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“We’ve been made,” Vince said.
Angel’s gaze darted up to the rearview mirror.
“Another car just turned into our motel,” Vince said.
Angel swore. “Who would put the cops on us?”
“Who do you think?”
As Angel drove on past their motel, Vince saw yet another patrol car coming toward them. The cop hit his brakes. “They know our car. He’s spotted us.”
The cop made a U-turn in the middle of the street, flashing lights and siren coming on.
Angel hit the gas and ran the next red light. Brakes screeched, horns blared and a wail of police sirens took up the cry behind them. Vince was glad Angel was behind the wheel. Angel loved this. He cornered hard and accelerated, driving Vince back against the seat.
So Molly wanted to play hardball? Vince was surprised. He still thought of her as a fourteen-year-old little girl. This changed his perception of her.
Another cop car joined in the chase and Vince thought he heard a helicopter overhead. As Angel wheeled around corners, racing along the backstreets of Vegas to the scream of sirens, Vince shook his head. He was not pleased with Molly. How could she call the cops on them after it had been cops who’d killed Max, the man who had picked her up off the street and been like a father to her? Did the woman have no loyalty at all?
He sighed, unable to understand that kind of thinking. He had planned to cut Molly some slack in respect for Max. He might have even let her live after she gave them the jewels. Or at least he would have told Angel to kill her quickly.
But now she’d left him little option. He would let Angel use the knife on her, keeping her alive until she gave them the jewels and apologized for betraying them.
First though, they had to escape the cops. Then there would be no more waiting. They were going after Molly.
Atlanta, Georgia
KERRINGTON POURED HIMSELF a stiff drink and sat down in his empty living room. He couldn’t believe Sandra had left without a word—not after they’d just been arguing about her recent disappearances.
He’d checked the garage, not surprised to find her car gone. She wasn’t even trying to hide her affair. Did she really believe he was going to put up with this? The woman must think him a complete fool.
He took a gulp of his drink. The expensive Scotch sent a wave of warmth through him. A thought floated past on the boozy warmth. What if it wasn’t an affair? He couldn’t imagine what else Sandra would be sneaking behind his back about if not sleeping around. He realized he had no idea what she did all day. Or with whom.
He finished the drink and poured himself another, the booze calming him. He was almost relieved Sandra had left. She would have been looking for a fight if she’d stayed.
“What do you care if Jasmine’s car’s been found?” she would have demanded. “Like she gave a damn about you.” Sandra always threw it up to him that Jasmine had broken the engagement.
“She dumped you,” Sandra was fond of reminding him. “After that big article on the society page. How did that make you feel?”
Sick. But he’d never told Sandra that. Sandra thought he had been embarrassed, made to feel like a fool. What Sandra didn’t know was that when you lost someone like Jasmine all you thought about was getting her back. Once you got over the initial shock and that feeling of being sick to your stomach.
Jasmine had a way of making nothing matter but her. She was like a drug you needed to survive. You would do anything to have her.
Unfortunately, Jasmine knew it. She made you crazy, until you felt that if you couldn’t have her, no one else would either. Hell, he’d followed her to Montana and she would have changed her mind and married him if it hadn’t been for her father cutting her out of the will.
He sipped his drink, eyes narrowing at the thought of Jasmine. If she were alive, she would have come to her senses and realized he was the only man for her. How different his life would have been. Her father would have come around. Archie would have never denied Jasmine her legacy if he truly believed she had married the right man. And Kerrington was the right man.
And he would never have married Sandra. Even when she told him she was pregnant with his baby. She blamed Jasmine’s disappearance for her miscarriage. Bernard had always said Sandra wasn’t even pregnant and Kerrington had been a fool to buy in to her story without demanding proof.
All water under the bridge, he thought putting down his drink. He picked up the phone and called the airport for a flight west. If he hurried, he could get out right away and be there by tonight. Let Sandra come home to an empty house and wonder where he was for a change.
Across town
FROM HIS HOT TUB on the master-bedroom deck, Bernard told George to send his guest up when she arrived. The water was hot, the jets relentless. He was sunk up to his neck, eyes closed. It wasn’t long before he caught a whiff of her perfume. Opening his eyes, he found her framed in the doorway. He closed his eyes again, knowing when he opened them she would be waiting in the bedroom.
He took his time. He liked to make her wait. He dried himself and, breathing in her scent, moved through the large master bedroom, expectation arousing every nerve fiber.
