Garrison. Joe gazed at her over his folded arms, clearly content to let her squirm beneath his scrutiny.
“Do you usually get your way?” She couldn’t keep a thread of bitterness out of her voice.
“No,” he answered.
“I don’t believe that.”
“If I always got my way, my brother wouldn’t be dead and I wouldn’t be here in Trinity babysitting the last person to see him alive.”
“Who was I to your brother?” she asked, fearing the answer.
Joe dropped his gaze for the first time, focusing on the nicked wood tabletop. “You worked for him.”
“Doing what?”
He looked up sharply at her wary tone. “You kept his house for him. Helped him with the business end of the ranch. Odd jobs-whatever he needed done.”
She took a deep breath and asked the question she dreaded most. “Were he and I…”
Joe shook his head. “No. He was a recent widower. Not over his wife’s death yet. You were…friends.”
She didn’t miss the bitterness of his tone. “Or so he thought, huh? Isn’t that what you’re thinking?”
“You tell me.”
“I don’t remember.”
“I don’t believe you.”
She slapped her hands on the table in front of her, venting her frustration. Her palms stung and she balled her hands into fists. “Why? What did I do to you to make you believe I’d kill your brother? That I’d lie about not remembering?”
“Because you lied about who you were, for one thing.” His voice was quiet. Calm. But she heard anger roiling beneath the placid surface. It made her feel queasy.
“How do you know?” She couldn’t help but lean closer to him, eagerness overcoming wariness. “Do you know who I really am?”
He leaned away from her, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the back of his chair. “No. I just know you’re not someone named Sandra Dorsey. The Social Security number you gave Tommy belonged to a deceased woman by the same name.”
“Do you think I killed her, too?”
The corner of his mouth quirked. “No. Sandra Dorsey died in a car accident in Trenton, New Jersey, four years ago. I think you paid someone to give you a new identity, and they stole her name and Social Security number to make you into a new person.”
Jane looked away from his hard gaze, her chest tight with tension. Why had she gone to such obvious trouble to change her identity? What kind of woman was she?
“The man you saw at your apartment-did he seem familiar to you?” Joe asked.
“No. But he knew me.” She forced herself to look at him. “Do you know who he is?”
Joe shook his head. “No. I don’t.”
“Maybe he’s the one who killed your brother.”
“Maybe that’s what you’d like me to believe.”
“And you won’t even entertain the possibility that I wasn’t the one who killed him.”
“You disappeared the day he died. You were gone by the time the neighbor found Tommy’s body.” He stumbled over the words, his gaze dropping away.
Jane felt the ridiculous urge to reach across the table and put her hand over his, to lend him what little strength and comfort she had.
He took a deep breath and continued, his voice threaded with steel. “Your bags were gone. Your clothes. Everything. It was like you’d never been there in the first place.”
“That was eight months ago, right?”
Joe nodded.
“So, where was I between then and this past December when I showed up here in Trinity?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“How’d you find me?”
“I got a fax from the Trinity Police Department, seeking information on a Jane Doe.”
The door to the interview room opened, and Chief Trent walked in before Jane could respond. “All set. I’m afraid we have to keep the bag we found packed in your living room. For evidence.”
“What do I do for clothes?” she asked.
“My sister Erica runs clothing drives for one of the local churches. She’s agreed to raid their stash for a few things your size,” Chief Trent answered. “She’s left it for us at the hotel.”
“Ready to go, then?” Joe asked.
She frowned at the impatience in his voice but gave a swift nod, falling in step in front of him as they followed the police chief out of the room.
BY THE TIME Joe led Jane from the police station, the sun had dipped behind the Sawtooth Mountains, leaving only a faint orange glow in the western sky. Streetlamps along the town’s main streets had already come on, battling the chilly gloom of twilight.
Joe motioned toward his truck, parked in a visitor slot in front of the station. Jane managed a weak smile. “Did you drive over from Wyoming or did you rent that truck at the Boise airport?”
“I drove,” he answered tersely.
Her forehead creased. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No.” He couldn’t exactly tell her that she used to tease him about his truck and his Stetson and everything that went with being a Wyoming cowboy. Back then, she’d said it with such affection he found himself laughing with her. Now he wondered if it had all been an act, all the smiles and the jokes and the easy charm. He hated not knowing what was real and what was a lie.
Maybe the smartest way to deal with her was to assume everything that came out of her mouth was some sort of lie.
“Could we stop by the River Lodge Diner?” she asked as she climbed into the passenger seat of the Silverado.
“Why?” he asked as he settled behind the wheel.
“I want to let my friend Doris at the diner know I’m okay.” She buckled her seat belt and looked across at him. “She’ll know about Angie by now, and she’ll probably be worried about me.”
There was a hint of wonder in her voice, as if she was surprised to know someone cared about what happened to her. He recognized the look. He’d seen it on her face when he first met her almost two years ago, as she told him about the way Tommy had taken her in, no questions asked, when she showed up on his doorstep needing help.
Tommy should’ve asked questions.
They all should’ve.
He started the truck and gave a brief nod. “The River Lodge Diner it is.”
“OH, JANIE!” Doris Bradley engulfed her in a bear hug as soon as Jane entered the diner, drawing the curious gazes of the handful of customers who’d opted for the diner’s home cooking rather than the lodge restaurant’s more cosmopolitan fare. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying. “I’ve been worried sick about you ever since we heard the news about Angie.”
“I’m okay, Doris,” Jane assured her. “But I’m not going to be able to work for a while. Boyd’s going to have to find two new waitresses, I’m afraid.”
“You can’t work? Why not?” Doris stepped back, holding Jane by the shoulders. She looked her up and down. “You’re not hurt, are you?”
“No, I’m fine!” Jane glanced at Joe, who stood a few paces away, watching her with hard gray eyes. She’d asked him not to tell anyone at the diner about her involvement in the case, and he’d agreed, but she didn’t know if she could really trust him to keep his word.
He’d lied to her more than once already, however good his reasons might have been.
“Is Boyd here?” she asked Doris. “I guess I should really tell him myself.”
“Sorry, hon. Boyd hasn’t been here all afternoon. He got a call from his sister a little after one.” Doris lowered her voice to a half whisper. “I think maybe she’s having another one of her episodes. You know he doesn’t like to
