be tiny, really tiny, since it appeared to be no more than a dot on the map.
No one would ever look for Molly there. Especially if she were someone else altogether. She knew she’d go crazy within a week in a place like that. But a week might be long enough.
Molly’s original plan had been to run, just keep one step ahead of Vince and Angel. But as she stared at Jasmine Wolfe’s photograph, she knew this plan—bad karma and all—was her best bet.
She opened the container she’d brought from the café. Chocolate-cream pie. It was about as homemade as the rest of the meal had been, but just as familiar.
And, she thought taking a big bite of the pie, she would need to put on a few pounds if she was going to Antelope Flats, Montana. She could do a lot with makeup, a change in her hair color and style. She could become Jasmine Wolfe, she was sure of it.
But what if Jasmine Wolfe’s body turned up. State investigators were searching the abandoned farm. Or even Jasmine herself, alive and in the flesh after seeing the article? And even if neither happened, still Molly would have to pull off a major magic act with the sheriff.
But, no thanks to her father, Molly had been performing from the time she could walk. And like her father, she’d always believed in omens as well as in luck. Just when she had two killers after her and needed a place to disappear, she’d seen this article. If that wasn’t a sign, she didn’t know what was.
Also, she was a realist. She had only a little money saved. It wouldn’t last long. If she hoped to stay alive, what better way than becoming someone else for a short period of time?
She wasn’t worried about Vince and Angel seeing the article and putting two and two together. Even if they could add—or read—she doubted either had ever read a newspaper in their lives.
If by chance Vince and Angel saw the story in a newspaper, she didn’t think they would notice the resemblance between Jasmine Wolfe and her. Neither man had seen her since she was fourteen and she’d changed a lot. And while she thought her resemblance to the missing woman was uncanny—it was the little touches she would make in her appearance that would convince others she was Jasmine.
Going to a pay phone, she made another anonymous call to the Vegas Police Department. Vince and Angel hadn’t been picked up yet. But someone else had called in and given a description of a car leaving the scene of the murder.
She gave a description of each man as if she’d seen them leaving the murder scene as well. She told them that she’d heard the big one call the little one Angel, the one who looked like he had a prison tattoo on his neck.
It shouldn’t take long for the police to put it all together. The day Max, Vince and Angel had pulled off the big heist in Hollywood, they’d returned to Lanny’s house where Lanny and Molly had been waiting. It was there that the police had arrested Vince and Angel. It was there that Max had shown up in a separate vehicle and, seeing the police, had tried to make a run for it and was shot down in the street.
Molly tried not to think about that day, about her father dying in her arms in the middle of the street.
As she hung up the phone, she didn’t kid herself. It could take a while before the two recently paroled felons were caught. Once they were, she was sure the police would find something on the two to send them both back to prison—even if it couldn’t be proved that Vince and Angel had killed Lanny.
Still, her best bet was to stall for time.
Hiding was always preferable to running. With luck, she could pull this off. And if she played her cards right, there could even be some money in it. She cringed at how much she sounded like Max. But taking money from Jasmine’s family was no worse than pretending to be her, was it?
And if anyone could pass herself off as someone else, it was Molly Kilpatrick. She’d pretended to be someone else for so many years that she had no idea who the real Molly Kilpatrick was anymore.
The decision made, she folded up the clipping and put it in her purse. She would follow the story as she headed to Montana. There was always the chance that Jasmine Wolfe would turn up before she got there.
Meanwhile, she had a few tricks up her sleeve, thanks to her father the Great Maximilian Burke, magician and thief.
Antelope Flats, Montana
CASH PICKED UP THE PHONE the moment Dusty left and dialed Bernard Wolfe’s number. Bernard was about Cash’s age, thirty-five, four inches shorter, stocky like a weight lifter, with rust-colored hair, small dark brown eyes and a cocky arrogance that seemed to come with the Wolfe fortune. Cash had disliked Bernard from the get-go and vice versa.
“She’s just playing you to drive our father crazy,” Bernard had said to him when they’d met for the first time. “It’s what she does. Plays with people. Our father cut off her money so now she’s going to make him pay by threatening to marry you. You are one of many in a long line. She’ll tire of you and this game—if she hasn’t already.”
It had taken all of Cash’s control not to slug him.
After Jasmine’s disappearance and Archie’s death, Bernard had taken over the furniture conglomerate, a business that had put him in the top five hundred of the nation’s wealthiest men.
“Wolfe residence,” a man with a distinct English accent answered.
Cash made a face and told himself he shouldn’t have been surprised that Bernard would have an English butler.
“I’m calling for Mr. Wolfe. My name is Sheriff Cash McCall of Antelope Flats, Montana. Would you please tell him it’s important. It has to do with his sister—stepsister,” he corrected. “Jasmine.”
As sheriff of the county, he’d had to make a lot of calls like this, some worse than others. They were never easy. He wondered how Bernard would take the news. Did Bernard even give a thought to his missing stepsister?
“Yes?” Bernard said when he came on the line a moment later. “What is this about?” He had only a touch of cultured Southern drawl, unlike his father. Bernard was Oxford educated, that probably explained it.
Cash had not talked to him in almost seven years. He cleared his throat. “This is Sheriff Cash McCall. I wanted to let you know that Jasmine’s car’s been found.”
Silence, then what sounded like Bernard pulling up a chair and sitting down. “Where?”
“Just a few miles from Antelope Flats. The car was discovered in an old abandoned barn on a deserted farm north of the lake. It had been covered with a tarp.”
“Was Jasmine…?”
“No.” Cash waited to hear relief in Bernard’s voice but heard nothing. “The investigators are searching the farm. They found blood and are treating the case as a homicide.”
“They aren’t letting you near the case I hope.”
Cash clamped down his jaw, then took a breath and let it out. “I wanted to be the one to call you.”
“Why is that?”
“Personal and professional courtesy. It’s often hard on family members to get this kind of news.”
Bernard made a rude sound. “I’ll fly out as soon as I can.” He hung up.
Cash stared at the phone in his hand. What had he expected? He wasn’t sure. There was no doubt that he’d hoped to rattle Bernard, shake him up a little, maybe even get him to make a mistake when it came to his story from seven years before.
Bernard had said he’d been hiking up in the Bridger Mountains the day Jasmine disappeared. His alibi was his friend and Jasmine’s former fiancé, Kerrington Landow. Supposedly the two had been together, which provided them both with alibis.
Cash had always suspected that the man the clerk had seen with Jasmine at the gas station was Bernard. He fit the description—just like the man who’d been arrested for an attempted abduction in the same area. A man who had refused to confess to Jasmine’s abduction even when offered a deal.
As Cash hung up the phone, he knew Bernard would call Kerrington and tell him about Jasmine’s car being found. Cash had heard that Kerrington had married Jasmine’s best friend and former roommate, Sandra Perkins.
After seven years and marriage to another woman, what would Kerrington do? Come to Antelope Flats? Cash wouldn’t be surprised. Kerrington and Bernard were both so deep in Jasmine’s disappearance that neither would be able to stay away.
Somewhere south of Montana
MOLLY STOPPED at a computer store and used the internet service to access everything she could find about Jasmine Wolfe and her disappearance. Because of her prominent old Southern family, the story had been in all the major newspapers.
Molly read every article she could find, becoming more excited as she did. This could definitely be the answer to her problems.
The sheriff was the drawback though. That and the fact that Molly hadn’t pulled any kind of “magic trick” since her father had died fifteen years before. She’d given up that way of life and had promised herself that she would never go back to it.
For years she’d never stayed in one place long, knowing that Vince and Angel could get out on parole at any time. At least that’s what she told herself. In truth, the one thing she hadn’t been able to cast off was the transient lifestyle of her childhood or the fear that Max had been right—that fraud was in her blood.
No matter how hard she tried, she found she got restless within weeks and would quit her job, move somewhere else and get another mediocre job. Fortunately she had an assortment of skills that lent themselves to quick employment and she’d never been looking for a “good” job since she’d be moving on soon anyway.
But Vince and Angel were out of prison now and after her. She hadn’t seen anything in the papers about Lanny Giliano. She could only assume he was dead and she was next. She had to do a disappearing act, and maybe Max was right. Maybe fraud was in her blood and just waiting to come out.
On a hunch, she found an online video of Jasmine giving a speech at some charity benefit. The father had put the video online at the time of Jasmine’s disappearance, saying he thought his daughter might be suffering from amnesia and hoped someone would recognize her and call.
Molly watched the video a half dozen times online until she could mimic Jasmine’s gestures, her way of speaking, her facial expressions. Mimicking was something Molly had learned at an early age, a gimmick she and her father used during his act when he pretended to read minds in the audience.
Molly would secretly pick someone from the audience while her father had his back turned. Then he would read her mind and point to the person she’d picked. It amazed the audience. But the trick had been quite simple. She would just mimic the expression and body language of the person and her father would spot it and match it with the right person. Magic!
It amazed her how quickly all that training came back. Her mind was already working out the details. Not that she wasn’t aware of the danger. Identity fraud. Fortunately, there was little record of her life the past fifteen years since her father’s death or, for that matter, the fourteen years before that.
All of her “jobs” with her father hadn’t involved paperwork, and few of her jobs had since. She preferred work where she was paid “off the books” in cash. Jobs where she didn’t have to provide a social security number or an address. Much safer.
And there were enough employers who wanted to avoid paying taxes that it hadn’t been hard to find menial work. She had pretty much remained invisible over those years, but she knew that wouldn’t protect her from Vince and Angel. They would turn over every rock to find her. And they wouldn’t stop until they did.
The way Molly saw it, only one person—the person who put Jasmine’s car in that barn—would know that she really wasn’t Jasmine. And that person was in prison serving time for his other crimes.
Which was good, since Molly already had two killers looking for her. That was sufficient.

CHAPTER FOUR
Atlanta, Georgia
KERRINGTON LANDOW never thought he’d be relieved to have the phone ring in the middle of a meal. But if he had to listen to one more of Sandra’s lies…
“Let the maid get it,” Sandra said with impatience.
He ignored her as he shoved back his chair and gave her one of his this-isn’t-over-by-a-long-shot glares. Throwing down his napkin, he turned and stalked out of the dining room to take the call on the hall phone.
“Hello,” he snapped, surprised how furious he was. In truth, he didn’t care if Sandra was cheating on him or not. No, what made him angry was that she seemed to think he was so stupid he didn’t know what she was up to.
“Jasmine’s car’s been found.”
He went rigid.
“Did you hear me?” Bernard Wolfe demanded.
“Yes. I heard you.” But still he couldn’t believe… “What about—?” He looked up. Sandra had followed him. She was watching him from the dining room doorway, frowning, definitely interested in whom he was talking to.
“They haven’t found Jasmine’s body. Not yet anyway,” Bernard was saying. He sounded upset.
The same way Sandra would be when she heard. He had purposely not said Jasmine’s name in front of her for that very reason. Sandra had thrown Jasmine up to him for years.
“I know I was your second choice,” she said whenever they had a fight. “Do you have any idea what it’s like living in that woman’s shadow? It was bad enough when Jasmine was alive. But now I have to contend with her ghost?”
He had tried to reassure Sandra but the truth was, he’d never gotten over Jasmine and doubted he ever would. And now her car had been found.
“What is it?” Sandra asked coming down the hall. She was looking at him as if she’d seen him pale, had noticed the tremor in his hand clutching the phone. Sweat broke out under his arms. He worried she could smell the fear on him.
“They found her car in an old barn near Antelope Flats,” Bernard was saying on the other end of the line.
