Identity: Classified

by Liz Shoaf

  THREE

  It was after midnight, and Geordie’s eyes followed Chloe as she dumped everything she had brought with her onto the bed. She checked every piece of clothing, searched every item of her toiletries and went through Geordie’s supplies, but found no tracking devices. Not that she expected to. She would have known if someone had broken into her apartment. She had very good security, but she checked all her stuff anyway, just to be on the safe side. Throwing on her jacket, her dog followed her as she went outside and scoured her bike from front to back.

  No tracking devices anywhere.

  She reached down and scratched Geordie behind the ears. He grunted and she grinned.

  “Whatcha think? Should we move on to safer pastures, or stay here and find out who those two men in the beige sedan are? It could be they’re harmless. Just two men on vacation.”

  Her dog grunted.

  “Yeah, I don’t think so, either. As Stan always says, there are few coincidences in life. Well, there’s only one way to find out. Let’s get you back inside and I’ll pay our New York friends a little middle-of-the-night visit and see what’s what. Maybe they know something about the disc.”

  Geordie knew the drill, and after he settled in, Chloe took off on foot. The air had a bite when she stepped back outside, warning that winter wasn’t far behind. Pulling her leather collar up, she started walking. From her online search of Jackson Hole, there were only a few motels in town besides the bed-and-breakfast. Several blocks away, she circled the first one, but there was no beige sedan. The car was parked right in front of room number 126 at the second motel.

  Avoiding the security lights, Chloe stayed in the shadows and ducked to one side of the car. Rising, she peered through the windows, but there was nothing on the seats, front or back. In a crouched position, she ran to the door, then checked the room’s single window. No light from a television or computer screen seeped past the edges of the curtains.

  Hopefully, they were fast asleep. Taking a deep breath, she pulled a set of lock picks from the pocket of her leather pants and stood there, staring at them for the longest time. She thought of the people who would be disappointed if she broke the law. Stan, Sarah Rutledge and Uncle Henry. She’d walked on the straight and narrow ever since those harrowing teenage years, and she realized she couldn’t do it.

  So she wouldn’t be tempted to change her mind, she tucked the tools away and hurried toward the sidewalk fronting the motel. Turning right toward the bed-and-breakfast, she slipped the knife from her sleeve and into her right hand as a large body moved silently from the woods hugging the sidewalk.

  She stopped when she recognized the sheriff and flipped the weapon in the air before shoving it back up her sleeve. She disliked being caught off guard, surprised he’d slipped up on her. That’s what she got for disregarding her own instinct for survival and not paying attention while agonizing over doing the right thing. Had he been in the woods the whole time? Had he seen her standing in front of room 126?

  He stood close, his legs spread in an intimidating manner, but she refused to back away. That would reek of weakness. Best to go on the defensive. She looked up—way up—and moved even closer. She’d learned that nifty move while working with dogs. Always move forward and the dog would move back. It put the human in the pack leader position. Only problem was, Sheriff Hoyt didn’t react like her furry friends. He stood firm, as if he was at the top of the pecking order.

  She rocked back on her heels and went for the casual approach. “Nice evening for a stroll, Sheriff.”

  He glanced at the motel, specifically toward room 126, before refocusing his attention on her. His big grin threw her off balance.

  “It certainly is. How about I walk you back to your room? Jackson Hole is a relatively safe town, but we do get quite a few out-of-towners.”

  The night’s excursion was shot anyway. Playing it cool was her best option.

  “Fine by me.”

  In her peripheral vision, Chloe spied movement near the sedan sitting in front of room 126, but she kept her attention on the sheriff. Had the two men slipped out of their room while she wasn’t looking? So as not to arouse suspicion, she turned and started walking. Sheriff Hoyt fell into step beside her. The fine hair at the nape of her neck prickled, and it wasn’t because of the man walking next to her. She needed to shake off the sheriff and find out if the two men had left their room. She could double back and surprise them without breaking into their quarters. Nothing illegal in having a nice, friendly chat.

