The Hitman's Mistake (Love Thrives in Emma Springs Book 1) Page 10

  “Your horse slide’s clean and drying on the table in front of the fire,” he said.

  “I was worried I’d lost my lucky talisman.” She threw him that shy smile again. “You cleaned it for me?”

  Wow, her eyes were the shade of a clover leaf on a lazy summer day. He swallowed. “I imagine it’s valuable.”

  “Probably. A close friend gave it to me before this trip.” Her eyes glistened from tears. “I owe her . . . a lot . . . for helping me.” She struggled on the last words.

  She’d be dead if he hadn’t found her. For a split second, he longed to comfort her in his arms.

  A lock of hair fell across her face. He reached out, and she propped herself on one elbow, her eyes willing an embrace.

  Instincts compelled him to pull her against his chest, whisper, ‘it’s going to be okay,’ and crack open his tightly screwed down bureau life.

  Life as an agent following a protocol. He checked himself. She’d been pegged as a possible accomplice to attempted murder, for Christ’s sake.

  Keep her talking and learn. He grabbed a box of Kleenex and set it beside her. “Why were you working so late when we met Friday night?”

  She dabbed her eyes. “Had to.” Her full lips became pressed into a grim line. “I’d interviewed a new client at noon, which disrupted my schedule.”

  Bureau training included noting the briefest concealed emotions. Hers vacillated between relief, anxiety, and sorrow. Now she’d switched to wary.

  “You’re safe here.”

  A red ember shot near his boot.

  Miranda jumped, and then stared at the cinder’s glow.

  What’s with her? She’d done the same ping-pong routine during the coffee incident. She’d flirted, become annoyed about a replacement coffee, and scolded him regarding visiting family.

  “Tell me what happened next.” He shoved the burning shard of wood into the stone fireplace with a poker and then rested it against the nightstand.

  She inched into the tight corner where the roofline met the foundation. Her bright eyes scanned the front of the cabin. She put her hand to her mouth, and her face went ashen white.

  He whipped around. The blind was shuttered and the solid door still closed.

  His hunting rifle sat tipped in the corner.

  Did she think he’d shot her? “Are you afraid of me?” He turned and asked.

  She’d grabbed the fire poker.

  Loud steps thumped onto the wooden porch.

  Grant pulled his Glock, adrenaline thundering through his veins. “Quiet,” he hissed.

  The cabin door rattled from an outside force, shaking against the hinges.

  A piercing mule’s bray bellowed from the other side.

  “Red,” she called.

  He stepped to the window, his gun trained on the door, and tipped the blind. “Clear.” His shoulders relaxed while he slid his pistol back into the holster. “Yup, you have a four-legged guardian.”

  “Big Red bolted us away from the ledge after the shot.” Miranda rose to upright and tipped the poker against the rock wall. “Could you please let him see me?”

  Grant opened the door. The mule pushed his shoulder in a get-outta-my-way-dude shove and clomped to the end of her bed.

  “Hey.” Grant raised his hands. “Easy. Unless you plan to leave hide on the doorway.”

  “Careful, Red,” she warned.

  “Greet your rider, and then I’ll return you to your friends.”

  “Come here, buddy.” She held out her arms.

  The mule stretched his neck over the bed. “Such a good boy,” she crooned. “You saved me.”

  Hell. No woman had ever gazed at him with such moon-eyed devotion. He could remind her again exactly who’d brought her out of the woods and stitched her up.

  Red dropped his head, inviting her to scratch the base of his copper-colored ear. His lips twisted while her long fingers combed his forelock.

  Grant raked his fingers through his own hair.

  “Red got me away, but I need to thank you, too.” Their eyes met briefly before she pulled the mule’s nose to her chin.

  “You’re welcome.” He squared his shoulders. “If I don’t end the reunion soon, the cabin will emit Eau’de Mule until spring, and my mom might object.”

  “Mine would’ve felt the same way. Dad liked horses.”

  “You grew up on a ranch?”