She lay on her back across the end of his king-size bed, buck naked, her eyes closed. He watched her chest rise and fall, her nipples already hard nubs. Her legs were long and shapely, her body as close to perfect as money could buy.
He let the towel wrapped around his waist drop to the floor.
She turned her head to look at him, watching him with a mixture of excitement and fear in her expression. He liked that about her.
He picked up the belt from where he’d left it on the chair near the end of the bed and looked down at her, their eyes locking.
Then slowly, he raised the thick leather belt, saw her tense, her eyes widening but never leaving his.
He brought the leather down sharply across her thighs. She let out a cry, arching her back. He lay the leather across her belly, her breasts. He had never wanted to hurt her as badly as he did tonight.
She didn’t stop him, just as he knew she wouldn’t. This is what she came here for.
To the sound of her soft whimpers, he finally tossed the belt aside. She was watching him again, almost daring him to do whatever he wanted with her.
“Tell me Jasmine is dead,” she whispered as he rolled her over.
“Jasmine is dead.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Antelope Flats, Montana
MOLLY WAS SICK of sagebrush. She’d been driving on two-lane blacktop highways for what seemed like days, passing through tiny dying towns and miles and miles of barren landscapes.
Not far inside the Montana state line, she saw what appeared to be a small cluster of buildings on the horizon. A mirage in the middle of nowhere. A few miles up the road, she spotted the city limits sign: Antelope Flats.
She couldn’t believe her eyes. She’d expected small, but this town was even smaller and more isolated than she’d imagined. She’d expected it would be backwoodsy, but not to this extent. The western town seemed trapped in another time, the buildings straight out of an Old West movie.
She drove through town. It didn’t take long. Then she turned around, stopping to shake her head and laugh. Well, she’d wanted to disappear in a place where Vince and Angel would never think to look for her. And it appeared she’d gotten her wish.
Getting into her role, Molly had put on at least five pounds, changed her makeup, lightened her hair and bought herself some conservative clothing, something she thought a woman like Jasmine Wolfe might have worn. Coming from the South and a wealthy Atlanta family, Jasmine had to have a whole lot of conservative in her background.
Molly had watched the newspapers as she worked her way toward Antelope Flats. Jasmine Wolfe’s body hadn’t been found as of yesterday. Nor had the woman turned up.
As Molly drove back into town, she couldn’t help but wonder why a woman with Jasmine Wolfe’s money and background would want to live here, let alone marry the sheriff.
The town seemed even smaller this time around. If she had blinked, she would have missed it. She pulled up in front of the small brick building on the edge of town with the sign Sheriff out front. It was late and she’d worried that she might not catch him before he left for the day.
But as she turned off her car engine, she noticed a car marked Sheriff was parked in front. No other cars were on the street except for a few muddy pickups at the other end of town outside the Longhorn Café.
She glanced toward the front window of the sheriff’s office but the slanting sun was shining on the glass, making it more like a mirror. She took a breath and reminded herself that she was the daughter of Maximilian Burke. Even rusty from lack of sleight-of-hand practice, she could do this.
But she didn’t kid herself, she would have to give the performance of her life to pull this off. If she blew it, she had a lot worse to worry about than attempted fraud charges.
Taking her purse and the first newspaper article and photo, she got out of the car and walked to the door of the sheriff’s department. Tentatively she tried the door. Unlocked. She pushed the door open, sliding a little too easily into the other woman’s skin, a little too easily into that former life of lies, as she stepped inside.
BY LATE AFTERNOON Cash had made a half dozen calls as well as copying Jasmine’s case file. He was surprised that he hadn’t been relieved of his job yet. He knew it was only a matter of time.
Cash had covered his tracks as much as possible and was just finishing up when the phone rang. He picked it up, afraid it was going to be Investigator Mathews with bad news.
It was Jasmine’s insurance company calling back.
“It took a while for me to find the policy,” the agent told him. “This particular policy was canceled almost seven years ago due to the car being stolen?”
Something like that. “I need to know if an accident claim was filed. In September seven years ago? It would have been right after she bought the car.” Cash listened to the shuffle of papers.
“None that I can see. September? Sorry. No claim.”
He raked a hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair, letting go of the breath he’d been holding. So Jasmine hadn’t filed a claim or reported the accident. He thanked the agent and hung up.