  She aimed an arrow straight at his heart. “So who’s keeping an eye on Penny while you’re patrolling the streets?” She kept her tone friendly, but increased her pace. She’d duck inside the bed-and-breakfast, then slip out the back and hoof it back to the motel. She had to know if they were following her.

  He didn’t answer, and she stopped scanning their surroundings to look at him. She didn’t care for the intent expression on his face and stopped in her tracks.

  “What?”

  He shook his head. “I can almost see your mind clicking a mile a minute.” He faced her, and those emerald eyes bored into hers. Oh, yeah, the sheriff was definitely good at his chosen profession. “Miss Bailey, if you have a problem of some sort, I’m happy to help. You can trust me, you know.”

  She might be only twenty-five years old, but she’d had a lifetime of experience. There were only four people she had ever dared to trust. The sheriff appeared to be squeaky clean, but so did a lot of other people. People who were just better at hiding their dark sides.

  She’d learned early on she had to look after number one. Even God hadn’t been able to save her parents.

  “I appreciate that, Sheriff, but I don’t have any problems other than getting back to Mrs. Denton’s. Geordie could probably use the bathroom about now.”

  She snapped her mouth shut, knowing she’d messed up before he even said anything.

  “Please, call me Ethan. I have to ask myself why you didn’t bring that cute little dog of yours along with you for your evening stroll.”

  Time to get rid of the sheriff. She had to make tracks back to the motel. “Sheriff Hoyt—Ethan—I appreciate the company, but rest assured, I have nothing to hide.” And wasn’t that the biggest whopper she’d ever told? “Tell Penny I said hello and I’ll see you around town.” But not if she could help it. Ethan Hoyt had good instincts, probably sharpened by his time spent as a detective in Chicago, but from the time she was sixteen, Chloe had been hanging around a gang of FBI agents. She could outwit him any day. Stan always grumbled that she had too much confidence, and one day it would land her in a boatload of trouble.

  As she turned to leave, a bullet whizzed by close enough to slice the skin on her ear. It pinged into a car parked on the street behind her. Her survival instinct kicked in. She pivoted around and plowed into Sheriff Hoyt, throwing both on them onto the sidewalk, hopefully out of the line of fire. Her mind went into overdrive. They were out in the open, and whoever shot at her could easily have taken her out. Was it a warning shot, letting her know they were watching?

  * * *

  A big oomph shoved the breath from Ethan’s lungs as Samantha Bailey pushed him to the ground and landed on top of him. Before he could catch his breath, she slid off his body and started belly-crawling toward a parked car on the street. Glancing over her shoulder, she hissed, “Get a move on. Someone just shot at us.”

  Stunned, impressed and somewhat put out by Miss Bailey’s quick reflexes, he flipped himself over and followed her. He crouched beside her as she peered around the front end of the vehicle. Where had she learned moves like the one she’d performed after the gunshot?

  She twisted her head around and he spotted a thin line of blood trickling from her earlobe. His body tensed, and he pulled his gun from his shoulder holster. “You’re bleeding. Are you okay?”

  She grinned and her dimples flashed. �
��I’m fine. They just nicked my ear.” The grin disappeared. Her lips firmed, and the gold ring around her brown pupils burst into a brilliant golden fire. “But they’ll wish they hadn’t before this is over.”

  He briefly wondered about Miss Bailey’s life. Most of the women he knew would be close to hysteria after being shot at, but that was something he could think about later. Right now, he had to protect her, whether she thought she needed it or not.

  “Move back. I need to get to the front of the car to see what’s going on.”

  She hesitated a second, then shrugged her shoulders and scooted behind him. Ethan took a quick peek around the hood of the car but didn’t see anything. Gun in hand, he dropped back behind the safety of the vehicle and leaned against the front fender.

  “Did you see or hear anything, Sam?” He winced when she took a swipe at her ear with her coat sleeve, but the blood kept seeping out.