Kerrington said nothing. He’d checked out the town when Jasmine had told him her plans to marry the sheriff. He’d laughed in her face. He’d known she would never go through with it.
“What?” Sandra demanded. She was standing directly in front of him now, her eyes locked on his face as if she could see through him, always had been able to.
Sometimes he forgot that Sandra had known Jasmine probably as well as anyone. She and mousy little Patty Franklin had been Jasmine’s roommates at Montana State University in Bozeman. Jasmine had gone there on a whim after she’d already worked her way through all the men at several other universities, he thought bitterly.
Sandra had been the opposite of Jasmine, tall and slender, her hair dark like her eyes. She’d been available and he’d needed someone to use to make Jasmine jealous. Jasmine would never have believed it if he’d dated Patty the Pathetic, as Bernard called her.
“What?” Sandra demanded again, practically spitting in his face.
“They’ve found Jasmine’s car,” he said, knowing it would be impossible to keep something like this from her.
He’d expected the green-eyed monster to rear her ugly head. Instead, Sandra seemed stunned. She leaned against the wall, her face stony and remote.
“Sandra is there?” Bernard said with obvious disgust.
Where else had Bernard expected her to be? She was his wife, although Kerrington couldn’t even guess where she’d been spending a lot of her time lately. He was hit with the most ridiculous thought. That the man Sandra had been seeing behind his back was Bernard. The two deserved each other, no doubt about that. But they couldn’t stand to be in the same room together.
He rubbed a hand over his face and turned his back to Sandra to look in the hall mirror. He felt a need to assure himself and he’d always been reassured by what he saw in the mirror, as long as he didn’t look too deeply.
Jasmine used to say he was classically tall, dark and handsome. Only she’d made it sound as if he were a cliché. He’d even overheard her and her brother Bernard refer to him as her “mindless pretty boy.”
He shook off the memory, replacing it with a more pleasant one. Jasmine naked and in his arms begging for more.
“I’m flying out tonight,” Bernard was saying. “I think you and I should talk before I go, don’t you? The cops are going to be asking a lot more questions. I think we need to get our stories straight so we tell them the same thing we did seven years ago.”
Kerrington swore softly under his breath. It had been so long, he’d thought all of this was behind them. He should have known Jasmine’s car would eventually turn up. Wasn’t that what he’d hoped? Just not now, not after all this time.
“I’m going, too,” he whispered into the phone as he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Sandra had gone into the living room and sat down, her sour hatred of Jasmine almost palpable.
“You should just stay home and take care of your wife,” Bernard said.
“Never mind what I should do,” Kerrington growled. Had Bernard heard something about Sandra? Is that why he was suggesting Kerrington take care of his wife? Or was that earlier thought of Bernard and Sandra closer to the truth than he’d wanted to admit? It would be just like Bernard.
“I’m flying to Montana as soon as I can get a flight,” Kerrington said, keeping his voice down, his back to Sandra and the living room. “We can talk there.”
“That’s not a smart thing to do.”
“She was my girlfriend,” Kerrington argued.
“The one who dumped you.”
“Who knows who she’d be married to now if she were still alive.”
Bernard made a scoffing sound on the other end of the line. “Assuming she’s dead.” He hung up.
Assuming she’s dead. Kerrington stood holding the phone. Did Bernard know something? It had been Bernard who’d come to him with the offer of an alibi.
“If you need to, you can say you were with me,” Bernard had said two days after Jasmine disappeared—just before the cops arrived to question them. “I was hiking in the Bridger Mountains. Took my gear and camped up there. Didn’t get back home until well after dark the second day.”
Kerrington had been so grateful to have an alibi at all that he’d gone along with Bernard’s. It wasn’t until later that he realized he’d also given Bernard an alibi.
He hung up the phone, then turned, bracing himself for the mother of all arguments he knew he was about to have with Sandra.
But Sandra was gone.
Antelope Flats, Montana
NEWS TRAVELED AT the speed of light, even in a county where there was little or no cell-phone service and ranches were miles apart.
The news about Jasmine’s car being found had given Shelby McCall’s return-from-the-dead story a rest. For hours Cash had been able to avoid his mother’s call, but when the phone rang shortly after he’d hung up from talking to Bernard Wolfe, he knew before he answered who was calling.
“Cash? Are you all right?”
He wanted to laugh. He was so far from all right…. “I’m fine.”
“I think you should move back home so you are close to your family during this time.”
That did make him laugh. This coming from a woman who’d been gone for thirty years? Where was his mother when he’d needed advice about Jasmine? Being raised in an all-male household had left him pretty clueless about women. Dusty hadn’t counted since she was just a kid. He really could have used a mother during those years.
“I’m sorry, Cash.”
Sorry that Jasmine’s car had been found and searchers expected to find her body in some shallow grave on the old farm at any time? Or sorry that she’d never been a mother to him and it was too late to start now?
“I know what you must be going through.”
“Do you?” he said, then could have kicked himself.
“Obviously you loved her or you wouldn’t have asked her to marry you.”
He said nothing, afraid of what would come out.
“Let me know if there is anything I can do.” She seemed to be waiting for him to say something. When he didn’t, she hung up. She didn’t mention dinner. Must have realized it would have been a bad time to ask for anything.
When he looked up, his brother J.T. was standing in his office doorway.
“Mother? She means well,” J.T. said, closing the door behind him as he came in.
Cash grunted.
J.T. stood, looking uncomfortable. That was the problem with being raised by a bad-tempered man like Asa and a disagreeable ranch foreman like Buck. The brothers had grown up believing that softness was a weakness. So they sure as hell knew nothing about comforting each other.
Even Dusty was more tomboy than girl.
But J.T.’s rough edges had been smoothed a lot since Regina Holland had come into his life last fall. Cash had seen the change in him and approved. Reggie, as J.T. called her, was perfect for his brother, strong and yet soft in all the right ways. She was like a ray of sunshine in J.T.’s life and it showed in his older brother’s face. Cash had never seen J.T. so happy.
“Is there anything I can do?” he asked now.
Cash shook his head, figuring Reggie had sent him. “The state investigators took over the search. I’m supposed to go fishing.”
J.T. nodded. “You’re not going to though, are you?”
Cash smiled. His brother knew him too well.
“Reggie said if you need someone to talk to…”
Cash laughed. He knew Reggie had sent J.T. His brother looked too uncomfortable for words. “Tell her thank you.”
J.T. nodded, looked down at his boots, then up at Cash. “I’m sorry.”
Cash nodded. “Maybe it will finally be over.” He knew that was what his family had hoped for, that he’d be able to move on once he knew what had happened to Jasmine. If they only knew the truth. He feared though that before this investigation was over, they would know. Everyone would.
After J.T. left, Cash picked up the phone and dialed the number for Jasmine’s car insurance company, which he’d found in her glove box. He knew Mathews would find out soon enough that he was doing some investigating on his own and all hell would break loose.
But all hell was going to break loose eventually anyway and he couldn’t just wait for the state boys to call and tell him they’d found Jasmine’s body and they had some questions for him.
Atlanta, Georgia
BERNARD WENT THROUGH the motions. He called to have the company jet readied, instructed George, his English butler, to pack for him, and told the chauffeur to stand by to take him to the private airstrip later tonight.
Bernard had held it together fairly well he thought. Even when he’d had to deal with that jackass Kerrington. It was just like the fool to fly to Montana.
But he’d wanted to be the one to tell him. He didn’t want Kerrington seeing it on the news and doing something stupid. And it would be hitting the news, if it hadn’t already. He seldom paid any attention to more than the financial news.
He thought about ringing George and having the bottle of champagne he’d asked to be chilled brought out and opened. But he could wait.
He’d waited seven years so he could have Jasmine declared legally dead. Before their father had died, Archie had put aside part of his estate for Jasmine, still holding onto the ridiculous hope that she would turn up one day.
Bernard deserved that money. He’d spent his life “watching out” for his stepsister. “Keep an eye on her, won’t you, Bernard,” Archibald Wolfe would say. “Take care of your sister.”
He wished he had a dollar for every time he’d heard his stepfather say those words.
His mother had married Archie when Bernard was four. Jasmine had been just a baby, her mother having died in childbirth.
Bernard had seen his stepfather struggle with trying to love him as much as he did Jasmine. There had been times when Bernard had felt loved, felt like he really was a Wolfe, not just adopted because his mother had married Archie.
But then Jasmine had grown up, been a wild teenager and an even wilder adult. Keeping her out of trouble had proved impossible. She had loved to upset their father, hadn’t cared that she got Bernard and herself into trouble, had rebelled at every turn as if it were her birthright. The Wolfe money had meant nothing to her. She was Daddy’s golden girl and she’d known he would never disinherit her. At least not for long.
Bernard had never felt that secure as the stepson.
When Jasmine had decided to get another degree in a long line of degrees, this time in Montana, Archie had asked Bernard to go with her. “Just keep an eye on her. Make sure she’s all right. Be there if she needs you.”
Bernard had wanted to laugh. Jasmine hadn’t needed him, hadn’t even liked him, and he’d resented the hell out of his role as protector of his precious stepsister.
But Bernard had known he’d had no option. Archie had set him up in a condo near the university with unlimited spending and nothing really to do other than ski and party—and of course try to keep Jasmine out of trouble.
Jasmine had reverted to form and had enticed Kerrington to come to Montana so they could be together, except for those times when she was bored with him. Archie had heard about it and had been furious with Bernard, but even more furious with Jasmine. This time Archie had done more than threaten to disinherit her, he had done it.
Kerrington had been beside himself, begging Jasmine to make up with her father. He and Jasmine had argued and the next thing Bernard knew, she had announced that she was engaged to some cowboy sheriff from Antelope Flats, Montana. Kerrington had been inconsolable. He’d been dating Jasmine’s roommate Sandra to make Jasmine jealous. It apparently hadn’t worked.
Bernard had pretended to reason with his sister, but with her out of the will, he would get everything. Jasmine had never listened to him anyway. He hoped she would marry her cowboy sheriff and live in some dinky town in Montana, but he knew her better than that. Jasmine had just been playing them all.
Then Jasmine had disappeared. Archie had never said outright that he blamed Bernard, but Bernard knew he did. It had taken a while, but Bernard had finally gotten close to his stepfather before Archie died.
He’d worked hard to take over the Wolfe Furniture conglomerate, proven himself worthy in so many ways. In the end, he’d felt as if Archie respected him, maybe even loved him. Then Archie had died and Bernard’s mother Fran had been killed.
Bernard was left alone—with everything—except for the chunk that had been left to Jasmine.
In just a few weeks, Bernard could have had her declared legally dead. And now this. Jasmine’s car turning up, stirring it all up again. It was as if Jasmine was plotting against him from the grave. As if she couldn’t stand for him to be happy.
Now he would have to fly to Montana or it would look suspicious. He would have to act as if he gave a damn. He just hoped it wouldn’t take long. He’d always resented Jasmine, often disliked her. But right now he hated her.
His cell phone played “Dixie” in his suit pocket. He didn’t have to look at the number to know whom it was. He also knew what she would want. “Yes?”
“I need to see you. Where are you?”
“At home getting ready to leave for Montana.” He’d been waiting for her call. Had the champagne chilling for the two of them.
“Don’t move.” She hung up.
He smiled and snapped his phone shut as he thought of her and what she would want him to do to her. It was warped, twisted in ways he didn’t even want to think about. It was also dangerous. But worth it.
He checked to make sure George was finished with his packing, then rang the kitchen and asked for the champagne to be brought up to the master bedroom.