  “I spent summers visiting my grandparents on their dairy farm.” She stroked Red’s cheek. “Your family lives nearby, don’t they?”

  He’d mentioned his dad, another fact he recalled. “Yes, at the base of the mountain.”

  “It’s a beautiful area for children to grow up.”

  Most Seattle women balked at the idea. “Woods and horses makes us country tough.” He caught the side of Red’s halter and clicked his tongue. “Back up.”

  The mule’s wide rump edged out through the doorway.

  Grant led him to the line holding Brasso and the others. “Let’s get you secured, Houdini.” He scratched the mule’s neck. “I want to help your mistress. What’s the truth?”

  Cop intuition, honed to a razor’s edge from countless interviews, supported her innocence. Her abbreviated story, expensive necklace, and eyewitness accounts of her actions at the scene pointed to a different theory.

  Hard facts were hell.

  ~ ~ ~

  Grant certainly spoke gently to Red while he led him out. Miranda bunched a pillow under her good side.

  She couldn’t afford misplaced trust again. Her head ached with dull pain. Was she being paranoid?

  No. Her dad had insisted human nature relied on strong doses of trust for survival. She’d assured her family it was okay to trust Jacob, her deadly ex-boyfriend. Lesson learned.

  She should’ve faked amnesia and been clueless to the trail ride. Anyone might be on Maneski’s payroll. But if he wanted her dead, he would’ve left her in the woods.

  He’d asked why’d she’d been working late, minutes before Ike’s shooting.

  She pressed her palms into her eyes. He needs to know who you’ve talked to, stupid. Corrin has to be warned.

  Cold air rushed into the room.

  He stepped inside, and bolted the lock. “Your mule’s tied up and happily eating.”

  “Thanks for everything.” She struggled to shove her legs out, clenched her fingernails into her palm, and smiled. “I’m rested. If you’ll saddle Red, I’ll get dressed and head to the Langley’s.”

  “Not possible. It’s pitch dark out.” He stretched his fingers to the glowing embers. “The Lazy K sits on the west side of Mt. Hanlen. My place is on the East side. Don’t know why your mule didn’t head home.”

  “Red started to. The second gunshot crossed over his nose. He spun around and bolted into the woods to get us away. Neither Red nor I checked a map.”

  A muscle in his cheek twitched. “We’ll head down the mountain after you’re stable.”

  Her wound, her problem. No one would sway her decisions, the way she’d let Jacob. She pulled her bare legs under the covers. “I’ll go back tomorrow morning.”

  “Maybe.” He sat in the chair at the edge of the bed. “I need to know how and why you came here.”

  A question she’d answer. Still, her throat felt dryer than parched earth.

  She sipped water from a glass on the nightstand. “You flirted with me. I had vacation coming, and at a friend’s insistence, I booked the trip.”

  True statement. Nerves were why she hadn’t told him her name before. How ironic. If he knew how she’d admired his buff body for weeks. . . Heat flamed in her cheeks.

  He touched his temple in a salute. “Agent Grant Morley, at your service, Miss Whitley.”

&nb
sp; The crooked detective had used the same placating tone. Had Grant followed her on the trail ride? Why’d he gone from accusatory to patronizing?

  Geeze, her head hurt. “My first name’s Miranda, and I’m at your mercy, Agent Morley.”

  “I need to check your bandage for redness or swelling. I put manuka honey on the wound to fight infection.” He leaned in, his hand resting on his knee. “So, how’d you get here? My flight was full.”

  A G-Man could verify anything. She inched the covers from her chest. “Greyhound. Leave the driving to us.”

  “I see.” He set a plastic box onto the bed and shuffled through assorted bandages and ointments. “My mom outfitted the cabin with basic first-aid supplies. The bullet shredded your blouse. I figured my T-Shirt would be the softest.” His color deepened. “Please hold the material so I can check your wound.”

  She gathered his shirt against her bra. Every nerve ending quivered while he leaned over her. Warm, strong fingers probed her ribs.

  A heady sensation numbed the throbbing in her side. “I’m glad you found me.”

