Identity: Classified

by Liz Shoaf

  His body jerked, and he felt like an idiot. It was an unfamiliar emotion. He never even heard her approach. The woman was light on her feet. He flashed her a big smile when he turned. “Just being cordial, ma’am.”

  She cleaned up the poop, took the leash from his hand, scooped up her dog and placed him back inside the black leather satchel.

  “There’s a nice bed-and-breakfast down the street, if you plan on staying.” Ms. Bailey intrigued him, and for some strange reason, he wasn’t ready for her to move on if she was just passing through.

  Throwing a leg over the Harley, she showed all her teeth. Not exactly a smile. “I did my research, Sheriff, and it so happens I have a reservation at Mrs. Denton’s Bed-and-Breakfast. I’ll grab something to eat later.” Flicking the kickstand up with her left heel, she tugged the helmet onto her head. “And just so you won’t worry, I’m here on vacation, but if I like it, I might stay a few weeks.”

  Frowning as she revved the motorcycle’s engine, Ethan stood on the sidewalk and watched her travel two blocks and stop in front of Mrs. Denton’s place. He took note of the motorcycle’s New York tag.

  Jackson Hole was a tourist town, and he was used to seeing all types of people come and go, but Ms. Bailey was an entity of her own. Was she an eccentric, wealthy elite with too much time and money on her hands? Or was she running from something? The only lead he had was the moment of wariness he saw in her eyes. That wasn’t enough to suspect the woman of being up to no good, but his time spent as a high-ranking detective in Chicago had left its mark. He’d learned years ago to listen to his gut, and his gut was balled in a tight knot.

  He paused on the sidewalk as a beige sedan slowed in front of Mrs. Denton’s place and then picked up speed as it shot forward. It passed by him. Two large men sat in the front seats. They didn’t even glance at him as they passed, but he noticed the New York plate. He pulled his pad and pencil out of his shirt pocket and wrote down both the car and motorcycle’s tag numbers. Odds were the men were in Jackson Hole to hunt and fish, but it never hurt to check.

  Interesting thing when two New York vehicles showed up in Jackson Hole within thirty minutes of each other. It was a long way for anyone to drive.

  TWO

  Chloe quickly opened the front door to the bed-and-breakfast and slipped inside with Geordie at her heels. Spinning around, she stole a glance through one of the glass panes bordering the door. The thick, old glass was wavy, but clear enough for her to catch sight of a large beige sedan whizzing down the street. She squinted and caught the New York tag but couldn’t make out the number.

  Her dog nudged his nose against her leg. She scanned the rest of the neighborhood through the window. “The car’s from New York, Geordie. I felt eyes on us from the time we left Lucy’s Café. You think the killer’s hired toadies followed us from the city? I picked Jackson Hole because I don’t know anyone here and it’s clear across the country. I covered our tracks. Stan always claimed I was slippery as an eel.”

  While studying the surrounding area through the wavy glass, her thoughts were invaded by the sheriff’s expressive face. She didn’t want to admit—to herself, or her dog—that the good sheriff had shaken her up a bit. He was good-looking, no doubt about it. Well over six feet, dark hair cut short—not quite a military buzz cut, but close. He had sharp, intelligent green eyes. Chloe felt as if he saw deep inside her, past her facade, and was trying to dig up the grave of secrets she kept carefully hidden.

  “And why would you need to cover your tracks, young lady?” a sharp voice said from behind her.

  Reacting on pure adrenaline, in one smooth move, Chloe pulled the long, thin knife from her shirtsleeve and whipped around. The knife disappeared just as fast when she faced a little old lady who looked like a strong wind could knock her over.

  Covering herself with oozing Southern charm, Chloe moved toward whom she assumed to be Mrs. Denton, proprietor of the bed-and-breakfast. “I’m Samantha Bailey. I apologize if I startled you. I have a reservation.”

  The stooped gray-haired woman, decked out in jeans and a plaid shirt, gave her a calculating look and grinned. Chloe didn’t trust that grin. Not for one New York minute. No pun intended.

  “I don’t think so.”

  That didn’t make sense. Maybe the woman was senile.

  Chloe softened her tone. “I’m sorry. I’m not quite following you.”

