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

  She stepped up the stairs and used her key to unlock the door, glancing around again. When she stepped inside, freshly treated dark wood floors, white trim and neutrally colored walls would normally welcome her. Instead she looked for signs of Jed. Pausing to lock the door, she listened for any sounds. Silence. Nothing had changed since she’d left. Everything was as it had been.

  She turned and passed an open stairway on her way to the kitchen, flipping on a light to chase the shadows away. Still, she couldn’t shake the apprehension warning her that Jed might reappear. She’d had a bad feeling when he’d started sending her emails. It was as if he was stalking her. She’d shown the emails to Lacy, who’d been concerned and that had made Gemma worry more. He hadn’t threatened her in them, only pleaded with her to come home. Creepy. And then he’d shown up in Cold Plains, exactly what she’d feared.

  She wondered if Lacy had been the one to tell Samuel about her attack. Lacy had been the first person she’d called. Since she’d moved here, they’d grown close. Gemma met her at the coffee shop and she’d invited her to a seminar. They’d struck up an instant friendship.

  After opening the refrigerator, Gemma shut it again, no longer craving iced tea. She was too unsettled, unable to quell the feeling of lurking danger. Her gaze travelled over the soft green cabinets to the colorful window dressings above the darkened window.

  She tried to redirect her focus, turning it toward the house she loved so much. All the furniture and appliances were the best money could buy, thanks to a long-building savings account she’d kept secret, and the sizable chunk of money she’d taken from Jed. It wasn’t all his money anyway. They’d been married and he’d lost that part of the court proceedings. The judge had given her even more than she’d asked for. Half of everything, and everything was a lot. His parents had left him a fortune before alcoholism killed them in their fifties. She figured Jed owed her anyway, after the way he’d abused her and hoarded their money. He was an animal disguised as a successful orthopedic doctor. He probably enjoyed setting broken bones for the pain it caused his patients.

  Lifting her hand, she felt the sore skin around her temple where his fist had split it open. Then she glided it down to her swollen nose and mouth where a cut still stung. She still hurt deep inside her torso but those bruises were healing now. Her leg muscles were sore from trying to kick him or fight free of him. Her shoulders. Her whole body was sore from the violent struggle.

  When I come back, you better be ready, he’d hissed in that evil voice she’d learned to dread. Full of warped love. You’ll either come back home with me, or I’ll kill you, Gemma.

  Just before letting her battered body drop to the floor of this very room, he’d added, You’re my wife.

  She wasn’t. Not anymore. He was just crazy. Pure crazy. Didn’t he remember the divorce? He’d been furious with the outcome, with how much the judge had given her of his money. Let her take it. Steal it, as he’d said. Maybe that was enough to make him snap. He’d snapped long before that, but he’d never threatened to kill her before. It didn’t matter. She believed him now.

  Sighing, she looked around her beautiful kitchen, small but quaint with tiled countertops sparsely adorned with glass canisters and a basket of red apples. The single white-trimmed back door led to a courtyard-like backyard, bursting with wildflowers, and a terraced vegetable garden. She wished he hadn’t attacked her here. He’d poisoned her fresh start. Her new life in a safe town. He’d shaken her security and she hated him for that. She hated herself more for allowing it to happen.

  Her mother would say, “I told you so,” speaking from experience. She hadn’t done any better with her own husband. Mom had always dreamed of finding that special someone who’d take care of her. Take care of everything, including her own thinking. Except she’d missed the part where she had to choose the right man. And now it looked as if she’d passed that lack of talent onto her girls. Gemma had most certainly chosen badly. Her sister, Gillian, didn’t appear to want to settle down yet. She was too busy sleeping with every man who’d have her. No good choice in any of them, either.

  All Gemma had ever wanted was to find her way. Being raised by a mother who’d struggled to support the three of them had set her back. Not because of the lack of money, because her mother was incapable of taking charge of her own life. Gemma had spent too much time growing up without guidance. She’d needed guidance. It hadn’t been until she’d arrived in Cold Plains and met Samuel Grayson that she’d realized that. She was handicapped. But not anymore. Now she had the guidance she so desperately needed. With it, she’d find herself and she’d grow in the right direction and succeed. She’d be whole for the first time in her life.

  It was exhilarating. Just knowing she had the power to overcome. Having the affirmation. The support. Her soul was starved for it. Living here gave her a glimmer of real happiness and the hope to prosper. No way was she giving that up. Somehow she’d have to deal with Jed. She’d have to face him, on his terms if necessary. With violence. Somehow she’d find the courage. Right now, though, she had her doubts. His timing couldn’t be worse. She was still weak. He’d made her that way. And he meant to keep her that way.

  A sound at the front door sent her heart into a frantic rhythm. Someone had just tried the knob. Was Jed back already? He hadn’t said how long he’d give her. The sun had set now and it was dark in her living room.

  Walking softly to the kitchen drawer, Gemma slid it open and lifted a butcher knife. Next, she went to the table where she’d left her purse and began digging for her cell phone and the card Ford had given her. Clutching both, she went to the front window and peeked around the edge of the swooping deep blue drapes to look through the open wood blinds. She couldn’t see very far through the darkness and she hadn’t yet turned on her exterior lights.

