Unforgettable Page 4

  “What about you? Where are you going?”

  “Not your problem.”

  He was so close that she could see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. She wanted to rest her hand against his black T-shirt, to feel the beating of his heart. Instead, she picked a piece of straw off his shoulder. “You were hiding in the barn. In the loft.”

  “I couldn’t leave until I knew you were safe.”

  “Who were those guys?” She searched his eyes for a truth he might never tell her. “They said their names were Drew Kelso and Greg Reynolds.”

  “Not Reynolds. That was Gregorio Rojas.” He reached toward her desk and flipped her computer open. “You know the name. You were reading all about him and his pals.”

  “And his brother, Tom. His murder trial starts in four days.”

  He stepped away from her. “I have to go.”

  “Not yet. I’m still putting the pieces together.” She left her chair and stood between him and the front door. “I’m asking myself why Rojas is after you. Something to do with his brother’s trial, right?”

  “You don’t need to know.”

  “But I do, Jack. I’m a reporter.” And she was damn good at her job. He’d thrown out just enough bread crumbs for her to follow this trail. “Let’s suppose that you are this Tony Perez and that you survived the attack on the street. That makes you a witness.”

  “I told you before. Tony is—”

  “Dead.” Yeah, sure. “I’m just supposing here. I can only think of one reason that an eyewitness to a crime in Chicago would be hiding in the Colorado mountains. WitSec.”

  The Witness Security Program provided protection for those who might be in danger before a trial. There must be a safe house in the area.

  “Suppose you’re correct,” he said. “If a protected witness was attacked at a safe house, it must mean that he was betrayed by the marshals who were supposed to be looking out for him. They gave the location of the safe house to Rojas.”

  She hated to acknowledge that law enforcement officials—in this case, U.S. Marshals—could be corrupted. But she knew it was possible. While embedded with the troops, she’d run across similar instances. Somebody taking a payoff. Somebody acting on a grudge instead of following orders.

  With a shrug, she said, “It happens.”

  “If it did happen that way, there’s nobody this witness can trust. Rojas is after him. And the marshals can’t let him report them. He has to go on the run and find his own way to make it to the trial in Chicago.”

  “I can help you.”

  “I don’t want your help.”

  He stepped around her and went out the front door.

  JACK STRODE AWAY FROM her house toward the corral fence. Angry at himself for telling too much. Angry at her for wanting to know. How the hell could she help him? And why? Why should she give a damn? As a reporter with the troops, she was accustomed to being surrounded by heroes. Not somebody like him.

  At the fence, he paused to settle his mind into a plan. He wasn’t sure how he’d make his way out of this sprawling mountain terrain where a man could disappear and never be seen again. That might be the solution. Drop out of sight and start over.

  But he had promised to appear in court. His eyewitness testimony would put Tom Rojas and some of his top men behind bars. Little brother Gregorio didn’t have the guts or the authority to hold the cartel together. Jack’s testimony could make a difference.

  He looked toward the road that ran past her house—the only direct route into and out of this area. His enemies would be watching that road. He’d be better off taking a cross-country path, walking until… Until he got to Chicago?

  “Jack, wait!” Caitlyn dashed toward him. She thrust a canvas backpack into his hands. “Take this.”

  Inside the pack, he saw survival supplies: a couple of bottled waters, some energy bars, a sweatshirt and a cell phone. He’d be a fool to refuse these useful items, but he wasn’t going to admit that she’d been right about him needing her help.

  She dug into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a wad of cash. “It’s a hundred and twenty-seven bucks. That’s all I have on hand.”

  “Caitlyn, why—”

  “And this.” She handed him a cowboy hat. “To protect the wound on your head.”

  Jack tried on the battered brown hat with a flat brim. Not a bad fit. “Why are you so determined to help me?”

  Her face was as open as a sunflower, deceptively innocent. “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “You don’t know me. You don’t know the life I’ve led.”

  “You were part of the Santoro crime family,” she said. “I’m assuming that you’ve done a lot of things I wouldn’t condone. You could have been a hit man, an assassin or even a drug pusher.”

  “No,” he said, “never a pusher. I hate drugs.”

  “That’s the past, Jack. You made a change. You decided to testify against some very bad men.”

  “Maybe I didn’t have a choice.”

  “I don’t care.”

  He was surprised to hear a tremble in her voice, an undercurrent of strong emotion. She was feeling something intense. About him? He didn’t think she was the kind of woman who formed sudden attachments. Over and over, she’d said she was a reporter. In her profession, she couldn’t allow her passions to rule. “What’s going on with you?”

  “You’re risking your life to testify, to do the right thing.” She inhaled so deeply that her nostrils flared. As she exhaled, she regained control of herself. “I need to believe that when people fight for the right thing and put their lives on the line, it’s not for nothing. Their sacrifice has significance.”

  Spoken like someone who had been to war and had seen real suffering. His irritation faded behind a newfound admiration. She was one hell of a woman. Strong and principled. For the second time, he wished they had met under different circumstances. “Don’t make me into something I’m not.”

  “Fair enough,” she said. “As long as you don’t downplay what you’re doing. You’re giving up your former life to do the right thing.”

