J.J. had ducked instinctively and covered his head when the chopper crashed. When he raised it and looked out on the meadow, at first he couldn’t see anything through the billowing black smoke. Then the smoke finally lifted, and it was clear that both the horse and rider had vanished.
For a moment he just leaned his head back against the bumper, fighting nausea and darkness. He was losing a lot of blood, he knew that. And he had no idea how bad off Sage was. But first, there was Rachel.
She was crying, sobbing, tears pouring down her face like rain. He crawled over to her and when he gathered her into his arms, she kept sobbing, “It was Nicky…it was Nicky…”
“Shh…not Nicky, sweetheart-Carlos,” he croaked. “It was Carlos. But he’s dead. They’re all dead. You’re safe now. You’re safe…”
That was all he remembered.
Everything was the same. It had been exactly four weeks since she’d been there-three since what the newspapers had been calling The Shootout at June Canyon Ranch. Once again, a three-quarter moon hung high in the cloudless sky, extinguishing the stars and casting shadows across the land. And the hound dog named Moonshine kept her vigil on the barren rise in front of the trailer.
Rachel stopped her car-she’d bought a new one, a hybrid, to replace the BMW Nicky had given her-and once again, hesitated before getting out. Not because she was afraid of the dog, who had risen, tail wagging, to greet her. This time, it was the man in front of the trailer she was wary of. She could see him sitting in the folding chair under the string of Christmas lights, his guitar across his lap, watching her. When she saw him set the guitar aside, she opened the door and got out of the car.
Moonshine whined and shifted her feet eagerly. Rachel bent down to hug her and got a lick across her face in welcome. Ah yes, she remembered that tongue. That smell.
Wiping her face with the sleeve of the jacket she’d put on-it could get chilly in the desert, at night, even this late in the spring-she walked toward the trailer, self-conscious under J.J.’s unwavering gaze. He didn’t get up, and when she got closer she saw that he had his bandaged leg propped on an overturned bucket. A pair of crutches leaned against the wooden stairs within easy reach.
“Hello,” he said, nodding.
“You don’t seem surprised to see me,” Rachel said, leaning against the stairs next to the crutches because her legs didn’t feel steady. “I suppose Katie called you.”
He shifted, rocking back so he could look up at her, hands relaxed on the arms of the chair. “Nah,” he said, “I’ve been kind of wondering what was taking you so long.”
There was silence, then, while they looked at each other. Her heart hammered and her mouth had gone dry. She thought he still looked like a Western movie hero-hair still shaggy, beard once again grown beyond fashionable shadow. But there was something different about him…something about his eyes, she decided. He’d lost the cop- look. Tonight, he was just a man.
“You could have come back to the ranch,” she said in a thickened voice. She was determined not to cry.
“Wanted to give you time.” His voice sounded odd, and she wondered if he, too, was holding back emotions he wasn’t ready to show.
She straightened restlessly. “Time? For what?”
He shrugged. “To heal. Think.”
She took a breath. “Speaking of healing, how’s your leg coming along? “It’s…coming along.”
“I heard you’ve had two surgeries on it already.”
He nodded. “Yeah, they’ve got it full of a bunch of rods and pins. I guess next month they’ll be grafting in some bone from somewhere else to replace what the bullet took out.”
“So…how long before…?”
“Before I’m back on two feet? At least ten months, they tell me. But hey-at least I’ve still got two. There was some doubt about that, for a while.” She could see the white shine of his grin.
Her own smile struggled, and died half-born.
“How’s Sage doing?” J.J. asked.
“Good.” She sat down on the next to bottom step and leaned her cheek on one hand. “His was a flesh wound- bullet went right through his shoulder. No broken bones. He’ll have a couple of gnarly scars, but otherwise he’s pretty much healed.”
“Glad to hear it.” There was a long pause, and then in a hardened voice, “You know Carlos is dead.”
She sucked in a breath and let it out. “I know. I heard.” The DNA report on the bodies recovered from the wreckage of the helicopter had finally come in. The bodies had officially been identified as those of Carlos Delacorte, two of his bodyguards, and the pilot.
“The third gunman survived,” J.J. said. “I hear he’s been singing like a bird to the U.S. Attorney. They tell me Delacorte’s organization is folding like a house of cards.”
Rachel nodded. The silence came again.
J.J. cleared his throat. “How’s Sean?”
She straightened up with a smile. “He’s great. Growing like a weed, as they say.” She paused. “He’s at Katie’s. She’s keeping him for the night.”
“For the night?”
She turned her head to look at him. “That’s what I said.” And she managed to hold the look through another long silence.
His voice came softly. “Rachel, are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
She shifted impatiently. “I’m a fairly intelligent woman, Jethro. I like to think that when I make a mistake, I learn from it. So I don’t make the same one again. I made a doozy of one with Nicholas, and as a result I think I’ve learned how to tell a good man from a bad one.” She covered her face with her hands, then shook her head as if to clear it. “Nicky was a bad man-I know that, now. He lied to me, J.J. I tried to tell you-that day. When it all happened.” She jerked in a breath. “It was Nicky. That’s one of the reasons I came. To tell you that…you have your witness. I remembered. It was when I saw you take your gun off of your ankle, I remembered Nicky did the same thing that night. He shoved me down behind the Dumpster, then he took a gun out of his ankle holster and started shooting. He killed them, J.J. My husband killed those two agents. I saw him do it. So…you can close your case. I hope-”
She broke off and looked away, swallowing tears.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
Rachel stood up and brushed at the seat of her pants. His voice came again, buried in gravel now.
“Was that the only reason you came?” He paused, and when she didn’t answer, prompted, “You said Katie’s got Sean for the night.”
“Yes, I did.” She closed her eyes, then abruptly turned back to him. “I wanted to ask you a question.”
“Shoot. Oops-sorry, bad choice of words.” His teeth flashed white again. “Go ahead-ask.”
She blurted it out all in a rush, which was the only way she could. “Was that the only reason you stayed with me…took care of me…looked after me? Josie said you were in love with me. I sort of started to believe her. Then… you told me I was just a witness to the murders, and-”
“I never said
Her heart skipped, then seemed to stop. Holding her breath, she said, “Then I have to know. Now that Carlos’s empire is collapsing…now that you have your witness…is there any other reason for me to stay?”
He looked at her for a long time, his face somber in the festive glow of the Christmas lights. Her heartbeats counted off the seconds. Then, “You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?”
She hitched a shoulder. “Say it, or show me.”
“Can’t very well show you if you’re way over there.”
She drew a shaking breath and felt a smile a-borning. “I don’t think that chair will hold both of us.”
“Then hand me those crutches, dammit. I think I’ve waited for you long enough.”
With a sobbing laugh, she thrust the crutches at him. Then he was upright, and she was pushing past impediments-bucket, crutches, chair-to get to him. With his back braced against the stair railing, he pulled her into