  “This will hurt when I pull off the gauze.”

  The sticky tape jerked free of her bruised skin, and she winced.

  “Sorry. Your wound’s clean.” No trace of sorry, his eyes had become polished stone. “Lucky the bullet grazed your side. It missed any major muscles or organs.” He ripped open the wrapper on a new gauze pad and taped it in place.

  “I hate the word lucky. I rose in the stirrups just as they shot. I guess it’s my love handles to the rescue.”

  His lips curved, softening his jawline. “Shifting your position saved you.”

  “I couldn’t spot the group.”

  He wadded the wrapper and threw it in the fire. “Who wants to kill you?”

  The bump on her head throbbed. Could she fake a concussion? She swallowed hard. “I don’t know. Can’t remember much. I’m dizzy.”

  “Lay back and sleep. We’ll talk later.” In one movement, he unfurled another blanket and covered her.

  She sank into the pillow and closed her eyes.

  Nothing pushed away the image of his rifle.

  Chapter 7

  Miranda Whitley had a price on her lovely head by now, innocent or not. Did she deserve it? Grant stared at the sleeping woman.

  Her eyes fluttered open, spotted him by the table, and closed tight.

  “Hope you got a little sleep.” He stood up. “I leave tomorrow at daylight to deliver supplies to a mountain hermit who depends on them for winter survival.”

  “You’re going away?” Relief, or surprise in her tone?

  He banked the fire. “Not until tomorrow. No one except my family knows our location. You’ll have food and my gun.”

  “Don’t want a gun.” She turned her face to the wall.

  “Might be a bear around, it’s a safety measure.”

  “No. No gun.” She’d turned back. Her eyes held a pain he’d seen before, in victim’s families.

  Compassion stirred inside him. “I’ll show you the basics. You won’t need to touch it unless there’s an emergency.”

  “Whatever.” She tucked her trembling fingers under the covers.

  Good sign she’d rejected the firearm. “Our bathroom’s behind the sink. There’s a bucket of water on the floor for flushing.”

  He grabbed a knit hat off a peg next to the door and pulled it on. He’d watched his mom create it, one of several she’d made him.

  Why hadn’t Miranda asked to talk to anyone? No family who’d care?

  His would.

  The idea of Maneski’s men on Mt. Hanlen brought a sour taste to his mouth. His family and a town full of innocent citizens could be in danger. “I need to water our horses before I turn in for the night.”

  “Okay.”

  Deep, deep in the pit of his stomach, he wanted her above suspicion. Too bad her story didn’t add up.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Corrin, watch out!” Her scream pierced the midnight quiet.

  Grant yanked his gun from under his pillow, stumbled over a chair, and nearly fell head first into the fireplace.

  Her legs thrashed in the blankets.

  “Easy, you’re having another nightmare.” He sat on the edge of her bed, laying his fingers on her arm. “Relax. I’m here.”

  She pulled her hand across her chest, out of his reach. Her eyes remained closed.

  While he stoked the fire, he watched her breathing even out.

  In the flickering light, dark red hair accented her pale skin. Sleep smoothed away signs of her mistrust.

  If she wasn’t involved, it must’ve been horrific watching the judge suffer. What made her track a stranger way the hell up Mt. Hanlen?

  He kneeled on the stack of blankets he’d assembled on the plank floor. Not as if he’d sleep during duty. He punched an indent into the pillow before pulling up a quilt.

  She had one person she’d protect, named Corrin. Too scared to call her? He slid his bedroll next to her bed. Her chest rose and fell again in relaxed breathing.

  Miranda Whitley presented a complicated puzzle. Soon enough he’d prove she’d either been a witness and was justifiably panicked or a cold-blooded criminal.

  ~ ~ ~

  Dawn’s first light streaked through slats in the cabin’s shuttered windows.

  Grant tucked his Glock into his waistband.

  He tiptoed in his sock feet, gathering gear and getting organized before waking her to say goodbye. Dark shadows underscored her closed eyes.

