Cowboy Under Fire Read online

  He’s dangerous. Remember that. Keep your guard up.

  His gaze dropped to her flushed cheeks. “He was inside my house. How did he get out?” His voice was matter of fact, without a hint of judgment. But his piercing blue eyes told her he wasn’t necessarily buying her claims.

  She shrugged. “How should I know?”

  “Right.” A world of disappointment was loaded in that one little word. “Where exactly did you find him?”

  “The road that runs past your house.” She arched a brow. “And mine. It’s no secret that I live ten minutes down the same road. Or that I perform surveillance on you. I was driving by and saw him and brought him here.”

  “Surveillance isn’t what I’d call it. More like harassment.” He sounded more weary than aggravated. He petted the dog sitting at his feet. “But if Denali did manage to slip out when I was leaving this morning and you really did find him, thank you for bringing him here to get taken care of.” He ruffled the dog’s fur. “He’s a feeble old guy and spends most of his days sleeping in my master bedroom closet on a therapeutic bed to relieve his joint pain. I’m surprised he was able to get downstairs on his own. I usually have to carry him outside for bathroom breaks and what little exercise he can handle.”

  He seemed so kind, and so darn nice, as if he really did have an emotional attachment to his dog.

  Then again, didn’t serial killer Ted Bundy have a dog once?

  He stood, towering over her again. Then he moved to the far right, away from the door, leading the dog with him and ordering him to sit. “Again, thanks for taking such good care of him. I appreciate it.”

  She shoved to her feet and hurried to the door. But at the opening, she hesitated. “You’re letting me go? Just like that?”

  He frowned. “Did you think I was going to kidnap you?”

  She swallowed hard, not sure what to say.

  An expression of annoyance flashed across his ruggedly handsome face. “Have you ever considered that I might not be the bad guy that you think I am? I’m like everyone else. I just want to live my life, go to work, make a positive difference in the world, maybe do something fun with my friends during my free time.”

  He seemed to be waiting for her reply, but she didn’t know how to respond.

  He shook his head. “It would also be nice not to have someone following me and reporting my life’s details on the internet. Some day in the future, once your friend’s case is resolved, you’ll realize I’m not your enemy. When you do, I’ll be happy to accept your apology.”

  She blinked. “That’s never going to happen.”

  He opened his mouth as if to argue, but gave her a crisp nod instead. “Before you go home, you might want to see a doctor, if you haven’t already. That cut on your temple is starting to bleed through your bandage.”

  She instinctively reached up and pressed the bandage, then winced at the stab of pain.

  He watched her, but didn’t say anything else. Instead, he waited, acting the gentleman, letting her leave first and keeping his distance.

  This whole episode was destroying her preconceived notions of how he would react in a given situation. He’d reacted...normally, like any other kind person might. Actually, he’d been more than kind, more than generous and incredibly understanding. It didn’t make sense, given who he was. It had her doubting herself for the first time. Not that she’d judged him guilty on a whim. She had evidence that told her he was the one responsible for her friend’s death. The facts were the facts. Nothing he’d done today changed the truth. Dalton Lynch was a killer.

  Then why didn’t he seem like one?

  His dog whined and scratched the floor.

  Lynch patted his head. “He needs to go out. If you aren’t leaving yet, I’ll—”

  “I’m going.” She ran out the door, not caring what he or anyone in the outer office might think. Once she was inside her Blazer, she locked the doors and collapsed against the seat. In spite of her urgency to leave, she couldn’t drive like this. She had to calm down first. It was one thing to perform surveillance, to look at pictures, to read journal entries about a killer. It was quite another to be in a confined room just a few feet away from him, and suddenly doubt everything she thought she knew.

  She let out another shuddering breath, then carefully backed out and headed down the rural two-lane road that would eventually lead past his home to hers. It wasn’t a long drive, but it was enough for her panic and fear to recede. Her unexpected doubts were still there. But all it would take was a review of her documentation and her world would tilt back on its axis again.

  Hopefully.

  When she rounded a curve in the road and his home came into view, her stomach jumped. Two police cars sat in the long driveway, lights flashing. Another car was parked closer to the house, a black Mercedes—exactly like the one she often saw parked at Lynch’s workplace. And she recognized the tall, dark-haired man in a business suit standing on the front porch speaking to one of the policemen as one of Lynch’s coworkers. His head turned toward her as she drove past. Had he recognized her, or her Blazer?

  Her pulse rushed in her ears. The earlier panic washed over her, nearly drowning her. She had to force herself not to slam her foot on the accelerator. Instead, she drove the speed limit, until she rounded the next curve. Then she floored it.

  She’d just topped the last hill before her cabin when sirens sounded behind her. She stiffened and looked in the rearview mirror. Two police cars were coming up fast. The same ones that were in Lynch’s driveway?

  Please, God, no. Please let them pass me.

  She pulled to the side of the road, praying that they’d drive by.

  The first one did.

  The second one didn’t.

  The car that had passed her skidded to a halt in front of her Blazer, as if to keep her from pulling back onto the road. The other one sandwiched her in from behind, so close to her bumper that there was no way she could back up and pull out, even if she’d been foolish enough to try.