She would be here soon. He was already aroused just thinking about the pain he would inflict on her. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad day after all.
Las Vegas, Nevada
“ARE YOU CRAZY?” Angel demanded for the hundredth time. “You let Molly get away.”
“She knows we’re after her,” Vince assured him again. “I was counting on Lanny calling her. She’ll lead us right to the diamonds. It’s all part of my plan.”
“You’d better hope this works,” Angel said.
Vince heard the threat in his brother’s tone. “I thought you might like to gamble while I get everything ready before we go after her.”
Angel’s eyes lit because he knew Vince would also provide the money. Angel had already blown what little he’d had.
Four hours later, Vince found Angel at a blackjack table in the casino where he’d left him earlier. From Angel’s expression, he’d lost all the money Vince had given him and was in a foul mood. Nothing new there.
“Come on,” Vince said.
“I hope to hell we’re finally going to do something,” Angel snapped as they left the casino and headed for the car. “I’m sick of waiting around.”
Vince slid into the passenger seat as Angel got behind the wheel. He sat tapping the steering wheel as if he couldn’t sit still. With each passing day, Angel had become more tense. Sitting next to him was like being next to an electrical wire in a thunderstorm. Vince wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep Angel under control.
“I told you. We needed to give her a head start,” Vince said, knowing this wasn’t what Angel wanted to hear.
Angel swore as he pulled out of the casino parking lot in a screech of tires. He pushed his foot hard onto the gas pedal and roared out into the traffic.
“We’ve waited fifteen years,” Vince said patiently. “We can wait a little longer. She’s still moving. I want to wait until she lights.”
Angel shot him a look and almost rear-ended the car in front of them. He slammed on the brakes. “Did you ever consider that she’s gotten rid of the car and you’re tracking the wrong person?”
“She won’t get rid of the car. She has no reason to.”
“You should have let me handle it,” Angel argued. “If you’d let me wait for her outside the café where she worked it would be over by now.”
Vince didn’t doubt that. “Like you handled Lanny? You would have killed her before we found out where the diamonds were and where would that’ve left us?”
“You’ve never given me enough credit,” Angel complained, slamming his fist down on the steering wheel as the traffic began to move again. “You think I couldn’t do this without you?”
Vince felt himself go cold.
Angel seemed to calm down. “You’re sure this GPS thing will work, we’ll be able to find her?”
“Global positioning system.”
“I know what the hell it is,” Angel snapped. “I just don’t like the idea that she’s taken off and we might not be able to find her again.”
“We can pinpoint her location down to the street number,” Vince said. “Once she stops running, I can even pull up a map that will show us exactly how to get there.” He could see that Angel was dubious. Angel hadn’t been interested in learning about computers or electronics while in prison.
“She thinks she’s gotten away, that she’s safe. That’s why I don’t want to crowd her.”
Angel muttered something under his breath.
Vince groaned and glanced in his side mirror. “We agreed we would do this together,” he said to Angel as he felt a headache coming on. “Or we don’t do it at all.”
Angel shot him a look. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Vince didn’t answer. He spotted a black-and-white behind him, the patrol-car light bar gleaming in the desert sun. Vince glanced over at the speedometer then up the street. “Watch your speed.”
Vince figured he would have to give Angel more money to lose gambling. It would be the only way to keep his brother from getting into trouble while they waited.
Angel let up on the gas. They cruised through the intersection.
Vince looked in the side mirror again. The cop in the patrol car had pulled in two cars behind them. Vince looked ahead and saw another cop car turn into the motel where he and Angel had been staying.
“Trouble,” he said as yet another patrol car fell in behind them.
“What?”
“We’ve been made,” Vince said.
Angel’s gaze darted up to the rearview mirror.
“Another car just turned into our motel,” Vince said.
Angel swore. “Who would put the cops on us?”
“Who do you think?”
As Angel drove on past their motel, Vince saw yet another patrol car coming toward them. The cop hit his brakes. “They know our car. He’s spotted us.”
The cop made a U-turn in the middle of the street, flashing lights and siren coming on.
Angel hit the gas and ran the next red light. Brakes screeched, horns blared and a wail of police sirens took up the cry behind them. Vince was glad Angel was behind the wheel. Angel loved this. He cornered hard and accelerated, driving Vince back against the seat.
So Molly wanted to play hardball? Vince was surprised. He still thought of her as a fourteen-year-old little girl. This changed his perception of her.
Another cop car joined in the chase and Vince thought he heard a helicopter overhead. As Angel wheeled around corners, racing along the backstreets of Vegas to the scream of sirens, Vince shook his head. He was not pleased with Molly. How could she call the cops on them after it had been cops who’d killed Max, the man who had picked her up off the street and been like a father to her? Did the woman have no loyalty at all?
He sighed, unable to understand that kind of thinking. He had planned to cut Molly some slack in respect for Max. He might have even let her live after she gave them the jewels. Or at least he would have told Angel to kill her quickly.
But now she’d left him little option. He would let Angel use the knife on her, keeping her alive until she gave them the jewels and apologized for betraying them.
First though, they had to escape the cops. Then there would be no more waiting. They were going after Molly.
Atlanta, Georgia
KERRINGTON POURED HIMSELF a stiff drink and sat down in his empty living room. He couldn’t believe Sandra had left without a word—not after they’d just been arguing about her recent disappearances.
He’d checked the garage, not surprised to find her car gone. She wasn’t even trying to hide her affair. Did she really believe he was going to put up with this? The woman must think him a complete fool.
He took a gulp of his drink. The expensive Scotch sent a wave of warmth through him. A thought floated past on the boozy warmth. What if it wasn’t an affair? He couldn’t imagine what else Sandra would be sneaking behind his back about if not sleeping around. He realized he had no idea what she did all day. Or with whom.
He finished the drink and poured himself another, the booze calming him. He was almost relieved Sandra had left. She would have been looking for a fight if she’d stayed.
“What do you care if Jasmine’s car’s been found?” she would have demanded. “Like she gave a damn about you.” Sandra always threw it up to him that Jasmine had broken the engagement.
“She dumped you,” Sandra was fond of reminding him. “After that big article on the society page. How did that make you feel?”
Sick. But he’d never told Sandra that. Sandra thought he had been embarrassed, made to feel like a fool. What Sandra didn’t know was that when you lost someone like Jasmine all you thought about was getting her back. Once you got over the initial shock and that feeling of being sick to your stomach.
Jasmine had a way of making nothing matter but her. She was like a drug you needed to survive. You would do anything to have her.
Unfortunately, Jasmine knew it. She made you crazy, until you felt that if you couldn’t have her, no one else would either. Hell, he’d followed her to Montana and she would have changed her mind and married him if it hadn’t been for her father cutting her out of the will.
He sipped his drink, eyes narrowing at the thought of Jasmine. If she were alive, she would have come to her senses and realized he was the only man for her. How different his life would have been. Her father would have come around. Archie would have never denied Jasmine her legacy if he truly believed she had married the right man. And Kerrington was the right man.
And he would never have married Sandra. Even when she told him she was pregnant with his baby. She blamed Jasmine’s disappearance for her miscarriage. Bernard had always said Sandra wasn’t even pregnant and Kerrington had been a fool to buy in to her story without demanding proof.
All water under the bridge, he thought putting down his drink. He picked up the phone and called the airport for a flight west. If he hurried, he could get out right away and be there by tonight. Let Sandra come home to an empty house and wonder where he was for a change.
Across town
FROM HIS HOT TUB on the master-bedroom deck, Bernard told George to send his guest up when she arrived. The water was hot, the jets relentless. He was sunk up to his neck, eyes closed. It wasn’t long before he caught a whiff of her perfume. Opening his eyes, he found her framed in the doorway. He closed his eyes again, knowing when he opened them she would be waiting in the bedroom.
He took his time. He liked to make her wait. He dried himself and, breathing in her scent, moved through the large master bedroom, expectation arousing every nerve fiber.
She lay on her back across the end of his king-size bed, buck naked, her eyes closed. He watched her chest rise and fall, her nipples already hard nubs. Her legs were long and shapely, her body as close to perfect as money could buy.
He let the towel wrapped around his waist drop to the floor.
She turned her head to look at him, watching him with a mixture of excitement and fear in her expression. He liked that about her.
He picked up the belt from where he’d left it on the chair near the end of the bed and looked down at her, their eyes locking.
Then slowly, he raised the thick leather belt, saw her tense, her eyes widening but never leaving his.
He brought the leather down sharply across her thighs. She let out a cry, arching her back. He lay the leather across her belly, her breasts. He had never wanted to hurt her as badly as he did tonight.
She didn’t stop him, just as he knew she wouldn’t. This is what she came here for.
To the sound of her soft whimpers, he finally tossed the belt aside. She was watching him again, almost daring him to do whatever he wanted with her.
“Tell me Jasmine is dead,” she whispered as he rolled her over.
“Jasmine is dead.”

CHAPTER FIVE
Antelope Flats, Montana
MOLLY WAS SICK of sagebrush. She’d been driving on two-lane blacktop highways for what seemed like days, passing through tiny dying towns and miles and miles of barren landscapes.
Not far inside the Montana state line, she saw what appeared to be a small cluster of buildings on the horizon. A mirage in the middle of nowhere. A few miles up the road, she spotted the city limits sign: Antelope Flats.
She couldn’t believe her eyes. She’d expected small, but this town was even smaller and more isolated than she’d imagined. She’d expected it would be backwoodsy, but not to this extent. The western town seemed trapped in another time, the buildings straight out of an Old West movie.
She drove through town. It didn’t take long. Then she turned around, stopping to shake her head and laugh. Well, she’d wanted to disappear in a place where Vince and Angel would never think to look for her. And it appeared she’d gotten her wish.
Getting into her role, Molly had put on at least five pounds, changed her makeup, lightened her hair and bought herself some conservative clothing, something she thought a woman like Jasmine Wolfe might have worn. Coming from the South and a wealthy Atlanta family, Jasmine had to have a whole lot of conservative in her background.
Molly had watched the newspapers as she worked her way toward Antelope Flats. Jasmine Wolfe’s body hadn’t been found as of yesterday. Nor had the woman turned up.
As Molly drove back into town, she couldn’t help but wonder why a woman with Jasmine Wolfe’s money and background would want to live here, let alone marry the sheriff.
The town seemed even smaller this time around. If she had blinked, she would have missed it. She pulled up in front of the small brick building on the edge of town with the sign Sheriff out front. It was late and she’d worried that she might not catch him before he left for the day.
But as she turned off her car engine, she noticed a car marked Sheriff was parked in front. No other cars were on the street except for a few muddy pickups at the other end of town outside the Longhorn Café.
She glanced toward the front window of the sheriff’s office but the slanting sun was shining on the glass, making it more like a mirror. She took a breath and reminded herself that she was the daughter of Maximilian Burke. Even rusty from lack of sleight-of-hand practice, she could do this.
But she didn’t kid herself, she would have to give the performance of her life to pull this off. If she blew it, she had a lot worse to worry about than attempted fraud charges.
Taking her purse and the first newspaper article and photo, she got out of the car and walked to the door of the sheriff’s department. Tentatively she tried the door. Unlocked. She pushed the door open, sliding a little too easily into the other woman’s skin, a little too easily into that former life of lies, as she stepped inside.

BY LATE AFTERNOON Cash had made a half dozen calls as well as copying Jasmine’s case file. He was surprised that he hadn’t been relieved of his job yet. He knew it was only a matter of time.
Cash had covered his tracks as much as possible and was just finishing up when the phone rang. He picked it up, afraid it was going to be Investigator Mathews with bad news.