  “I’m no hero.”

  She cocked her head to one side. A hank of straight blond hair fell across her forehead. “Neither am I.”

  “I have to go.”

  “First, let me show you how to use the GPS on the cell phone. It won’t give you a detailed topographical map, but you’ll have an idea where the roads are.”

  Instead, he handed the phone back to her. “If the GPS shows me where I am, it’ll show other people my location. They can track me from the signal.”

  “Of course. I knew that.” She shoved the phone into her pocket. “You said you didn’t want to use my car, but you could take one of the horses.”

  On horseback, he’d make better time than if he was on foot. He nodded, accepting her offer. “I’ll find a way to return the horse to you.”

  “You should take the stallion. His name is Fabio because of his blond mane. And he’s a real stud.”

  Entering through the corral gate, she motioned to the handsome palomino horse and made a clicking with her tongue. Both animals responded and obediently trotted toward the barn door.

  As he followed, he noticed her athletic stride. There was nothing artificial about her. No makeup. No fancy styling to her hair. Her body was well toned, and he suspected that her fitness came from outdoor living rather than a regular workout at a gym. Her jeans fit snugly, tight enough to outline the feminine curve of her ass.

  Until now, he hadn’t really taken the time to appreciate how attractive she was. When he first stopped at her cabin, he thought he’d be there for only a couple of minutes. He hadn’t expected to know anything about her.

  While she saddled the stallion and rattled off instructions for the care of the horse, he watched. Her energy impressed him. She was unlike any woman he’d known before. He regretted that after he rode away from her cabin, he would never see her again.

  He harbored no illusions abou
t coming back to her after the trial. His life wasn’t his own. He’d be stashed away in witness protection, which was probably for the best. Right now, Caitlyn had a high opinion of him. If she knew the reality of his life, she wouldn’t want to be in the same room with him.

  She finished with the saddle and came toward him. “Fabio is ready to go.”

  “I’m not.”

  He placed his hand at the narrowest part of her body and gently pulled her closer.

  Chapter Five

  When Jack laid his hand possessively on her waist, Caitlyn knew what was coming next. Awareness gusted through her like a moist, sultry breeze that subtly pushed her toward him.

  His green eyes shone with an unmistakable invitation, but he gave her plenty of time to back off and say no. During the past several years, she’d spent most of her days in the company of men and had learned how to make it clear that she wanted to spend her nights alone. But she wanted Jack to kiss her. His story had touched the very core of her being and reminded her of important truths. As if she wanted to kiss him because of her principles? Yeah, right. There was a whole lot more going on when she looked into Jack’s handsome mug. The man was hot. Sexy as hell.

  She leaned toward him. Her breasts grazed his chest as she tilted her head back. Her lips parted. Her eyelids closed.

  The firm pressure of his mouth against hers started an earthquake inside her. She gasped, enjoying the tremors. Her arms wrapped around him, her body molded to his and she held on tight. It had been a long time since she felt so totally aroused. Way too long.

  His big hands slid down her back and cupped her bottom. He fitted her tightly against his hard body. The natural passion that she usually suppressed raced through her.

  If they had more time, she would have gone to bed with him. But that was purely hypothetical. He had to depart immediately. Maybe that was why she could kiss him with such abandon. She knew she’d never see him again.

  With obvious reluctance, he ended the kiss and stepped back. “I should go.”

  Every cell in her body wanted him. She struggled to be cool. “I wish you’d let me call my friend Danny.”

  “The deputy?”

  She nodded vigorously, trying to ignore her intense desire and be logical. “After what you told me, I understand why you don’t want to contact anybody in law enforcement. But I’ve known Danny since we were kids. I trust him.”

  “That’s exactly why you shouldn’t call him.” He reached toward her and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “If he helped me, I’d be putting him and everyone he knows in danger.”

  “From Rojas,” she said.

  “You’re a reporter. You know how the drug cartels deal with people who get in their way.”

  Though it was difficult to imagine grisly violence in the Colorado mountains under peaceful blue skies, she knew he was right. Revenge from the drug cartels was equal to the horrors she’d seen in the Middle East. Whole families—women and children—were brutally slaughtered, their bodies dismembered and left to rot.

  Those images completely doused her desire. Jack had to go. He had to find his way to safety.

  “I’m worried for you,” she said. “I don’t suppose you’d consider taking me along.”

  “Not a chance.” He grinned, and she realized that it was the first time she’d seen him crack a smile. “Why would you even ask?”

  “A federal witness on the run? It’s a damn good story.”

  “Not unless it has a happy ending.”

  He mounted the palomino stallion. Though Jack wasn’t a cowboy, he looked real good on horseback. She hated that he was on the run, couldn’t accept that she’d never be with him. There had to be a way to see him again.

  Of course there is. She knew where the trial was taking place. If she pulled some strings and used her press credentials, she could wangle a seat inside the courtroom. “I’ll see you in Chicago.”

  “If I make it.”

  With a wave, he rode from the barn.

