The Lawman's Last Stand

by Vickie Taylor

  Feeling the thrum of fear strike up a new beat in her breast, she put the news article back in her handbag, set the handbag on the floor, and picked up her survival pack. She hadn’t been without the bag since she’d left New York, three years ago. The bag was her safety net.

  Whether he knew it or not, tonight it was Shane’s safety net as well. If the man after her somehow did manage to find her, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill one unsuspecting DEA agent. He’d killed federal agents before.

  Guilt struck a sour chord in her head. She really didn’t believe anyone would find her in the next few hours, but she still should have told him. Her silence—her very presence—put him at risk.

  Glancing down the darkened hallway, she thought about telling him now. But he was probably long asleep, and she couldn’t knock on his door in the middle of the night wearing nothing but her bare feet and a soft flannel bathrobe that smelled like him. Not after that kiss.

  Not after the way she’d treated him after the kiss. She had no right to ask him for anything, least of all to watch over and protect her. Besides, he was a cop. He would ask questions she couldn’t answer. So tonight, like every night, she would watch over and protect herself.

  And she would protect him, too.

  Digging past the assorted getaway paraphernalia in her backpack, Gigi wrapped her hand around a solid shape folded inside a cotton T-shirt.

  She’d never loaded the gun before. Didn’t want to do it now. But she had no choice. By letting him bring her here, she’d taken Shane’s life in her hands. She had to be prepared to defend it.

  With the pistol on her lap, she unzipped an outer pocket of the pack and pulled out the ammunition. Carefully, just like she’d been shown in New York, she inserted the shells.

  By sheer will, she kept her hands from trembling. All she had to do was make it to morning, she told herself. Then she would leave Utah forever. Because she’d stayed too long. Because she’d let a cop get too close.

  And because somewhere out there, a cold-blooded killer was looking for her.

  Chapter 2

  After a chilly morning at his cabin—one due more to the frosty demeanor of his houseguest than the unusually cool spring weather—Shane dropped Gigi off at John Lane’s scrap yard. She’d called John not thirty seconds after sunrise, the moment the ice on the roads began to melt, and talked the tow truck driver into going after her truck. Then she’d banged around the kitchen under the pretense of making coffee until Shane couldn’t stand the noise and got up to see what the racket was about. She’d seemed so desperate to leave that Shane had joked that if she was in such a hurry, she needn’t have bothered to wait for him to take her to town. She could have just stolen his truck and driven herself.

  Gigi hadn’t laughed.

  Shaking his head, he pushed his way through the door to the Washington County Sheriff’s Office with one hand, carrying a cup of coffee from the diner in the other.

  Bailey Henrickson, the young state trooper sent to keep an eye on things until a new sheriff was appointed, greeted him. “Hey, Agent Hightower.”

  “Hey yourself.”

  He hurried past Bailey, hiding his grin. Shane couldn’t help it. He liked Bailey. The kid seemed to be a fair enough lawman, but his ears were just too damned big for his head. Especially when he put on his smoky hat and it pushed them out to the side.

  Keeping his head lowered, Shane sat at the desk in the corner. The one with the computer. He felt Bailey watching him, but he didn’t look up.

  “Something I can help you with?” Bailey finally asked.

  “Nope.”

  A minute, maybe two passed while the PC booted up.

  “Something you need?” Bailey said.

  “Just a little information.”

  He heard the kid shuffle some papers. “You know, you aren’t officially supposed to be using that equipment anymore. You’re supposed to be headed back to Phoenix and the almighty DEA today.” He grinned. “You can leave the sheriff’s badge and the keys to the Blazer with me.”

  Shane smiled into his coffee cup. “You kicking me out, Trooper?”

  The paper shuffling stopped. “Well, no sir. But…”

  “Good. Because I’ll be done before you could call for backup.”

  “Ha!” Bailey barked. “State Trooper needing backup to handle one sissy DEA agent. That’ll be the day.”

  Shane grinned wider, tapping out a few commands on the keyboard.

