Luck Be Delanie

by Shelli Stevens

  Chapter 1

  Six months later…

  Bridget stared at the piece of paper in her hands, her eyes no longer focusing on the words she’d committed to memory months ago. Sighing heavily, she glanced out the window at the picturesque, snow-capped mountains in the distance. Sometimes she still found it hard to believe how much her life had changed in such a short span of time. This time a year ago, she was typing up local interest pieces in a four-by-four cubicle at the Reporter’s offices. Her only view back then was of a computer screen. To add some life to the dull cubicle, she had a calendar thumbtacked to the wall with scenes similar to the real-life one she was staring at now. In New York, she pretended like the calendar was her window with a view.

  With one pull of a trigger, her life had altered overnight.

  “The words in that letter aren’t going to change no matter how many times you read them.”

  She grinned, glancing over her shoulder at Rodney. “You say that every time I pull it out.”

  “Maybe that’s because you’re looking at it every five minutes like you’re going to see something different. Not sure what you’re hoping to find.” Rodney claimed the comfy armchair opposite hers, stretching his feet out and crossing them at the ankles.

  Rodney Jackson had been assigned to protect her after the arrest of Judge Thompson. The murderer hadn’t spent a single night in jail for his crime, making bail almost immediately. Apparently judges—crooked or clean—looked out for each other.

  “There has to be something we’re missing.”

  Rodney looked around at the small sitting room of the bed and breakfast where they were currently hiding out. “You can say that again. Seems to me we’ve hit a dead end.”

  She shook her head. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—accept that. “No, Lyle’s put all the pieces here. We just have to figure them out.”

  Apparently Lyle had stopped by her apartment prior to his appearance at the warehouse. He’d slid a coded letter under her door that she’d discovered when she returned home that night.

  At first, she hadn’t had time to acknowledge or even attempt to crack the code contained in the message. She’d been instructed to quickly pack a suitcase, and then she’d been placed in the very capable hands of Rodney, who had become her protector, guardian angel and best friend.

  Rodney rested his head against the cushioned back of the chair and sighed loudly. “I don’t know, Bridge. It’s not looking good.”

  Guilt pricked at the edges of her conscience. The dear cop had put his life and career on the line for her. She hated feeling like she’d failed yet another friend.

  “We’re in the right place, Rodney. I know it. We just have to figure out the rest of the puzzle, and we’ll have all the evidence we need to take down a hell of a lot more criminals than just Judge Thompson.” Lyle had given up his life to see not only the judge brought to justice, but the judge’s entire network as well.

  She sighed. He had also died for her. He’d brought the evidence to her instead of a more seasoned reporter because he wanted to help her get a promotion, a break in her career. Bridget intended to see that his sacrifice wasn’t wasted. She’d find the evidence, see the bad guys put behind bars, and then she’d take New York by storm. She’d become the greatest reporter ever and write a front-page article telling the world what Lyle had done.

  She looked at the letter again. The paper had lost its crispness due to her constant handling. It was now soft as thin cotton and just as flimsy. Lyle’s damn love of mysteries and puzzles was currently driving her insane. He’d clearly coded his message in a way—he’d thought—only she would be able to solve. Unfortunately, he’d been too clever for her.

  He’d penned the letter as a memory—one they didn’t share. To anyone reading the message, they’d think it a short, funny story about a drunken night in college. Bridget knew better. Lyle had mentioned there were copies of the flash drive the judge had taken from him. Copies that held the information he’d uncovered regarding the judge’s illegal affairs. When she thought back to the night he was killed, she was certain Lyle had said that one statement louder than everything else. Actually, she had proof that was true, because it was one of the few things her minirecorder had picked up in the warehouse. She knew to the very depths of her soul that Lyle’s letter would lead her to those copied files.

  After several months of traveling from safe house to safe house—and she used that term lightly—she’d managed to convince Rodney they should pursue the clues left in the letter rather than sit idly by, awaiting the beginning of the trial.