  Her hands ached where she was clutching the steering wheel.

  Deep breaths. Deep breaths. No one saw me break into Lynch’s house. It will be okay.

  A knock sounded on her window.

  She jumped, then flushed hot with guilt as she looked into the face of a Gatlinburg police officer. He motioned for her to roll down her window.

  As she did, the sound of a roaring engine coming up fast had both her and the policeman looking back. The Mercedes that had been parked in front of the house pulled to a stop behind the second police car. And behind it, a familiar dark blue Chevy pickup truck jerked to a halt.

  Lynch hopped out of the truck just as the man in the Mercedes emerged from his car. Together, they strode toward Hayley like two avenging angels, or a couple of really well-dressed hitmen ready to end this charade once and for all.

  Breathe. Breathe. Black dots swam in her vision. Get a grip, Hayley. Not again. Focus. Breathe. Air in, air out. Air in, air out. The dots faded. Her breathing evened. She shuddered in relief.

  “Ma’am,” the officer said, drawing her attention again. “You need to step out of the vehicle.”

  She flinched at the sound of boots pounding against the pavement as Lynch and the other man approached.

  “Was I speeding, officer?” She desperately tried for an innocent-looking smile.

  Lynch stopped beside the policeman, his gaze riveted on her. “You didn’t know about my security cameras, did you? Or that my boss offered to check on my house when the vet called about Denali? You should have told me the truth, Hayley.”

  “It’s Miss Nash,” she informed him, forcing another false smile, even as dread coiled in her belly, all because of one phrase: security cameras.

  His deep blue eyes flashed with disappointment again, sparking an answering wave of shame inside her. Then he walked away, as if s
he wasn’t even worth his scorn. His opinion of her shouldn’t matter. But for some reason, it stung.

  “That’s her. Hayley Nash,” the other man, his boss, told the policeman. “She’s the one in the video.”

  The officer put his hand on the butt of his holstered gun. “Get out of the car.”

  She started shaking so hard that she could barely push open the door. She managed to stand without collapsing, then let out a surprised yelp when the policeman whirled her around and shoved her against the side of the Blazer.

  “You’re under arrest for breaking and entering.”

  Chapter Four

  Hayley smoothed her hands down her scratchy orange jail-issued jumpsuit, the color ridiculously cheerful and bright for this early in the morning. She leaned against the wall, while her police escort filled out some paperwork at a counter a few feet away.

  The officer’s wake-up call telling her she had a visitor hadn’t actually woken her up. She’d never fallen asleep.

  All night she’d been sitting on her bunk, if a concrete shelf with a paper thin mattress could be called a bunk, trying not to gag at the smell of urine and vomit that permeated the jail. At least she was alone in her cell. It had bunks to accommodate four people. But even alone, she couldn’t stomach the smell, or the sounds of hopelessness drifting in from other prisoners down the hall, or the bland, practically unidentifiable food that had been shoved through a security drawer. If she hadn’t regretted breaking into Lynch’s home before, she sorely regretted it now.

  Her life of crime was definitely over.

  Her wrists still ached from the handcuffs, even though the officer had only put them on for the few minutes that it took to escort her from her cell to this hallway. But she’d worn them for so long yesterday after her arrest that she could still feel their cold burn, like the ache of a phantom limb.

  Footsteps echoed on the terrazzo floor and she looked up to see the officer coming toward her.

  “This way, Miss Nash.” The policewoman led her to a sunny yellow door, making Hayley wonder if the bright colors were someone’s sick sense of humor in this depressing place.

  “Remember what I told you,” the officer said, and proceeded to remind her of the rules. “You have to use the phone to communicate with your visitor. Otherwise, they can’t hear you through the glass. When the meeting’s over, you come back to the door and press the button on the wall to let me know you’re done. Thirty minutes is the max per visit, unless you put in a special request ahead of time and it’s approved. If your thirty minutes expires and you’re still on the phone, the line shuts off. You’re to hang up the phone and come back to this door where I’ll cuff you again and return you to your cell. Understood?”

  “Can we skip the return-me-to-my-cell part?” Hayley smiled.

  The officer didn’t.

  “Thirty minutes.” She yanked open the door and ushered Hayley inside.

  When Hayley saw the long row of chairs and dividers between each one, she turned to ask the officer where her visitor was. But the door shut in her face, an electronic buzz announcing that it was locked.

  Great. How was she supposed to figure out which little cubby she was supposed to use to meet with her public defender? Hopefully they knew what she looked like and would flag her down as she walked by.

  Half an hour didn’t seem like nearly enough time to meet a lawyer and figure out strategy for her case, or even to determine how she could get out of here on bail. She was about out of money and needed to do more freelance computer programming to get an influx of cash. Did she even have enough money to make bail? She had no idea.

  She only passed three inmates talking through their phones to people on the other side of the glass. They were too engrossed in their conversations to look her way, which was fine by her. She was three chairs from the end of the row when she saw someone sitting on the other side of one of the partitions.

  No. It couldn’t be.

