His steel-bladed hunting knife, covered in blood.
* * *
Jackie Blain punched the freestanding, heavy black bag. Jab, jab with the right hand. Whack with her left elbow. Right foot roundhouse kick. Jab, jab. Whack. Kick. She focused on the punching bag with single-minded attention. For the moment, she was in the heat of battle against an imaginary assailant wanting to part her from her client. Not happening on her watch. Ever. That was why she trained two to three hours a day. At least, every day that she wasnt on an assignment.
The trilling sound of her cell phone broke through her concentration. Giving the bag one last jab, she whirled away and jumped over her sleeping English bulldog, Spencer, to grab the phone off the island counter.
Blain, she answered.
Jackie, its your uncle Carl, the voice on the other end said in her ear.
Taken by surprise, she smiled. Carl was her mothers older brother. Hey. Wow, long time no hear.
She picked up a white terry-cloth towel from the pile sitting atop the bar stool and wiped her face and neck.
The street runs both ways, young lady, her uncle chided.
Yeah, I know. Sorry bout that. I did call at Christmas and left a message.
I know. And we were remiss in not returning the call.
She shrugged away his comment and turned to stare at the present theyd sent, an eleven-by-eleven landscape painted by a local Wyoming artist, which hung on her kitchen wall. The gift canceled out not returning her call.
Walking to the window of her apartment located in Bostons Back Bay neighborhood, Jackie pushed the blinds apart with her free hand. A fresh layer of snow covered the street below. Beyond the roofline of the apartments across the street, the downtown Boston skyline glistened in the midmorning winter sun. She never tired of looking at the city. So different from the flat cornfields of Iowa where shed grown up. So, how are you? Have you heard from my parents?
Were okay, he said, but something in his tone didnt ring true with his words.
She dropped the blinds back in place. Her heart sped up. Her breath lay trapped beneath her ribs. She hadnt heard from her parents in a couple of weeks. They were on a cruise in the Mediterranean. And Mom and Dad?
Theyre good as far as I know, he quickly assured her.
Tension left her body in a rush of relief. But somethings wrong.
Yes. We could sure use your help, Carl said.
She blinked. Her uncle and aunt had never asked for anything from her before. This must be serious. Sure. What do you need?
Its Wyatt Monroe. He needs you.
Sinking into the reclining leather love seat, her one piece of furniture that hadnt come from a secondhand store, she asked, Your employer? Needs me?
Shed never met Mr. Monroe. In fact, shed never visited Wyoming, where her uncle and aunt lived. Shed thought about it back when her life had turned upside down. But then shed found Trent Associates and, well, she never got around to making the trip that far west. Shed returned home to Atkins, Iowa, a couple of times, but preferred her parents to come to Boston. Going back to her hometown only stirred up old anger and humiliation. And reinforced the painful lessons shed learned about love. Never fall for someone you work with. And never, ever give anyone that much power over your heart.
She shuddered and pushed away the memories threatening to surface. She had a good job now with Trent Associates as a protection specialist. She had a place to belong. She had coworkers who respected her, cared for her and made her feel connected. Protecting others was what she was good at. And she had her dog, Spencer, for company. That was all she needed.
Wyatts in trouble. Carls words broke through her thoughts. Someones framing him for the murder of one of his ranch hands.
That piqued her interest. And raised her skepticism. Four years as a deputy sheriff did that to a person. Are you sure he didnt do it?
I know he didnt. His voice was adamant.
Still, old habits of suspicion held firm. Are you his alibi?
After a moments hesitation, he said, No. He doesnt have one.
Not good for him. She kicked off her cross-trainers with a sigh. Her feet cooled immediately. Shed worked up a sweat on this cold March morning. I trust he has a good lawyer?
Ive hired one. Against his wishes.
Jackie frowned. Is his objection to you hiring the lawyer or to the lawyer himself?
Carl heaved a beleaguered sigh. Both. Hes innocent and doesnt see why he needs a lawyer.
Either the man was overconfident in the justice system or not right in the head. Jackie figured it was probably a little of both. What can I do to help?
Would you come here? Help us prove hes innocent?
She sat back. Uncle Carl, Im not in law enforcement anymore. Im sure the police there will do a thorough investigation.