  When it became apparent someone inside the New York police department was selling out their whereabouts to the judge and his accomplice, they’d decided to go it alone. Rodney had taken to calling her kitten, claiming she had the nine lives of a cat. Bridget was pretty sure she’d already used up at least eight of them. There was no way she could face the open end of a gun again and survive.

  “I must’ve lost my mind, letting you talk me into coming here.”

  She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Don’t talk like that. We’re so close. We have to be.”

  “Christ, Bridget. We’re no closer to finding those files now than we were when we were still in Oklahoma.”

  “The code indicated Saratoga. You discovered that piece of the puzzle yourself.” She held out the paper and pointed to the first line in the letter. It simply said,

  Bridget,

  Remember in college when Sara got totally trashed at the toga party?

  It was Rodney who had shared the fact that some codes were based on numbers. By counting every sixth word, they came up with Saratoga. Bridget recalled Lyle saying one time that he was born in Wyoming. When Rodney had said the word Saratoga, something clicked with her. Unfortunately, his every sixth word theory had run dry after that sentence. The code of six didn’t appear to work for the rest of the missive.

  “And here we sit in the middle of Bumfuck, Wyoming, with a crooked judge’s hit man hot on our heels with no backup and no disk or flash drive or whatever the fuck it is we’re supposed to be looking for.”

  “The copy the judge took off Lyle the night he was killed was a flash drive. I bet that’s what we’re looking for.”

  Rodney shook his head. “Regardless of what the information is stored on, we still don’t know where it is. I need to call in, tell my chief where we are. As it is, I’m pretty sure he’s ready to fire my ass the minute I show myself.”

  Twice, a hit man had shown up at the safe house where they were hidden, and twice, Rodney had managed to smuggle her to safety. Following the last failed attempt on her life, they’d holed up in an abandoned apartment building outside Oklahoma City for three days while trying to figure out their next move. When Bridget had shown him Lyle’s letter and laid out her reasons for wanting to break the code and find the information, Rodney agreed to help her. They’d gone rogue, unable to trust anyone in Rodney’s department.

  “Rodney, the damage is done. We can’t undo the fact that we’ve cut ties from them. You knew when we took this route your job was in danger. Don’t cave now. Not when we’re so close. I guarantee if you go back to New York with the information to bring down so many criminals, there’s no way your chief will fire you. Hell, you’ll probably be hailed as a hero and given the key to the whole freaking city. They might even throw you a parade.”

  Rodney chuckled. “Christ. You could talk a billionaire into giving up all his money. Never met such a persuasive woman.”

  She grinned. “Not persuasive. That makes me sound like some crooked politician. I prefer the word determined. What we’re doing is right, Rodney. You know it is or you never would have gone along with this plan in the first place. It’s too late for cold feet.”

  “And what happens if the hit man shows up here? This isn’t like the last two places. They were secluded with preplanned escape routes. We’re sitting ducks here. And the worst part is I can’t ensure the safety of the othe
r guests in this bed and breakfast. The owners are nice guys. I’d hate to put them in danger.”

  Rodney had a very good point. They’d come to Saratoga with no plan other than to find the flash drive. Rodney had been in a hurry to get them off the road and to find them a place to stay, so he’d opted for this secluded B&B away from the town rather than the hotel on the main thoroughfare. Even though it was peaceful and off the beaten track, they’d been on their own for too many months, and it was hard not to feel exposed in the relatively full B&B. Just their luck, they’d chosen Valentine’s weekend to go it alone. They were surrounded by lovers on romantic getaways.

  “We’ll just have to be on our guard.”

  Rodney raised an eyebrow. “And how will that be different from any other day these past six months?”

  She laughed. “Why don’t you see if the owners will let you use their computer? Maybe you can find a secluded cabin somewhere around here that we can rent for cheap.”

  “Cheap being the operative term.”

