Cowboy Alibi. Paula Graves

weren’t.”

      “You want to check my credentials again?”

      Trent frowned. “No. Just guarantee me you’re not pulling some fast one here to get her back to Wyoming.”

      “I just want to keep her alive until we can figure out what the hell is going on here,” Joe assured him. “I’ll take her somewhere safe and get back in touch with you directly to let you know where we are.”

      Though his face reflected his reluctance, Trent gave a grudging nod. “Stay in this state, Garrison. I mean it.”

      Joe nodded. “I’ll be in touch as soon as we settle somewhere.” He crossed to Jane and touched her elbow.

      She gave a little jerk and turned startled green eyes to him. “What’s happening now?”

      “I’m taking you out of town.”

      Her eyes darkened with suspicion. “To Wyoming?”

      “No. We have to stay in Idaho.”

      “But not here.”

      He cupped her elbow in his palm, trying to ignore the way her warmth seeped into his bloodstream and settled in the center of his chest, the way it had always done, right from the start. He led her out into the hallway, away from the handful of police and technicians examining the hotel room for evidence. “You’re not safe here.”

      She looked away. “I’m not safe anywhere.”

      “Why do you say that?” he asked, tightening his grip on her elbow.

      She pulled her arm from his grasp. “Just a feeling.”

      “Not a memory?”

      She met his gaze again. “Not a memory.”

      “You don’t remember anything.”

      She shook her head.

      If she was faking, she was amazingly consistent about it. He’d watched her carefully over the past few hours as she dealt with the aftermath of her friend’s murder, and not once had she slipped.

      He picked up the small suitcase filled with women’s clothes Hank Trent’s sister had brought for Jane, nodding for her to follow him to his room. He closed the door behind them and turned to look at her. She looked even more wary and pale. “Are you okay?”

      She gave a brief nod.

      He motioned toward the chair next to the bed. “Sit down before you fall down.”

      She obeyed, tucking her feet up and wrapping her arms around her knees. She looked so much thinner than he remembered. Fragile, almost. A fist of tension formed in the center of his chest and he forced himself not to cross to her side and pull her into his arms.

      Once, he’d have done so, without hesitation. But that time seemed like decades ago, not just a short, harrowing eight months. The woman he’d known in Canyon Creek had been an illusion.

      He’d thought he could trust her, just like he’d thought he could trust his stepmother. Like he’d thought he could trust Rita. But they’d left him, just like the woman he’d known as Sandra.

      Women couldn’t be trusted. He couldn’t let himself forget it.

      “Where are you taking me?” Jane asked, her voice raspy.

      “I don’t know. I thought we’d head to Boise and decide from there.”

      “Why are you trying to protect me?” She turned her wide-eyed gaze on him again.

      He swallowed a rush of pure, masculine desire and looked away. “It’s my job.”

      “No, it’s Chief Trent’s job.”

      “I need answers,” he admitted after a brief pause. “I need to know exactly what happened the day Tommy died.”

      “I thought you already knew.”

      A knock at the door kept him from having to say more. He found Hank Trent standing outside. “Just thought you’d want to know that the FBI resident agency in Idaho Falls has offered the services of a profiler on this case. I don’t have a good reason to say no.”

      Probably not a bad idea to have a profiler on this, Joe had to admit, though he generally didn’t like the feds nosing around on a case he was working. But that would be Trent’s headache, not his. Joe turned to Jane. “You ready?”

      She picked up the suitcase he’d set by the bed and squared her jaw. “Let’s do it.”

      He shook Trent’s hand, promised to be in touch and led Jane down to the hotel parking lot.

      

      CLINT SLOWLY approached the Chevy Silverado parked in the hotel lot, taking in the Wyoming plates. So Joe Garrison was in town.

      “Guess you got the memo, too,” he murmured wryly. He should have figured. But the cowboy was out of luck this time. He could swagger around in his stupid hat and his Wrangler jeans, but it would make no difference. Clint was no steer to be wrangled into submission nor a horse to be broken. He wouldn’t let a two-bit hayseed hick keep him from getting what he came to Idaho to retrieve.

      He stuck the device to the Silverado’s undercarriage, just behind the passenger door, and straightened, dusting off his hands and tugging at the folds of his dark trench coat. He slipped into the shadows as two people emerged from the hotel and headed for the parking lot.

      From his hiding place behind a mud-splattered Dodge Durango, he watched Joe Garrison open the door for Jane and help her into the truck. What a gentleman. His lip curled in a sneer at the thought.

      He let them drive away before he emerged from the shadows and crossed slowly to the Lexus he’d rented at the airport in Boise. He took his time, placing a call that would put the next phase of his plan into motion. Then he pulled out his palm-size computer and checked the status of the device he’d placed on Joe Garrison’s truck.

      The signal was strong and clear.

      He smiled.

      

      “WHAT KIND of provisions can we find here?” Jane looked at the gas-station food mart, skeptical. They were about thirty minutes out of Trinity, still on the main highway to Boise.

      “Food. Water. I thought we might find a couple of prepaid disposable cell phones to make it hard to trace any calls we have to make. I have a first-aid kit but it wouldn’t hurt to stock up on extra supplies—aspirin, antihistamine cream, antibiotic ointment—”

      “Are we going to need those?”

      “Be prepared.”

      She couldn’t stop a soft giggle. “Should’ve known you were a Boy Scout.”

      He looked up sharply. “You remember Boy Scouts?”

      She frowned. “I guess I do. I mean, I know what they are. I think.”

      She didn’t like the suspicion in his eyes as he studied her face. He made her feel like a chronic liar, the way he looked for subterfuge in everything she said or did. Was he that way with everyone? She supposed, being a cop, he had to be skeptical by nature, but she didn’t like being the focus of so much disbelief.

      It made her wonder if she deserved it.

      The worst thing about not remembering her past was not knowing what kind of person she really was. People these days were big on the idea that the past didn’t matter, only the present and the future. Angela had even expressed envy, seeing in Jane’s situation a golden opportunity to wipe the slate clean—whatever her past had been—and start fresh as a brand-new person.

      Easy to say when it was someone else’s past that was erased. Not so easy when you had to create a life, a personality, out of nothing but a complete blank.

      She didn’t wait for Joe to open the door for