  She squinted down the lane, lit only by streetlamps, then gave him a saucy grin. “We’ve been shot at together, so I guess we’re friends now.”

  Her degree of calmness after getting shot at bothered him, but they were out in the open. Now wasn’t the time to delve into Sam’s life.

  “Fine, we’re friends now. Did you see or hear anything before the shot?”

  He could almost see her mind sifting through different answers. It was a yes or no question. The woman was wily as a cat. His temper got the best of him. “It’s a simple question. You shouldn’t have to think it to death.”

  Her chin shot up and she wore a mulish expression. “Fine. Right before we walked away from the motel, I saw a shadow moving around the car in front of room 126.”

  “And you didn’t see fit to tell me?” His voice echoed incredulous anger.

  Her gaze shifted away. “I’m used to handling my own problems.” She thrust her sweetly pointed chin forward. He had to bite back a grin. In some ways, Sam reminded him of Penny with her stubbornness.

  “I’m sure you are, but I’m the sheriff and we’ll do this my way. By now the shooter could have circled around us. We need to move.”

  Her eyes shifted toward the motel before they settled back on him. “I’m sure the shooter is long gone, but if you want to accompany me back to the bed-and-breakfast, I’d appreciate it.”

  He wasn’t a fool. He knew exactly what the clever woman planned. “And after I drop you off, you’re going to sneak out and come right back to the motel.”

  Her eyes widened and she dipped her chin. Jackpot!

  “Admit it,” he said.

  “Seems to me you already know everything, Sheriff.”

  She smiled, but he didn’t trust the sassy upturn of her lips. He might as well let her tag along while he checked out room 126. Maybe it would keep her safe and out of trouble. Later the two of them would have a nice long talk. He wanted to know what she was doing standing outside the room of two men from New York so late at night.

  He heaved a heavy sigh. “I know you have a knife and a gun. I want to see the permit later, but for now, stay behind me and do exactly as I say, or I’ll take you to Mrs. Denton’s and lock you in your room while I check this out.”

  She flashed him a full-wattage smile, and her dimples made another appearance. She looked young and innocent, nothing close to the wily woman she had already proved herself to be.

  “Sounds like a plan.” She tilted her head. “You’re a real by-the-book lawman, aren’t you? It’s all black-and-white for Sheriff Hoyt. No wiggle room for extenuating circumstances.”

  He harbored the uneasy feeling that her whole life revolved around “extenuating circumstances.” “I told you to call me Ethan. We’re not very formal here in Jackson Hole. Come on. Let’s move quickly. We’ll make our way down the street, using the cars for cover, and check out room 126. Stay close behind me,” he added when she tried to slip past him.

  She did as he asked and stayed behind him as they crouched behind cars and wound their way around the back of the motel. There was no sign of movement anywhere, so Ethan stepped in front of room 126. He raised his hand to knock, but Sam grabbed his arm, effectively stopping him.

  “What now?” he muttered, pulling back his arm and facing her.

  Exasperation covered her face. “You’re just going to knock on their door? In the middle of the night?”

  He raised a brow. “I’m the sheriff, Miss Bailey, and we were shot at. I have every right to investigate the situation.”

  She seemed to ponder that a moment. “Shouldn’t you call for backup or something?”

  He ignored her and rapped his knuckles against the wooden door. The room stayed quiet. He knocked louder this time. “This is Sheriff Hoyt. Open the door, please.”

  Nothing. Sam tried to nudge him out of the way.

  “What are you doing?” She was fiddling with something in her hand and approached the door lock. He couldn’t believe it. She was going to jimmy the lock. He grabbed the set of picklocks out of her hand.

  “You can’t break into a motel room. It’s against the law.” And then it dawned on him. Earlier, when she’d been standing at the door to room 126, she’d planned to break in. But why? He’d get answers later. Right now he had his hands full.

  Her face scrunched into a scowl. “You are the law, and I’m with you. That makes it legal, right? Besides, you got a better idea, hotshot?”

