Cowboy Under Fire Read online

  He didn’t have to wonder whether she’d like the food he’d set out. He knew this was her favorite breakfast, from her favorite café in town. Because while she’d been performing surveillance on him, his coworkers had done the same to her.

  And while she suspected him guilty of one murder, he knew that she was guilty of something else—helping a network of criminals conduct their crimes beneath law enforcement’s radar, including killing anyone who got in their way. The only real question was whether she knew that her website work was facilitating those crimes, or whether she was an innocent pawn. For his boss, Mason Ford, the verdict was in. Guilty. Dalton still had his doubts.

  He checked his watch. Right on time, Hayley marched past him. Once again, she’d find the last two seats were empty. His bribes to the other visitors had ensured that they had this end to themselves.

  As she’d done last time, she marched back to stand in front of him, arms crossed, her mouth in a tight line. He couldn’t help but smile at the mutinous look she was giving him, and the stubborn set to her jaw. Good grief, the woman was beautiful, even after four days in jail, with no makeup, and her glorious dark brown hair a riot of tangled curls. Too bad they hadn’t met under different circumstances. She was exactly the type of woman who set his blood on fire. Sexy and sassy, and smart as a whip.

  Perfect.

  Her gaze dropped to the table, and he could almost see her salivate as she looked at the food. He’d been a cop for seven years. He knew the taxpayers didn’t allocate enough money to jails to afford great-tasting meals. They focused on nutrition. His spies behind these walls had told him that Hayley was mostly turning her nose up at the jailhouse culinary delights, barely eating enough to survive. From the pained expression on her face, his volley had hit the target.

  She eyed the phone on the wall, obviously debating whether or not to pick it up.

  To help her decide, he held up his sign again.

  I CAN GET YOU OUT OF HERE.

  She chewed her lower lip in indecision. Then she grabbed the phone and motioned toward his.

  He picked up the receiver, but before he could say anything, she did.

  “My court-appointed attorney keeps putting me off. I’ve yet to talk to him. I don’t suppose you have something to do with that?”

  He made a point of glancing around the room before responding. “Everything we say in here is recorded.”

  “Meaning yes? But you won’t admit it because that would be illegal?”

  He smiled. “How’s the food in here, Hayley? I’ve heard it’s not very good.” He scooped up a forkful of eggs and slid it into his mouth, closing his eyes as he chewed. “Mm. Those are so good.”

  She glared at him.

  He wiped his mouth with a napkin and set it down. “Talk to me and I can see about making a deal to get you out. I’ll even take you to a fancy dinner, or breakfast if you prefer. On me.”

  She arched a brow. “Asking me out on a date, Dalton dear?”

  He grinned. “Jail hasn’t gotten rid of your spunkiness, has it?”

  “It hasn’t made me forget my principles either. I don’t date murderers.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Strike one. New rules. You quit calling me a murderer or I’m out of here.”

  She rolled her eyes. “What’s this deal you mentioned?”

  “Not here. Like I said, everything’s being recorded. I need to speak to you in private. Actually, my boss—Mason Ford—and I need to speak to you.”

  “Then get me out of jail and we’ll talk. I assume you can drop all charges against me, or at least arrange bail? Then we’ll meet somewhere neutral, with someone else there to protect me, like a police officer.”

  He shook his head. “What I need to say requires privacy. And it has to happen before you’re released, while I have leverage. If I drop charges, and you’re released, there’s no incentive for you to meet with me. If you agree, we’ll go to an interview room. No cameras. No cops.”

  She cocked her head. “No cops? Weren’t you a police officer in Montana? You say that word as if you’re on opposite sides from law enforcement. What happened back there? Did you kill someone else?”

  He smiled tightly. “Strike two. What’s it going to be? Will you agree to meet with Mason and me?”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why alone? So you can kill me like you did Bethany?”

  “Strike three.” He hung up the phone.

  Her eyes widened.

  He swept the food into the bag. Then he poured the coffee back into the thermos, all while she waved her hands on the other side of the glass, frantically trying to get his attention. Without acknowledging that he even saw her, he shoved back his chair and walked out.

  Chapter Seven

  Hayley paced back and forth in her cell on the seventh morning of her incarceration, hoping and praying for an officer to announce that she had a visitor. When they brought breakfast, she asked whether they’d forgotten to tell her that she had someone waiting in the visitation room. But she was told that no one had inquired about her. Just as they hadn’t yesterday. Or the day before.

  At this point, she’d jump at the chance to speak to anyone, including Dalton Lynch. Especially Dalton, because he’d offered to get her out of here. Whatever he wanted in exchange, she very likely might say yes—if he ever gave her the chance.

  Would she die in here, alone, before a judge or prosecutor even remembered that she was here? Every time she asked to speak to a lawyer, the officers said they’d passed along her requests but that the court was backed up right now. It didn’t make sense. People didn’t go this long without a hearing, did they?

