Case File: Canyon Creek, Wyoming

by Graves, Paula

  “Your name isn’t Ken Lassiter.”

  “No, it’s not.” He smiled more broadly. “Nice clue, though, wasn’t it? Ken Lassiter, Lassiter Oil—you do remember that, don’t you?”

  Hannah ran her finger over the flat side of the knife blade, clinging to the steady calm she’d so far managed to retain. “Is this really all about proving me wrong?”

  “You didn’t listen to my warning.”

  “I didn’t realize that was a killing offense.”

  His smile faded. “You never think about the people whose lives you destroy with your recklessness. What about your parents, waiting at home for your return? What if you’d had a husband or children?”

  “You’d have made sure I didn’t get back to them, if you’d gotten your way.” She felt panic and anger battling in the pit of her stomach. She tamped down both emotions. “What’s your real name?”

  “Kyle Layton.” He answered the question as if he was swatting away a bug. His face reddened and his voice rose. “I didn’t get my way. You chose your own path. You tempted fate.” His voice dipped to a disgusted growl. “You all do.”

  It was a little harder maintaining her calm when he was starting to unravel in front of her, but she forced herself to react as if he was rational, knowing that if she could stall for time, someone would eventually wander by the cove and she’d have a better chance at a clean escape. She kept her voice steady as she asked, “You know a lot of women who’ve tempted fate?”

  “My whole life,” Layton answered, his voice softening to an almost childlike tone. “He told her not to go to Laramie. He could’ve made ends meet by himself. She didn’t need to take a job so far away.”

  Somewhere behind her, Hannah heard the sound of motors nearing the opening of the cove. She’d have a narrow window of opportunity to get their attention, but she didn’t dare telegraph her plans to the man coming apart in front of her.

  “Are you talking about your mother?” she asked him.

  He looked up, his gaze swimming into focus as if he’d forgotten she was there with him. “Yes. My mother.”

  “What happened to her?” she asked, trying to keep her voice sympathetic.

  “She was working late at the store. That bastard she worked for had her close up alone.” The little boy timbre of his voice grew more pronounced, tinged with a childlike anger and hurt. “Daddy told her not to take the job, and he was right!” Layton turned a wounded animal gaze on her. “She did this to us! She didn’t listen, and she did this to us!”

  Oh, my God, she realized, her blood chilling to an icy crawl. He’s been killing his mother, over and over again.

  Behind her, nearing the cove’s mouth, the sound of motors grew louder. At least two, running close together. It was odd enough to distract her for a moment.

  Long enough for Layton to grab the heavy, metal tackle box and swing it at her head.

  She ducked at the last minute, and the tackle box grazed her temple. It hurt like hell, but she didn’t see stars or lose her balance. As he started to swing again, she pulled out the knife and slashed at his arm.

  He roared in pain and rage, body-slamming her in response. They both toppled from the boat into the lake.

  The shock of the cold water almost made her gasp, but she was half submerged, and the last thing she needed was a lung full of water. She rose back to the surface and drew a long breath, struggling to free herself from Layton’s flailing grip.

  Suddenly, something pressed against her throat, pulling tight. Black spots dotted her vision as she tried to stay focused. He was using the fish stringer as a makeshift garrote. She felt the rough nylon digging into her throat.

  She tightened her grip on the knife, fighting the onslaught of darkness and silence. Her entire consciousness seemed to narrow to the cold, hard feel of the knife clutched in her fist.

  With the last of her strength, she jabbed hard behind her and felt the blade connect with something soft.

  The grip on the fish stringer loosened, and the world rushed back in a firestorm of colors and sounds.

  Water, cold as the tomb, swallowing her whole. The bubbly sound of Kyle Layton’s gasps for air behind her. Boat motors, shrieking at full throttle, filling her ears with white noise before the engines idled down to a low hum.

  Kyle Layton released her, and she kicked away from him, racing for the rocky shoreline thirty yards away. She didn’t care who was behind her or what happened to Layton. She just wanted to get as far from him as possible.

  She reached the bank and scrambled over the rocks and mud to the grassy edge beyond. Once there, she tried to stand, but the world around her went into a swirling taildive. Her knees buckled beneath her and she pitched forward into the grass. She lay still and willed her head to stop spinning long enough for her to enjoy the simple pleasure of still being alive.

  AARON COOPER DROVE HIS BOAT into the mouth of Papermouth Cove just in time for Riley to witness Kyle Layton’s blitz attack. He yelled in horror as the tackle box made contact with the side of Hannah’s head.

  Aaron poured on the speed. “Hold on!”

  They were within fifty yards when Layton tackled Hannah and they both flew into the water with a booming splash.

  The next thirty yards seemed to take forever to traverse. Guiding the boat closer, Aaron howled out a stream of profanity that would put even a roughneck cowboy to shame.

  The struggle continued in the water, until Hannah suddenly broke free and started racing toward the shore, her swimming strokes growing increasingly sluggish and erratic as she neared the bank. In the water, Kyle Layton started paddling away from the crappie boat, his movements jerky and slow.

  For a moment, Riley couldn’t take his eyes off the man, all the rage and grief of three long years focusing like a laser on the man’s feeble escape attempt. The urge to grab his Ruger and end the struggle was almost more than Riley could resist.

  Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hannah make it to shore and immediately crumple to the ground. All thought of Layton, of the sweet siren call of revenge, dissipated like smoke in the wind.

  “Hannah!” A hissing stream of fears ran through his mind like a litany, threatening to drown out rational thought.

  “I’ll get Layton,” Aaron shouted.

  Riley threw off his jacket and jerked at his boots, cursing when one stuck. It finally came free. He tossed it aside and plunged into the cold lake water.

  He covered the remaining distance to the shore in a few frantic strokes and pulled himself on to the bank, his heart pounding like a bass drum in his chest. Scrambling over the rocks, he reached her still, crumpled form. He felt for her carotid pulse, praying silently.

  At his touch, she jerked away. Her eyes opened, wildly fighting for focus. It took a second for her to react to what she was seeing.

  “Riley?” Her voice, raspy and weak, rang with surprise.

  He found himself laughing at her shocked expression, so grateful she was alive that the whole world suddenly seemed like a bright, beautiful place.

  She didn’t resist when he grabbed her up and crushed her to him, pressing kisses over her cheeks, in her hair, and finally hard and sweet against her lips.

  The fingers feebly clutching his arms tightened, their grip strengthening. Beneath his mouth, her lips moved, parting with invitation.

  He threaded his fingers through her hair, holding her face steady as he poured into the kiss all his pent up fears, longings and hopes. When he finished, he drew his head back and gazed into her beautiful, liquid gaze.

  “Why aren’t you in Wyoming?” she asked.

  “Because I love you,” he answered with a laugh.

  A glorious smile curved her kiss-stung lips. “I didn’t think you’d ever figure that out on your own, cowboy,” she drawled, running her thumb over his bottom lip.

  He dragged her closer, heat flooding his belly. “Cowboys always need a sidekick, darlin’.” He tangled his hand in her hair, drawing her head back to give him ac
cess to the bruised skin of her throat. Anger coiled like a rattler in his chest, but he killed it. There’d be time to sort out justice later.

  Right now, he wanted Hannah to know just how damned much he loved her.

  A long, thorough kiss later, they came up for air. “Just to be clear,” he murmured against the curve of her ear, “you love me too, right?”

  She nipped at the tendon on the side of his neck. “From the top of your Stetson to the soles of your ratty old snakeskin boots.”

  When he laughed, he realized that it was the first time in three years that he felt truly, unreservedly happy.

  Epilogue

  Five months later

  “People around here call you my cowboy,” Hannah murmured in Riley’s ear as he led her slowly across the pavilion that had turned into a dance floor for their wedding reception.

  He tucked her hand against his heart and smiled down at her from beneath the brim of his Stetson. “Why ever would they do that, darlin’?”

  “Maybe it’s the boots,” she murmured, reaching up to tip his hat back a notch. “Or the horse trailer hitched to your truck. Or—”

  He shushed her with a kiss that would have made her toes tingle even if her feet weren’t stuffed into pointed white pumps. “I’m sorry Luke couldn’t make it.”

  She tried not to let a thread of sadness taint the happiness of her wedding day. “He’ll come back, sooner or later. We all do.” She looked into his happy, blue eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay relocating here? Won’t you miss Joe and Jane?”

  Riley looked over his shoulder at his friend, who sat at one of the tables flanking the dance floor. Joe was holding his newborn son in his arms, while Jane chatted happily with Hannah’s sister-in-law Mariah, who held her own little boy, Micah, on her lap. “He has his own family,” Riley said with a smile. “And now I have mine. They’re as close as a phone or e-mail. We won’t lose touch.”

  She closed her eyes and relaxed into his embrace, setting aside any lingering worries. He’d miss Wyoming, even though he swore he wouldn’t, but life was a series of choices with consequences. She’d make sure he never felt that trading Wyoming for Alabama was a bad bargain.

  Riley cleared his throat. “There’s one other thing.”

  She looked up, a little concerned by the frown lining his brow. “What?”

  “Kyle Layton was convicted last week. They gave him life without parole.”

  “Oh.” She hadn’t thought about Layton for a couple of months. He’d pleaded guilty to assault in an Alabama court, perhaps hoping he could avoid prosecution in Wyoming, but once Joe, Riley and Sheriff Tanner had his identity confirmed, they’d been able to piece together enough physical evidence against him to bring him up on multiple murder charges in Wyoming. Alabama had waived extradition and sent him to Wyoming for trial.

  “Does that mean he’ll be jailed up there instead of here?”

  “Yeah, that’s the latest.”

  “Then it’s really over.”

  He nodded, pressing his lips to her forehead. “How about we stop talking about that and start talking about what naughty, naughty things you’re going to do to me when you get me alone?”

  She laughed, rising up to bite his earlobe. “How about we get the hell out of here and let me show you instead?”

  He looked down at her, love and hunger shining from his blue eyes. “On the count of three. One. Two. Three!”

  Joining hands, they raced off the dance floor together, the whole wide world in front of them.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-4663-2

  CASE FILE: CANYON CREEK, WYOMING

  Copyright © 2010 by Paula Graves

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

  www.eHarlequin.com

  *Cooper Justice