Wed to the Witness Page 5

  “Yes,” Jackson agreed quietly.

  Joe stared down into his drink, his brow furrowing. “Later at the party, I saw the two of you talking. I remember thinking I wasn’t surprised, seeing as how you’d never been one to bypass a gorgeous woman. That wasn’t too long before all hell broke loose.” Joe’s gaze rose slowly to meet Jackson’s. “Is Cheyenne the one who saw you a couple of feet from where the person who shot at me stood?”

  “Yes. Although I doubt she’s aware of the suspect’s location.”

  “Did you tell her the police questioned you?”

  “No.” Jackson raised a shoulder. “Maybe I will.”

  Joe’s mouth curved. “So, you plan to see her again?”

  “We’re having breakfast the day after tomorrow.”

  “Can’t say that surprises me. Like I said, I’ve never known you to let a beautiful woman get away.”

  He’d let Cheyenne get away once, Jackson acknowledged silently. Then spent months with thoughts of her chasing through his brain. No other woman had ever had that effect on him, ever captured his thoughts for so long. Maybe that was why—until his sister’s wedding—he’d made only one short visit to Prosperino. Maybe somewhere in his subconscious he’d known if he had stayed in Prosperino for any length of time, he would seek out Cheyenne. And maybe, just maybe, he harbored a small lick of fear that she was the one woman he couldn’t walk away from unscathed.

  So, he’d avoided her. Successfully. Until tonight when he walked out of a dark movie theater and found her in the lobby. It was as if she’d been waiting for him. Just him.

  Dammit, he could still taste her. And he wanted to taste her again. Soon.

  Jackson let out a long breath. What in the hell was he going to do about Cheyenne James?

  Patsy had watched the climactic end of Joe, Jr. and Teddy’s war game, then kept a sharp eye on both boys while they brushed their teeth. After that, she’d herded them into their separate bedrooms in the north wing and kissed them good-night, leaving them both with a prediction of dire consequences if they didn’t stay in bed this time.

  Now, an hour later, dressed in a robe of shimmering white silk, she stood in her dark bedroom before the expansive wall of windows that faced the sea. The moon was full and high, cutting a swath of light across the black water.

  “What do you mean you’re going underground?” Patsy hissed into the cell phone she’d crammed between her shoulder and cheek. She wasn’t concerned over the prospect of Joe walking in during her phone call. He hadn’t stepped foot into her bedroom in years. “I’m paying you to kill Emily Colton, not lay low while she disappears again,” she added.

  “Look, the sheriff in this fleabag town—Atkins is his name—has his men working overtime trying to find the bitch’s attacker,” Silas Pike answered. “I show my face in Keyhole, Wyoming, I’m dead meat.”

  “What you are is incompetent. I hired you to kill Emily in her bed, in this house. You screwed that up and let her get away. Then, you chased her across the country for heaven knows how many months. By some miracle of God you stumble on her whereabouts, attack her, yet still can’t manage to kill her. Now, you expect me to continue to pay you while you hole up somewhere for who knows how long?”

  “Ain’t gonna be that long,” Pike countered. “Just long enough for that sheriff to figure some dude just passing through town is who jumped her. Once that happens, I’ll go back for her.”

  “And fumble things again.”

  “And kill the bitch. You don’t want to pay me to lay low for a while then finish her off, just say the word and I’ll go home. Makes no never mind to me.”

  Patsy closed her eyes, blocking out the moonlight that shimmered on the dark water.

  Dammit, was she the only person who could do anything right?

  Silas Pike couldn’t kill Emily, the private investigator she’d hired to track down her twin sister Meredith had run into a dead end, and the other investigator hadn’t been able to locate her sweet baby, Jewel. No, Patsy corrected herself. Not a baby. Jewel was a grown woman now. It had been so long, she thought. So many years since she’d held her darling daughter.

  “You still there?”