It was Jasmine’s insurance company calling back.
“It took a while for me to find the policy,” the agent told him. “This particular policy was canceled almost seven years ago due to the car being stolen?”
Something like that. “I need to know if an accident claim was filed. In September seven years ago? It would have been right after she bought the car.” Cash listened to the shuffle of papers.
“None that I can see. September? Sorry. No claim.”
He raked a hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair, letting go of the breath he’d been holding. So Jasmine hadn’t filed a claim or reported the accident. He thanked the agent and hung up.
Now all he could do was wait. But he’d been waiting for either a call that Jasmine’s body had been found or that he was being suspended until the investigation was completed.
But neither call had come. Everyone in the city offices next door had gone home for the day.
He got up from his desk, too anxious to sit any longer. He should go home. If Mathews caught him in his office… He moved to stand in the back doorway. Here he could catch the faint breeze in the pines out back. The spring evening was hotter than normal and his office had no air-conditioning. Hell, few places in Montana had air-conditioning.
He didn’t want to leave just yet. He was waiting for a call back from the Dew Drop Inn, a bar on the outskirts of Bozeman. He knew Mathews would eventually check on the matchbook found in Jasmine’s car. Cash hoped to beat him to it. Mathews would be furious, but Cash would have to deal with that when it happened.
Right now, he needed answers, answers he should have gotten seven years ago. All these years he’d pretended Jasmine was alive. He couldn’t pretend anymore. At any moment, Mathews would call to say her body had been found in a shallow grave on the farm, that she’d been murdered.
For years, he’d put his life on hold, unconsciously waiting for that call. Now, it seemed the wait might be over.
Behind him he heard his office door open. He turned. His heart seized in his chest, all breath gone, all reason evading him as he stared at the woman standing in the doorway.
“Jasmine.” Her name was out before he could call it back.
She looked startled, as if she hadn’t seen him standing at the back of the office.
His heart lodged in his throat, his senses telling him something his mind refused to accept now that her car had been found. Jasmine was alive?
“I…I…” She started to turn as if to leave and he finally found his feet, lunging forward to stop her, half-afraid she was nothing more than a puff of smoke that would scatter the moment he touched her.
She took a step back, seeming afraid, definitely startled. He stopped just feet from her, struggling to rein himself in, fighting to believe what was before his eyes. My God, could it really be her? Jasmine? Alive? He could only stare at her. How was this possible?
She stared back, her green eyes wide. “I was looking for Sheriff Cash McCall,” she stammered, still angled as if she might bolt at any moment.
He cleared his throat, confused. “I’m Sheriff Cash McCall,” he said, realizing with a start that there was no recognition in her expression.
“I’m…I’m—”
“Jasmine, Jasmine Wolfe,” he said, the cop in him thinking of the blood found in her car, the seven years no one had seen her or the fact that she didn’t seem to know him from Adam.
She shook her head and held up what appeared to be a newspaper clipping, the edges torn, the print smudged as if she’d spent a lot of time looking at it. “I’m not sure, but I saw this and I thought…”
He took the clipping she held out, glanced away from her just long enough to recognize the Associated Press story about the discovery of her car.
“The woman looked like me….” She stopped. “This was a mistake.” She reached behind her for the doorknob.
“No.” He hadn’t meant to speak so sharply. “Please, don’t go.” He took a breath, tried to slow his racing pulse, tried to make sense of this. He’d been expecting a call that her body had been found, not this.
He stared at her, unable to take his eyes from her. Somehow Jasmine had survived. True, she looked different in ways he couldn’t put his finger on. But one thing was perfectly clear, she was more beautiful than even in his memory.
But where had she been all these years? And why was she looking at him as if she’d never seen him before and was as shaken by what she saw?
He stared into her eyes. She’d didn’t remember him.
Or maybe she did and was only pretending not to.
All he knew for sure was that if Jasmine had escaped the grave, then she would be back after only one thing. Vengeance.

MOLLY KNEW SHE WAS GAWKING but she couldn’t help it. To say Sheriff Cash McCall was nothing like she’d imagined was a major understatement. And it wasn’t just because he was drop-dead gorgeous. Which there was no denying he was. Tall, broad-shouldered, blond and blue-eyed but rugged looking. He wore western-cut jeans, boots and a short-sleeved, tan uniform shirt. A blue jean jacket hung over the back of his desk chair and close at hand was a pale gray cowboy hat.
It wasn’t his looks that surprised her. It was the feeling that she’d been headed here her whole life. As if everything else had just been time spent waiting for this moment.
She met his gaze and quaked inside at the rush of feeling. There was some powerful chemistry here that drew her to him and at the same time, warned her to be careful. Very careful.
“Jasmine,” he said again in his deep voice. “I can’t believe this.”
The sound of his voice seemed to echo in her chest, a drumming like that of her pulse. She tried to steady herself. Calm down. This is working. Just as she’d thought, she looked enough like the woman with the changes she’d made to fool even Jasmine’s fiancé. As Max would have said of one of his magic tricks, “This definitely plays.”
The talent required to perform magic or a con was showmanship. Only a small percentage of the act was the actual trick. It was amazing what could be done with a little misdirection.
She shook her head and backed away, using everything Max had taught her. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry.”
He closed the distance between them, his fingers clamping over her wrist. He was strong but she cried out more in surprise than actual pain.
He quickly released her. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please. Don’t go.”
She had him. So why did her instincts tell her to run? The “tricks” with her father hadn’t been this up-close-and-personal. She could see the combination of hope and naked relief in his eyes. He loved Jasmine.
Molly knew what it was like to lose someone she’d loved. Clearly, Sheriff Cash McCall had never gotten over that loss. She hadn’t considered that after seven years he might still be in such pain. She didn’t have to look to know that there was no wedding band on his left hand. She doubted there was even a woman in his life. But what guy would wait around for a woman seven years knowing she might be dead or just never coming back?
Sheriff Cash McCall obviously.
He seemed to be staring at her in a kind of bewildered amazement. “If there is any chance that you’re Jasmine—”
“There isn’t,” she said.
“Please. Something made you come here.”
Right. Two killers and the need for a place to hide.
“Please,” he said again. “Sit down for a moment. What do you have to lose?”
She didn’t even want to think about that. She must have been out of her mind. Her father’s genes obviously coursed through her veins because she’d latched on to this idea without thinking it through. She hadn’t expected to feel like this.
He smiled reassuringly and stepped back, giving her space. “Won’t you sit down? Please.”
There was a kindness in his voice, a calmness in his movements, although she could see how badly he needed her to be his fiancée.
All she had to do was load the hat—slip in the rabbit that she would later pull out as if by magic. She had him right where she wanted him. So why did she feel so miserable about it?
And even more alarming, why did she feel like he had her?
Either way, she couldn’t walk away now. She was in too deep. She had no choice but to stay and play this through. She couldn’t admit that she’d known all along she wasn’t the missing woman, whereas if she stayed, he would realize eventually she wasn’t his lost love. He would be hurt. She would feign disappointment, sorry that she’d gotten his hopes up. No harm would have been done.
Right, you just keep telling yourself that.
She gave him a tentative smile and took the chair he offered her. He pulled up one next to her rather than go behind the desk. She could see that he didn’t know what to do with his hands. They were large, the fingers long and finely sculpted, tanned from the sun, callused from some type of manual labor and definitely strong.
She shifted her gaze to his eyes, the same pale blue as summer skies. There was something so appealing about Cash McCall….
“Why do you think you’re not Jasmine?” he asked quietly.
That one was easy. But she could hear Max saying, “Don’t be a fool. Have you forgotten Vince and Angel and what they’ll do to you if they catch you? Stall for time. You’re safe here. And there just might be a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, kiddo.”
She felt sick and realized she was more like Max than she’d ever admitted. She had only thought of herself. And now she was in trouble. So like Max.
“I know I look like her, but I can’t see how…” She made a motion with her hand, swallowed and looked around the office. It was sparsely furnished. A gold-framed photograph on his desk caught her eye.
“Your family?” she asked, indicating the photo of a group of blond, blue-eyed people standing at a wide porch railing.
“Shelby insisted on a family portrait,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “She also insisted I put it on my desk. Shelby’s my mother. She’s a bit…bossy at the moment, probably always has been.” He shook his head before she could ask what that meant. “It’s a long story.” He leaned forward a little, obviously trying to relax. Or at least make her think he was relaxed. “Tell me about you.”
Going in, she knew she couldn’t lie about her name or her past—at least the past seven years of it because he was bound to check. There was no reason to anyway, since those years had been innocuous enough and her pattern of living would suggest that she’d been unsettled, lost, searching for something.
“For as long as I can remember, I’ve traveled from one place to another,” she said honestly. “My name is Molly Kilpatrick. At least that’s what I’ve been going by.” She’d learned at an early age that it was always best to blend as much truth as you could with the lies. It made keeping the lies straight that much easier. You just had to be careful that you didn’t start believing your own lies.
Meanwhile, she needed to make it clear that as far as she knew, she was Molly Kilpatrick and any confusion on her part as far as her resemblance to Jasmine Wolfe was innocent. Even if he found out that she was the daughter of Maximilian Burke, she figured her father’s death could easily explain her alleged lapses of memory.
“I’ve always had the feeling that something happened in my past, something traumatic that I want to forget, and that’s why I can’t remember,” she continued. She described her life pretty accurately, at least the years since her father died.
When she finished, she saw that the sheriff was studying her intently. Magicians called it “the burn” when someone is watching you with an unblinking stare, looking behind your words and sleight of hand to see the “trick.”
Cash felt like pinching himself. Jasmine. He couldn’t have been more shocked or relieved. While she was saying she didn’t believe she was Jasmine, he was looking at her face, the color of her hair, the sound of her voice, her mannerisms. All Jasmine. Only just different enough to account for the fact that she’d been lost for seven years.
“This is amazing,” he said when she stopped talking. The cop in him told him he should be paying more attention to her story, but the man in him could only stare in wonder. Somehow Jasmine had survived—and found her way back.
To him, he realized with a start.
He would have expected her to contact her family. Or her old roommates. Except Sandra Perkins was married to Kerrington Landow now and who knew where Patty Franklin was.
He just found it hard to believe that she could come to him. Not after the last time he’d seen her. But maybe she really couldn’t remember what had happened between them any more than she could remember him.
He tried to concentrate on what she was saying as she told her story haltingly, stopping occasionally to lick her lips. He tried to remember that mouth. It had been so long. Would it be the same if he kissed it?
When he’d thought of Jasmine over the years, the memories had been sharp and painful. Now though, as he studied her, he realized he’d forgotten how he’d felt, that initial first attraction, or how she’d tasted when he’d kissed her.
She stopped talking, then added, “That’s why when I saw the article about Jasmine Wolfe…” Her eyes met his.
He remembered that pale green color. Only he’d remembered it as reminding him of cool jade, not warm tropical waters as it did now.
“You’re not sure how many years you’ve lost?” he asked, trying to pay more attention.
She shook her head, catching her lower lip in her teeth. It was something he couldn’t remember Jasmine ever doing.
“When I read that there was a search going on for her, I thought that if there was even a chance that I was…” She stopped, licked her lips again. “I didn’t want people to keep looking for her if… I didn’t want her family to…” She shook her head. “You must think I’m a fool to come here.”
Jasmine had never been a fool. Nor could he imagine her thinking herself one. “No, you’re no fool,” he said studying her. “Can you remember anything about the day you disappeared?”
She shook her head slowly and let out a small laugh. “I didn’t even know I’d…disappeared.”
