Chase's Promise. Lois Faye Dyer

not only because a possible clue had surfaced in a fifteen-year-old mystery.

      He hadn’t lied to her—he didn’t take cases for locals. He wanted nothing to do with Wolf Creek residents. He’d sworn long ago to focus on the present and let the past lie undisturbed—that included Mike’s death and the local jury that held him responsible. Raine, however, was the exception.

      She was the last woman he’d expected to see when he looked up from the hot metal taking shape under his hammer and saw a female form silhouetted by the sunlight. Then she’d stepped inside the workroom and he could see her clearly.

      He’d recognized her with one glance.

      That brief moment when they’d collided in the Saloon weeks ago was seared in his memory. He’d looked down into startled grey eyes and pink lips parted in surprise. For a second, their bodies were pressed together from chest to thigh. Those eyes, her mouth, creamy skin, mahogany hair and the feel of her curves against him had featured prominently in his dreams ever since.

      He hadn’t decided what, if anything, he wanted to do about her. Given their family history, he’d doubted she’d be willing to share casual conversation with him, let alone consider the kind of relationship that ended up with the two of them getting naked.

      He had a strict rule against getting involved with anyone hiring his services. He’d never broken it in all his years as a bounty hunter.

      Agreeing to search for her brother made Raine his client. He hoped to hell he’d be able to keep his distance until he’d located her brother and had a look at the mysterious letter.

      For the first time in his life, Chase wasn’t confident his control was unshakable.

      Several hours later, Chase tossed a small duffel bag packed with essentials onto the floor behind the SUV’s driver’s seat, whistling a brief melodic tune. Three-year-old-Killer, a ninety-eight pound Rottweiler, immediately ceased sniffing the grass by the house gate and trotted forward. He leaped easily into the backseat and Chase slammed the door behind him before sliding behind the wheel.

      The late-afternoon sun heated the interior of the black four-wheel-drive vehicle but Chase didn’t turn on the air-conditioning, choosing instead to lower all the windows. Killer stuck his head outside, eyes half-closed as the hot wind pinned his ears back.

      Chase drove by instinct, his mind occupied with the possible angles presented by the mysterious letter sent to Trey Harper just before he’d disappeared.

      There were only three people who knew what really happened the night Mike Harper died. Chase was one of them. The other two were Lonnie and Harlan Kerrigan. One of them must have sent the letter to Raine’s brother. But which one? And why?

      Chase was convinced neither Harlan nor Lonnie would come forward and confess which meant he had to consider a third possibility. Could someone else have been present at the accident scene fifteen years earlier?

      He remembered the sequence of events leading up to the crash on the highway outside Wolf Creek clearly. But he’d been thrown from the truck on impact, hit his head, and lost consciousness. Could another vehicle have arrived on the scene while he’d been comatose? Could a fourth person have seen Harlan remove Lonnie from the driver’s seat and put Chase behind the wheel?

      The unlikely scenario was easier to accept than the equally unlikely possibility that one of the Kerrigans had suddenly become conscience-stricken and had decided to confess after all these years.

      Chase reached Wolf Creek and pulled into the alley behind the Saloon, parking several yards from the back door. Leaving Killer on guard in the SUV, he went inside. A stairwell rose to his immediate right and he moved silently up the steps to the second floor where two doors, directly opposite each other, opened off the carpeted landing. He knocked on 2B and waited, rewarded moments later by the snick of a dead bolt as it slid free.

      Raine stood in the doorway. Chase stilled, rocked by the sudden urge to reach out, catch her narrow waist and draw her close. He felt an intense, nearly compulsive desire to bury his face against the thick mahogany fall of hair, wind the long strands around his fists and run his tongue over the lush fullness of her lower lip to discover the taste of her mouth.

      He never broke his strict rule against romantic involvement with a client, no matter how beautiful. Raine Harper was off-limits.

      He made his response as impersonal as possible. “Evening.”

      “Come in,” she said, her gray eyes meeting his. “Is something wrong?”

      “Not that I know of, why?”

      “I’m not sure,” she said slowly. “For a moment there, you seemed angry.”

      He shrugged and didn’t answer her.

      “Well…” She gestured him inside. “I’m just printing out a digital photo and the details about Trey you wanted.”

      Chase stepped past her and into the apartment. Raine went over to a desk tucked beneath a window to their left. As she moved past him, the subtle scent of her perfume reached his nostrils and he tensed, edgy and restless until she was beyond his reach.

      He glanced around the apartment. Nearly half of the square footage was open space with high ceilings and polished wood floors. A kitchen took up one corner, separated from the great room by a bar with four stools. Shining copper pans hung from a rack above the stove.

      Everything he’d heard about the two surviving members of the Harper family indicated that Raine and Trey were successful businesspeople. They owned the Saloon with its adjoining restaurant, the motel on the edge of town and a small apartment building a few blocks away.

      Which left very little time for cooking, he thought.

      The soft click and whir of a computer printer was the only sound in the quiet apartment. “Nearly finished, only one more page to go. It took longer than I’d hoped to find the information you wanted. I’m not used to Trey’s computer programs.”

      “This is your brother’s apartment?”

      “Yes. He likes the convenience of living above the business—says he spends so much time at work it’s a waste of time to keep a home somewhere else.” She had her back to him as she leaned forward to slip the last sheet from the printer and paper-clipped it together with several others. “I didn’t ask you how much you charge for your services.”

      She looked over her shoulder at him.

      Her eyes widened when Chase quoted his daily fee. “Plus expenses,” he added.

      She stared at him for a moment before nodding and turning back to the desk.

      She barely flinched, he thought, which confirmed his earlier guess that the family businesses were doing well.

      Chase’s gaze flicked idly over the room. A medium-size duffel bag, bulging with its contents, sat on the floor next to the door. A woman’s purse sat beside it.

      “Going somewhere?”

      “Yes.”

      The timing was too coincidental. Chase instinctively knew the answer but he asked the question anyway, hoping he was wrong. “Mind if I ask you where?”

      “Not at all. I’m going with you. Or I’m following you, take your pick.”

      “This isn’t a pleasure trip. It’s business and I work alone.”

      “You need me.” Her voice as stubborn as the set of her chin, she turned to him in profile as she slipped the sheaf of papers into a file folder.

      “For what?” He didn’t bother hiding the sarcasm in his response.

      “Psychic connections between twins have been documented and scientifically accepted. If Trey is near, I’ll feel him. Without me, you could walk within three feet of him and never know it.”

      “And if he’s dead?”

      A shudder shook her slim