by Cassie Miles
Softly, he said, “We were good as partners today.”
“Damn good.” At least they agreed about that.
“But I don’t want you in danger. The Militia hates you. They’ll come after you again.”
“What else is new?”
“You should go somewhere else. I’ll pay for your trip back to Brooklyn.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” She sat up straight, and the puppy bounced in her lap.
“There’s nothing more you can do here.”
“Wrong.”
“There’s a statewide manhunt under way. The best trackers in the country are looking for—”
“That’s like what you said today at the Galleria. Leave it to the professional lawmen? Hah! I was right to go after the hostages.”
“This is different.”
“I was right,” she repeated. “The hotshot FBI negotiators didn’t get it. But I did. I knew the Militia wouldn’t keep guard on the hostages. I knew they’d kill those people.”
“How did you know?”
She shuddered as an uncomfortable realization struck. When she was with Lyle, she’d lived in the presence of evil; she’d become familiar with it. “I hate to admit it, but maybe I understand these guys.”
“Maybe you do.”
His gaze sharpened, and she recognized his expression immediately. He wanted to use her, to probe around inside her head. “No way,” she said. “If you’re thinking about taking me back into your nasty little interrogation room, you can stop right now.”
“Relax, partner.” He grinned. “You can trust me.”
Could she? When it came to physical protection, she totally believed in him. Trevor was a warrior first. Anything else he might feel for her came second. “You want to interrogate me, don’t you?”
“There might be something in the back of your mind that could—”
“Forget it.”
She rose from the bench and stomped through the open door of the barn into the late afternoon sunlight. The toes of her sneakers dug into the soft earth as she rounded the corral and stood at the edge of a rolling field of golden grass. The natural beauty failed to alleviate her confusion.
Trevor seemed to want her in a sexual way. But he also looked upon her as a source of information—someone to question and use. And then to throw away?
“Sierra? What’s wrong?”
When he came up behind her, she whirled around. “I don’t get it. I thought you were, you know, attracted to me.”
“Hell, yes,” he said.
“Then why are you trying to get rid of me?”
“Is that what you think?”
“Yeah.”
His long arm encircled her waist, and he clenched her tight against his body. Before she knew what was happening, his mouth claimed hers with feverish passion. His kiss was so unbelievably hot that she melted like ice cream on a stovetop. Wonderful, delicious feelings oozed through her veins. Then her heart beat faster. A rush of pure sensation awakened every nerve, every muscle, every cell in her body. Though she had never kissed him before, except in a dream, this felt familiar and so very right.
When he loosened his grasp, she was dazed. All she wanted to do was make him happy. “You can ask anything you want, Trevor.”
“What do you mean?”
He nuzzled her ear, and another starburst of sensation exploded.
“Interrogate me,” she said.
“As you wish,” he murmured. “Keep your eyes closed.”
Already aroused, Trevor looked down at the woman he held loosely in his arms. This was going to be the most bizarre interrogation he’d ever done. There was no chance for his usual detachment. He cared too much about Sierra to think of her as a subject.
“Do it,” she urged.
He took a moment to appreciate her copper-haired beauty. Her delicate features. Her lush body. She had more facets than a diamond. “Relax,” he whispered. “Empty your mind of distractions. Breathe deeply.”
When she inhaled, her breasts rose and fell, distracting him. He dragged his mind back to the interrogation. “Let your thoughts flow. Gently, like a slow-rolling river. Relax your body.”
She followed his instructions, quickly sinking into an open state of mind. Because of their earlier interrogation, her subconscious was already attuned to the sound of his voice.
He continued, “I want you to remember the good times. Think back to when Lyle introduced you to the men in the Militia.”
“I never liked Perry Johnson,” she said. “He’s a mean, vicious person. I told Lyle he shouldn’t hang around with a guy like that.”
“And what did Lyle say?”
“He was loyal to Perry and all the other guys. He thought Boone Fowler was some kind of god.” She paused, thinking. “But I don’t think Lyle completely trusted the Militia.”
