"It'll be okay," Emily said. "We'll get through this."
How could they? he asked himself. How could they live in the shadow of his lie? Of the sin he couldn't bear to confess?
She put her head on his shoulder. "I still love you, James. I'll always love you."
But she shouldn't, he thought. She deserved better than Reed Blackwood. Better than James Dalton. When she snuggled against him, he took her in his arms and wished he could drive a stake through his own traitorous heart.
Today, he would stay with her. And tomorrow, he would ask Zack Ryder to move him as far away from Silver Wolf as possible.
*
Tandy Stables was closed. The last group of riders was gone and the horses were corralled. James and his WITSEC inspector stood on the wood-framed porch of his mobile home, gazing at the landscape.
As usual, Ryder sucked on a cigarette. "I warned you not to tell her."
James leaned against the porch rail. "Don't start with that 'I told you so' crap. Just get me the hell out of here."
The deputy marshal squinted at the late-day sun. The faint streaks of gray in his sideburns caught the light, and the lines near his eyes turned white against tanned skin. "I can't do that, Dalton."
"You can't or you won't?"
Ryder turned to look at him. "I won't."
Panic strangled James like a noose. "But I can't live here anymore. I can't face Emily every day with a lie crammed between us." He grabbed the beer he'd been nursing and took a hard, gut-clenching swallow. "You have to relocate me."
"I don't have to do anything. Was your security breached? Did she threaten to tell anyone about you? Is she gossiping to the neighbors?" The inspector blew a stream of smoke into the air. "No, she isn't. Is she? The woman looks you in the eye and says she still loves you and you're ready to jump ship."
James wanted to take Ryder's cigarette and shove it down his throat. "She looked me in the eye and said I wasn't a killer."
"And you're not."
"Really? You mean I got locked up for nothing?" The inspector settled lazily into a chair, taking on the casual-cop role he'd been born to play. "You got locked up because a federal judge decided you had to serve time before you were paroled and relocated."
"And here I thought I'd committed a crime."
"Don't be a smart ass."
James glared at the other man. "I was involved in a hit."
Ryder tipped his chair back. "I'm well aware of what you were involved in."
"Of course you are. The great and powerful Oz knows everything."
"And the cowardly lion can't face the woman he loves. Boohoo. Poor baby. He wants to pull a Dorothy and click his heels and go home. Well, guess what? You are home."
The beer went down like poison. "Screw you, Ryder."
"Yeah, screw me. I'm only the guy who agreed to let you break the rules."
And I'm the guy who's dying inside, James thought.
"Tell her the rest of your story, Dalton. Admit the rest of it."
"I can't."
"Yes, you can." Like the chain-smoker he was, Ryder lit another cigarette from the one he'd reduced to a burning stub. "Sit her down and tell her exactly what you did. And if she freaks out, I'll get you the hell out of here. I'll relocate you."
James whipped his head up. "If you don't, I'll split on my own."
"I'll keep my word. But you've got to keep yours. You've got to tell her."
Long after Ryder was gone, James went inside and paced his living room, stalking it from corner to corner. Finally, he grabbed the phone and dialed Emily's number. She picked up on the first ring and he gripped the receiver.
"It's me," he said.
"Oh, thank God. I was getting worried."
"I told you I had to work late."
"I know, but…" Her words drifted, and he cursed the agony he was putting her through. She hadn't slept well last night. She'd tossed and turned in his arms, mumbling in her sleep. Then she'd awakened before him, shadows dogging her eyes.
"Is Corey still at Steven's house?" he asked, knowing the boy spent his summer days there, enjoying the benefit of the home day care program Steven's mother provided.
"Yes, but I'm supposed to pick him up soon."
"Will you ask if they can keep him a little longer?"
"Why? What's wrong?" Her voice practically jumped through the phone. "You sound strange."
He released an anxiety-ridden breath and glanced out the window. "Nothing's wrong. I just need to talk to you."
"Where?"
