Perfect Wyoming Complete Collection: Special Agent's Perfect Cover ; Rancher's Perfect Baby Rescue ; A Daughter's Perfect Secret ; Lawman's Perfect Surrender ; The Perfect Outsider ; Mercenary's Perfect Mission

by Marie Ferrarella

  He arched his brow. “Oh?”

  “All good, I assure you,” Virgil said, smiling, actually pulling a file folder from his desk. That there was a file on Rafe didn’t surprise him at all, but it did shock Rafe that Virgil was being so open about it. Rafe took that as a promising sign. “I see here you’ve been very helpful in referring patients to Heidi for help with their nutrition needs. Your success rate is hovering at eighty-five percent. Not bad.”

  “Success rate?”

  Virgil closed the file and leaned back in his chair, regarding Rafe with keen eyes. “Each time a referral comes in, we determine where it came from, and then if the patient completes the program successfully, that reflects well on the person or agency that referred them.”

  “Eighty-five percent, huh? Glad to hear so many patients are being successful,” he said, smothering the questions that begged to be asked: What happened if his patient success rate started to fall? What happened to the patients who failed? Rafe needed to know, but he wisely bided his time. “I’m happy to help.”

  “And Cold Plains needs people like you, Rafe,” Virgil said sternly. “Smart, capable and with the program. I took a look at your numbers and you’re in excellent physical shape, just the kind of example we like to set in Cold Plains. You’re a perfect ambassador.”

  Rafe resisted the urge to shift in discomfort. He didn’t want to be Cold Plains’s poster boy for anything, but he recognized Virgil meant it as a compliment, so he reacted accordingly. “I appreciate that. I try to keep in shape, and the meal plan is very helpful in maintaining a healthy balance.” God, help him, he was lying through his teeth but he’d long since ditched any reluctance to stretch the truth since moving here.

  “So what can I do for you?” Virgil asked.

  “I want to do more for the Cold Plains community,” he said. “I heard that the clinic might need an extra pair of hands.”

  Virgil sighed and laced his fingers together. “True. Unfortunately, the budget doesn’t support hiring another doctor, otherwise you’d be first on our list of desirables.”

  “I understand and that’s why I want to volunteer.”

  “Volunteer?”

  “I was raised to believe a life of service was the key to true happiness. I’m ready to be put to use here in my new community.”

  Virgil’s expression split into an approving smile, which actually reached his eyes, and Rafe knew he’d said the right thing. “You were raised right, son,” Virgil said with a short nod. “Too many in this world have no regard for their fellow man. That’s what makes Cold Plains special, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Completely. And I need to feel I’m doing my share.”

  “Ah, I like the way you think. It’s a generous offer, for sure, but can you handle a practice and a volunteer schedule? That’s a heavy load.”

  Rafe laughed. “Virgil, if I may be blunt, before I came to Cold Plains I was gunning for the chief of medicine position at my old hospital. I don’t have to tell you what that entails. I’ve long since forgotten what it’s like to have spare time, and frankly, I’m more comfortable being busy.”

  “A man after my own heart,” Virgil said, smiling. “I know how you feel. Just doesn’t seem natural to sit on your hands and do nothing when you’ve got talents to share and lives to change. You’re a good man, Rafe Black. Cold Plains is lucky to have someone of your character.”

  Rafe offered Virgil a sidewise grin. “I wouldn’t go that far, but I do want to help. Can you use my services?”

  “Of course,” Virgil answered, yet there was hesitation in his voice. Rafe waited, not wanting to appear suspiciously eager. “Here’s the situation…. Mr. Grayson has a personal stake in the running of this facility and all hiring of personnel and volunteers are passed by him first. What kind of relationship do you have with Mr. Grayson?”

  Rafe made a point to appear nonplussed. “I think we’re on good terms. Never had a negative run-in, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Good. Then I’ll schedule a sit-down with you two, and if he gives you the green light, I’d be thrilled to have you on board. We could really use some help in the maternity ward. I know you don’t specialize in obstetrics, but as a volunteer, you would be working under the direction of the staff OB doctor. That sound okay with you?”