She frowned and gave a little wriggle. Damn, she was sexy.
“Did Lyle have secrets?” Trevor asked.
“There were things he told only to me. I liked that. It made me feel special.”
She smiled, and the radiance that lit her face sparked jealousy in Trevor. He didn’t want her to feel that way about another man, even if Lyle was dead. “What did he do to make you feel special? Did he bring you gifts?”
“Like a side of beef?”
She chuckled, again moving against him. Trevor didn’t think he could hold her much longer without kissing those teasing lips. “Tell me.”
“One time, we took off on a road trip. Just the two of us.”
“Where did you go?”
“Two hundred or so miles. To this little town. I remember the name. Horton. Lyle said it was short for Whore Town. But I thought of something else.” Her voice was slower than usual. Softer. “I remembered a book my mother used to read to me about an elephant named Horton. She’s a nice woman, my mother. If she knew half the things that have happened to me out here in Montana, she’d be so upset.”
Though he was curious about her family, he purposely derailed her memories of home and focused on the Militia and Lyle’s secrets. “Tell me about the trip to Horton.”
“We went into a bank and signed some papers.” Her eyelids snapped open and she stiffened. “He opened a safe deposit box. Lyle was so proud, all puffed up. He promised he’d always take care of me and the ba—”
Her words stopped abruptly and she broke free from his embrace. Trevor knew what came next. The baby. The miscarriage. He hadn’t intended to touch that memory.
“Interrogation over.” Gently he placed his hand on her shoulder. “You did good, Sierra. There might be something important in that safe deposit box.”
“I’m sure there is. Lyle told me that if anything happened to him, I should open the box.”
“Do you have the key?”
She turned to face him. Her forehead had tightened in a frown. Raking up the memories of her past had squashed her passion. Sierra was no longer the willing, warm woman he had kissed a moment ago.
Trevor’s interrogation had been successful on a tactical level. On a personal level, he was out of luck.
“I never had a key,” she said. “Lyle kept that stuff, and I don’t know what happened to it.”
“All his personal effects were probably left at the Fortress prison. I’m not sure who was designated as his next of kin.”
“It was me,” she said. “I got a notification from Warden Green, but I didn’t bother to get Lyle’s things. I didn’t want to be reminded of him.”
“So the key might still be there,” Trevor concluded. “It’s a thin piece of evidence, but worth the trip.”
He wouldn’t mind coming face-to-face with Warden Craig Green. His explanation of the Militia prison break had never made sense. Nor did the supposed suicide of Lyle Nelson. “Tomorrow we’ll go there.”
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING Sierra stopped at her duplex to change clothes and pack a couple of necessary items. Until the Militia was caught, she wouldn’t be safe staying there all by
herself.
Trevor insisted on checking out her house before stepping inside. There might be booby traps. While he inspected the door locks and peered through the windows, Sierra stood on the sidewalk and waited. In her arms, she held Rex, the ferocious poodle puppy.
When her neighbor came out, Rex gave a perky little yip. Sierra waved. “Good morning, Mrs. Hensley.”
Instead of the usual snub, the gray-haired woman came nearer. She pointed with a long, skinny finger. “That’s a dog.”
“His name is Rex.”
Tentatively, Mrs. Hensley took another step. Her pointed chin lifted, and she sniffed the air cautiously, as if Sierra might exude a poisonous odor. Another step. And another. This was as close as she’d come.
Sierra held the puppy toward her. “You can pet him. He likes to be scratched behind his ears.”
As soon as the older woman touched Rex’s soft, curly fur, her manner changed. No longer aloof, she murmured in baby talk.
Sierra handed the puppy to Mrs. Hensley. “It would really help me out if you could take care of Rex for a few days.”
From the expression on the older woman’s face, she might have just won the lottery. “I’ll take good care of him. I had a puppy once. A poodle like this little guy.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I really appreciate it.”
