Cowboy Alibi

She’d taken a big risk to get medicine for him, and he had to admit that between the ibuprofen and the antibiotic, he was starting to feel a little stronger.

Which was a good thing, since he’d meant it when he’d told her they needed to leave the cabin as soon as possible, before somebody put the pieces together and figured out where they were.

“We should get out of here tomorrow morning first thing,” he told her. “I think we need to figure out how to ditch the truck, too.”

She looked up at that. “How’re we going to do that?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But whoever put that tracking device on the truck knew you’d be with me.”

“Maybe it was Sheriff Trent.”

Joe shook his head. He’d considered that, but the Trinity chief of police struck him as a straightforward kind of guy. If he hadn’t wanted Joe to get Jane out of there, no questions asked, he’d have said so. “I’m wondering about the man you saw at Angela’s apartment.”

Her eyes softened in the waning afternoon light. “You believe me.”

“There was another witness,” he said gruffly, then regretted the tone when he saw the wounded look in her eyes. “And I believe you. About that, anyway.”

The wounded look deepened, and he clenched his jaw, hating himself for hurting her and hating her for breaching his fragile trust in the first place. He looked down at his own half-eaten bowl of soup.

“I guess I’d better go pack, then. So we can leave first thing in the morning.” She started to push away from the small table, but Joe reached out and caught her hand. Her gaze flickered up to meet his, her green eyes darkening to a mossy hazel.

“Finish your soup,” he said, keeping his voice gentle so that it sounded like a request rather than an order.

She looked down at his hand on hers. Color bloomed in her apple cheeks. “I’m really not that hungry-”

He let go of her hand. “Think of it as medicine. You need to keep your strength up. We don’t know when we’ll get to eat again after we leave tomorrow.”

She picked up her spoon, took a bite of soup. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

“Not this exactly. I’ve done some cattle drives in the Wyoming Rockies. That can be pretty primitive.” Of course, he’d always known he’d end up back home, sooner or later, for hot food and a warm bed. The unknown stretching out before them at the moment lacked that safety net.

Her lips quirked. “Cowboy Joe indeed.”

He fumbled the spoon at her soft words. Pain made a fist in his heart and squeezed hard, catching him by surprise. He felt her gaze on him, but he didn’t look up, retrieving his spoon from the table and wiping the soup off the scuffed wood with a paper towel.

“Who was I to you?” Jane’s voice was soft. Hesitant.

He made himself meet her wary gaze. “You worked for my brother as his housekeeper. I told you that.”

“And that’s all?”

He put his spoon on the napkin by his bowl. “We saw each other a few times.”

“You mean dated?”

“Yeah.”

A dozen emotions darted across her face in the span of a couple of seconds before her expression shuttered. When she spoke, her voice was neutral. “How long?”

“Five months.”

Her eyes flickered with surprise. “That long?”

He nodded.

She processed the information quietly, but he could see her doing the math. Five months together meant more than just the occasional dinner and movie outing. More than just holding hands while walking through the park or a goodnight kiss at the door.

But she didn’t ask the question aloud, to his relief.

“We’d better finish the soup before it gets cold,” she said, bending her head over her own bowl.

He turned his attention to his own soup, aware that the advice he’d given her earlier was even more important for him. He had to keep up his strength, which had already been compromised by the bullet wound and the infection.

But he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever have enough strength to deal with many more nights alone with Jane Doe.

SHE SLIPPED into the middle of the crowd, catching sight of the dark-haired man. He gave her a quick blink, the signal to sidle up to the mark and put on a show.

He was clearly a tourist, overdressed for the hot, dry climate. He seemed fascinated with the old man’s nimble fingers as they shuffled and dealt the cards.

The onlookers were all in on the scam. They played the game, won or lost as needed, and softened up the mark for the kill. Now it was her turn.

“It’s the second card,” she murmured to the mark.

He looked down at her, surprised.

“Trust me. The queen’s the second card,” she said.

The dealer took the bets from one of the shills and flipped the cards. The queen was the second card.

The mark looked at her. “How’d you know?”

“He shows you the queen every time, right? Don’t watch the queen card. Watch the others.”

He frowned at the advice. “That sounds harder than watching the queen.”

“Just do it.”

The mark turned his attention to the dark-haired man’s hands as they switched around the cards. When he stopped, the mark said, “I think it’s under the card to his left.”

One of the shills who’d placed the bet pointed to the card in the middle. The dark-haired man shook his head and flipped the card to his left instead, revealing the queen. The shill cursed loudly, paid his debt and stomped away.

“You’ve got it now,” she encouraged the mark. “Wanna lend me twenty so I can make a bet? I’ll split it with you when we win.”

“How ’bout I use the twenty myself and keep it all?” the mark responded, pushing his way to the front of the crowd and slapping a twenty-dollar bill on the table.

The dark-haired man met her gaze in the crowd and smiled at her. She tried to smile back, but her stomach hurt. She watched the mark lean into the game, his gaze following the cards as the dealer switched them around.

The man picked the card to the dealer’s right. The dealer flipped it. A seven of hearts.

The mark looked over his shoulder at her, contempt blazing in his dark eyes. She saw the dark- haired man give the signal. One of the shills called out, “Cops!”

The crowd started to disperse as planned, on cue. She started running as well, heading for the nearest alley, but someone grabbed her from behind. She called out, kicking and screaming, but the others had already scattered. She saw the dark-haired man look her way and pause, briefly, before dashing away.

She turned to face her captor. It was the mark, fury darkening his ruddy face. He released her long enough to reach into his pocket and pull out a badge. “Reno Police,” he said. “You’re under arrest.”

Jane woke with a start, her heart pounding. The nightmare remained in hazy fragments that she struggled to put together. A con game. An undercover cop.

Reno Police.

Whoever she really was, she had an arrest record in Reno, Nevada. It was her first real clue to her true identity-and a stark reminder of just why she hadn’t wanted to remember her past.

She shivered as the cold night air curled around her shoulders where the blanket had slipped during the night.