"Here."
"At the stable? I don't understand why you can't come home."
"I am home. I live at the stable, remember?" And he wanted to give Emily the option of walking away, of deciding if he was worth the trouble.
She arrived a short time later, looking soft and vulnerable in a cotton blouse and am ankle-length skirt. He knew she favored lightweight fabrics, but she kept most of her skin covered, cautious about exposing herself to the sun.
He wanted to take her in his arms and inhale the summer-bound scent of her perfume, but he offered her a seat on the sofa instead. She perched on the edge of it, and he wondered if her pulse was as sketchy as his. She didn't appear to be comfortable. Obviously, she knew something was horribly wrong, even if he'd denied it on the phone.
"Did you ever stop to think of how I was able to testify against the mob?" he asked.
"I assumed you knew damaging things about their organization," she answered. "Crimes they'd committed."
"I knew details about a murder. A hit I was involved in." Her face went pale but he continued, determined to get the words out. "I spent a year in a federal prison for my part in it. I was an accessory to murder. That's what I was charged with."
Emily's breath rushed out, her emotions splitting in two. This was the man who'd treated her with tenderness and care, who'd helped her battle cancer, who'd taught her rambunctious little brother how to behave like a gentleman? "You told me you were an ex-con, but I thought—"
"That I'd gotten locked up for burglary? I've served time for that, too."
She gripped the side of the couch, praying the room didn't spin. How could he deliberately take someone's life? How could he assist in a murder? "Why, James? Why would you get involved in a hit?"
"Because that's what the West Coast Family told me to do."
"It can't be that simple." She blinked back the tears threatening to fall, and he pushed his hair away from his forehead, exposing the rawboned angles of his face. He looked tough and hard, every bit the ex-con he claimed to be. But he looked like her protector, too. Like the man she'd fallen desperately in love with. "Tell me how it happened."
"It happened because I got in over my head." Catlike, he began to pace, the muscles in his shoulders bunching and rolling. "The West Coast Family isn't an Italian outfit, but they run their operation in a fairly traditional Mafia style. In the beginning, I was building surveillance equipment for one of their lieutenants, and later I became a soldier."
"A soldier?"
He stopped pacing. "That's the lowest level of a formal member, but I was still a 'made man.'"
"It sounds like something out of a movie." Something she'd seen on a late-night picture show, something a small-town girl from Idaho couldn't relate to.
"Believe it or not, I have a genius IQ." His laugh was short and bitter. "But I'm pretty damn dumb for a smart guy. I never thought I'd be expected to participate in a murder."
Her stomach clenched, and he turned to look at her. "Mafia or not, the West Coast Family is a business organization. They're not a bunch of thugs. They have ties to the film industry. The guys at the top own mansions and party with the rich and famous." He barked out another laugh. "What a life."
Emily pictured him – tall, dark, street-smart James, living in Los Angeles and associating with high-powered criminals. "You had to know they were dangerous."
"Sure, I knew. But I'd always thrived on danger, on that quick, don't-get-caught th
rill. I was part of the Hollywood mob and I liked it. Being around them gave me a rush." He paused, his voice turning hard. "But the rush ended when they tested my loyalty."
Emily noticed a muscle ticking in his jaw. An involuntary flinch, she thought. A tense, troubled memory. "What happened?"
"They called me into the boss's office, and Denny Halloway said he had a job for me."
"Beverly's father?"
"Yes. But I hadn't met Beverly yet. I didn't know Halloway had a daughter. I was familiar with his sons but that" s because they were part of his operation." James went on, explaining further. "I figured the job was a burglary of some kind. Everyone knew that alarm systems were one of my specialties. But then Halloway said the job was going down in a few hours, and I realized something was wrong. They wouldn't have brought me in on a robbery in one day."
She waited for him to continue, fearful of what came next, of the details associated with a mob hit, of an act she couldn't begin to imagine.