  A chair scraped back and Bailey’s footsteps echoed across the wood floor. Shane looked up, and raised his hand to his mouth, coughing to cover his laugh. The kid had put on his hat.

  “If you’re going to be here a few minutes, would you mind catching the phone if it rings?” Bailey asked. “Think I could use a cup of that slimy diner coffee myself.”

  “Sure. You go ahead. I’ll keep an eye on things.”

  The deputy left. All the better. Shane could do what he needed with Bailey here, but it was best if he wasn’t. Accessing people’s private information for personal reasons wasn’t strictly legal, but Shane had questions that needed answering.

  He didn’t know why Gigi’s reaction last night bothered him so much. He’d been rejected before. It wasn’t like he was any great prize. He was leaving town today, anyway. Even if he weren’t, it wasn’t like they had any future. It wasn’t like he was dreaming of blond-haired babies with wild blue eyes. Shane wasn’t family material. Never had been, he guessed.

  But Gigi had responded to him—hell she’d electrified and incited him—at least at first. Until she’d remembered what she was doing. Or who she was doing. A cop.

  He’d lain in bed after he’d left her, thinking about her. His nose had wrinkled, catching a scent eight years in the DEA had taught him never to ignore. He smelled trouble—a wispy tendril, like the first curl of smoke from kindling—but trouble nonetheless. He just wasn’t sure what kind.

  From here, thanks to the wonders of the Internet, he had access to every database available to law enforcement, as well as a few that weren’t supposed to be available to anyone, law enforcement or not, courtesy of many hours in the computer lab at Arizona State. He’d worked the night shift to put himself through school, and in those long stretches before dawn, he’d learned a great deal about computer systems that wasn’t in the textbooks. In half an hour, maybe less, he’d know everything there was to know about Gigi McCowan. Then he could head back to Phoenix.

  His fingers laced together, he cracked his knuckles and set to work. Sixty-five minutes later he sighed, rolled his head around his shoulders and admitted he’d been wrong.

  Hunched over the flickering screen, he pinched the bridge of his nose, then scanned the text again to be sure he’d read it right. “Well I’ll be damned.” He definitely wouldn’t be going back to Phoenix today.

  He didn’t know who the woman who’d spent last night in his cabin was, but he did know one thing—

  She wasn’t Gigi McCowan.

  Gigi took one last look around as she waited for John Lane to dig out his paperwork. Her pickup truck was still strapped to his wrecker in the drive.

  She spun slowly, her gaze skimming over the junkyard to the mountains beyond, trying to memorize everything from the piney smell of the mountain air to the calls of birds in the treetops. She had to memorize it, because soon memories would be all she had left of Utah.

  She took a deep breath and turned, hearing Mr. Lane walk up behind her.

  “You’re sure you want to do this? Trade your pickup for my old Jeep?” John Lane asked. “Damage on your truck doesn’t look too bad. I can have her good as new in a day or two, and it’s bound to be worth twice what my heap is worth.”

  She put on a false smile. She loved her old pickup. It was worn in all the right places. But she couldn’t afford to wait a day, much less two, for him to fix it. “I’ve been thinking I need something that eats a little less gas,” she said. “And after that ice storm last night, four-wheel drive sounds pretty good, too.”


  “All right then.” He handed her the keys and title.

  “You’ll be sure to take the rest of the veterinary supplies out of the back and give them to Mariah Morgan out at the Double M?” She’d already taken the few supplies she might find useful and boxed them up in the back of the Jeep. The remaining supplies weren’t much to offer Mariah in the way of goodbye, but they were all she had to give. Besides, it would be a shame to let them go to waste.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Nodding, she turned to survey her new vehicle.

  Once, the Jeep had probably been fire-engine red. Now it had faded to the color of weak tomato soup. But the motor sounded fine and it had a full tank of gas. It would do.

  The road blurred in front of her as she headed south, out of town. She tried not to think about never coming back here. She’d always known she would have to leave one day. She just hadn’t thought it would be in a run-down Jeep with nothing except her survival bag and the clothes—dirty clothes at that—on her back.