“Take your time.”
She pivoted and darted back into her house, moving very quickly for an elderly woman.
Trevor returned. “We’re safe to go inside. Where’s Rex?”
“I think he found a home.”
In her bedroom Sierra changed and threw a few things into a suitcase. She might not be back here for a while. Obviously, she didn’t have her job at the Galleria. And the coming of winter meant she wouldn’t be working at the tree nursery, either. Unemployed in Montana. Was there anything so desolate?
But she wasn’t sad. When she came into her front room and saw Trevor sitting on the sofa, his long legs stretched out in front of him, she almost felt good. Like Rex the ferocious poodle, she might have found the place she belonged. With Trevor.
THOUGH TREVOR WAS LOOKING forward to a conversation with Warden Craig Green, he hated the surroundings. The Montana penitentiary known as the Fortress was architecturally modeled after a medieval castle. If hell was cold and dank, this might be Satan’s realm. As soon as he and Sierra stepped inside the heavy gates, he couldn’t wait to get back outside.
The prison guards seemed to sense his discomfort. Instead of escorting them directly to the warden, they went the long way around.
“This here is cell block A,” said a guard. “We keep the worst prisoners here.”
The barred door at the end of the corridor clanged shut behind them. The cold stone walls of the prison seemed to close in. In his Special Forces training, Trevor had learned to endure all manner of discomfort, but the worst fate he could imagine was confinement. He stared straight ahead, avoiding the gazes of the men behind bars.
Sierra was farthest away from the cells, but the prisoners had noticed her. There were catcalls and lewd comments. Amid the other noise, a guttural growl reached Trevor’s ears. “Tsi-lu-gi, da-ni-ta, ga.”
He recognized the language. Those ironic words were spoken in Cherokee. Welcome, brother.
The man who had spoken pressed up against the bars of his cell. His hands dangled through the rails, and Trevor saw two crude prison tattoos. On the back of one hand was the seven-pointed Cherokee star—the same symbol Trevor wore on his silver ring. On the other was the outline of a howling wolf, the warrior clan. This prisoner could have been a distant relative.
Trevor stared into the hostile black eyes of the man behind bars. His frame was rawboned and huge. He wore his black hair long.
“Osi-yo da-ni-ta-ga wa-ya,” Trevor said. Hello, brother wolf.
The fierce man did not smile. Nor did Trevor. In silent communication, they shared a moment of pain-filled recognition and sorrow.
“Hey,” called the guards. “No talking. We gotta move along.”
They left cell block A, and Trevor asked, “Who’s the prisoner who spoke to me?”
“We call him Snake. He’s half-crazy and all-mean. The most vicious son of a gun in the Fortress.”
Trevor suspected that if he were imprisoned, he might have the same reputation. Inside these thick walls, all semblance of humanity disappeared.
In the warden’s office, Trevor stood back and observed while Sierra did the talking. Warden Craig Green stayed behind his desk, emphasizing his position of authority. He adjusted his cuffs and nervously played with the knot on his striped necktie. Judging from his deeply lined forehead and the gray in his hair, the warden must be in his early sixties, Trevor guessed.
“Sorry for your loss,” Warden Green said in a tone that lacked sincerity.
“Right,” Sierra said. “I just want Lyle’s personal effects.”
“It’s not much.” He pointed toward a plastic bag that lay on his heavy oak desk. “Keys. A pocketknife. A wallet. Less than twenty bucks in cash.”
“Fine. I’ll take it.”
As Trevor glanced around the office, he noticed that the heavy bookcases were mostly empty. There were bare spaces on the walls where pictures might have hung. “Looks like you’re moving.”
“Time for me to retire,” Green said. “I’ve given twenty-two years to this place.”
The timing was suspicious. Only a few months ago Boone Fowler and the Militia had staged a successful escape from this formerly impregnable prison. “After such a long career, it’s a shame you have to leave in disgrace.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“The suicide of Lyle Nelson.”