  They’d cleaned out both of their bank accounts just before hopping on a bus from Oklahoma to Wyoming. Without the protection of the police department, money was going to be tight. Neither of them dared to use their credit cards.

  Rodney rose. “I’d rather walk the perimeter of the property again. Try to map out some sort of plan in case the bad guys show up. Why don’t you do the cabin research?”

  “You mean I can leave the room?” She’d expected Rodney to keep her under lock and key in the tiny room, and while she wouldn’t complain, she didn’t relish the boredom that would ensue.

  “Well…” he hedged.

  She stood quickly before he could change his mind. “This sounds like a good plan. It will be too suspicious if I stay in this room. Better if we act normal.” She gave Rodney a quick kiss on his cheek. With his short black hair and light brown skin, he was the poster child for biracial beauty. Handsome as sin with a body to die for, he was also completely, one hundred percent out of the closet.

  Another loss for our side, Bridget thought when Rodney added a strong hug to her kiss. Rodney had confided one evening several months ago that his sexual preferences had come to light shortly before her unfortunate evening in the warehouse. Some of the fellow officers in Rodney’s precinct had revealed their true colors as homophobes and roughed him up one night after his shift ended. The asshole officers had been suspended, but the chief had thought it best to put some time and distance between all parties. As a result, Rodney had been assigned “babysitting duty”, as he called it. Their first few weeks together had been strained to say the least as Rodney harbored some serious anger over the assignment and Bridget wallowed in grief and guilt over her part in Lyle’s death.

  The night after the first attempt on her life, they’d started talking rather than avoiding each other. Eventually Bridget’s grief lessened and Rodney’s anger abated. Since then, there wasn’t a thought either of them had that wasn’t shared.

  “Just don’t leave the house, kitten,” he cautioned.

  “I won’t.”

  “And try not to engage in conversation with anyone. Don’t establish eye contact or let anyone see you.”

  She barely caught herself before she rolled her eyes. “That might be tough when I ask to use a computer.”

  Rodney shook his head. “This is a mistake. Maybe it would be best if you didn’t leave this room.”

  She grinned at his overprotective nature. “I won’t go farther than the sitting room downstairs. I’m researching cabins, remember? Finding us somewhere else to stay. I’ll be in and out so quickly no one will remember I was even there.”

  He sighed. “Don’t go on any personal accounts. No checking email or IMs or—”

  She held up a hand to silence him. “Preaching to the choir, Officer. Believe me, I know the drill by now.”

  He reached up and ruffled her hair before turning and heading out the door. Before he crossed the threshold, he issued the same warning he’d been giving her for months. “Be careful, Bridge.”

  Walking to the dresser, she straightened the hair Rodney had mussed up. Studying her reflection, she realized that, for the first time in a long time, she looked more like her true self. She wondered at the transformation.

  For months following Lyle’s murder, she’d worn dark circles and a haunted expression. She’d been a stranger even to herself, jumping at every sound, trembling every time the lights went out. Her mother used to despair about her habit of rushing into danger headfirst without a care to the consequences. In the course of ten minutes, that rashness, that faux bravery had been wiped out. It had taken her a long time to get used to the new, far-too-cautious woman she’d become.

  The self-assured gleam in her dark brown eyes was gone, replaced instead by wariness. That look no longer seemed strange.

  This is the new normal.

  Picking up a hair band, she pulled her dark blonde hair into a ponytail. It had grown quite long since she’d left New York.

  “That’s what happens when you lead a life on the run. No time for the hairdresser,” she murmured. Maybe she’d look up hair salons in town while she was searching for a secluded cabin to rent.

  That thought was dismissed almost immediately. Money was too tight. She and Rodney had spent nearly two hours last night trying to figure out how long they could exist on their own before they ran out of funds. There were three weeks left before the judge’s trial began. They had enough money for perhaps two, if they were thrifty.