  She wished she could have risked stopping by the house, just for a minute. Besides her clothes, she’d like to have picked up the few prizes she’d gathered on her frequent mountain hikes—a pine cone as big as her forearm, a smooth, round stone with grain in it in the shape of a peace sign, and a walking stick. Not much to show for twenty-eight years of living, but it was all she had.

  Used to have. Even those few treasures were gone now. It was time to move on to a new life.

  Except she liked this life.

  Her eyes stinging, she pulled into a small rest stop fifteen miles outside of town. In the women’s room, she pinned her hair back and slipped on the wig from her emergency bag. Dark contacts came next, coloring her eyes from blue to brown. She studied her new image in the cracked mirror over the sink. Not bad for two minutes’ work. She didn’t look anything like herself.

  That random thought almost brought her tears back. She couldn’t help but feel she’d finally given up the last vestiges of her true self. There was nothing left of the person she used to be. But that couldn’t be helped.

  A new life was better than no life at all. Better than death.

  Squaring her shoulders, she slung her pack over her back and stepped out of the washroom.

  And stumbled into a broad male chest.

  Shane.

  He steadied her elbow, setting her back on her feet. Her hand brushed the fine, crisp hair of his forearm as she pulled away. The sensation shot up her arm like a jolt of static electricity.

  His head tipped a fraction, and she felt his gaze peruse her slowly, even if she couldn’t see it behind his reflective sunglasses. She burned under his scrutiny, from the tips of her ears to the ends of her curling toes.

  Shane.

  He straightened, his jaw set perfectly square, and stood with his hands behind his back, his feet shoulder width. He looked very tall. Very disciplined.

  Very cop.

  “This is a new look for you, Doc,” he said, reaching out to finger her shoulder-length fake hair. He let the wig go and folded his sunglasses into his shirt pocket.

  Being able to see his eyes heightened the effect of his gaze. She felt her face heat.

  “A girl gets tired of same ole–same ole.” The quaver in her voice didn’t sound too convincing, even to her. She swallowed hard. “Did you need—I mean, is there something I can do for you?”

  “You didn’t mention that you were leaving town today.”

  “No, well, yes…it was sudden. My aunt is…sick.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Thank you.” She jangled her keys in her hand. “I hate to run like this, but I really should get going.”

  Shane moved himself between her and the Jeep. “You know, all this time I thought you were avoiding me because you just didn’t like me.”

  Her heart leaped. “Of course not. I mean, I haven’t been avoiding you. And I—” Her mouth suddenly felt like she’d been lost in a desert for days. “I like you.”

  “Yeah, I figured that out last night when I kissed you. That’s what finally tipped me off.”

  “Tipped you off to what?”

  “That it’s not me you’re afraid of.” He thumbed his badge off his chest. “It’s this.”

  “No, it’s just—”

  “I know,” he said, the challenge in his words clear despite the dead calm in his voice.

  Her heart bucked. “Know what?”

  “That Gigi McCowan, D.V.M., is sixty-two years old and lives on the thirteenth hole of a nice retirement community in Ocala.”

  She’d thought her plan was perfect. The forger from whom she’d purchased her false identification in New York was reputed to be the best. The real Gigi McCowan, her mentor in vet school, had even gone along with the scam, providing authentic diplomas and transcripts so that she could apply for and receive a real veterinary license from the state of Utah. She didn’t see how anyone could have figured out she wasn’t the real thing.

  But then Shane Hightower wasn’t anyone.

  Knowing it was the wrong body language to send, but unable to stop herself, she crossed her arms over her chest. “There must be some mistake.”

  “No mistake. You lied to me. You’ve been lying to everyone. The town, your customers, your friends.”

  Her throat bobbed, grasping for words and finding none. She clenched her upper arms to stop her fingers from trembling. The lies that should come easily weren’t there anymore. In their place, she found only deep, cutting remorse.

  Shame.

  The tremor in her hand became a full-fledged quake. Her keys fell and clanked on the gravel. She bent to retrieve them.