  Later, when lunch arrived, she plopped down onto her bunk, forced to admit defeat. No one was coming to see her today. Ignoring the nauseating food, she drew her knees up and tried to make sense out of what was going on.

  No lawyer.

  No hearing.

  No bail.

  And a man she’d accused of murder was the only one who’d bothered to visit her, until her insults had driven him away. Remembering how considerate and concerned he’d been at the vet’s office, she felt bad for having thrown those accusations at him. But she couldn’t seem to help herself. She’d thought of him as a murderer for so long, it was difficult to sit there talking to him as if he was innocent.

  Even though she was beginning to hope that he was.

  It would mean she’d been wrong, had nearly exhausted her savings and run up her credit cards to pursue an investigation against someone who didn’t deserve to be treated that way. But it would also mean these insane doubts were justified. And that she wasn’t going crazy. Because ever since she’d seen him sitting in that visitation room without that Stetson and dark trench coat, she’d been thinking of him in ways she’d never thought she would.

  The way a woman thought about a man she was wildly attracted to.

  It was her bitter cross to bear that he consumed her thoughts, day and night. Ever since he’d run out of a room to get a doctor to help her, and feathered his large hands so gently across the fur of a wounded animal, he’d become human to her. And then, when she’d seen his sandy blond hair glinting in the overhead fluorescent lights and realized for the first time that it wasn’t dark brown or even black, as comical as that seemed, it made her think of him as less threatening, less of a villain.

  She shook her head then rested her chin on her knees. The problem was that she wanted him to be innocent. He seemed so nice, so darn sweet, that she desperately wanted to believe she’d been wrong about him.

  But if she was, then who’d killed Bethany?

  And why had Dalton come to visit her in jail after what she’d done to his home?

  What could he, and his boss, possibly have to speak to her about? And why the need for secrecy?

  So many quest
ions without any answers.

  A buzzing sound had her jerking her head up. Two policewomen shoved two prisoners dressed in orange jumpsuits into her cell, then shut the door behind them.

  “Be nice, Molly,” one of the officers called out. “You’re in enough trouble as it is. Don’t add another assault charge to your rap sheet.” She headed down the hallway with the other policewoman.

  Hayley blinked at the one she assumed was Molly, an Amazonian-size woman with gooey red lipstick and purple fingernails that resembled curved talons as she shoved her frizzy platinum-blond curls back from her face.

  Beside her, a skinny girl with dark oily-looking hair offered Hayley a nearly toothless smile and giggled. “You think she’s got some smokes to share with us, Molly?”

  Molly offered her own smile, revealing a surprisingly perfect-looking, bright white set of teeth. “I sure hope so, Tabby. For her sake.”

  They both started toward Hayley.

  Chapter Eight

  Hayley slammed the pay phone down onto the receiver. Every attempt she’d made to reach her pro-bono lawyer was met with some kind of excuse.

  “Lady, you done had your turn. It’s the rest of us’s turns now.” The woman behind her shoved Hayley out of the way and grabbed the phone.

  Hayley would have shoved back but she didn’t know if the other prisoners waiting in line would jump on her. All semblance of civilization and manners seemed to evaporate the moment most of these repeat offenders were placed behind bars. She had the bruises to prove it. But, thankfully, so did Molly and Tabby. After they’d attacked her and she fought back like a banshee, pouring all her anger and frustration into every punch, every yank of their hair, they’d left her alone. But she didn’t know how much longer that would last. Did she have to become a hardened criminal too, just to avoid being beaten up?

  She really needed to get out of here.

  “Miss Nash?”

  She glanced around to see one of the policewomen who’d shoved Molly and her pal into her cell, not particularly worried that they really might harm her.

  “What do you want?” Hayley snapped.

  She arched a brow. “You have a visitor. But if you’d rather go back to your cell—”

  “No, no. Sorry. Please. Yes, I want to see whoever is here.”

  “You know the routine? The rules?”

  “Yes, officer.” Hayley nodded enthusiastically and held out her wrists to be handcuffed.

  Chapter Nine

  When Dalton saw Hayley’s condition as she sat behind the glass partition and picked up the phone, it took every ounce of self-control that he had not to curse and walk out right then, demanding to see the chief of police about his shameful treatment of prisoners.

  She looked like she’d been through the apocalypse.

  But his reckoning with the chief would have to wait. When she saw him, her bruised face had lit up like an eager child’s on Christmas morning, eager to see the gifts under the tree. He’d given her several days to stew, to adjust her attitude. He’d wanted her eager to help him, so he could get her to agree to their terms, but he hadn’t wanted it like this.

  She motioned toward his phone and actually smiled at him. Which had him feeling even more like a jerk. He had to remind himself why he was here, what was on the line. Lives. People’s lives. He had a feeling he’d have to remind himself about that a dozen times before this discussion was over.

  He forced an answering smile and picked up his receiver. “Hi, Hayley.”

  She clutched her phone with both hands. “I’m really sorry about being so mean when you were here last time. I won’t do that again.”