  They struggled a moment for possession of the picklocks, but brute strength gave him the advantage. The woman snarled at him like a rabid dog when he jerked them out of her hands.

  “Yes, I have a better idea. I’ll wake the manager and ask him to open the door.”

  That took the wind out of her sails.

  “Fine, but I want my hardware back.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  She scowled again. “Whatever. Let’s get this show on the road.”

  It didn’t take long to rouse the sleepy manager, and soon they were again standing in front of room 126. Ethan stepped in front of everyone and inserted the key. “Stay back.” The manager had already moved away, but Sam was still breathing down his neck. The woman was like a barnacle.

  Ethan turned the key and opened the door. The stench of blood assailed his nostrils. He pushed Sam backward. “This is a crime scene. I’m going in, but do not step past the threshold of this door.” He moved forward but glanced around to see if she was obeying his orders. He was taken aback to see a look of shock, mixed with a healthy dose of fear, on her face.

  It was an indication that Sam was in this thing up to her cute little ears. He decided then and there that the woman wasn’t leaving his sight until he had some answers. He touched the wall until he felt the light switch. With a flick of his wrist, the room was bathed in light. Even without taking a pulse, there was no doubt. The two men he’d seen riding in the sedan were dead.

  FOUR

  The sickly smell of death hit Chloe smack in the face and she took a step back.

  She’d helped Stan’s FBI cyber unit on many cases, but computers were her area of expertise, not dead bodies. She’d never visited an actual crime scene.

  Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath of clear, crisp mountain air and centered herself. A picture of Peter Norris rose in her mind, and she wondered if the same odor had permeated his office by the time they discovered his body.

  She could see through the open doorway, and the sight of two men lying separately on two double beds, blood seeping from tiny holes in the front of each of their foreheads, was enough to make her want to toss her cookies. She took another deep breath and swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

  Were the two men connected to the Peter Norris murder and her unidentified disc? She took another step back, away from the stench of death. She had to pick up Geordie and get out of Jackson Hole. She’d find a safe place to stay until she could figure this thing out. She turned to flee, but a
strong grip on her arm stopped her.

  “Don’t even think about it, Sam.”

  Chloe schooled her face into a mask of calm as she spun to face Ethan. And when had she started thinking of him as Ethan instead of Sheriff Hoyt? “Excuse me? You told us to stay back.”

  His green eyes pierced her pretense. “You were getting ready to run, and I have several questions before you’ll be allowed to leave town.”

  The shock of seeing the two dead men quickly receded and self-preservation took over. Something she had become very good at since the death of her parents when she was a child. “You have no right to hold me without just cause.”

  His rigid jaw tightened even more. “I have cause since I witnessed you standing in front of room 126. Fortunately for you, I followed you from the B and B. Otherwise, I’d be arresting you on murder charges. Give me your weapon.” He held his hand out.

  Panic constricted her throat. She didn’t like feeling boxed in, not after her short stint in juvenile hall before Stan rescued and took custody of her, but she quickly regained her equilibrium. No way was she giving up her gun. She’d been shot at and these two New Yorkers were now dead. She had a burning desire to get out of town, and she’d need protection when she left.

  Forcing herself to relax, she took a step back. “You’re way off course, Sheriff Hoyt. As you said, you followed me from the B and B. I didn’t have anything to do with this.”

  His hand stayed extended and his jaw looked hard as granite. She got the sinking feeling that she was now seeing the real Sheriff Hoyt, the hotshot Chicago detective Mrs. Denton had described.

  “We won’t have a time of death until the coroner arrives. You could have been revisiting the scene. Give me your weapon.”

  She had no choice, so, feeling as if she were giving away a part of herself, she pulled the gun out of her jacket pocket and handed it over, butt first. It was an insult when he shook out a handkerchief and took her weapon, but then another thought sent a second panic wave roaring through her. Her prints were on the gun, and she had no doubt he’d run them through the system. Her prints were on file with the FBI because anyone who worked there was fingerprinted as part of their policy.