  Pike’s voice set Patsy’s teeth on edge. Joe Colton had her on such a tight budget she couldn’t afford to hire anyone else to find Emily. She didn’t have time to hire anyone else. It was as if a force had been set in motion that she couldn’t control. She could feel all of her carefully laid plans coming apart, slowly, thread by thread, yet she couldn’t seem to pull them all back into place.

  “I’m still here.” She kept her voice calm and even. “I’ll wire you more money in the morning. I warn you, Pike, I’m tired of paying for nothing. I want results, positive results. Soon,” she added, then clicked off the phone and dropped it on the French directoire reading table that sat to one side of the windows.

  All of her senses screamed it was a matter of time before the police closed in on her. Meredith was her sister, her twin. If she’d died years ago a homeless vagrant like the P.I. had tried to convince her, Patsy would feel it. Bitter regret flooded over her. If only she had gone through with her initial plan and killed Meredith on that long-ago day when she’d run her sister’s car off the road and assumed her identity. If only seeing the mirror image of herself after so long hadn’t stirred some emotion deep inside her.

  Instead, when Meredith came to and Patsy realized a blow to her head during the accident had left her with amnesia, she’d dumped her twin on the grounds of the clinic where Patsy had finished the twenty-five year sentence she’d served for murder. Where the hell had Meredith gone after she’d left the clinic? Patsy wondered for the thousandth time. And how long would it be before Emily, who had been in the car with Meredith on that fateful day remembered what she’d witnessed?

  Emily had been a child then. Now, she was a woman whose nightmares about seeing her “two mommies” right after the accident had intensified over the years. Months ago, Patsy had heard Emily sobbing for her real mother during a nightmare. Patsy had jolted into action, knowing it was inevitable Emily would soon realize the truth of what she’d seen.

  And eventually share that truth with the police. As far as Patsy was concerned, that nightmare had sealed Emily’s fate.

  Patsy dragged in a shaky breath. All Thad Law had to do to discover her deception was run her fingerprints. He would then know she wasn’t Meredith, but the twin sister who’d served time for murdering the man who’d fathered—and sold—their daughter, Jewel. And that, for the past ten years, Patsy Portman had deceived the entire Colton clan.

  Patsy suspected the clout carried by the Colton name was why Law had yet to request her fingerprints. He had to know she wouldn’t have consented willingly to being fingerprinted. And it was doubtful any judge in the state would force her to do so. Still, Law wasn’t the type of cop who gave up.

  With unsteady hands, she snatched the gold pill case off the table beside her, popped open the lid and scooped up two Valium. She lifted a crystal tumbler full of vodka, and washed down the Valium with one deep swallow. She’d been a fool for not killing both Meredith and Emily that day, Patsy chided herself viciously, slamming the pill case back on the table. If she had, maybe she wouldn’t now feel the sickening sensation that they were both getting closer. So close she could almost feel them breathing down her neck.

  More money, she thought, fighting back a wave of panic. She needed more money in case she had to leave Prosperino in a hurry. She couldn’t support Joe, Jr. and Teddy by herself.

  Her eyes narrowed as her thoughts focused on Jackson Colton. He’d been so damn cool and forthright when he’d confronted her about blackmailing his father. Even as Jackson assured her he would go to the police if her extortion didn’t end, she had seen a flash of regret in his eyes. It was as if he couldn’t believe his Aunt Meredith had stooped so low.

  Meredith, who had refused to cover for her own sister when Patsy had killed Jewel’s father in a fit of rage. Meredith, w
ho’d been too good to lie to the cops. Instead, she’d let her twin rot in prison for twenty-five years.

  Patsy wrapped her arms around her waist, hugging the silk robe closer to her flesh. She would show Jackson Colton just how low she could stoop when she went after what was owed her. His father, Graham, had sniffed around her for years trying to bed her before she’d given him what he wanted. Now she intended to see that he continued to pay her the money he’d agreed to.