  If she stayed in bed and rested while he rendezvoused with Stan, she might be strong enough to leave tomorrow. Then, he’d get Doc Kyle to his ranch to check her wound before they flew to a formal interrogation in Seattle.

  He pulled the door shut and stepped off the porch. Four equine heads turned toward him. He approached her mule. “You’ll be on guard duty after I leave, so put those big ears to use.”

  Red curled his lips back. A low nicker from him caused the two pack mules to whinny.

  Grant scratched Red’s neck and patted the animal’s rump near a branded K. “Make it a loud bray.”

  Protecting a witness or delivering a suspect hadn’t bothered him. Ever. Until today.

  Frost rimmed the animals’ water buckets and puffs of breath rose while they munched feed pellets.

  He inhaled through his nose. Imminent hints of snowfall lingered in the crisp air.

  Poppy was right. Winter on Mt. Hanlen would come early.

  He stepped onto the porch. Fear behind Miranda’s eyes pulled out emotions he’d held in check with other witnesses under his protection. She’d be safe, but telling her goodbye for the short trip twisted his insides. More than once, he’d gotten the same scared critter vibe he’d seen when he’d smashed her cup.

  Painfully shy? Hell, she worked alone, kept to herself, and never engaged anyone. He’d wanted to approach her, but the timing never seemed right. So, he’d watched, sipping lousy coffee in order to glimpse her working most Fridays.

  Yet two days ago, she’d flirted back. And it hadn’t been fake. Not the fist pump he’d caught out of the corner of his eye. And damn if it hadn’t made him feel ten feet tall. One little fist pump and he’d shot to the sky, and then a day later, torpedoed into the unknown.

  This woman launched him like a catapult loaded with desires he’d held in check for way too long, and heaven help him when they hit.

  ~ ~ ~

  Miranda opened her eyes and inhaled the aroma of fresh coffee. Sunlight gave the cabin a bigger feel.

  Grant stood at the table, stuffing Corrin’s bloody jacket into a plastic bag.

  Time to get out of here. She closed her eyes and waited until he’d taken a step. “Morning,” she said. />
  Grant smiled. He finished fastening the buckle on a saddlebag. “I’m running late to meet old Stan. He needs winter supplies. I split my breakfast ration with you.”

  Her body felt like she’d gone through a meat grinder. “Sorry I’m such an unexpected pain.”

  An old-fashioned coffee pot perked on a grate over the fire. “I could drop a couple of pounds. Coffee’s ready. I found ibuprofen, which’ll help your healing.”

  “I’m not very hungry, but I’ll down a pill with a cup of coffee.”

  He picked up a pillow and the pile of blankets from the floor near her bed. “Try to eat.”

  She rubbed her arm, recalling a gentle stroke and soothing words during the night. “Sorry I put you on the floor.”

  “You needed rest, and I can sleep anywhere.” Steam rose while he filled two mugs. He set hers on the nightstand.

  “I feel like a spoiled princess being served by the knight who saved my life.” She put her hand over her mouth. It must be the injury—brain in neutral, mouth in overdrive. Her gaze travelled to the door.

  No rifle.

  She curled her cold fingers around the mug, relishing the last warm drink before she’d leave.

  “Technically, your mule deserves the rescue medal.” He handed her a thick slice of bread topped by Swiss cheese. “A few bites would help you gain strength.”

  The first taste of homemade bread brought an image of her Mom, bent over a soft mound of yeasty smelling dough in a big earthenware bowl. Had a wife or a girlfriend baked for Grant? He didn’t wear a ring. “Thanks for breakfast. How long will you be gone?”

  He surveyed her, then continued to brush crumbs off the table. “Hard to say. Rest, and I’ll return in no time.”

  She nodded.

  “Who’s Corrin?” He pulled his gun from his belt.

  Swallowing the bite of bread rivaled downing a lump of sawdust. She swigged a gulp of hot coffee. “A friend, why?”

  “You called for her during a nightmare.”

  The crooked detective might’ve seen Corrin’s license plate. “Sorry I woke you.”