  She was left standing in the corral, watching as Jack rode into the forest behind her cabin. If she’d been riding beside him, she would have told him to go the other way. Across the meadow, he should have headed southeast. The terrain was less daunting in that direction, and there was water. Eventually, he would have found the Platte River. What if he doesn’t make it?

  Being left behind while someone else charged into danger wasn’t the way she operated. She had to do something.

  Taking the cell phone from her pocket, she called Heather to get her brother’s phone number.

  DANNY LAURENCE WASN’T as yummy as she remembered from her high school years. Though he looked sharp in his dark blue deputy uniform shirt, he was developing a bit of a paunch—a testament to being settled down and eating home-cooked meals every night.

  He took off his cowboy hat as he sat at the head of her dining room table. His short hair made his ears look huge. Had he always had those ears?

  “Good to see you,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to drop by and talk about old times.”

  “Same here. And I want to meet the woman who finally got Danny Laurence to take that long walk down the aisle.”

  “Sandra.” He spoke her name fondly. “You’d like her. She’s kind of a goofball.”

  “Is she Baby Blue or Green Light?”

  He laughed. “It’s been a long time since I heard those code words you and Heather made up to describe the guys you met. Baby Blue means a sissy, right? And Green Light is good to go.”

  “And Red Fire means trouble ahead.” A particularly apt description. The English translation for Rojas was “red.”

  “My Sandra is Green Light all the way.”

  She was glad he’d found happiness. Not that a rosy future was ever in doubt; Danny had always been the most popular guy around—the captain of the football team, the president of the senior class.

  Joining him at the table, she set a glass of fresh-squeezed lemonade in front of him. This was exactly the same seating arrangement she’d had with Jack, but the atmosphere was utterly different. With Danny, she felt friendly—as if they should tell dumb jokes and punch each other on the arm. There was none of the dangerous magnetism she experienced with Jack. The thought of him reminded her of their kiss and made the hairs on her arm stand up. Somehow, she had to help him.

  She wished that she could come right out and ask Danny the questions she needed answered: Was there a WitSec safe house in the area? Did he know about a federal witness on the run? How could Jack be protected from a drug lord bent on revenge?

  The direct approach wasn’t an option. If Danny knew nothing, she wouldn’t be the one to tell him and bring down the wrath of the Rojas. Caitlyn didn’t want to be responsible for a bloodbath in Douglas County.

  Danny took a swallow of lemonade. “What’s up?”

  “I was concerned about that horse I found.” Jack had used the gray mare for his escape. Finding the owner meant locating the safe house. “Has anybody claimed her?”

  “We haven’t had a report of a stolen horse. Which isn’t surprising. Livestock gets loose now and then. Nobody wants to make a big fuss only to have the horse come trotting back home.”

  “Have you checked the brand?”

  “Not yet. A runaway horse isn’t top priority. I’ve got other things to do.”

  “Such as?”

  “The usual.”

  His attitude was way too laid-back to be dealing with the aftermath of a shootout at a WitSec safe house. She doubted that the marshals had reported Jack’s disappearance, especially not if they were in collusion with Rojas. As far as she knew, federal marshals weren’t required to check in with local law enforcement. It defeated the purpose of a safe house if too many people were aware of its existence.

  “I was wondering,” she said, “if there’s been any kind of unusual activity around here?”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, you know. Strangers in town. Suspicious stuff.”

  “Yo
u’re working on some kind of news story, aren’t you? You haven’t changed a bit, Caitlyn. Always have to have the scoop.” He sipped his lemonade and licked his lips. “Little Miss Know-It-All.”

  His teasing annoyed her. “You haven’t changed, either. You’re still the mean big brother, looking down his nose.”

  “I remember that time when you and Heather followed me and my date to a party in Bailey and I ended up having to escort you home. You two used to drive me crazy.”

  “Ditto.” She actually did punch him on the arm. “Suppose I was working on a story. I’m not saying I am, just suppose. Would you have anything to tell me?”

  “Could you be more specific?”

  Not without putting him in danger. “I’m wondering if the FBI or maybe the federal marshals have any current operations in our area.”

  His expression turned serious. “If you have some kind of inside track on FBI activity, I want to hear about it.”

  “Nothing. I’ve got nothing.”

  “Why did you want me to come over?”

  Aware that she’d already said too much, Caitlyn changed directions. “Do you know a guy named Jack Dalton?”

  “As a matter of fact, I arrested that sorry son-of-a-gun last night at the Gopher Hole. Drunk and disorderly. He’s sleeping it off in jail.”

  That solved the mystery of her missing handyman—the real Jack Dalton. “I almost hired him to work for me.”

  “Aw, hell, Caitlyn. Don’t tell me this Dalton character is some kind of FBI agent.”

  “He’s just another troubled soul.” And not her responsibility. “When he wakes up, tell him he lost the job.”

  “You’re acting real weird. You want to tell me what’s wrong?”

  “I’m just nervous. Because of the horse.” She thought about mentioning the two armed thugs and decided against it. There wasn’t anything Danny could do about them. “Lately, I’ve been jumpy.”

  As he studied her, his expression changed from irritation to something resembling compassion. He reached over and gently patted her arm. “Heather told me that you’d been through a lot, reporting on the war. She’s kind of worried about you.”