  Rafe couldn’t have found a more perfect fit for his purposes. He smothered the grin he felt building. “I’d be happy to fill in wherever there’s a need,” he offered.

  He was rewarded with a big smile from Virgil. “That’s an excellent attitude, son. I think you’re going to be just fine around here. I’ll call when Mr. Grayson has an opening. And between you and me, expect a call sooner rather than later, so please have a schedule you can commit to ready for presentation to Mr. Grayson.”

  Rafe stood and shook Virgil’s hand again. “You bet. I’ll await your call.”

  As Rafe left the room, he caught Virgil picking up the phone. He suspected he’d be meeting with Mr. Grayson by tomorrow.

  * * *

  Darcy may have embellished a little on her needle phobia. It was true each time she saw a needle she cringed inwardly because of what she’d seen her mother go through, but her reluctance to get the tests done had more to do with Samuel Grayson than some phobia. She couldn’t see herself allowing anyone associated with Samuel Grayson taking her DNA, because if cross matched, half would line up with Samuel himself. She imagined that wouldn’t go over very well. There’d be no hiding in plain sight after that.

  She crossed to the library and slipped inside but not before attracting the attention of someone else who followed her into the building.

  The library seemed a good place to start to look into the past history of Cold Plains. She figured there had to be something that drew Samuel here, and she wanted to know what it was. Maybe if she knew the why, she’d gain some insight into his personality or what drove him.

  Darcy went straight to the archives where the newspapers were kept on microfiche. It took her a moment to remember how to work the archaic machine, but thankfully, her college experiences, library trolling for several professors who didn’t believe in the internet, came in handy.

  She went back five years, flipped through issue upon issue of small-town ordinary stuff from recitals to bake sales, but when she went back further, she stumbled upon a notable difference.

  “Looking for anything in particular?” A voice beside her caused her to jump and nearly fall from the stool. An officer, blond and attractive, helped her regain her seat, a look of concern on his handsome face. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to startle you. I’ll have to watch my stealth skills,” he said with a slight tilt of his mouth, which was borderline flirty. “Officer Ford McCall at your service.”

  Darcy smiled back, not quite sure what to think of the man. Everyone here was automatically filed away in the sheep column, until proven otherwise, and that included overly friendly cops who popped out of nowhere to scare the bejesus out of her. “Darcy Craven,” she said, extending her hand, which he accepted with a good-natured grin. She wondered at the sudden solicitousness, hating that she couldn’t trust a single soul in this town. He didn’t seem much older than she, maybe by a few years, and although he was good-looking, he didn’t hold a candle to Rafe, not that she needed to compare. “I’m new to Cold Plains and I’m just trying to get a feel for the town. I like to read the old archived newspapers.”

  “Well, you’re in luck. I’m a Cold Plains native,” he said.

  She regarded him with new interest. “Really? Born and raised?”

  “Is there any other kind?”

  “No, I guess not,” she allowed with a small smile. If he was from here, maybe he wasn’t completely on board with all the crazy, Samuel-Grayson-groupie, fan-club stuff. “So, can you tell me why Cold Plains went from a r
ough-and-tumble town to the next Park City? I mean you must’ve seen some pretty big changes since you were a kid growing up here.”

  “Yeah, big changes. Mostly good,” he said. “Crime is down and the streets are cleaner.”

  “I would imagine a crime-free town isn’t good for business if you’re a cop,” she teased to gauge where his sense of humor landed. To her relief, he offered a chagrined chuckle.

  “Yeah, well, it’s not completely crime free, so there’s always a need for law enforcement.”

  “So what kind of crime are we talking?” she asked, politely fishing.

  “The usual, petty theft, vandalism, the occasional burglary.”

  “Hard to believe from what I’ve seen so far,” she murmured.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said.

  “So what was Cold Plains like before…?”