  Her heart throbbed, fear tightening her throat and drying her mouth. What should she do? Had she imagined the sound? No. Someone had tried to open the door. Jed. She’d left it open for him before. Maybe he thought he’d get lucky again.

  Going to the front door, she flipped the light switch beside it and peered through the peephole. Nothing. Just as she began to relax, breaking glass from the kitchen made her jump and turn. Jed stood on the other side of her back door, his arm reaching inside to unlock the door.

  Screaming, she faced the door again and tried to release the lock. The knife and the phone made it difficult. She couldn’t put them down. She had to call for help. But how would she do that? She wouldn’t have time. With a frantic glance behind her, she saw Jed storming into her kitchen, deep-set, light gray eyes full of evil. He was almost six feet tall and well-muscled without being stocky. A terrifying sight.

  The knife fell to the floor as she released the lock. She yanked open the door just as Jed reached her, grabbing her arm and pulling her back. She lost her balance and fell against one of her wingback chairs, dropping the phone. It bounced to a standstill under the antique coffee table.

  Jed slammed the front door shut, a crazy man full of hatred. “Are you packed?”

  Gemma debated trying to go for the phone. The knife was too far away, and too close to Jed’s advancing feet.

  “I asked you a question!”

  She scrambled around the chair and backward toward the table. “Stay away from me!”

  He kept coming toward her, long slow strides full of murderous intent.

  Reaching for the phone, she grabbed it and pressed 911. Jed kicked her wrist before she could press Send, and the phone sailed across the room.

  Crying out in pain, she rolled out of the way of a second blow and stumbled to her feet. The knife.

  It was near the door, on the other side of Jed. She’d have to get past him. Shoving the heavy chair in front of her, she leapt around it, grabbing the painting of an old barn surrounded by a field of wildflowers off the wall on her way. As
Jed moved to intercept her, she swung the painting. The thick frame hit him. He blocked any damage it might have done with his arm, but it was enough to knock him off balance. She was able to get past him and ran to the door, stooping to pick up the knife and yanking the door open.

  Jed grabbed her around the waist. She stabbed his arm with the knife. He growled in agony and released her. She ran through the door and jumped over the steps of her porch to land on the walkway. She ran across her lawn toward her neighbor’s house.

  “Help!” she screamed. “Help me!”

  She kept screaming and screaming, hoping someone would hear her, hoping Jed would leave.

  Across the street, an old woman opened the door. Martha. That was her name. She lived there with her granddaughter. Gemma talked to her every once in a while. She and her granddaughter didn’t share much of their lives with anyone. They kept to themselves.

  Martha moved out of the way as Gemma ran up the stairs of her porch and bolted through the entrance, scurrying to slam the door shut.

  “Great goats! Are you all right?” Martha asked breathlessly, shaking with alarm.

  “Call the police!”

  CHAPTER 2

  This was the second time Dillon Monroe had followed his dad to this old Victorian inn. The Stillwater used to be the home of a Cold Plains settler who had been driven out of town after Samuel Grayson arrived and started making changes. Why was his dad meeting with that freak and a bunch of knuckle-draggers?

  Easing out from behind the thick trunk of a tree, Dillon made his way through a bed of immaculate landscaping that during the day was a palate of weed-free color. There was a lot of that in this town. He stepped up to the front doors and entered the foyer where an ornately trimmed registration desk gleamed beneath a crystal chandelier. A man was speaking to a woman standing there beside him and neither looked at Dillon. To his right, double French doors opened to a dimly lit bar. A woman sat there, a glass of water in front of her. She looked familiar. The owner of Cold Plains Coffee. What was she doing here all by herself? Drinking water in a bar. Weird.

  “Good evening, sir.”

  Turning to his left, he saw another pair of French doors that opened to a room full of candlelit tables covered in white linen underneath two more chandeliers. The brown-eyed hostess behind a wooden stand had just acknowledged him. Dressed in an elegant black dress and sparkling earrings with her dark hair smoothed back into an elegant bun, she fitted Samuel’s demands for perfection. She was probably about three years older than Dillon, which put her around twenty-one. He was pretty tall and she was almost to his nose in height. Good-looking, and he didn’t miss how she checked him out from his black hair and hazel eyes all the way down his lanky form before she asked, “Your name?”

  You had to have reservations to come to a joint like this. He searched for Whack Job Hollywood among the late-evening diners. There weren’t many. It was going on ten. “I’m here to see Samuel Grayson.”

  “Is he expecting you?”

  “No. Is he here yet?”

  After a few uncertain blinks, her gaze flitted into the foyer. Dillon turned and saw a narrow, open doorway leading down into the basement.

  He faced the girl again. “Look, I don’t want to cause you any trouble. I just need to speak with him for a minute.” He didn’t, actually. He was here to find out why his dad was here.

  The hostess didn’t respond, but glanced around as though checking to see if anyone had heard.

  “Pretend I was never here.” Smiling at her, he walked out of the dining area. A wider stairway opposite the basement passage led to the upper-level rooms. The man and woman behind the fancy registration counter were still busy talking. The woman in the bar didn’t seem to see him.