  Her survival antennae went haywire. Chloe slid her hand behind her back and had grasped the doorknob, ready to flee, when Mrs. Denton gleefully dropped her bombshell.

  “From what I overheard you say, I doubt that’s your real name. Sounds like you’ll be a handful, but I’m up for the job.” The old lady’s chest puffed out. “I fought off two ruffians several months ago. They were after one of my guests.”

  Chloe grinned when the older woman whipped a pencil-thin Taser out of her jeans pocket.

  “Got one of the kids in town to order me this off the internet after that episode.”

  She admired the older woman’s spunk, but Chloe couldn’t stay here. Not if Mrs. Denton was suspicious of her name.

  This situation had created a big problem. She’d already introduced herself to the sheriff as Samantha Bailey, and there would be more questions than she wanted to answer if he found out she had lied.

  Just as her hand twisted the doorknob behind her, the door was jerked open from outside. Chloe spun around to face the threat, knife back in hand. With one eye on her knife and the other on Geordie, Sheriff Hoyt stopped on the threshold of the door. In the blink of an eye, Chloe slipped the knife back up her shirtsleeve, but Hoyt’s sharp eyes hadn’t missed a thing.

  Mrs. Denton nudged Chloe aside and approached the law and order of Jackson Hole.

  “Sheriff Hoyt, so good of you to call.” She took him by the elbow and guided him inside.

  Chloe girded herself. Her past was about the catch up with her. If Sheriff Hoyt discovered she had lied about her name, with his resources he’d discover her real name and try to find out about her past, which would raise more questions than she was willing to answer.

  It took a moment before Mrs. Denton’s words halted Chloe’s urge to flee. She had no doubt that she could get away from the sheriff. Chloe took pride in her high success rate of escaping problematic situations.

  “I was just welcoming Miss Bailey. Why don’t we move to the kitchen and have a nice cup of coffee?”

  Chloe released her breath. Mrs. Denton hadn’t shared her suspicions.

  The sheriff sighed and moved forward. It would have been rude not to with Mrs. Denton’s death grip on his arm. Chloe was wondering just how feeble Mrs. Denton really was when the older woman looked over her shoulder and sent her a saucy wink.

  Did she dare trust this elderly woman to keep her suspicions to herself?

  After the tragic death of her parents when she was young, Chloe had only trusted four people in her life: Stan and Betty, of course. Then there was Sarah Rutledge. She ran the orphanage. Neither of her parents had had any living relatives, so they’d made a contingency plan for Chloe to go to the orphanage should anything happen to them. They had wanted to avoid the foster care system. And then there was Uncle Henry. He wasn’t a blood relative, but he’d worked for Stan at the FBI for years before retiring and insisted Chloe call him “uncle.”

  If the sheriff Googled or ran a search on her real name, any computer hacker would be able to track her down and her life wouldn’t be worth dirt because the killer would know where she was. The way she figured it, if he couldn’t find her or get in touch with her, she’d have time to find the disc he wanted and hopefully keep everyone she loved safe.

  Sheriff Hoyt and Mrs. Denton disappeared around the corner. If she wanted to vanish, this was her chance. The place between her shoulder blades itched—a warning system that never failed her—and she glanced through the wavy glass just as the sedan she’
d spotted earlier rolled slowly back down the street.

  She whipped around and leaned against the heavy wooden door. How had they found her? She was very, very good at covering her tracks. And then it hit her. The killer’s minions had likely planted a tracking device somewhere on her bike.

  She calculated her options and narrowed them to one. She’d have to make nice with the sheriff and trust Mrs. Denton long enough to check her mode of transportation for tracking devices. Moving toward the kitchen, she made her plans. She’d wait until everyone was asleep, check her Harley and leave. She’d hit the bank before getting out of New York, so cash wasn’t a problem for the time being.

  “Come on, Geordie, do your sweet dog thing and let’s go charm the sheriff.”

  * * *

  When Samantha Bailey didn’t immediately follow them into the kitchen, Ethan had to force himself not to peel Mrs. Denton’s fingers off his sleeve. For being so elderly, the woman had a strong grip. He relaxed when Samantha and her dog sauntered into the warm, inviting kitchen, but his suspicions were resurrected when the menacing little dog padded up to him and licked his hand, all sweet and charming.