Maybe. But Id feel better if youd come out and keep an eye on the investigation. There are complications.
What kind of complications? Either he did the deed, or he didnt. The evidence will prove it one way or another.
Its not that simple here. Wyatt has a past, Carl said.
Jackie wrinkled her nose. We all have a past, Uncle Carl. That wont affect the evidence.
What if someone wanted it to?
Her mind jumped back to Carls earlier statement. You really think someone is trying to frame him?
I do. He lowered his voice. Plus, theres bad blood between the sheriff and Wyatt that goes back a long ways.
Not a mess she wanted to get involved in.
I have a job here. A good job. Even as the words left her mouth, she knew she was overdue to take some vacation time. Her boss, James, had gone so far as to tell her if she didnt take some R & R by spring, hed bench her for a few weeks to give her some forced downtime.
Then Ill hire you if thats what it takes, Carl said with a flinty edge.
He wasnt going to let this go. This means a lot to you, doesnt it?
Helping Wyatt means everything to Penny and me. Carl cleared his throat. You know we wouldnt ask if it werent important. If Wyatt is convicted of this crime... We cant let it happen. Gabby needs her father.
I take it Gabbys his daughter? Jackie remembered her mother mentioning that Mr. Monroe was a widower with a child.
Yep. A four-year-old bundle of joy. Were very attached to Wyatt and Gabby. Hes like a son to us, he said, his voice thick with emotion. Gabbys like a granddaughter.
Sympathy and understanding twisted her up inside. Her aunt and uncle had tried for a child for many years but never conceived. Jackie had often wondered why God had never answered their prayers for a child. But apparently He had a plan. Which evidently included Wyatt and Gabby Monroe.
Now the man her aunt and uncle claimed as their surrogate son was in trouble. And they were asking her for help. How could she refuse?
A chill chased down her spine. It had to be her bodys core temperature lowering. Certainly not some warning of doom.
Ill come as soon as I can.
Thank you.
The relief in his words wrapped around her like duct tape. Uncle Carl, I dont know that Ill be able to do much other than make sure everything is done by the book.
I understand.
She hoped so. Shed hate for them to have high expectations that she couldnt meet.
After hanging up, she sat down on the floor next to Spencer and rubbed the dog behind the ears. Okay, boy. Looks like were taking a trip to Wyoming.
TWO
As darkness descended, Wyatts jail cell became gloomier, if that were even possible. He sat on the hard bench that served as bed and sofathe only furniture allowed in the Lane County jail.
The door to the cell rattled as a deputy inserted the key into the lock and swung the metal cage door open. Wyatt, youve got visitors.
Who? Wyatt asked.
Lawyers, I guess, Deputy Rawlings replied.
Wyatt scrubbed a hand over his face, and the bristles of his beard scraped his palm. His eyes were gritty, and his body ached from the uncomfortable bench. Hed told Carl not to bother with a lawyer. Wyatt would pay the bail and do his own investigation. He knew how a criminal investigation would go in this town. Been there, done that. Hed have to prove his innocence himself. Finding the knife in his possession looked bad, but that wasnt proof hed killed George. They couldnt know if the blood on the knife belonged to George yet. Not until they did a DNA test. And he knew that would take weeks, if not longer.
Wyatt heaved himself to his feet, picked up his Stetson and plopped it on his head. At six feet four inches, he had to duck slightly to walk out of the cell, or hed bump his head and knock his hat off on the metal door frame. He followed Rawlings to an interrogation room. The same one hed spent several hours in while the sheriff grilled him about George and the murder.
Now the room was filled not only with the sheriff, but also the towns newest attorney. Bruce Kelly sat at the table with a file folder laid out in front of him. He wore a pin-striped suit and sported thick black-framed glasses. His brown hair was parted in the middle and slicked back.
Wyatt had never had an occasion to deal with Mr. Kelly, a city slicker lured to this part of the country by a local gal. Kelly had opened up shop two years ago. Wyatt doubted hed ever defended an accused murderer before.
But it was the petite woman standing next to the table and arguing with the sheriff who grabbed Wyatts attention by the throat and trapped his breath in his chest. She hadnt seemed to notice hed entered the room, which gave him a moment to inspect her. He didnt know her, but he sure liked what he saw.