“We did all we could for that poor bastard.” He nodded to Sierra. “No offense, miss.”
“None taken.”
“And the prison break,” Trevor probed.
Green’s eyes narrowed. “That was investigated. Not my fault.”
“But it was never completely explained. The actual escape route was never determined.”
“Things happen in prison that nobody on the outside can understand. That escape was one of them.”
Green’s shoulders were tense. One hand clenched on his belly, causing Trevor to wonder if he had an ulcer. “Is that why you decided to retire? The unexplained things that happen here?”
“None of your business.” The warden sat behind his desk. “Take your things and leave.”
“When’s your last day?” Trevor asked.
“The new warden arrives on Tuesday next week. After that, I’m history.”
And all his secrets would vanish with him. Trevor sensed he would see the warden again. And their next meeting would be even less cordial.
Chapter Ten
Dressed in camouflage, Perry Johnson hunkered down beside a granite outcropping in the forested lands surrounding the Fortress penitentiary. Even from half a mile away, he could smell the stink of prison. There was no need to get close. Only one highway led to hell.
Unlike some of the other men, especially Lyle, Perry had used the years he’d spent incarcerated as a test of his endurance. When it was cold in the Fortress, he’d stripped off his shirt and drawn the chill into his bones. When it was dark, he’d kept his eyes closed so he’d be blind. Every minute of every day, he’d exercised, flexing and extending until his muscles were harder than the stone walls that imprisoned him.
When they escaped, Perry had been tougher, stronger and meaner than when he went inside. Confinement in hell had honed his rage sharper than the eight-inch serrated blade he always carried at his side.
Motionless as a granite statue, he stared at the stone turrets of the prison. The rest of the Militia were back at their hideout, celebrating their assault on the Galleria. But Perry had other scores to settle. Sierra Collins had to die.
Earlier today, he had spotted her at the dumpy little duplex she’d once shared with his buddy, Lyle. She was with a tall cowboy. From the way she lo
oked at him, Perry could tell that she was sweet on this guy. That little witch! How could she betray Lyle’s memory with a half-breed? When he saw what was going on, Perry was tempted to raise his rifle, aim and shoot them both.
But he was a patient man. He would wait for the exact right moment. A time when there would be no witnesses. A time when he was sure he could escape.
Strategy was important, and Perry was one of the best damn hunters in the state of Montana or anywhere else. Stalking his prey took careful restraint, and it would be worth his time. When he slaughtered Sierra, he’d do it up close. He wanted to see the terror in her eyes, to hear her whimpers of pain when he plunged the knife into her gut and twisted.
He shifted his weight and scowled at the Fortress. What the hell were they doing inside?
Using his cell phone, Perry called Boone. “They’re at the Fortress.”
“Keep following,” Boone instructed.
“I could take them when they head back to town. It would be easy to disable their vehicle and—”
“Not yet.”
“Why not? There’s a good three miles of deserted road. I could shoot out the tires, kill them and be on my way before anybody noticed.”
“Not yet,” Boone repeated. “That’s an order.”
Without another word, Perry disconnected the call. He could wait. Soon, very soon, he would take his revenge on Sierra and her boyfriend. Maybe he ought to scalp that half-breed.
WHEN TREVOR PARKED outside the bounty hunters’ headquarters, Sierra experienced none of her former hesitation about going inside. She’d spent last night in the guest room here. She’d slept late, had a leisurely brunch and gone for a horseback ride with Trevor. The headquarters felt almost like home. Still, she asked, “Why do we need to come here? I’ve got Lyle’s keys, including the one to the safe deposit box. We should go directly to the bank in Horton.”
“I want to check in,” Trevor said. “Don’t worry. We’ll make it to Horton.”
“How?” She glanced at her cheap wristwatch, which tended to gain time. “It’s already after two, and this is a long drive. Four or five hours. We’ll never get there before the bank closes.”
A sexy grin lifted the corner of his mouth. “How do you feel about helicopters?”