He smiled realizing that, from her perspective, that was probably true. “Have you seen a doctor about your memory loss?”
She nodded. “He said sometimes a blow to the head can cause it. I would imagine that’s where I got this.” She lifted a lock of her blond hair away from the left side of her forehead.
The scar was shaped like a crescent moon, pale white and about an inch and a half long. He drew in a breath and let it out slowly. Head wounds bled a lot. That would explain all the blood in her car.
He felt a wave of relief. Not that she didn’t look and act like Jasmine, but the cop in him had questioned how she could be alive given the large amount of blood that had been found in her car. The blood loss, the head injury, couldn’t those both contribute to memory loss? And couldn’t that explain why she’d just disappeared for seven years?
“You don’t know how you got the scar?” he asked.
She shook her head. “It was just there one day when I looked in the mirror.”
He could see that the scar had scared her. He tried to imagine just looking in the mirror one day and seeing a scar and not knowing when or where you’d gotten it.
It should have scared her, he thought. It certainly did him, just trying to imagine how she’d gotten it.
She absently touched the scar with her fingers. “I think I came here hoping to find…myself.” Her voice broke a little and tears glistened in her eyes.
He’d never seen Jasmine vulnerable before. That he did remember. It took everything in him not to pull her into his arms. But he was a stranger to her. And she was clearly scared. The last thing he wanted her to do was bolt.
“I realized when I saw the photograph that I’ve put my life on hold for years waiting for something I didn’t understand.” She frowned. “Does that make any sense to you?”
He wished it didn’t. He’d done the same thing and hadn’t consciously realized he was doing it. With a start, he remembered that Bernard would be flying in. “Your brother—stepbrother—Bernard is on his way here. If he’s not already here.”
Her eyes widened in alarm. She shook her head. “But what if I’m not Jasmine? I don’t want to get his hopes up.”
Cash doubted Bernard’s hopes would be raised by the thought of Jasmine being alive. Bernard had inherited everything when Archie had died, as far as Cash knew. And knowing even as little as he did of Bernard, Cash couldn’t see Bernard wanting to share it with a stepsister back from the dead.
“It would be like him losing his sister all over again,” she was saying. “And I couldn’t bear to think I had a brother only to have him snatched away if I’m right and I’m not Jasmine.”
Losing Bernard wouldn’t break anyone’s heart, Cash thought. “You don’t have to see him if you’d rather not.”
Her relief was almost palpable. “It’s not that I don’t want to see him. Later. If I really am Jasmine. Isn’t there some way we can keep this quiet until we know for sure?”
He hated to tell her how impossible that would be in a town the size of Antelope Flats. He had to tell State Investigator John Mathews. But he had no way of reaching him at this hour. Cash couldn’t see what it would hurt to wait. Mathews would do everything he could to keep the story from blowing wide open, but he would want to question Jasmine—and in her state, Cash feared she would take off again.
Cash knew he was just making excuses.
What he needed was time. Before anyone else got involved, he had to be sure in his own mind that she really was the woman he’d spent seven years trying to forget.
“Maybe there is a way to keep it quiet,” he said, watching for her reaction. “I can take your fingerprints and send them to the FBI. They have Jasmine’s on file.”
“How long will it take to get the results?” she asked without even a blink.
He would send them to his friend in the FBI. With luck he would know by tonight, but he didn’t tell her that. “It usually takes a week. Maybe more.”
She seemed relieved rather than upset by that news. He got the feeling that things were happening too fast for her.
“I’ll just stay in a motel out of sight until then.”
“Your brother will be staying at the only motel in town.”
She looked surprised, then worried. “What can we do?”
We? A sliver of doubt embedded itself under his skin. He told himself he was just being a cop. She had come to him, she needed his help. Of course, she would say “we.” So why was he suddenly suspicious of her motives?
Because she’d involved him so slickly into a conspiracy to keep her existence a secret. It worked perfectly into his plan to have her to himself until he could decide if she was really Jasmine—and what she wanted.
But he had to wonder if it also worked perfectly into some plan she had.
“If anyone finds out that I came to you before we know for certain if I’m Jasmine… Can you imagine what would happen if the newspapers got hold of this story?”
He could well imagine. His life had been blown wide open for months after she’d disappeared. But she didn’t need to sell him any further on hiding her. “There might be a way to keep you hidden until we have proof that you’re Jasmine.” He let the words hang in the air for a few moments, not wanting to act too eager. “You can stay with me.”
Her surprise almost seemed genuine. “Oh, I couldn’t.”
“I have a large house. There is plenty of room. It is the only way to stay hidden in a town this size. Unless you’d rather not, under the circumstances.”
She frowned. “Circumstances?”
“The general assumption was that you were abducted by a man at the gas station who is now in prison,” Cash said. “But for several reasons I don’t think that was the case.”
“What reasons?” she asked, sounding more curious than worried.
“First off, the man serving time in prison right now was offered a deal if he told them what he’d done with you. He didn’t take the deal. I don’t think he was the one the station clerk saw get into your car.” He was watching her, not exactly sure what he was looking for, just a feeling that he should be leery of her. Especially if she was Jasmine.
“Secondly,” he continued when her expression didn’t change. “You would never have gotten into your car with a stranger even if he was holding a gun on you. You’d been taught what to do because kidnapping was a real threat given your family’s wealth. The only reason you would leave with the man at the station was because you weren’t afraid of him.”
That last seemed to finally get a reaction out of her. “You think I knew the man who abducted me?”
He nodded slowly. “A man who left you for dead seven years ago.”
“You’re telling me that if I’m Jasmine Wolfe, I’m lucky to be alive.”
“Oh, I think you got very lucky. The problem is, if I’m right, your assailant won’t be happy to hear you’re alive and can identify him.”
“But I can’t! I don’t remember anything about that day.”
“My point exactly. You could be in the room with a killer and not even know it. Until it was too late.”
She bit her lower lip as if considering that she might be in danger. “I guess the safest place I could be now is with the town sheriff,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Right?”
He cleared his throat and met her eyes. “Right.” Unless, of course, she was going home with the prime suspect in Jasmine’s disappearance and attempted murder.

CHAPTER SIX
MOLLY COULDN’T BELIEVE how easy it had been as she watched Cash prepare to take her fingerprints.
She’d come away clean without getting caught with any cards up her sleeves. As Max used to say when he’d fooled someone in the front row of the audience with one of his magic tricks, “I could have gone south with an elephant in front of that guy!”
Not only did the sheriff buy her as Jasmine, he’d also agreed to keep the news quiet—and was taking her home to his house. She couldn’t have asked for a better place to hide out.
There had only been that one surprise. Cash seemed to think Jasmine had known her attacker, that the person was still at large, that her attacker had left her for dead. And now with Jasmine back, Molly’s life was in danger.
It was her karma and the risk that went with stealing a dead woman’s identity, she thought bitterly. Wasn’t it bad enough that she already had two killers after her?
She hoped that Cash was just being cautious. He seemed a cautious man. Of course he could also just be trying to scare her. If he knew she wasn’t Jasmine, what better way than to make her think she was in danger from a killer if she continued this charade.
No, she thought, studying him. He believed she was Jasmine because he wanted to. Maybe he really was worried about her safety. Maybe the man now in prison for abducting those other women really hadn’t picked up Jasmine at that filling station.
Good thing she wasn’t planning to stay in this gig long. And there was always the chance that Cash was wrong. The cases were too similar not to have been the same man—even if the man now in prison hadn’t confessed to Jasmine Wolfe’s abduction.
“Yes?” Cash said. He was looking at her, studying her again as if he saw her struggling with her thoughts.
She shook her head. “Nothing. This must come as a shock to you.” Her prints weren’t on file anywhere. That was one reason she hadn’t been able to get a job at a Vegas casino. Casinos took all employees’ fingerprints as a matter of course. But still, she felt a little anxious to think he was about to send them to the FBI. Did that mean they would be on file from now on? Good thing she was going straight again after this.
He reached for her hand. His fingers were warm and she felt a small thrill ripple over her as he began to take her fingerprints. She mentally kicked herself as he raised a brow at her reaction. Cash McCall didn’t miss much.
“Am I anything like her?” she asked grabbing hold of every magician’s best defense—misdirection and patter. Talk about anything. Just draw the audience away from what you’re really doing. “I mean other than the way I look?”
He took her fingerprints, carefully getting a perfect print from each finger. He didn’t look at her as he worked. “You sound like her and some of your mannerisms remind me of her,” he said after a few moments.
“Were we close?” she asked shyly.
His gaze came up to meet hers. There was heat in it and although it had been a while, she recognized the look for what it was: desire.
“We were engaged, weren’t we?” He looked back down.
“I know this must be hard on you,” she said. “I’m sorry I don’t remember…us.”
He finished taking the rest of her prints before he looked up again. “Here, you can clean the ink off with this,” he said, handing her a towelette.
“Thank you.” She scrubbed at the ink, still watching him out of the corner of her eye. When she’d asked about their relationship, he’d grown quiet, almost pensive. There was something he didn’t want to tell her.
“I’ll send these in,” he said, getting up, turning his back to her.
“I’m sorry.”
“What do you have to be sorry about?” he asked over his shoulder as if surprised.
“All these questions. But I don’t know much about Jasmine. Just what I’ve read in the papers….” She pretended to hesitate. “And there are so many questions that only you can answer.”
He took a breath and let it out slowly as he finished taking care of the prints. “What do you want to know?”
She shrugged. “Anything you can tell me. How did you meet?”
He took his chair behind his desk, giving her his full attention. “I was teaching a class in criminology at Montana State University in Bozeman. We ran into each other in the hall.” He shrugged. “The next day you were waiting for me outside my classroom.”
Jasmine hadn’t been a shrinking violet, had she?
“How long did we…you date?”
“Not long. The engagement was kind of…sudden.” He smiled a little as if embarrassed and met her eyes. “I’d never met anyone like…you.”
And she’d thought he was a cautious man. Probably was. Except when it came to women. Or at least one woman. She felt a prick of jealousy and wondered what kind of lover he’d been. And Jasmine?
Cash was smiling. “You had another question?”
She really had to watch herself. He seemed to be reading every expression. “I was wondering about…our relationship, that is, yours and Jasmine’s.”
He laughed. It was a wonderful sound. “You want to know if we were…intimate?”
The word was so old-fashioned. Like Cash. She suspected he followed some Code of the West. “It’s just if I’m going to stay with you…” She wasn’t really blushing, was she?
“Are you worried about your virtue?” he asked.
There was an edge to his voice that surprised her. Had her question upset him because it was so personal? Or was it something to do with Jasmine?
“I know it’s none of my business,” she said quickly. “I shouldn’t have—”
“We never slept together.”
She tried not to look surprised by that—or the flash of anger she’d seen in his expression. Obviously their not sleeping together hadn’t been his idea.
“Oh” was all she could think to say. She was no authority on relationships, since she never stayed long enough in one place to have anything long-term. And her idea of a short-term relationship was a dinner or a movie date. At almost thirty, she had never even been in love.
But any woman who wouldn’t want to go to bed with Cash McCall needed her head examined. Her gaze fell on his hands, and desire stirred within at just the thought of those hands on bare skin.
“Her loss,” she added ruefully and then could have bit her tongue.
He cocked his head at her as if taken aback by her comment. Not half as much as she was. The idea was to distract the audience during a trick—not shoot yourself in the foot.
An awkward silence fell between them, which she didn’t dare try to fill. Who knew what she’d say?
“We should see about getting you to the house. I thought you could drive your car and follow me. It’s only two blocks. We can put your car in my garage.”