  She had no doubt that, with his son cooling his heels in prison, Graham would continue making the payments she’d demanded. He would most likely do anything to keep her from telling Joe that his brother had sired Teddy. After all, the two million Graham had agreed to pay for her silence was peanuts compared to what he would lose if Joe wrote him out of his will.

  “Evidence,” she said, her voice a whisper on the still, night air. The evidence she’d already collected and sent anonymously to Thad Law had clearly caused Jackson some bad moments this afternoon.

  She intended to cause him a lot more.

  Gone momentarily was the feeling of impending doom that had dogged her for months. Having a good, solid plan—along with the Valium and alcohol that had just begun creeping into her system—calmed her nerves.

  She smiled as she pictured the scene earlier in the study when Joe stabbed the air with his finger while he pronounced, “Like the gun the bastard used to take those shots at me. Find that, and you’ve got some real proof.”

  “No problem,” Patsy murmured.

  She had the proof. It was a matter of time before she could deliver it to the police.

  Then she would have Jackson out of her way and his father’s money would start flowing back in.

  Four

  The May morning was bright and clear, with the hills sporting color so bold and vivid that Cheyenne had shoved on her sunglasses the instant she walked out of her house. Now she stood in the center of the small archery range near a rushing stream that cut a jagged path across Hopechest Ranch.

  “Stance is everything,” she reminded the tall skinny-as-a-rail teenager standing a yard away. At her side was a high table fashioned out of native stone on which she’d laid the bows and the quiver filled with arrows that she’d picked up from the counseling center on her way to the range.

  “Yeah, stance.” Johnny Collins gave her an intense look across his shoulder. Repositioning his right foot a half inch, he raised a bow formed out of a curve of polished hickory. Dressed in faded jeans, a white T-shirt and ball cap swiveled backward to keep his dark shaggy hair out of his eyes, Johnny was beginning his second month of lessons.

  The kid showed promise.

  Cheyenne knew Johnny’s growing skill as an archer coincided with an increase in the self-confidence that had eroded after his mother abandoned the family. His father started drinking and got fired from his job. Earlier that year, the fourteen-year-old boy had lied about his age to get hired at a fast-food restaurant. Days later, he had been caught stealing money out of the register. When a social worker discovered he’d taken the money to buy food for him and his father, she arranged for Johnny’s stay at Hopechest Ranch.

  Since then, several counselors and volunteers had worked with Johnny to increase his reading and math skills. Thanks to Drake Colton, he’d learned to ride and take responsibility for a horse’s care. Cheyenne knew that with a lot of hard work and equal luck, Johnny Collins’s life might turn around.

  As hers had when she’d come to Hopechest.

  Even though she worked there as a counselor, the ranch provided as much a sanctuary for her as for the young children and teens who wound up there through the efforts of various social workers, cops and the courts. Established by the Hopechest Foundation on vast acres of prime real estate a few miles outside of Prosperino, the ranch sometimes represented the only stable environment some of its occupants had ever known. To others, who associated home and family with physical or emotional abuse or both, Hopechest stood as a safe haven where no one had cause to cower, scared and alone.

  Growing up, Cheyenne had sometimes done just that.

  Although her mother’s people had raised her with love and a deep understanding of the legacy she’d inherited from the woman she had no memory of, Cheyenne had sensed early that her father had sent her away because she was different. How different became apparent at the first Anglo school she’d attended when she tugged on her teacher’s sleeve one sunny morning and predicted an accident would happen on the playground. When the teacher dismissed the warning and the event Cheyenne had seen so vividly in her mind’s eye occurred moments later, her classmates had begun taunting her, calling her Princess Voodoo and She-Who-Knows-It-All.

  Her most intense memories of that school year were of the hours she’d spent cowering at a desk in the back of the classroom, wishing desperately she were like everyone else.