"The target was a man named Caesar Gibbons, a drug lord who'd cheated Halloway. And since Gibbons was always surrounded by bodyguards, a public hit was planned, using a getaway and a crash car. They knew where Gibbons was having dinner that night, so while he exited his favorite restaurant and entered his limo, a hit man in a getaway car was supposed to shoot him." James shifted his stance, his features taut. "I was brought in to drive the crash car, to 'accidentally" run into anyone who tried to follow the getaway car."
"Why didn't you call the police?" she asked. "Why didn't you warn them a hit was planned?"
"There was no time. I was with Halloway and the triggerman for the rest of the day. And there was a side of me that didn't want to believe it was real, that it was really going to happen."
Her heart pummeled her chest. "But it did."
"Yes, but I botched my part. I couldn't go through with it. Someone in Gibbons's entourage followed the getaway car, but I didn't crash into him. I wanted Halloway's hit man to get caught."
She looked into James's eyes and saw his remorse, the haunting that had been there all along. "Did he get caught?"
"No. I was so damn nervous, I made a quick turn and literally caused an accident anyway. Some old lady barreled right into me and someone else clipped the guy following the triggerman." He frowned at the floor, at a barely visible spot on the carpet. "I stayed at the scene to file an accident report, to act like an innocent bystander who'd gotten caught in the crossfire. At the time, the cops had no idea I was involved, and I didn't tell them. I didn't admit the truth."
She rose, her heartbeat stabilizing. "You admitted it later."
"After the FBI offered to cut me a deal." He lifted his head. "What kind of man does that make me, Emily? What kind of bastard am I?"
She reached for him, but he backed away, refusing to let her touch him, to forgive him for his crime.
* * *
Chapter 12
«^»
James knew what was happening. In spite of what he'd done, Emily still loved him. Yet her loyalty, the tenderness he'd craved, only proved how selfish he was.
"Don't pull away from me," she said. "Not now."
"How can you still care about me?"
"Am I supposed to punish you, James? Be your judge and jury? You paid for your sins. You served your time. You testified against the mob."
And he'd asked the Creator for forgiveness, he thought. But somehow, it didn't seem like enough. "Do you have any idea what spending the rest of your life with me will be like?"
Her eyes locked on to his. "I'm willing to find out."
"You shouldn't be. You should stop and think. Take a good, hard look at who I am." Because his legs were as unsteady as his heart, he sat on the edge of a barstool, then reached for the half-empty beer he'd left on the counter. The alcohol was warm, but he took a swig, barely tasting it. "My life has been full of lies. The last time I saw my sister, the day I said goodbye, I didn't tell her that I would have to serve time. I let her think WITSEC was going to relocate me right away."
"Why?" Emily asked. "So she wouldn't worry about you? What harm is there in that?"
"All I've ever done is lie." He discarded the beer, even though his mouth was still dry. "I never told my wife that I was involved in a hit. She knew I wanted to leave her father's organization, but I didn't have the guts to admit what turned me against them."
"So you protected her feelings. You—"
"I was protecting my own feelings," he shot back. "I was afraid she wouldn't want to be with me if she knew the truth."
"But it's different between us. You're being honest with me."
"I almost left. If my WITSEC inspector would have agreed, I'd be gone by now. I'd be in a safe house, waiting to be relocated."
Stunned, she stepped back. "How could you do that? How could you even consider it?"
"I was afraid you wouldn't love me anymore. I was afraid I'd lose you anyway."
"But you didn't." She exaggerated her presence with a wide gesture. "I'm here. I'm right here."
And looking more vulnerable than ever, he thought. Loose strands of hair escaped her ponytail and fluttered around her face, like feathers swaying in an emotion-steeped breeze. "Think about it, Emily. Imagine being my wife. Think about what would happen if my security was breached and WITSEC had to move me. You'd have to move, too, to change your name, to become someone new."
When she crossed her arms to hide a small shiver, he realized that she hadn't let her thoughts take her that far.