  “I keep coffee made for any guests who might wander in, so ya’ll take a seat and we’ll have us a nice chat.”

  Ethan sat at the oak table that had been there as long as he could remember, leaned his chair back on two legs and grinned. He wondered how Miss Biker Babe—he now knew she was a “Miss” thanks to Mrs. Denton—from New York would handle Mrs. Denton’s sweet, Midwestern etiquette.

  Sam—the shortened name seemed more fitting for such a feisty woman—grinned and pulled out a chair. “Why, thank you, Mrs. Denton, that’s very gracious of you. Can I help you do anything?”

  Surprise had him leaning forward and the front two legs of his chair slammed to the floor. A drawn-out, Southern accent flowed naturally off her tongue. The woman was an enigma. Mrs. Denton snorted a laugh when she turned and caught his surprise. “I’ve got it, but thanks for the offer.”

  The dog heaved a satisfied sigh and lay—docile as a lamb—at Sam’s feet.

  Three coffee mugs, along with a plate of cookies, were placed on the table. Mrs. Denton released an elderly-like sigh of relief when she sat down.

  Ethan grabbed a warm chocolate chip cookie and closed his eyes at the first taste of bliss. He’d been enjoying her baking ever since he was a young boy.

  “Wow!”

  His eyes popped open and he caught Sam stuffing the second half of a cookie into her mouth. She nodded at Mrs. Denton. “You ever think of selling these?”

  The older lady grinned. “Matter of fact, I have, but I don’t know how to go about it. I don’t know a thing about those newfangled computers, and everyone says you have to get one of those websites to sell anything these days.”

  Sam leaned forward, an excited light in her eyes. “It’s easy. All you have to do is set up a snazzy website and make sure you tag onto any other sites that will promote your cookies.”

  She sent a nervous glance toward Ethan, sat back and lifted her mug to her lips. After taking a sip, she carefully placed it on the table. “There are people you can hire to set that up for you.”

  Mrs. Denton turned to Sam and deftly changed the subject. “So you’re here to see the sights?”

  Was that a slight relaxation in Sam’s posture, or was it Ethan’s imagination?

  “That’s right. Geordie and I decided to take a vacation.”

  Mrs. Denton got a look in her eye that Ethan had seen before, but she opened her mouth before he could stop her.

  “Well, Sheriff Hoyt could show you around Jackson Hole. He grew up here before he moved to Chicago and became a hotshot detective. He’s a widower, you know, married a sweet girl and came back here to raise his family, but Sherri died of cancer, leaving the poor man with a young daughter to raise.”

  Ethan froze in his chair as memories of his deceased wife rose to the surface and threatened to choke him. Some were good, a few weren’t, and he took full responsibility for Sherri’s unhappiness at the end of her life.

  He didn’t want to look at Sam—see the pity in her eyes—but he lifted his chin. What he saw surprised him. A unique understanding, as if she’d experienced something similar, but not an ounce of pity.

  “Life’s tough that way sometimes.” That was all she said, and it felt just right.

  He cleared his throat. “Yes, it is. How about you, Sam, you ever been married?” Time to start his fishing expedition because his gut was screaming that this woman had secrets.

  Mrs. Denton piped up, “Sheriff, don’t be rude to my guest.”

  His gaze slid back to Sam and he waited.

  One black eyebrow arched. “Not that it’s any of your business, Sheriff, but it’s just Geordie and me.”

  So the woman had perfected the art of evading a question. He decided to hit hard. “And what reason would a lady like yourself have for carrying a knife up the sleeve of her shirt?”

  Mrs. Denton gasped, but Sam held up a hand. “It’s okay, I’m happy to answer his question.”

  Mrs. Denton looked as interested in the answer as he did, even though she made the proper noises about him interrogating her guest.

  “Let’s just say I’ve been in several places that weren’t very safe. Don’t you think it’s a good idea for a woman to be able to take care of herself?”