  Without warning the Jeep’s driver’s side window exploded over her head. Before she knew what had happened, Shane tackled her and rolled along the ground, cradling her against him as tires squalled.

  Over Shane’s shoulder she glimpsed an arm holding a pistol out the window of a midnight-blue Mercedes—the same Mercedes that had run her off the road the night before.

  How had he found her? Had he been following her all morning, waiting for his chance to attack, or had Shane brought him?

  Fire flashed from the gun’s muzzle. He was shooting at them! But there hadn’t been any noise. No shots.

  She didn’t have time to decipher the meaning of that, as Shane tucked her head against his shoulder and rolled again, this time propelling her behind the bumper of the Jeep. With the vehicle as cover, he raised up and pulled a weapon from under his jacket in one fluid movement. Gigi sat up beside him, and he pushed on the top of her head with his free hand. “Get down.”

  She took his advice as another volley of bullets skittered across the hood of the Jeep. Still no gunshots. They must be using a silencer. But then, they were pros, she knew that.

  Shane returned fire. He certainly wasn’t using a silencer. The explosions from the muzzle of his gun pounded her eardrums. The Mercedes sped past the rest stop, and Shane grabbed her hand and pulled her into the Jeep, snagging the keys off the ground as he went.

  He shoved her into the driver’s seat, handing her the keys, and then climbed in the back. “Drive,” he shouted as the Mercedes did a one-eighty a few yards down the road.

  “Me?” She yelled, stabbing the keys into the ignition. “Why me?” He was the DEA agent; she was just a civilian. She wasn’t trained for this sort of thing.

  “Because I’m going to be busy shooting.” To prove his point, he leveled his weapon and squeezed off two rounds at the approaching Mercedes. A slug from the sedan clinked off the roll bar, convincing her that starting the Jeep’s engine was more critical than arguing at this point.

  The Jeep roared to life and she slammed it into reverse so hard that the lurch almost sent Shane flying into the front seat. He grabbed the roll bar for support. “Go! Go!”

  She blasted onto the roadway, turning the Jeep so that she faced the attacker head-on. She stomped on the gas, and this time Shane was nearly flung out the back o
f the Jeep. They flew by the Mercedes before either Shane or the other driver could regroup and get off another shot. The unwieldy luxury car squealed into another one-eighty, giving Gigi and Shane a few seconds’ lead.

  “That way. That way.” Shane waved with the gun in his hand to one of the county roads that wound down the mountain.

  Gigi complied, bringing the Jeep around in a screeching turn. In the rearview mirror, the sun gleamed off the polished hood of the sedan, too close behind them.

  Shane clambered into the front of the Jeep then turned around, kneeling backward in the passenger seat, his gun arm braced on the seat back as he squeezed off another shot at the sedan. “Faster!” he yelled. “He’s gaining on us.”

  The wind whipped through the Jeep’s open canopy. “Faster? We’re on a mountain. That’s a sheer cliff over there. If we skid over the side, we’re dead!”

  “And if that guy catches up to us in the open, we’re dead! Take your choice.”

  Holding her lip between her teeth, Gigi pushed the accelerator to the floor. Briefly, the Jeep pulled away from the Mercedes, but the car soon matched the Jeep’s speed, and then some.

  The driver behind her was firing again, but the bullets weren’t hitting the body of the Jeep. He was probably aiming at the tires. Gigi said a silent prayer that he didn’t hit them. Not with those cliffs so close to the side of the road.

  Pointing at a break in the trees, Shane said, “Turn there, up ahead. On that gravel road.”

  Gigi slammed on the brakes and swung the Jeep into the narrow opening. She swung her head from side to side, not liking what she saw. Walls of trees hemmed them in, pushed them forward. They were trapped. The trees encroached so closely on the road that they had no maneuverability.

  But neither did the car behind them. Even with its superior speed, the sedan couldn’t pull alongside for a clean shot.

  Shane checked the progress of the car behind them. “All right, scum. You wanna play, let’s play.”

  “Play?” Gigi adjusted her clammy grip on the steering wheel. “You think this is a game?”