Not more than five feet five inches tall with a head of wild blond curls held back by a clawlike clip, she was dressed in formfitting blue jeans, tall brown leather boots and a red leather jacket. She planted her small, dainty fists on her slim hips and managed to stare down her pert nose at the much taller sheriff. A feat Wyatt wouldnt have thought possible, except he was witness to it.
Impressive. And gutsy.
Your evidence is circumstantial at best, she declared in a honeyed voice.
Wyatt snorted. He was well aware of how circumstantial evidence could convict someone in the court of public opinion.
Thats true, Bruce Kelly interjected. The lawyer appeared a bit flummoxed, his gaze shifting between the fiery blonde and the intimidating sheriff.
His prints are on the knife, Landers countered, keeping his attention on the woman.
Understandable since its his knife, she shot back. There are also textured prints from a glove.
Which he could have been wearing, Landers said, darting a glance at Wyatt.
Wyatt could see the irritation in Landerss eyes and couldnt help feeling a little jolt of satisfaction. It was good to see someone else getting Landerss goat for once. Growing up, Wyatt had only ever received grief from his stepfather. Still did, if truth be told.
Without so much as glancing in his direction, the woman tucked in her chin. Really? So you honestly think hes gonna go to the trouble of killing the guy, remove his body from the primary crime scene, dump him on his own porch for all the world to see, then be dumb enough to leave the knife in plain sight but ditch the gloves? Not likely. This has all the earmarks of a setup, and if you cant see that...
Careful, Ms. Blain, Landers warned with a glower. I agree there is more going on here than meets the eye.
She smirked. Wyatt held back a grin.
Landers met Wyatts gaze. Youre free to go, Wyatt. Just dont leave town.
As if Wyatt would. Where would he go? This was his home. Gabby was here. But he refrained from responding. Instead he met the bright blue-eyed gaze of his mysterious defender. She stared back with unabashed curiosity. He didnt know this woman, so why would she defend him? Was she the lawyer Carl Kirk said he was hiring? But then why was Bruce Kelly here?
Bruce cleared his throat and rose to his feet. Now that we have that settled, Ill speak to my client alone.
His client?
Sheriff Landers gave a curt nod and exited the room.
Wyatt crossed his arms over his chest. So which one of you is my lawyer?
* * *
Jackie couldnt help but appreciate the hunk standing before her. Shed never really been into the cowboy type, but this one...whew, sure made a girls heart beat faster.
Tall and lean, he was dressed in worn denim with a soft-looking chambray shirt stretched over shoulders that made her think he could support the whole state of Wyoming on his back. He had a ruggedly handsome face with a firm jaw and dark, intense eyes beneath a well-loved traditional cowboy hat. In the dim light of the interrogation room, she couldnt tell if his hair was black or dark brown. She guessed shed have to wait for the light of day to find out.
A little thrill zoomed through her tummy at the prospect of spending time with such an attractive man.
So not a good reaction to be having. Wyatt Monroe could be a murderer.
I am, Bruce said. Carl Kirk asked me to represent you.
Wyatts gaze flicked over the lawyer before settling once again on Jackie. Curiosity and something else she couldnt decipher shone in the inky depths of his eyes. And you are?
She stepped forward and thrust out her hand. Jackie Blain. Carl and Penny Kirk are my uncle and aunt.
He stared at her outstretched hand for a moment as if she were offering him a stick of dynamite. She waited, not about to let this cowboy think for a moment that he intimidated her with his brooding attitude.
Slowly he unfolded his arms and grasped her hand in his much bigger one. Their palms met. Warmth spread up her arm and settled beneath her breastbone.
Ms. Blain, why are you here? he asked as he quickly let go of her hand.
She flexed her fingers and jammed her hands in the pockets of her jacket. I have a background in law enforcement, and Uncle Carl asked if Id come out and see what I could do to help.
He took a moment to absorb that before saying, Well, youve done your good deed for the day. He tipped his hat. I appreciate it. Sorry you had to come all the way from...
Boston.
His eyebrows rose. Boston. Well, dont let me keep you. Im sure youre anxious to get back to the city.
She nearly laughed but settled for a grin. Oh, youre not getting rid of me that easily, cowboy. Im your ride back to the ranch.
His jaw firmed in clear displeasure.