  Ethan couldn’t help but compare Sam to his late wife. Sherri had been born and raised in Chicago—a place full of crime—but somehow she had managed to hang on to her innocence. His wife had been soft and trusting. In comparison, Sam was wary and prickly as a porcupine. The woman had street smarts, which made him only more curious.

  The front door slammed open and closed. In one fluid movement, Sam jumped to her feet, pulled a small gun from inside her leather jacket and pressed her back to the wall next to the open threshold leading to the kitchen. He was simultaneously shocked and impressed at her fast reaction, but when his daughter came running past Sam, his surprise turned to fear.

  Penny saw him first and flew into his lap, wrapping her precious arms around his neck, preventing him from reaching for his weapon. He kept his eyes glued to the new woman in town, and, in a flash, Sam tucked away her weapon and seated herself back at the table. He started breathing again.

  “Daddy, you’ll never believe what happened at school today. Tommy Milton put a gross frog in my desk and I told him you’d put him in jail. He said a person couldn’t go to jail for that, but that’s not true, is it? ’Cause he deserves to be punished.”

  Ethan stared at his six-year-old blond-haired blue-eyed precious daughter and wondered yet again why he’d been so blessed to have this child. She was the spitting image of her mother and the reason he got out of bed each morning.

  He didn’t have a chance to respond because Penny squealed and wiggled out of his lap when she spotted the sweet-vicious dog. She got away from him and was on the floor with the animal before he had a chance to stop her. He held his breath, waiting to see if the beast would take a chunk out of his daughter, until a chuckle came from across the table.

  He frowned at Sam.

  “Don’t worry. He won’t hurt her. Geordie loves kids.”

  A knife, a gun, an attack poodle and a Harley. Ethan wasn’t happy with the new visitor in town, but he couldn’t question her in front of his daughter.

  “Penny, how did you know I was here?”

  Big, innocent blue eyes swung his way. “Daddy, I asked the bus driver to let me off at the station. Mrs. Armstrong told me you were here.”

  Mrs. Denton interrupted before he could reprimand his daughter for ditching her after-school babysitter.

  “Have a cookie, Penny. They’re fresh out of the oven.”

  His daughter scurried around the table, grabbed a cookie and stared at Sam.

  “Who are you and is tha
t your dog?”

  Ethan took a small amount of satisfaction in Sam’s discomfort as she stared at his daughter as if she’d never seen a child before.

  “Um, my name is Samantha Bailey, and Geordie belongs to me.”

  “What kind of a dog is he? Can I come play with him tomorrow after school?”

  Time to put a lid on his daughter’s natural curiosity and find out more about Sam before Penny spent any future time with her.

  “Penny, thank Mrs. Denton for the cookie. We should get you back to the sitter. She’ll be worried sick when you don’t get off the school bus at her house.”

  Penny focused adorable, pleading eyes on him. “You’re not mad, are you, Daddy? I just couldn’t wait to see you after school.”

  As always, his heart melted. “No, sweetie, I’m not mad. We’ll talk about this when we get home.”

  Sam mumbled something under her breath. He gave her a sharp look. Did she just say what he thought she said?

  “What was that?”

  Her lips curved up at the corners, and her words came out sweet and syrupy. “I said one of my dogs would never get away with what your daughter just did.”

  That raised his hackles. Nobody criticized his daughter but him. “And what did my daughter just do?”

  Sam gave Penny an apologetic glance. “Sorry, kid, but I know all the tricks.” She looked back at Ethan. “Let’s just say I train dogs on the side, and I know all about handling. We’ll leave it at that.”

  Ethan was about to explode until he saw Penny’s eyes narrow on Sam. Time to go. He’d seen that look before and it usually preceded an unsettling argument.

  Maybe he had been too lenient, but Penny had lost her mother so young, and his daughter’s tears just tore him up.

  He rose and took Penny by the hand. “Thanks for the cookies, Mrs. Denton.” He also acknowledged Sam. “I hope you enjoy your vacation.”

  He pulled Penny away from the dog and breathed a sigh of relief when they were outside. His daughter walked quietly beside him on their way back to the station. He tightened his hand on hers when he thought about Sam and the beige sedan and wondered if trouble had followed Miss Biker Babe to Jackson Hole.