  Over time, she had grown accustomed to being different. She learned the value of using discretion with outsiders, understood that the only people she could trust were those of her mother’s blood who accepted and revered her gift of sight. Only once since that day on the playground had she misjudged. During her final year of college she had fallen in love with Paul Porter, a man she had trusted with her heart and her secrets. Like her father, Paul could not deal with the fact she was different, and wanted no part of her after she’d told him about her heritage. So, he’d walked away, leaving her to deal with a raging, tearing hurt. In the year she’d been at Hopechest, her battered heart had healed and she’d settled into a content, safe existence.

  Until the night before last when she’d stepped into Jackson Colton’s arms. Even now, while she watched her student fit an arrow’s nock into the bowstring then slowly draw it back until his right hand came even with the side of his mouth, Cheyenne felt a frisson of need stir deep inside her. A need she knew well she could not risk feeling.

  So, she wouldn’t risk. After all, she and Jackson had shared only a couple of kisses in a dimly lit parking lot. Nothing more. Just because she’d allowed her control to slip for a few mind-numbing minutes didn’t mean she would ever again try to crawl up the man’s chest.

  The thought of the blatant way she’d opened her mouth in invitation, of how her body had melted against his put a heated flush into her cheeks that had nothing to do with the warmth of the morning sun that slanted across her face.

  She knew next to nothing about the man.

  Granted, she knew a lot about his family—her brother had married Sophie Colton—but Cheyenne had no clue what kind of man Jackson was. And there she’d stood, making out with him in a parking lot for God and everyone to see!

  Behind the dark lenses of her glasses, Cheyenne narrowed her eyes. Sophie had once mentioned that Jackson had broken an ample number of hearts after he’d graduated from law school and moved to San Diego to work in the law offices of Colton Enterprises. Cheyenne didn’t doubt it. With his arresting good looks and charmer’s grin—and the talent to kiss a woman until her bones melted—Jackson was a man countless women would be drawn to.

  Just because she was drawn to him didn’t mean she had to act on that attraction. She had no intention of winding up on the list of another man’s spoils.

  If it had been anything other than fate that had brought them together, she would have phoned Jackson and canceled this morning’s breakfast plans. Only her deep understanding of the responsibilities that went hand in hand with her gift had prevented her from making the call. The vision that had slid inside her head and sent her to the Cinema Prosperino had told her the man she would meet there was in trouble. That he needed her help. She could not turn her back on Jackson any more than she could reject her gift.

  So, she would deal with her responsibilities. This morning she and Jackson would share a civilized meal. Eventually she would know why the vision had sent her to him. She could then act accordingly, do what was in her power to help him.

  After that, she would settle back into her calm world with her secrets safe and h
er heart intact.

  “How’s that?” Johnny asked.

  Feeling a tug of guilt, Cheyenne forced her thoughts back to her pupil. Taking a step forward, she focused her gaze on one of the straw-filled targets positioned on an easel in the distance.

  “I’d say three arrows a quarter inch from a target’s bull’s-eye is a great way to end today’s session,” she said, her mouth curving. “I’d like you to compete on my team at the Memorial Day competitions,” she said, referring to the county-wide event Hopechest Ranch sponsored each year. “If that’s what you’d like to do.”

  Wariness slid into Johnny’s eyes as he laid the bow on the stone table beside her. Even now he didn’t quite believe in his ability.

  “Maybe I could do that. No big deal.” Lowering his gaze, he began unhooking the elastic straps of the leather guard that covered the inside of his right arm.

  “It is a big deal, Johnny.” While she spoke, Cheyenne pointed a finger toward the target. “See those three arrows a hair away from the bull’s-eye?”

  After a moment, the teenager’s gaze followed hers. “What about ’em?”

  “You put them there. And if you think I ask all my students to be on my team, think again. You’ve got a real talent for this sport. You can be as good an archer as you make up your mind to be.”

  “The audience thinks that, too.”

  At the sound of Jackson’s voice so close behind her, Cheyenne nearly gasped. The rush of the nearby stream had prevented her from hearing his approach. Taking a deep breath that did nothing to settle her pulse, she turned to face him.

  One glimpse of the grin on his tanned, rugged face—and those incredible gray eyes—made her knees weak.