  “Before Samuel Grayson?” he finished for her. She nodded. He paused as if considering his answer. Then, just when she thought he might deflect her question, he answered with a definitive edge to his tone. “Different.”

  She wasn’t sure if he meant that in a good or bad way. Before she could ask for clarification, he stopped to regard her with something akin to recognition. “I know we don’t know each other, but…there’s something about your eyes that seems familiar…. Crazy, I know.”

  Darcy froze the smile on her face. He’d noticed the similarity between her features and Samuel’s. She cocked her head to the side and gave a little shrug. “Hmm, my Victoria’s Secret catalog isn’t set to come out until Christmas…. Not sure where you might’ve seen me before that,” she said, relieved when he laughed.

  “Ah, a girl with a sense of humor. I like that. Well, I better get back to patrol or else Chief Fargo will have my hide. I couldn’t resist saying hello to the newest pretty girl in town.”

  She swiveled to face him, her elbows resting casually on the counter. “Yeah, about that. Why is everyone here so good-looking? Hard to stand out when everyone’s a looker, you know?”

  “Good genes?” he supposed, then said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Well, we keep the ugly ones locked away. We’re trying to build a reputation as the prettiest town in America.”

  She was fairly certain he was joking, but an odd chill raced down her spine just the same. “Well, I haven’t been carted off for the ugly camp yet, so that must mean I passed the test.”

  Ford gave her an obvious once-over. “Oh yeah…you passed. With flying colors.”

  She actually blushed, which was odd because Darcy hadn’t blushed since she was a preteen and went bra shopping with her mom and happened to run into a boy she was crushing on at the mall. It’d been completely awful, actually. Darcy had been horrified, thinking the boy had somehow known that inside that JCPenney bag was her first training bra. Of course he’d had no way of knowing, but Darcy had blushed from the roots of her scalp to the ends of her hair. “Thanks,” she said, wondering if the charm he poured so easily was part of an act or who he really was as a person. “I guess I’ll see you at the meeting?”

  “No, I don’t much like sitting still to listen to someone yammer on for an hour. Just not my thing. I’d rather be doing something.”

  Interesting. “Well, maybe I’ll see you around.”

  “It’s a small town. It’s likely I’ll run into you again within the hour,” he joked, waving as he headed for the door. “Well, welcome to Cold Plains and I’ll catch you later.”

  She nodded and waited a minute to return to her research. Where did Officer McCall fall into the Grayson groupie files? Something told her he wasn’t exactly a follower like everyone else. That alone was a point in his favor. But appearances were deceiving. She wasn’t about to trust anyone on first impressions alone. Maybe she’d casually mention McCall’s visit to Rafe, see what his reaction was.

  Darcy lowered her head and focused on the newsprint, reading how at one time Cold Plains had been like any other small, economically depressed town, with more bars than churches and definitely less of the upwardly mobile set. A shot of downtown showed old junkers parked on the side instead of the high-end models zipping around today.

  Yeah…a lot had changed. On the surface, it seemed like nothing but positive changes had been made, but at what cost? There was something weird about a town filled with pretty people. It just wasn’t right.

  And she knew it had to do with Samuel Grayson. The question was…what did it have to do with her mother?

  * * *

  Ford McCall lost the easygoing smile the minute he was clear of the woman’s vision. Something about her begged another look—and it had nothing to do with her pretty face. She seemed familiar, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. Ford hated the unknown. There was too much weird stuff going on in his hometown to discount any gut feeling.

  His private cell went off and he checked the caller ID. FBI agent Hawk Bledsoe. He switched off the radio in his Escalade, so he didn’t inadvertently broadcast his conversation over the airwaves, and answered.

  “McCall here.”

  “Agent Bledsoe.”

  “What’s up?” he asked, scanning the street as he pulled away from Main and toward the station.

  “Just checking in. Any leads on the Johanna Tate case?” he asked.

  Johanna Tate—Samuel Grayson’s main girlfriend up until she was found dead two months ago, eighty miles away outside Eden—was a case Ford couldn’t let go of, in spite of his boss’s less-than-supportive stance on the subject.