  Dillon reached the threshold of the stairs. Descending them, he entered what appeared to have once been the servants’ kitchen and now functioned as the hotel staff’s food-prep area for what had to be a small conference center. Heavy wooden double doors probably led to a meeting room. The doors were closed.

  Moving closer, he heard muffled voices filtered through from the other side. He put his hand on the door handle and began to push.

  “You there!”

  Dillon jumped around to see a big burly man approaching him from the stairway. Tall and slick in a suit and tie, he looked as rich as all the other knuckle-draggers Dillon had seen with Grayson. Was his dad trying to become one of them?

  “Are you lost?” he asked.

  “I was looking for someone.” Dillon brushed past the man and climbed the stairs. Back in the foyer, he saw the woman who’d been in the bar standing there, and beyond her, the elaborately coiffed hostess watching nervously from behind her stand. He glanced back and saw the burly man enter the foyer. Time to go.

  Outside, artificial light illuminated his way. Past the circular drive, he stepped onto the lawn and looked back to check how safe he was. The big man had stopped on the front porch, holding a radio to his mouth. Safe enough. He wasn’t going to follow.

  Dillon jumped over a cluster of pansies, his feet crunching on mulch as he maneuvered through the wide and curving border. When darkness cloaked him, he stopped. The knuckle-dragger still stood on the front porch. Dillon moved behind the trunk of a pine tree and waited.

  Rustling in some nearby shrubbery made him turn. There was someone there. He walked toward the sound and stopped when he saw a girl. She inhaled her alarm, taking a step back. He recognized her. She was new to town. She and her grandmother had just moved here. She had long, thick, dark brown hair and green eyes, but it was her hot body that had always caught his eye.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “What are you doing here?” she countered.

  Had she recognized him? “Why are you hiding in the trees?”

  Pursing her lips, she folded her arms and stuck out a trim hip. “Why are you?”

  He chuckled and held out his hand. “I’m Dillon Monroe.”

  After a brief hesitation, she shook his hand. “Hallie Taylor.”

  “I know who you are. We go to the same school. Did you come here for dinner?” He knew she hadn’t but he played ignorant.

  She frowned while she studied him. “You go to Cold Plains High?”

  He nodded. She didn’t recognize him. “I’m a senior.” Or he would be in the fall.

  “I’m going to be a junior.”

  “I know.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. I noticed you at school last year. You’re new to town, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  There didn’t seem to be anything else to say, and they were standing in the landscaping like a couple of delinquents.

  Finally, he glanced back at the inn. “Samuel Grayson is in there.”

  She frowned again, this time from a different kind of curiosity. “Is that why you’re here? Did you have dinner with him?”

  “No. My parents are friends with him. I can’t stand the man.”

  She seemed to ease her tension, but there was an element of distrust that surrounded her. She did seem really quiet at school. She hung out with one girl and didn’t seem to have many other friends. Not popular, but she could be. She was pretty enough. She just wasn’t all that outgoing. He wondered if the reason she was here had anything to do with that.

  Her gaze shifted and he looked toward the inn again. Samuel emerged with his goons, but someone else with him made Dillon take notice. Chief of Police Bo Fargo.

  “I knew it!” Hallie said, moving beside him.

  Dillon looked over at her. “I thought you came here for dinner.”

  Her green eyes moved up to meet his confrontation. “I never said I came here for dinner.”

  He grinned because she’d fallen right in
to his trap. If she hadn’t come for dinner, why was she here, hiding in the trees?

  “I better get going.” She started walking toward the road on the other side of the trees that encompassed the inn.

  “Hey, I don’t care why you were here. I came to spy on Grayson and I’m pretty sure you came to do the same.”

  She didn’t stop or acknowledge him.

  He could understand her fear. Her reason for being here had to stay secret. If the wrong person found out, she might catch Grayson’s attention.

  They reached a bicycle lying on the ground and she picked it up.

  Dillon touched her arm to stop her. “My truck is right up the street. I can drive you home.”

  “I can ride my bike.”

  Just then a silver BMW drove by with Grayson in the back. He saw them. The BMW passed without stopping and Dillon let his held breath out. That was close.

  “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

  She didn’t argue as he took the bike from her and pushed it to his twenty-year-old blue-and-white Chevy truck. While he put it into the back, she looked up the street, chewing her bottom lip.

  He opened the passenger door for her and she got inside. Walking around, he sat behind the wheel and started the engine. Hallie told him where she lived but fell into deep thought after he began driving.

  “My dad hangs out with Samuel all the time,” Dillon put out there. It’d be great if she started talking. Maybe they could team up.

  Her gaze moved for a tentative glance but she said nothing.

  “That’s why I started watching him,” he continued as though he hadn’t noticed. “I followed him to the inn tonight. I think Samuel did something to change him. Not that my dad was all that great before. He’s always treated my mom like dirt. She hates going anywhere with him anymore, but he keeps making her. He likes going to the community center all the time. There’s something weird going on there.”

  Hallie’s head turned a small degree, enough for her eyes to once again glance his way.