  Bridget released a long breath and dismissed that worry from her mind. She and Rodney had adopted the “one day at a time” motto the second they left Oklahoma. For today, she had a roof over her head and enough money in her pocket for food. She also felt safe for the first time in months. After the attack on their first safe house, Bridget hadn’t had a peaceful moment, constantly looking over her shoulder. She wasn’t sure what was so different now, but she knew—to the depth of her soul—that she and Rodney were in a good place. No one in the world knew where they were or how to find them. It felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders for a little while. She intended to enjoy the respite.

  Walking into the hallway, she locked the door to her room and descended the wide staircase. Glancing in several of the B&B’s common rooms for Todd or Steven, the hotel proprietors, Bridget took a few minutes to study the beautifully restored old home. When they’d arrived yesterday afternoon, Rodney had hustled her to their room immediately, sequestering her there while he checked out the property and secured food for their dinner. It felt good to be free.

  She was about to cross the foyer to check the other side of the house when the front door opened. Her new habit of hide first, ask questions later emerged and she panicked, trying to dodge back the way she’d come. In her haste to escape, her foot caught on the edge of the Oriental rug, and she took a hard tumble.

  Four boot-covered feet appeared before her. She felt strong hands on either side reaching down to help her up.

  “Sorry,” she said, keeping her head down. It was foolish to think anyone in this small, middle-of-nowhere town would know who she was, but Rodney had taught her well in the art of making herself as invisible as possible. She fought to suppress her trembling hands. Her heart was racing a mile a minute. God, why did she have to be frightened of her own shadow? She hated living like this, feeling this way.

  “You okay, miss?”

  All of Rodney’s tutoring went out the window as her nipples pebbled and a slight shiver of arousal wove its way through her body. She lifted her face to see the owner of that deep, sexy-as-hell voice. Identical faces etched with concern greeted her.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound emerged. Standing before her were twin Greek gods, kings of the western frontier, complete with rugged, dimpled cheeks, blue eyes that—honest to God—twinkled, and shaggy, made-for-running-her-fingers-through dark brown hair only partially concealed by cowboy hats.

  If she’d
lived a hundred years ago, she would have felt compelled to fucking swoon. Instead, her twenty-first-century sensibilities took over and she simply muttered, “Holy double wow.”

  Both men grinned widely at her ridiculous comment. “I take it that means you’re not hurt, darlin’.”

  Her pussy clenched at his term of endearment. Could there be anything hotter than a gorgeous cowboy calling her darlin’ with that slight country twang? Briefly she imagined him—hell, who was she fooling, them—whispering it to her while they lay together naked in bed.

  She cleared her throat and forced herself to stop staring—and drooling—like a love-struck teenage girl. “I’m fine. Clumsy and embarrassed, but otherwise unscathed.”

  The hot cowboy on her left chuckled. “Unscathed, huh? Pretty talk. Where are you from?”

  “New York,” she confided before her brain engaged to scream a warning. Jesus. Rodney should have locked her in the room. She was going to blow their cover in under thirty seconds, and all because of a couple good-looking men. Stupidity due to horniness was not something her cop friend would forgive easily.

  “City girl,” the other cowboy said, though his tone indicated interest more than disdain.

  She nodded, determined to keep her mouth shut before any more little tidbits—like the fact she was hiding out from a corrupt judge—fell from her desperate-to-taste-the-cowboys lips.

  “I take it you’re one of the guests staying here?” her hot cowboy number one asked.

  She paused, decided the question was harmless and nodded once more.

  “So what brings a city girl to our neck of the woods?” This question was posed by hot cowboy number two.

  She and Rodney had sketched out a rough explanation for their visit with the intention of refining it this morning. Now, it appeared she would have to fly by the seat of her pants. “I’m here with my half-brother.” Shit, five words in and she was already straying from the script. She and Rodney had agreed to pose as a couple, but for some reason, she didn’t want these two men to think she was in a relationship.