Cherokee Stranger. Sheri WhiteFeather

went still, much too still. Then the scar across his eyebrow twitched. Emily held her breath. Her fingers brushed the piercing, grazing the magic stone in the center.

      He pulled back, disconnecting her hand from his skin.

      “We don’t have to stop, James.” She glanced at his zipper, saw that he was still aroused. “Do we?”

      He frowned at her. Was he angry? Confused?

      “How old are you?” he asked.

      She bit her lip. She could still taste him, the hard, desperate tongue thrusts he’d given her. “Twenty-two.”

      He gazed directly into her eyes, but his were troubled again, as haunted as a ghost-ridden night. “Why me? And why now?”

      She didn’t know what to say, how to explain her decision, not without mentioning the cancer. And she wasn’t about to bring that up, to evoke pity, or God help her, revulsion from the man she wanted to make love with.

      “I’m tired of waiting,” she said.

      “So you pick up some guy in a bar? That makes a hell of a lot of sense.”

      She wanted to argue, to fight for her right to be free, to feel whole, to lose her virginity to a tall, dark stranger. “Have you looked in the mirror lately, James? Do you have any idea how handsome you are?”

      “And for that you’re willing to sleep with me?” He closed his eyes, made a disbelieving face. “That’s insane.”

      “It’s only sex.”

      He opened his eyes. “But it shouldn’t be. Not your first time. You need to keep waiting, Emily. To find the right guy.”

      Humiliated, she clasped the front of her blouse. He was turning her down. Her fantasy lover was walking away.

      He skimmed her cheek, gently, almost too gently for her to endure. She wanted to ask him to stay, to hold her, but she didn’t have the courage to bare her soul, to admit that she still needed him.

      He dropped his hand. “I can’t do this.”

      She lifted her chin, protecting her pride. “It doesn’t matter.”

      “I have to go.” He pulled his shirt over his head and reached for his boots. “If I don’t leave now, I’ll…” The words drifted, fading into nothingness.

      Emily remained where she was, watching him. Finally, he stood, looking like the troubled warrior he was, his T-shirt catching on the top of his belt buckle.

      He grabbed his jacket, and in the next instant he was gone, closing the door and leaving her alone.

      Much too alone.

      At 6:00 a.m. James gazed at his reflection in the mirror. When he’d agreed to enter WITSEC, he’d assumed the government would alter his features, but plastic surgery hadn’t been part of the deal. His face was the same as it had always been, including the scar that cut across his eyebrow, the mark he’d acquired the first time he’d gone to prison.

      Emily liked the way he looked. She’d been willing to sleep with him, to give up her virginity, because she thought he was handsome.

      Disturbed by her reasoning, James studied his features. Would Emily still find him attractive if she knew he was an ex-con? An accessory to murder?

      Spewing a vile curse, he turned away from the mirror. Why did she have to remind him of Beverly? He had been Beverly’s first lover, the man she’d given it up for, but the circumstances were different.

      Beverly Halloway had been in love with him. Emily, the lady with no last name, didn’t know him from Adam.

      Struggling to clear his mind, he made one last check of the room, grabbed his meager belongings and headed out the door, where the sun had already risen.

      He squinted into the daylight and saw Zack Ryder, the field inspector assigned to his case, leaning against his car. James didn’t have a vehicle, but WITSEC had provided him with enough money to purchase a used pickup once he got settled.

      Ryder drew on a dwindling cigarette and blew a stream of smoke into the air. “’Morning.”

      James merely nodded. Ryder was a mixed-blood, part Indian like himself, tall and strongly built, but that was where the similarity ended. The inspector looked about forty, with graying temples and a sardonic sense of humor.

      He belonged to an elite unit of the U.S. Marshal Service and was trained to protect more than witnesses. Foreign dignitaries and government officials had probably crossed his path, as well.

      James, on the other hand, was only twenty-six and had spent most of his youth learning to be a criminal. Boasting a genius IQ, he was a self-taught electronics expert, capable of deactivating the most sophisticated security systems ever designed. In his spare time, he used to build countersurveillance equipment. Skills, naturally, the mob had admired. It hadn’t taken him long to become a “made” man, a soldier in the Los Angeles-based West Coast Family.

      Ryder motioned to the restaurant affiliated with the motel. “Ready for some chow?”

      James adjusted the bag over his shoulder. “That’s the last place I want to eat.”

      “Why? Does it have roaches I don’t know about?”

      “I just want to get on the road.” And avoid running into Emily. What if she decided to have breakfast here? He glanced down the row of cars and spotted the compact he suspected was hers.

      “How about McDonald’s?” Ryder asked.

      “As long as we’re driving through.” James didn’t want to linger in Lewiston. He wanted to forget this town, forget that he’d met Emily here. He’d tossed and turned half the night, thinking about her, wondering who she was, where she lived.

      He wasn’t supposed to care, but he was worried about the next guy she met in a bar, worried the bastard would be all too willing to take what she offered.

      Ryder unlocked his sedan, got behind the wheel and snuffed out his cigarette in the ashtray. When he opened the trunk, James stowed his bag and climbed into the car.

      While they drank coffee and ate Egg McMuffins, James leaned back in his seat. WITSEC had decided to relocate him to Silver Wolf, a small town in North Central Idaho, positioned about an hour and a half from Lewiston.

      Ryder drove with one hand, his sandwich in the other. “You might want to check out Tandy Stables.”

      “What for?”

      “A job. The old lady who runs the place is looking for an assistant. The position comes with room and board, a mobile home on her property.”

      “How do you know?”

      The inspector inclined his head. “I made it my business to know. Did you think I’d dump you in a small town with no job prospects? Besides, I heard you’re good with horses.”

      James shrugged. He’d grown up in the Texas Hill Country, riding and roping and playing cowboy. Or outlaw, he supposed. “I’ve spent as much time in the country as the city.”

      “Then getting back to basics will do you some good. Speaking of which—” Ryder slanted him a wary-eyed glance “—you look like hell, Dalton.”

      “I didn’t get much sleep.”

      “Why not? Too busy jumping some pretty blonde in the bar?”

      Son of a bitch. The deputy marshal knew exactly what had gone down. “I didn’t break any rules.”

      “Yeah, well, the first time you do, I’ll come gunning for your ass. We’ll kick you out of this program faster than you picked up on that blonde.”

      “Leave her out of this.” The last thing James wanted was to talk about Emily, to admit that she’d gotten under his skin.

      The inspector