  He really hated himself in that moment. “Don’t worry about it.” He motioned toward a light bruise on her cheek. “What happened? Did you fall?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Into Molly’s fist. But I got her back.” She raised her hand and displayed reddened knuckles with scabs across them. “Hurt like crazy, but she hasn’t tried to jump me since then. Or Tabby either.”

  “Jump you?” He fisted a hand beneath the table. “What exactly happened?”

  She waved a hand. “Nothing I can’t handle. Let’s talk about something else. Like getting me out of here. I’m totally willing to meet with you and your boss, alone. Like you said.”

  Shock rippled through him at her words. He hadn’t expected her to give in on the being alone point, not yet anyway. What had this Molly and Tabby done to make her so willing to forget everything she’d fought for? “Have you changed your mind about me being a killer?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, before meeting his gaze again. “Let’s just say, I’m trying to have an open mind. And, you know, be nicer. Follow your rules.” She pressed a hand against the glass, her eyes imploring him, begging him. “Convince me, Dalton. Convince me that you’re innocent. I’m willing to listen now. I really am.”

  Her words hit him like a sucker punch and had him feeling lower than pond scum. She was desperate enough to throw out her deeply held beliefs about his guilt all because of her prolonged incarceration—on a first offense for a nonviolent charge.

  And he was the reason she’d been locked up so long.

  It had taken some less than savory means, promises of favors and help in future cases, to do it, things he’d never have considered when he’d been an actual officer of the law. He’d done it for the best of reasons, but that didn’t make him feel any less guilty. Perhaps giving her a few answers of her own, truthful answers, might assuage his guilt just a little bit. It was the least he could do.

  Mindful of the cameras and recorders in the room, he carefully worded his reply. “I have an alibi. It’s ironclad. But I can’t share it with you, because it involves an investigation that’s ongoing, one where other peoples’ lives are at stake. I swear to you that you’ll get the answers you need, soon, about me, about your friend. But I can’t give them to you right now.”

  Her eyes grew wide with shock as he spoke. Her hands shook on the receiver. A full minute passed before she slowly nodded.

  “Okay,” she said. “We’re making progress. Sort of. Maybe you could tell me about Montana. Tell me what happened to make you resign from the police force. The media was oddly quiet on the reasons, as if someone pressured them not to say what really happened. I’m guessing your new boss, Mr. Ford, had something to do with that.”

  “Your guess would be correct.”

  “Will you tell me what happened?”

  He sighed and sat back in his chair. “Knowing the truth won’t make you feel any better about me.”

  “Why not? You didn’t...hurt anyone, right? It was some kind of procedural issue, you broke some rules? That’s what the local news reports said, without specifics.”

  He laughed harshly. “Yeah, well. Mason threatened them with a libel lawsuit if they said otherwise. It’s a long story, Hayley. And not one I want to talk about here. If you really are willing to talk to Mason and me, then I’ll work on making it happen.”

  She pressed her hand to the glass. “You’ll arrange for that talk you wanted, soon? And then get me out of here right after?”

  “As soon as possible. I’ll start working on it right now.” He shoved back his chair to leave.

  A look of panic crossed her features. “I still have time, another fifteen minutes or so. Can’t we talk about something else until they take me back to my cell?”

  He wanted to curse himself, and his boss right now for breaking her like this. He scooted his chair closer to the partition. “Sure. What do you want to talk about?”

  “I don’t know.” She chewed her bottom lip, looking so nervous, so worried about the prospect of going back to jail that it nearly broke him.

  “How about Denali?” he offered. “Would you like to hear how I rescued him as a stud dog from a puppy mill? How I got all my other dogs as half-starved p
uppies from that same mill, after breaking it up as part of an investigation in Montana?”

  She nodded vigorously, a look of relief crossing her features. “I’d like that very much. Maybe we can even get the policewoman to let us talk more than the thirty-minute deadline.”

  “Maybe,” he said, knowing it wouldn’t happen. He needed to get her out of here as promised, before any more damage was done.

  He proceeded to regale her with stories about Denali and his other dogs, focusing on how well they’d done after being rescued, rather than on how miserable their lives had been before that. He told her about the frustrating but often hilarious hijinks of transporting eight dogs halfway across the country, and how overjoyed they’d been when released on his land, finally being allowed to stretch their legs and truly experience freedom for the first time. He even spoke about his parents, telling her about some of the many funny times they’d had together after they retired to Florida. He loved the way her face relaxed and how happy she seemed talking about them. But the cruel world intruded far too soon.

  She tried to keep a brave face as she was led away. But he could see the fear in her eyes as she waved goodbye.

  And he was darn well going to do something about it.

  He strode out of the visitor room, went through the required paperwork and delays it took to get out of the police department. Then he sat in his truck and made two calls.

  The first was to the chief of police.

  The second was to his boss.

  “Mason,” he said, without waiting for his boss’s greeting when he picked up the phone. “She’s agreed to talk. I want to make this happen and then get her out of here. Yesterday wouldn’t be soon enough.”