She glanced toward the open back door of the office. She could smell the sweet scent of pine coming from the growing darkness. “You’re sure it won’t be an imposition?”
“Having second thoughts?” He smiled but this time it didn’t reach his eyes.
He’s angry at Jasmine and he thinks I’m her. “Are you sure you’re all right with this?” She wasn’t sure she was.
His gaze flickered as if he hadn’t expected any concern from her—and it touched him. “Don’t worry about me. I can’t promise that I can keep you a secret for long. But I will try until we get the fingerprint results.”
“Would you mind calling me Molly?”
He nodded slowly.
“It’s just that…”
“You don’t have to explain,” he said. “You’re still not comfortable with the idea of being Jasmine.”
She nodded. And it wasn’t something she intended to get comfortable with. All she’d done was buy herself a little time. “Thank you. For everything. I appreciate you letting me stay at your house.”
“Have you had dinner yet?”
She shook her head.
“I haven’t been to the grocery store but I do have some leftover pot roast with vegetables from my garden.”
She laughed. The man had a garden and he cooked. Unbelievable. “I love pot roast,” she said, relaxing a little. There was nothing to worry about. He didn’t suspect anything. She had to quit questioning her luck. Obviously, it had changed for the better.
But when she looked at him, he was frowning. “What is it?” she asked, realizing that she’d done something wrong.
He shook his head, quickly replacing the frown with a smile as if she’d caught him. “Nothing. It’s just your…laugh. I’d forgotten…how much I’ve missed it.”
She felt her stomach churn, but she forced herself to smile. Fear reverberated through her.
He had just lied to her.
And a few moments ago she would have bet anything that he wasn’t the lying type.
Maybe she was wrong about him. Maybe she hadn’t fooled him. With a shudder, she realized that she’d talked her way into staying at his house, alone with him, her car hidden in his garage. And he was the only person in town who even knew she existed.
Suddenly, that nagging feeling—that she would regret this—was back again, stronger than ever.
“Ready?” he asked from the doorway.
She started toward the door.
“Just follow me,” he said. “It’s the last house at the edge of town.”
Of course it was.
“You can’t get lost,” he added.
She’d been lost her whole life. Right now she just wanted to run. Running was easy, she realized. That was probably why Max had been so good at it.
Cash looked at her as if he sensed her thoughts and had no intention of letting her out of his sight. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out together.”
She walked to her car, unlocked it and climbed in. There were a few more pickups parked down Main Street in front of the Longhorn Café but other than that, the town was dead. As she inserted the key and started her car, he got into the patrol car. If she took off, he would come after her. Now how stupid would that be on her part?
He backed up and she followed him the two blocks to where he parked the patrol car in front of a large old house surrounded on three sides by huge pine trees. The house was at the edge of town, just as he’d said, no other house close by.
She pulled into the driveway in front of the separate garage and looked up at the monstrous place in the fading light. She’d never liked old houses. They were cold and rambling, smelling of age, often haunted with the lives of those who had lived there before, those hard lives worn into the steps, carved like scars into the walls, their lives still echoing in the high-ceilinged rooms.
She sat in her car and watched him get out of his and open the garage door. Now or never. She started to reach for the key when he appeared at her side window and motioned her to pull into the now open garage. She hesitated, but only a moment and drove inside. She turned off the engine, she pulled the key out and opened her door.
He smiled as if to reassure her.
She tried to smile, but realized she was ridiculously nervous. Max must be rolling over in his grave. She’d played it just right. She’d gotten what she wanted. What she needed. But if she didn’t get control of herself she would blow it.
“What do you think of the house?” Cash asked. “I bought it for you as an engagement present. It was a surprise. Unfortunately, you never got to see it.”
She didn’t know what to say. He bought a rich woman an old house?
He was studying her, expecting a reaction. She could only nod at him and blink as if fighting tears.
He got her suitcase from the backseat and led the way up the steps. She braced herself as he opened the door and stepped aside for her to enter.

“THIS IS IT,” CASH SAID as he reached in and turned on a light. Over the years, he’d thought about remodeling the house. He’d thought more about selling it. The house stood as a constant reminder of Jasmine and he guessed that’s why he’d kept it. He never wanted to forget.
In the end, he’d done nothing. He’d been locked in a holding pattern, unable to move on with his life, unable to decide what to do with the white elephant, no desire anymore to fix it up.
He watched her come through the door wavering between his conviction that she was Jasmine and a nagging feeling that things weren’t as they seemed. What had really brought her here? Not him. He was almost certain she’d come for something else. Whatever it was, he was determined to find out.
He was no fool. He’d seen the way she’d gotten him to invite her to stay here at the house. Well, she was here. Now what?
“It needs a little work,” he said as he watched her take in the worn hardwood floors, the faded walls, the paint-chipped stair railing.
Her green eyes widened as she looked around. “It’s…it’s…”
He watched her struggling to find the words as he fought the urge to laugh. She hated it. He could see it on her face. She was horrified. Any doubts he had that she might not be Jasmine went out the window.
“I bought the house planning to restore it but I just haven’t gotten around to it,” he said. “I thought you, that is Jasmine and I would do it together.”
“Oh? Well, it has all kinds of possibilities,” she said, moving from the foyer to the bottom of the stairs.
“You think?” he said behind her.
“Definitely. It will be a lot of work but…” She turned and met his gaze, nodding. “Definite possibilities.”
“I was hoping you would like it,” he said and waited.
“Oh, I do. I’m sure Jasmine would have loved it, too.”
He smiled at that.
“Buying her a house… Why, that’s so…romantic,” she said as if she needed to fill the silence.
“Romantic?” He couldn’t help himself. He laughed.
She seemed surprised at first, as if not sure how to react, then she laughed with him. “I’m sorry, I just can’t imagine anyone buying me a house.”
He stopped laughing and looked at her. “I don’t remember you being such a romantic.”
“I’m sure I’ve changed,” she said.
Boy howdy, he thought.
She looked so unsure of herself, he stepped to her, thinking only of comforting her, taking away that frightened, confused look in those green eyes. He cupped her face in his hands and felt the reassuring throb of her pulse, telling himself not to question this. Jasmine was alive—and he was off the hook.
She didn’t pull away, her eyes locking with his and he felt himself diving into all that warm tropical sea-green. He leaned toward her, wanting to feel his mouth on hers, to taste her, to reassure himself.
But he caught a whiff of fragrance, something expensive and rare. The memory wasn’t a pleasant one and not of Jasmine directly, but it was enough to make him jerk back, suddenly queasy.
She seemed surprised. Maybe a little disappointed. But also relieved? She straightened as if she had been leaning toward him as well. Now she looked away to brush invisible lint from the sleeve of her blouse as if embarrassed.
“I should show you to your room,” he said, his voice sounding hoarse even to him as he picked up her suitcase and turned on the ancient chandelier overhead, throwing a little light on the stairs.
She was still standing in the foyer, looking as if she were shaken by what had almost happened moments before. He knew the feeling. Kissing her had been the last thing he’d planned to do and yet for a moment, he’d felt something so strong between them….
He shook his head at his own foolishness as he started toward the steps.
“Cash?” she said behind him.
It was the first time she’d said his name. The sound pulled at him like a noose around his neck, dragging him back to the first time he’d seen her. He stopped, one foot on the bottom stair, his heart pounding.
Slowly, he turned, not sure what he expected. The way she’d said his name, the sound so familiar, he thought she might say she’d suddenly remembered everything including the last time she saw him seven years ago.
That was why he wouldn’t have been surprised to turn and see a weapon in her hand. He’d already seen murder in those green eyes.
But her hands were empty, her purse strap slung over one shoulder. She wasn’t even looking at him, but staring through the doorway into the dark living room.
He followed her gaze, his eyes taking a moment to adjust with the shades drawn, and froze. Someone was sitting in his living room.
Las Vegas, Nevada
“I’M NOT GOING BACK to prison,” Angel said as he cornered hard again.
Vince grabbed the door handle and held on. The car came down hard as Angel straightened it out and hit the gas, driving him back into the seat.
Horns blared, brakes screeched. Behind them, sirens wailed. Overhead, the dark shape of a police helicopter blocked the desert sun for a moment before Angel cut between two buildings, sending a crowd of pedestrians scattering, their screams dying off under the roar of the engine. Vince could almost hear the sound of a prison-cell door closing behind him.
“Did you hear me?” Angel yelled over the noise.
“I heard you. You’d rather die than go back to prison.”
Angel jumped a curb, the car coming back down with another jarring slam. Vince closed his eyes. This was not the way he’d hoped his life would end. He thought of Max and how Max had made a run for it the day of the jewel heist. Foolish, very foolish. Going out in a blaze of glory. Only there was no glory; there was only blood and pain.
Not that Vince could convince Angel of that. He opened his eyes again as Angel cut through a casino parking lot, then another, then another until the sound of cop cars diminished just a little and there was no sign of the helicopter overhead.
Angel whipped into an underground parking garage and threw on the brakes. He was out of the car before it came to a complete stop. Vince got out too, his legs rubbery. He was getting too old for this.
He heard the shatter of glass, then the soft pop of a door opening. A moment later, an engine roared to life. Vince stumbled over to the vehicle, leaned against the side of it as Angel took off the license plates and switched them with another car in the lot.
Vince could hear the sirens growing closer. He thought about telling Angel to hurry, just for something to do, but Angel was good with his hands, quick, his movements efficient in ways his brain had never been.
The sirens grew louder and louder. He waited for Angel to get into the car and open the passenger side. All Vince wanted right now was to lie down in the back, close his eyes and trust that Angel would get them out of this—just as he had on numerous other occasions.
“You’re going to have to get into the trunk,” Angel said over the top of the car. He reached inside. Vince heard the soft click and whoosh as the trunk came open.
Angel was grinning, face flushed, eyes too bright. It was that feeling again of standing under a power line to be even this close to him. Angel loved this. And that frightened Vince more than the sound of the approaching sirens.
“The trunk?” Vince said dumbly as he watched Angel knock the rest of the glass out of the side window and reach in the back for a cap that had been lying on the rear seat.
Angel put the cap on his head, adjusted it in the side mirror. “I would suggest you hurry.”
All the other times Vince had just slid down in the front seat or hidden lying down on the backseat, but he could see that Angel was determined to have it his way this time—and there wasn’t time to try to reason with him.
Vince moved to the gaping open trunk. The sirens were so close he could almost feel the handcuffs on his wrists. He climbed into the trunk, scrunched up to fit his large body into the cramped space. He hated tight spaces. And darkness. It reminded him of when his stepfather used to lock him in the root cellar.
Angel slammed the trunk lid, the snap of the latch deafening in the pitch-black, musty darkness.

CHAPTER SEVEN
Antelope Flats, Montana
MOLLY HEARD AGAIN the soft rattle of ice in a glass, the same sound that had drawn her attention to the dark living room—and the man sitting there—in the first place.
She caught her breath as the faceless dark figure rose from the chair and moved toward her slowly, almost awkwardly.
Vince? He couldn’t have found her. Not this quickly. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Run, her mind was screaming, but her feet seemed rooted to the floor.
As the man reached the light from the hallway, Molly saw with relief that he wasn’t Vince. But the look on his face made her take a quick step back anyway. She heard Cash swear.
“Jasmine,” the man whispered. “My God. You’re alive.” His face was ghastly white, his fingers holding the drink glass in his hand trembling, the ice in his drink rattling softly.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Cash demanded, stepping in front of Molly as if to protect her.