  “No,” he answered darkly, hating that justice was being thwarted. “Nothing so far, especially when I’ve got Fargo blocking me at every turn. He doesn’t want me poking around, which tells me that’s exactly why I need to keep at it. Anything from the lab?”

  The forensic evidence from beneath Johanna’s nails had been sent for testing to the FBI lab. They had far more resources, and if anything was going to show up, the FBI labs would find it.

  “Not yet. These things move slow,” Hawk said. “Everyone knows Johanna was Samuel’s girl. There has to be someone who knows what happened to her. Keep asking around.”

  “Why won’t you let me put some pressure on Samuel himself? He seems the most logical suspect,” Ford groused. “We need to lean on him, let him know that he’s not untouchable.”

  “Not yet,” Hawk warned, pissing off Ford even more. He felt collared and neutered, tiptoeing around Samuel Grayson just because the FBI wanted to nail him with a bigger case than one murder. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. Besides, you start poking at Grayson and you’ll end up with a bullet sandwich for breakfast. Trust me in this. We’ll get him, but we have to do it right. We’ve only got one shot. We can’t blow it going off half-cocked just because we’re itching to nail the guy. Promise me you’ll keep a low profile.”

  “Yeah,” Ford grumbled, pulling into the station. “I’m at the station. I’ll check in if I hear anything new.”

  “Good man,” Hawk said and clicked off.

  Ford returned the radio to its preset and shut down his cruiser to stalk inside.

  His boss, Police Chief Bo Fargo, looked up from his desk with a scowl. Fresh scratches marred his face, which only made the ornery cuss uglier. He was probably the only unattractive man allowed in Grayson’s little cluster of goons. Ford wondered at the scratches but didn’t care enough to ask, not that Fargo would’ve shared; the boss wasn’t exactly a touchy-feely, hug-your-neighbor type of guy.

  “Where you been?” Fargo barked. “Couldn’t raise you on the radio.”

  “On patrol,” he answered, going straight to his desk. “Radio got switched off by accident. It was only off for a minute, though.”

  “That seems to happen a lot,” Fargo said, narrowing his gaze. “Got a problem with your equipment?”

  �
��No, sir. Just an accident.”

  “See that you get a handle on it, Officer,” Fargo warned.

  Ford gave a curt nod and focused on his notes about Johanna Tate.

  The coroner had concluded that she’d been strangled due to the ugly bruising around her larynx that was consistent with finger placement around the neck. But there were other bruises, too, that suggested a struggle, which was why Ford had made the inroads with Hawk to have the fingernail scrapings sent to the FBI lab. She’d been clothed and the sexual-assault exam had revealed no findings. And when Ford had read Fargo’s report about his interview with Grayson when they’d discovered Johanna’s body, Ford had been incensed at the piss-poor quality of the report.

  “Grayson doesn’t have an alibi,” Ford had pointed out, dropping the report on Fargo’s desk once Fargo had released his supplemental information. “We need to question him again. Why isn’t Eden pushing this?”

  Fargo had leveled his watery stare at Ford and said, “We? I don’t recall there being a we on this case. I interviewed him and the man didn’t kill his favorite girl. Eden investigators agreed. Case closed.”

  Ford longed to contradict his boss, but he kept his tongue in his head. “Anyone else gave us this kind of answer and we’d be digging for more information. Why not with him?”

  “Samuel Grayson is a good man and he’s broken up about Johanna. Have some respect, McCall. Mr. Grayson is grieving. I’m not about to hound him during his time of mourning.”

  Yeah, Ford could see how deeply Grayson was grieving—by screwing every woman who would lift their skirts for him. “No one says you can’t be respectful in your questioning. I’d think that Grayson would want to answer our questions so we can satisfy our concerns about his involvement and move on to the next suspect. An innocent man has nothing to hide, right?”

  “I cleared him. He is an innocent man.”

  “What about Johanna? Doesn’t she deserve our full attention to her case?”