  Dalton Lynch lifted a hand in greeting and smiled. She strode to the next chair, then the next. But no one was waiting there to talk to her. The police officer who’d told her she had a visitor hadn’t said who it was. Hayley had assumed it would be her public defender, the one she’d asked for after being arrested but so far hadn’t seen. If she’d realized Lynch was waiting for her, she’d have stayed in her cell.

  She straightened her shoulders and marched down the row toward the exit. Something yellow flashed off to her left as she started to pass Lynch. She kept going. Then stopped. Cursing her curiosity, she backed up and leaned past the partition to see what had caught her attention.

  He was pressing a piece of yellow legal paper against the glass with one word written on it in bold black ink: C H I C K E N.

  She whirled around and headed toward the exit.

  Chapter Five

  Hayley let out a startled cry and jerked upright, blinking in the early morning light as she tried to bring everything into focus.

  A chuckle had her turning. The same policewoman who’d brought her to the visitation area yesterday stood in the open door of her cell, dangling a pair of handcuffs.

  Hayley slumped against the wall and tugged her blanket up around her, despair and frustration nearly swamping her. “What do you want?” she grumbled, eying the handcuffs.

  “You don’t want a break from this place to see who came to visit you, that’s fine by me.” She turned around.

  “Wait, please.” Hayley jumped off her bunk and padded in her socks to the door.

  The officer turned and put her hand out to stop her. “Stand back so I can close the door.”

  “No, please.” She stifled a yawn, then cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. You woke me up and I was...confused. Who’s here to see me? Is it my lawyer, finally?”

  “Lady, I’m not a cruise director or your maidservant. I don’t know and don’t care who’s here to see you. I just come get the prisoners and move them wherever they’re supposed to go. If you want to see for yourself, I’ll give you two minutes to go to the bathroom or whatever you need to do. Otherwise, I have other prisoners to see to.”

  Hayley hesitated. Lynch wouldn’t try to see her again, would he?

  “One and a half.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll hurry.”

  Five minutes later, they were at the bright yellow door.

  “You know the drill,” the officer said. But just like yesterday, she proceeded to recite the visitation rules. Then the door buzzed, and she shoved Hayley inside.

  She quickly finger-combed her hair, which was a tangled mess that hung almost to her waist. She hadn’t had time to brush it out or tame it in a ponytail or braid. When she realized she was primping, she forced her hands down and straightened her shoulders, then moved down the long row.

  Please be my lawyer. Please be my lawyer.

  Again, there were only a few people there. And when she reached almost the very end, a familiar silhouette sat sprawled sideways in one of the chairs, his gray suit jacket open, his long legs out in front of him, boot tips shining in the fluorescent overhead lights.

  He straightened to face her and smiled in greeting.

  She continued to the end of the aisle, even though she didn’t expected she’d find anyone else. Certainly not her taxpayer-appointed lawyer. Apparently “free” lawyers weren’t in any kind of hurry to help the clients they’d been forced to represent.

  She sagged against the wall, blinking against the burn of unshed tears that wanted to cascade down her face. Two days and two nights in this awful place and the only person willing to visit her was Dalton Lynch. How could the universe be this cruel?

  She pressed her hands to her eyes and breathed deeply until the urge to cry passed. Then she went to the partition where Lynch was waiting. But she didn’t sit.

  As he picked up the receiver on the other side of the glass, she automatically re
ached for the phone on her side, then stopped. No. This wasn’t happening. She wasn’t tired enough or hungry enough to listen to him gloat about her being in here. There wasn’t much in her control right now, but whether she spoke to him or not was.

  She headed for the exit.

  She slammed her hand against the buzzer to let the officer know that she was ready to leave. Then waited.

  The feeling that someone was watching her kept increasing until she finally glanced over her shoulder. Lynch was standing in front of the first glass partition. He held up a piece of paper as he’d done yesterday, but this one had a different message.

  I CAN GET YOU OUT OF HERE.

  She blinked. What did he mean by that? Was he going to drop the charges?

  The door opened behind her.

  He flipped the paper over.

  WE NEED TO TALK FIRST.

  “Let’s go.” The officer motioned for her to step into the hallway.

  Hayley hesitated, then motioned toward Lynch. “But I didn’t get to—”

  “Now.” The officer yanked her out of the room and shut the door.

  Chapter Six

  Dalton waited two days before returning to the jail as part of his plan to get Hayley to cooperate. As exhausted and bedraggled as she’d looked the last time he’d seen her, he hoped that giving her more time to experience the questionable accommodations of Gatlinburg PD would make her more amenable to the deal that he wanted to offer. Unfortunately, he didn’t have Denali with him to soften her up or make her more willing to talk. But he did have other ways of at least making her hunger to get out of here, hunger being the operative word.

  He stood a few chairs from the end of the row in the visitation room and started unloading the contents of a bag onto the table space in front of the glass partition. When he was done, a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs with cheese, crispy bacon, hash browns and a stack of three fluffy pancakes sat in front of him. He slathered butter and syrup on the pancakes. Then he took out the last piece of his arsenal, a thermos of steaming hot coffee. He filled the cup, then placed it right next to the glass so that the steam caused some condensation. He arranged his napkin, fork and knife, then settled down in the chair to wait.