“The door was open,” the man said vaguely as he peered around Cash to stare at her. He was soap-operastar handsome dressed in chinos, a polo shirt and deck shoes. But next to Cash, he looked like a cardboard ad cut out from a fancy men’s magazine.
“So you just made yourself at home?” Cash demanded.
The man was obviously shaken, deathly pale with beads of sweat breaking out on his upper lip. Molly thought he might be either drunk or dazed. Or both.
She wondered how he knew her. That is, Jasmine.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Cash snapped.
Yes, Molly thought, who are you? And how did you know Jasmine? One thing was clear, Cash didn’t like him. Nor did the man like Cash.
The man seemed to drag his gaze from her to look at the sheriff. “I needed to talk to you,” he said, glancing down at the drink in his hand as if surprised to find it there. “I called the state investigator. He said I might find you here since you wouldn’t be at your office. The door was unlocked so I helped myself to your Scotch.”
Cash stood ramrod straight, his hands balled into fists at his side, anger in every line of his body. “We don’t lock our doors in Antelope Flats,” he said biting off each word. “Normally we don’t have to. What do you want, Kerrington?”
“Kerrington?” Molly repeated in surprise, recognizing the name from one of the articles she’d read about Jasmine’s disappearance. “The first man you promised to marry,” he said, scowling at her. “As if you don’t remember.”
“She doesn’t remember,” Cash snapped. “She’s suffering from some kind of memory loss.”
Kerrington stared at her. “Right,” he said and let out an unpleasant laugh. As if playing along, he held out his hand. “Kerrington Landow.” His hand was damp and cold from the glass he’d been holding, his grip too firm, as if he thought he could feel the truth in her pulse. “Still want to pretend you don’t know me?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know you,” she said. “I’m sorry.” But she wasn’t. She didn’t like the man.
He glared at her. From his expression, she couldn’t tell if he was glad Jasmine might be alive or just the opposite.
Cash cleared his throat. “Now if you don’t mind…” He grabbed for Kerrington’s arm as if to show him out.
“I’m not leaving until you tell me what the hell is going on here,” Kerrington said, drawing back out of his reach. “I thought the state investigators were still looking for her body out at that farm?”
“They are,” Cash said. “She might not be Jasmine.”
“So the state investigator doesn’t know she’s alive?” Kerrington said.
Molly decided the man was both drunk and dazed. And dangerous. She stepped in quickly. “Sheriff McCall, I don’t want Mr. Landow going away with the wrong impression.” She had to convince Kerrington that he couldn’t believe his eyes before he blabbed this all over town. She was counting on being long gone before it hit the newspapers.
“I know I resemble Jasmine,” she said reasonably.
Kerrington nodded and looked smug as if he were finally going to get the truth out of her.
“There is a lot about my past that I can’t remember,” she said. Or don’t want to remember. “So I came here looking for answers. The sheriff has been kind enough to send my fingerprints to the FBI to be compared to Jasmine’s. I’m staying here, out of sight, until we know for sure who I am.”
“You’re hiding her?” Kerrington said and shot a look at Cash, who groaned. “You think I don’t know about the fight you had with Jasmine? And now her car turns up just a few miles from town…. I think the state investigator needs to know what you’re up to.”
“I’m not up to anything,” Cash said between gritted teeth. “What are you doing in town, anyway? Jasmine isn’t your concern. Or is she? I never bought your alibi, Landow.”
Kerrington jerked his head back as if Cash had slugged him. “I didn’t kill her. I have an alibi. And anyway she’s alive, right?” He looked at Molly. “You’re just trying to confuse me, aren’t you. Make me say something you can use against me.”
“I think we’re all getting upset here for nothing,” Molly said quickly. “Let’s just wait for the fingerprint report to come back from the FBI. I don’t believe I’m Jasmine Wolfe. My name is Molly.”
“Molly,” Kerrington said, nodding, but she could tell by his expression that he didn’t believe her. “You look just like Jasmine. You sound just like her.”
She wished now that she hadn’t gotten Jasmine’s voice and mannerisms down quite so well. She’d been able to copy Jasmine’s faint southern accent flawlessly from the videotape. Jasmine’s inflection, mannerisms and tone had been easy for someone who’d learned to mimic from the time she was a child.
“It would be a mistake to assume I was Jasmine, though,” Molly said. “I don’t want anyone looking like a fool because of me. If you were to tell people…” She saw Kerrington reconsider, just as she knew he would. She’d learned to read people. His worst fear would be to look like a fool.
“When will you get the results on the fingerprints?”
“At least a week, probably two,” Cash said, sounding as if he hoped this didn’t mean that Kerrington would stick around that long.
Molly could see Kerrington considering his options. “This isn’t some kind of a trick?”
And to think Kerrington hadn’t looked that perceptive, she thought darkly. “Why would I lie to you?”
He suddenly looked drunker, as if the Scotch he’d poured for himself was one of many he’d already had today. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” He looked at the drink in his hand again, must have thought better of finishing it and handed the half-full glass to Cash. “I should go.”
“I agree,” Cash said. “I hope you’re walking, otherwise I’m going to have to drive you.”
“I walked,” Kerrington said straightening. “I’m staying at the motel. The only one in this damned town.” He seemed about to say something but changed his mind as he looked at Molly for a long moment, then left without another word.
“He’d better be walking,” Cash said, going to the door to look after him. Kerrington was. Otherwise Cash would have seen his car parked out front. Molly figured Cash probably knew what everyone in town drove.
He closed the door, locked it and turned to look at her. His jaw was clenched, his body still rigid with anger. “I can’t believe that jackass.”
She wanted to ask him why he disliked Kerrington as much as he obviously did. Was it just jealousy? Kerrington had been engaged to Jasmine first. But Cash didn’t seem like the jealous type.
“He’s going to tell, you know,” Cash said.
“Do you think he’ll go to the press?”
Cash shook his head. “He’ll tell your brother though. Jasmine’s stepbrother Bernard,” he amended. “That means Bernard will have to see for himself whether or not you’re Jasmine.”
“Is that bad?” she had to ask.
Cash swore under his breath. “It’s not good.”
She smiled and saw some of the tension uncoil from his body. “You don’t like Kerrington.”
He shook his head. “Sorry.”
“I’m the one who’s sorry. There is no way I could have been engaged to that man.”
Cash’s smile was tight. “Apparently he never got over you.”
“Over Jasmine,” she said, wondering more and more about the woman who had two men she’d promised to marry and both hadn’t let go even after seven years. She must have been some woman.
“He’s married to Sandra Perkins.” He seemed to hesitate, waiting for a reaction from her. “She was your—Jasmine’s roommate. They got married just a few months after you disappeared. I’d heard she was pregnant. Must not have been. They have no children that I know of. Doesn’t act like a married man, does he?”
Molly felt for Kerrington’s wife. “You think she’s here in town with him?”
Cash shook his head. “I doubt she even knows he’s here. And what the hell is he doing here, anyway?”
Kerrington would tell Jasmine’s stepbrother Bernard Wolfe. But would either of them chance going to the press before the fingerprint results came back?
She had no way of knowing. She still believed she could pull this off. Not that she had much choice. But she’d learned from Max long ago that a magician stayed with the trick—even when he realized the rabbit was no longer in the hat.
Las Vegas, Nevada
VINCE TRIED TO SLOW his breathing, afraid he would run out of air in the car trunk before Angel stopped and let him out.
The car moved at a snail’s pace. He could hear other traffic. He was cramped and couldn’t move, the darkness seeming to close in on him. He tried not to think about it or how much air he had left.
He thought instead about Molly and what he would do once they found her. He could understand her fear—especially if she’d heard what had happened to Lanny.
He could even understand her running. It was calling the cops that had him mystified. She obviously didn’t understand the concept of honor among thieves and that disappointed him more than he wanted to admit.
He felt the car speed up and tried to relax. It wouldn’t be long now before Angel pulled over and let him out. He took a breath of the hot musty air, feeling light-headed. He guessed they were on the interstate now, gauging the speed and the smoothness of the road. It was getting hotter in the trunk, closer, tighter.
He was sweating profusely now, the smell of fear filling the tight space. His muscles were starting to cramp, he was having trouble catching his breath and just the thought of being trapped in the trunk brought on a panic attack.
What if Angel had made him get in the trunk for another reason besides hiding him? What if he planned to take him out in the desert and kill him?
Unlike him, Angel had never held much store in the fact that they had some of the same blood coursing through their veins. Angel wasn’t the sentimental type. Angel would have killed his own grandmother if there were something in it for him.
Vince stiffened as he felt the car decelerate. The tires left the smooth pavement for a bumpy road that jarred every bone in his body. Why didn’t Angel stop and let him out? Where the hell was he taking him?
After an interminable amount of time, Angel finally stopped.
Vince held his breath and listened. He could hear the tick-tick-tick of the motor as it cooled. A car door opened and closed, no sense of urgency in the movements. The door opened again. Vince heard the scrape of the key in the trunk lock. That was strange. Why hadn’t Angel just pulled the trunk lever before he got out of the car?
The trunk lid rose slowly.
Antelope Flats, Montana
CASH LED THE WAY up the stairs to the bedroom where Molly would be staying, cursing to himself.
Kerrington. He should have known the moment he caught that fragrance. The memory of Kerrington’s cologne was now all tied up in his memories of Jasmine.
Cash knew he should call State Investigator Mathews and inform him about this latest possible development before Kerrington did. Still, he hesitated. He would know about the fingerprints by tomorrow at the latest. The call could wait until then.
And maybe he would get lucky and find out what she wanted, whomever this woman was whom he’d invited to stay in his house.
Her reaction to Kerrington had certainly surprised him—and Kerrington as well. Not just a complete lack of recognition on her part, but she didn’t seem to like him. It could have been an act, he supposed. It could all be an act. But at least Cash wanted to believe her dislike for Kerrington was real.
He couldn’t put his finger on what was bothering him about her. Part of him acknowledged that she was different from the Jasmine he remembered—the memory loss aside. He told himself that seven years and not knowing who she was would make her different. Not to mention whatever had happened to her before her car ended up in that barn.
As she’d said, she felt something horrible had happened to her. Any change he thought he saw in her could be directly related to that. And she had the scar to prove it.
Or she could be lying, just as Kerrington had accused her, the scar from some other accident. Cash hated that he and Kerrington might ever agree on anything, but there was something about Molly Kilpatrick, something that warned him to be wary whether she was Jasmine—or a complete stranger.
When had he become so suspicious? He knew the answer to that one as he turned to look back at her. She had stopped at the top of the stairs and appeared to be studying an old photograph of the ranch.
“Is this your family’s ranch?” she asked.
The photograph was of the original homestead, the old hewn-log cabin, a herd of longhorns grazing in a meadow behind it.
“Yes.” And no, he thought. But the photo was the essence of the ranch, how it had all begun. If she was curious about what his family ranch was now worth…well then that was something else.
“It’s the Sundown Ranch. My great grandfather drove a herd of longhorns up from Texas to start it.”
She nodded as if she didn’t know what else to say and he saw that she seemed nervous.
“If you’d be more comfortable at the motel…”
She shook her head. “No, it’s just…” She waved a hand through the air and looked into his eyes. Hers were a warm Caribbean sea-green in the hall light, as inviting as a kiss. He remembered almost kissing her earlier with no small regret. “You don’t know me and yet you offered me a place to stay. I could be a total stranger.”
“Could be.” He smiled ruefully. For strictly personal, selfish reasons he wanted Jasmine to be alive. Didn’t want her disappearance hanging over him the rest of his life. He wanted her to remember everything. No matter who it hurt, himself included.
