Slade nodded, making her realize she was the last to know. She cleared her throat. “Once Colt gets here, will we head to the Teton Valley Hotel?”
The two men exchanged a look. “Maybe later,” Duncan reluctantly said. “Once darkness has fallen.”
“Jackson isn’t that far. We could be there and back in an hour,” she pointed out.
“I know,” Slade said. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep you well guarded while we check things out.”
“Well guarded?” She glanced between the two men. “I’m coming with you.”
Duncan rubbed the back of his neck again. “Chelsey, I know you want to help, but...”
“No, you don’t understand. It’s not just getting the file folder. I’d also like at least one picture of my parents along with the birthstone pendant they gave me.” When she saw the expression in Slade’s eyes, she insisted, “Two small things. One picture and a pendant. That can’t be too much to ask.”
Neither man spoke for a long moment. Finally, Slade sighed and turned to face her.
“I’m sorry, Chelsey, we can let you come along if you insist, but the recommendation from the US marshals is that you take absolutely no personal items with you at all. Not a photograph or a pendant. Anything material that might connect you with your old life is far too much of a risk.”
She felt as if she’d been sucker punched in the stomach. No picture of her parents? No birthstone pendant? She put a hand up to her neck, feeling for something that wasn’t there. Why hadn’t she worn the pendant with her wedding dress? Why had she decided at the last minute to take it off? Because the pendant didn’t sit well with her neckline?
So stupid to care about something like that. She lowered her chin to her chest, struggling with the need to cry.
She’d known going into witness protection would be difficult, but until that moment the magnitude of what she was giving up forever hit hard.
And heaven help her, she wasn’t sure she could do it.
ELEVEN
Chelsey’s grief-stricken expression tugged at his heart. Duncan wished there was something more he could do for her.
Other than finding the evidence that might just put Anthony Nettles in prison for the rest of his life.
A knock on their cabin door had him spinning around, weapon ready. Slade lifted a hand. “Probably the plywood.”
Duncan nodded, but didn’t necessarily lower his weapon. Survival instincts had been drilled into him during his time in Afghanistan. He wasn’t going to relax his guard.
He stood in front of Chelsey as Slade went to the door. To his credit, the marshal called out first. “Who’s there?”
“Ranger Eric Connolly. I have the plywood you requested.”
Slade eased the door open, verifying the park ranger’s identity before allowing him in. Eric entered the cabin, carrying a sheet of plywood, with a tool belt slung over his shoulder.
“I have a small circular saw, hammer and nails,” Eric said. “Will two sheets of plywood be enough?”
“I think we can make it work,” Slade said. “Thanks, I know this is above and beyond the scope of your duty.”
“I don’t mind. Want help?” Eric stood for a moment with his hands on his hips, surveying the room. “Shouldn’t take long.”
“That would be great.” Slade and Duncan moved forward, quickly measuring and sawing wood.
The work was mindless, and Duncan couldn’t help glancing at his watch, hoping Colt Nelson would get there soon. He wanted some time with the computer, to investigate just who they were dealing with, before heading out to the Teton Valley Hotel to search for Brett’s honeymoon folder.
The interior of the cabin turned dark once they had successfully covered the windows. They had just enough plywood for the main living space, and since they’d be heading out that night, decided the bedrooms would remain off-limits for now.
Thirty minutes after Eric left, a black SUV with tinted windows pulled up. Duncan hung back as Slade gestured to his fellow marshal to come inside.
Colt was tall and lean. He had short blond hair beneath the rim of a cowboy hat similar to Slade’s which made Duncan wonder if the hat was part of the US marshal uniform, like the five-point silver star on his chest. Colt carried a computer bag over his shoulder, but there was only one device, not two.
“Colt, this is Duncan O’Hare. He’s a cop with the Milwaukee Police Department and this is Chelsey Robards,” Slade said by way of introduction.
Colt nodded. “I’m Colt with the US Marshals Service. I see you have the place locked up tight.”
“There was another attempt to kill Chelsey from someone hiding in the trees behind the cabin,” Duncan said.
Colt scowled. “Not good.”
“We’ll fill you in. Let’s unpack your computer and get to work,” Duncan suggested.
Slade updated Colt on the recent events as Duncan took charge of the computer. The cabin came with internet access, but it was slow. Still, he managed to come up with a picture of Anthony Nettles, turning the screen so Chelsey could see.
“Recognize him?”
She shook her head. “No, sorry.”
“No need to apologize, just trying to work through the list.” Duncan went back to work, finally finding a grainy picture of Kenny Martin. “How about this one?”
“Kenny Martin.” There was no hesitation in her tone.
Slade leaned over his shoulder. “I remember him. He was at the wedding.”
“He was?” Duncan glanced back at the photo. “I guess it’s reasonable Brett would invite his boss.”
“Unless he knew the guy was mixed up with organized crime,” Slade pointed out dryly.
There was that. Brett had obviously not been thinking too clearly about all of this.
“He spent a lot of time talking to someone,” Slade continued, staring at the picture on the screen. “An older guy, face like leather, wearing chaps which stuck out to me as it was, after all, a wedding.”
“Chaps?” Chelsey echoed. “The only person that wears chaps everywhere is my neighbor Elroy Lansing.”
“The rich rancher?” Duncan asked, committing the photograph of Kenny Martin to memory.
“Not rich,”