He went on, driving his point. "You'd never see Diane again. Corey would lose Steven. Hell, you couldn't even visit your parents' graves. Or keep pictures of them. Everything familiar, everything from your childhood would be gone."
She gulped some air into her lungs. "But what if your security isn't breached? We could stay here forever. We could—"
James cut her off. "I'm not worth the risk. You know damn well I'm not."
"That isn't fair." She kept her arms crossed, hugging herself. "You can't expect me to stop loving you. To just let you go."
"Maybe not. But you can't live in a fairy tale, either. Consider what I'm saying. Think about what's right for Corey."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because my lifestyle could end up hurting you." And dreams were always prettier than reality, he thought. "Up until now, all I wanted was for you to love me, to accept me, to forgive me for the crimes I committed. But there's more at stake here. There's your future. There's Corey's well-being."
"You said the mob wouldn't hurt Corey. You said he was safe."
"He is. But how is he going to feel if I end up dead? If some hit man comes along someday and plugs me in the back?"
She shivered again. "Don't say things like that."
"Why not? You know damn well it could happen." He rose, then stopped to study her. "Why didn't you sleep well last night? Why did you toss and turn?"
She glanced out the window, and he followed her gaze to the setting sun, to the red burst of color in the sky. "I was worried."
"About what?"
"You," she admitted.
"Because someone's trying to kill me?"
"Yes." She wiped her hands on her skirt and he knew her palms were sweating. "But I only found out about all of this yesterday. Was I supposed to go to bed that night and sleep like a baby?"
"No. Of course not." He wished he could hold her, pull her tight against his body and make the rest of the world fade away. But he couldn't. The earth would keep spinning on its axis, and there would always be other people to contend with, other voices to be heard. "We need some time away from each other."
She couldn't conceal the sudden anger in her eyes. "Why? So you can leave town? Disappear without telling me?"
"I won't leave." He wouldn't become the coward Ryder had accused him of being; he wouldn't run away from the woman he loved. But he wouldn't take advantage of her, either. "If we stay together, I know you'll bring good things to my life, but you can't honestly say the s
ame thing about me."
"Jam—"
He stopped her protest. "Go home, Emily. Visit your friends, chat with your co-workers, look through your photo albums, put some flowers on your parents' graves." He paused for effect. "Then imagine your life without those things."
She flinched, and he knew he'd jarred her emotions. "Am I supposed to imagine putting flowers on your grave, too? Am I supposed to think about that?"
"You already are," he said, as she turned away. "You already are."
*
Corey traipsed beside Emily with a bouquet of flowers in each hand. He didn't seem to understand why she was so nostalgic this week, but he'd stayed by her side, looking through old photos, laughing at baby pictures of himself. And now they were at the Silver Wolf cemetery where their parents were buried.
Emily hadn't seen James in over seven days, but she thought about him every sleepless night, plagued by the last words they'd spoken. She kept telling herself that she didn't have any doubts, that leaving Silver Wolf didn't frighten her, that she could handle a future with James. But that wasn't true. Knowing that the mob wanted him dead haunted her like a shadow-chasing poltergeist.
Corey looked up at her, and she touched his shoulder. "This is it." She stopped at the marble headstones and wondered what her mom and dad would have thought of James. Her lover. The ex-con. The former mobster.
"Can they see us, Emmy?"
"Who? Our parents?" She knelt on the grass and fought a graveyard chill. What if the mob tortured James? What if they let him bleed to death? "Yes, they can. They're watching us from heaven." Watching their daughter struggle over the man she loved.
Corey set a bouquet of flowers on each grave, then glanced up at the sky. "Is this the only place they can see us from?"
"No. They can see us no matter where we are."
"Even when I'm bad?"
She couldn't help but smile. "You're never bad. Are you?"
"Sometimes I am. On the last day of school, I told Suzy Leery she was stupid, and then Steven and I put some paper towels in the toilets. You're not supposed to do that 'cause it clogs them."
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