“I might not be the man you think I am,” he warned her.
She met his gaze. “Or me the woman you hope I am.”
“I’m not worried,” he said, knowing that wasn’t entirely true. “Are you?”
Slowly she returned his smile and shook her head. “No. I know it’s the safest place for me to be right now.”
Or so she thought, he mused. “Your room is right down here.”
He led her to the door of the master bedroom and opened it. It was a large, bright room. Fortunately, the house had come with some furniture. The high, white iron bed frame was one of the pieces.
When the house was built, the room was wallpapered in a tiny flower print of yellows, greens, blues and pinks. The print had faded some but was still intact. This room had always seemed too large, as if it demanded double occupancy. That’s why he’d opted for a smaller bedroom down the hall. He kept this one made up for the times Dusty or one of his brothers stayed over.
“There’s a large bath in here,” he said, stepping past her to push open the door.
She let out a cry of delight at the sight of the huge claw-foot bathtub.
“I guess it was made special, that’s why it’s so large.” Large enough for two, he thought ruefully.
“I love it,” she said as if she could see herself sunk in the tub.
He had to smile. “So does my sister. She left an assortment of bubble bath. Help yourself.”
“Thank you.” Her gaze came back to him. Her smile was shy, uncertain, her mouth turning up a little higher on one side. He didn’t remember Jasmine ever smiling like that, but he’d forgotten so much…. And some things he would never forget.
He tried to swallow the lump in his throat as he put down her suitcase. “If you need anything just let me know.”
He hurried out of the bedroom, the large room suddenly feeling claustrophobic.
Who had he invited to stay with him?
“Come down when you’re ready,” he called back. “I’ll just heat us up some dinner.”
By this time tomorrow, he should know. Twenty-four hours. And every moment of it he would be looking for Jasmine in this woman. And waiting. Waiting to find out the real reason she had come to him.
Atlanta, Georgia
THE WOLFE COMPANY JET was winging its way across the Midwest when Bernard got the call.
He checked caller ID and felt his pulse jump. Stay calm. He’d recognized the name on the caller ID. Patty Franklin, Jasmine’s former roommate. Seemed she hadn’t married. Or if she had, she’d kept her maiden name.
He took a breath, not wanting her to hear anything in his voice that might give him away. “Wolfe here.”
“Bernard?” Patty sounded tentative. She always sounded tentative. Didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out why Jasmine had befriended her. Can you say doormat?
“Yes?” He pretended he didn’t recognize her voice. Hell, it had been almost seven years since he’d heard from her. He wondered how she’d gotten his cell-phone number.
“It’s Patty. Patty Franklin?” she said. “Your sister’s former roommate?”
“Patty.” He tried to make that one word say, “Why are you bothering me after all this time?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard about Jasmine’s car being found,” Patty said.
The story he’d found out had gone national. Everyone had heard. “Of course.”
“I’ve been so upset. Is there any more news?”
No, and there is no more money to keep your mouth shut either. “No, I’m afraid not.”
“Well, I didn’t mean to bother you,” she said. “I just wanted to see if there was anything I could do. I’ve never forgotten her. She really was one of a kind.” He couldn’t argue that. “I guess you’re coming to Montana.”
Patty just happened to still be in Montana? He waited for her to make her pitch for more money and said nothing. Force her to ask this time.
“I know how hard this must be for you,” she said hesitantly. “I should let you go. I just wanted to say how sorry I am and how much I appreciated your kindness when we lost Jasmine.”
“Thank you for calling, but I have to keep the line open in case there is any news,” he said and disconnected, turning off his cell phone just in case she called back and wanted another fifty thousand in kindness.
And what was that about “when we lost Jasmine”? Patty hadn’t meant anything to Jasmine and she sure as hell meant nothing to him. Why had she called?
He wondered if he’d made a mistake by not offering her more money. She’d never really blackmailed him. At least not outright. She’d just made a point of mentioning how she would never tell the police anything that might make him look guilty because she knew he couldn’t hurt Jasmine. And the next thing he knew he was paying for her college education. Jasmine would have liked that, he’d told Patty and she’d cried and agreed. What a dummy he’d been.

HE SWORE NOW AND LOOKED at his watch. He couldn’t wait to get to Montana and get this over with. He tried to forget Patty. He hadn’t heard from her in seven years, so maybe her call had been just what she’d said it was.
Maybe by the time he got to Montana, Jasmine’s body would have been found and he could finally put Jasmine to rest.
“Amen,” he said, but Patty’s phone call was still bothering him. He contemplated how far he’d go to get rid of her if she tried to extort him again. One thing was certain. He wasn’t giving her another cent.
Antelope Flats, Montana
MOLLY WAITED UNTIL SHE HEARD Cash’s footfalls die off down the stairs before she let herself relax. What a day this had been!
She’d bought herself a little time. She should have been relieved. But Jasmine’s brother would be in town soon, if he wasn’t already. Cash was convinced that Kerrington would tell Bernard. How would she avoid that bullet?
Knowing that Cash would try to protect her made her feel all the more guilty. That and seeing how much he wanted her to be Jasmine, how much he’d obviously loved the woman.
She looked around the room and tried to tell herself that she was safe and that was all that mattered. No way could Vince and Angel find her. But was that all she had to worry about? Could Cash be right about Jasmine’s abductor being someone she knew, someone who wasn’t going to be happy to see her alive?
She couldn’t worry about that now. She’d just had two close calls. Running into Kerrington and an even closer call with Cash. She’d almost kissed him. Had wanted to kiss him. If he hadn’t pulled back—
He was already suspicious. Kissing him would have been stupid. Something had happened back at his office, she’d done something wrong. She still didn’t know what it was but she remembered the doubt she’d glimpsed in his face.
The only thing that had saved her was his desperation to believe she was Jasmine, she thought with a chill as she glanced around the room. He’d bought this house for Jasmine? And kept it for seven years untouched? Had he expected her to turn up one day just as Molly had done?
He hadn’t moved on with his life, that much was clear. But why, she wondered. Because he’d loved Jasmine too much to let go? Or for some other reason?
She remembered what Kerrington had said about a fight between the two of them. And her car turning up just a few miles from town. Was he insinuating that Cash had something to do with Jasmine’s disappearance?
She shook off the bad feeling that came with the thought. Cash had loved Jasmine. He wouldn’t have hurt her.
And yet he was hiding something from her. She’d seen it in his face when she’d asked about their relationship.
She took a breath and let it out slowly. Don’t borrow trouble. You’re safe. At least for a while. With luck, Vince and Angel have been arrested by now. She still hadn’t heard anything about Lanny Giliano. She would call tonight. Maybe somehow he’d gotten away.
This would be over soon and she would be gone. Like it or not, she would again be Molly Kilpatrick, daughter of the Great Maximilian Burke, magician extraordinaire and thief.
It would be a far cry from the daughter of Archibald Wolfe and the Wolfe furniture fortune. A far cry from being the woman Cash McCall had loved, she thought.
She looked around the master bedroom. If Jasmine really were alive, Cash would be sharing this room with her.
With a shudder, Molly hurried downstairs, feeling as if she’d just walked across the woman’s grave.

CHAPTER EIGHT
Outside Las Vegas, Nevada
AT FIRST ALL Vince saw was darkness as the trunk lid swung upward, then a blinding light. He recoiled, drawing back into the tight space, covering his head with an arm, gasping for what he feared would be his last breath.
When something touched his shoulder, he cried out.
“What’s wrong with you?” Angel demanded. “You get sunstroke or something in there?”
Vince peered out from under his arm. He’d expected to see a knife in Angel’s hand. But all Angel held was a flashlight. “You blinded me.”
Vince could see his brother frowning. “You need help out or what?”
Vince shook his head. He’d just spent fifteen years in prison with murderers and worse, but he’d never been as frightened as when that trunk lid had swung open. It made him sick that he could even think his half brother would kill him. What kind of man was he?
“My legs are asleep.”
“Here, take my hand,” Angel said. Awkwardly, Vince crawled out of the trunk with Angel’s help.
“So?” Angel said as Vince stood and tried to get feeling back into his limbs. Just as he’d suspected, Angel had driven out to an isolated part of the desert. He could see lights in the distance on the interstate and hear the distant hum of the traffic. His chest ached, heart still pounding too hard. He sucked in the hot desert night air and tried to calm himself.
“I’m okay,” he said as if trying to reassure himself.
“That’s all you have to say?” Angel sounded disappointed, angry. “I got us out of Vegas with dozens of cops chasing us. You think that was easy back there?”
Vince shook his head. “You saved us. You’re the best. Thanks.”
Angel nodded. Clearly he’d hoped for more but Vince wasn’t up to it right now.
“Yeah, well, don’t forget it. You need me.”
Vince put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I do need you,” he said, his voice breaking with emotion.
“You sure you’re all right?” Angel asked again, eyeing him.
“Fine. Great. I’m great.”
“Then let’s get the hell out of here,” Angel said, slamming the trunk.
Vince walked around to the passenger side and threw up in the sagebrush before climbing into the car.
“Where to?” his brother asked, sliding behind the wheel.
With still-trembling fingers, Vince took the laptop from the backseat where Angel had put it. He booted up the program and waited for the GPS tracking device to tell him exactly where they could find Molly. It was time.
Antelope Flats, Montana
MOLLY SAID SHE loved POT ROAST, Cash thought as he put the leftover roast and vegetables in the microwave.
Was she just being polite? He didn’t think so. She’d almost seemed impressed. He smiled at the memory. If she was Jasmine, she was definitely an improved version.
The Jasmine from seven years ago had been the pickiest eater he’d ever known. She ate like a bird, always worrying about her weight, but also very finicky about what she ate. She would have turned up her nose at pot roast. Her tastes ran more to expensive restaurant cuisine, takeout, anything that came in white boxes or fancy-shaped foil impressed her.
The doorbell rang. Cash swore. He wasn’t up to seeing Jasmine’s brother Bernard. Not now. And he didn’t want to put Jasmine-Molly-whoever she was through another scene.
He moved to the door and looked through the peephole, already deciding that if it was Bernard, he wouldn’t let him in.
It wasn’t. It was Shelby, his mother. And she knew he was home and, therefore, wouldn’t give up until he opened the door.
He swore under his breath and glanced up the stairs as she rang the bell again. Molly was still in her room. Now if she would just stay there until he could get rid of his mother. He opened the door before she could ring the bell again. “Shelby.”
“I know I should have called first,” she said as she stepped past him and into the foyer. “I wanted to see how you were.”
“I told you—”
“I know what you told me,” she said, stopping in the center of the hallway to turn back to look at him. “I’m worried about you.” She sniffed the air and smiled. “At least you’re eating. But I hate the idea of you eating alone.”
“I’ve been eating alone for years.” He hadn’t meant to say it so sharply. “I’m fine. Really.” He needed to get rid of her before Jasmine came down.
She was eyeing him as if she didn’t believe he was fine. “I’m so glad you’re coming out for dinner tomorrow night.”
He’d completely forgotten he’d agreed to that. What would he do with Jasmine? He couldn’t leave her. “Listen, Shelby, about that—”
But his mother wasn’t listening. She was staring at Jasmine’s pale pink jacket. He’d hung it by the door when he’d brought in her suitcase.
“You have company?” she asked, sounding surprised.
At just that moment, Jasmine appeared at the top of the stairs. She stopped, almost stumbling as she saw that he wasn’t alone.
“Jasmine?” Shelby whispered, grabbing hold of Cash’s arm to steady herself, a look of horror on her face.


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