Now all he could do was wait. But he’d been waiting for either a call that Jasmine’s body had been found or that he was being suspended until the investigation was completed.
But neither call had come. Everyone in the city offices next door had gone home for the day.
He got up from his desk, too anxious to sit any longer. He should go home. If Mathews caught him in his office… He moved to stand in the back doorway. Here he could catch the faint breeze in the pines out back. The spring evening was hotter than normal and his office had no air-conditioning. Hell, few places in Montana had air-conditioning.
He didn’t want to leave just yet. He was waiting for a call back from the Dew Drop Inn, a bar on the outskirts of Bozeman. He knew Mathews would eventually check on the matchbook found in Jasmine’s car. Cash hoped to beat him to it. Mathews would be furious, but Cash would have to deal with that when it happened.
Right now, he needed answers, answers he should have gotten seven years ago. All these years he’d pretended Jasmine was alive. He couldn’t pretend anymore. At any moment, Mathews would call to say her body had been found in a shallow grave on the farm, that she’d been murdered.
For years, he’d put his life on hold, unconsciously waiting for that call. Now, it seemed the wait might be over.
Behind him he heard his office door open. He turned. His heart seized in his chest, all breath gone, all reason evading him as he stared at the woman standing in the doorway.
“Jasmine.” Her name was out before he could call it back.
She looked startled, as if she hadn’t seen him standing at the back of the office.
His heart lodged in his throat, his senses telling him something his mind refused to accept now that her car had been found. Jasmine was alive?
“I…I…” She started to turn as if to leave and he finally found his feet, lunging forward to stop her, half-afraid she was nothing more than a puff of smoke that would scatter the moment he touched her.
She took a step back, seeming afraid, definitely startled. He stopped just feet from her, struggling to rein himself in, fighting to believe what was before his eyes. My God, could it really be her? Jasmine? Alive? He could only stare at her. How was this possible?
She stared back, her green eyes wide. “I was looking for Sheriff Cash McCall,” she stammered, still angled as if she might bolt at any moment.
He cleared his throat, confused. “I’m Sheriff Cash McCall,” he said, realizing with a start that there was no recognition in her expression.
“I’m…I’m—”
“Jasmine, Jasmine Wolfe,” he said, the cop in him thinking of the blood found in her car, the seven years no one had seen her or the fact that she didn’t seem to know him from Adam.
She shook her head and held up what appeared to be a newspaper clipping, the edges torn, the print smudged as if she’d spent a lot of time looking at it. “I’m not sure, but I saw this and I thought…”
He took the clipping she held out, glanced away from her just long enough to recognize the Associated Press story about the discovery of her car.
“The woman looked like me….” She stopped. “This was a mistake.” She reached behind her for the doorknob.
“No.” He hadn’t meant to speak so sharply. “Please, don’t go.” He took a breath, tried to slow his racing pulse, tried to make sense of this. He’d been expecting a call that her body had been found, not this.
He stared at her, unable to take his eyes from her. Somehow Jasmine had survived. True, she looked different in ways he couldn’t put his finger on. But one thing was perfectly clear, she was more beautiful than even in his memory.
But where had she been all these years? And why was she looking at him as if she’d never seen him before and was as shaken by what she saw?
He stared into her eyes. She’d didn’t remember him.
Or maybe she did and was only pretending not to.
All he knew for sure was that if Jasmine had escaped the grave, then she would be back after only one thing. Vengeance.
MOLLY KNEW SHE WAS GAWKING but she couldn’t help it. To say Sheriff Cash McCall was nothing like she’d imagined was a major understatement. And it wasn’t just because he was drop-dead gorgeous. Which there was no denying he was. Tall, broad-shouldered, blond and blue-eyed but rugged looking. He wore western-cut jeans, boots and a short-sleeved, tan uniform shirt. A blue jean jacket hung over the back of his desk chair and close at hand was a pale gray cowboy hat.
It wasn’t his looks that surprised her. It was the feeling that she’d been headed here her whole life. As if everything else had just been time spent waiting for this moment.
She met his gaze and quaked inside at the rush of feeling. There was some powerful chemistry here that drew her to him and at the same time, warned her to be careful. Very careful.
“Jasmine,” he said again in his deep voice. “I can’t believe this.”
The sound of his voice seemed to echo in her chest, a drumming like that of her pulse. She tried to steady herself. Calm down. This is working. Just as she’d thought, she looked enough like the woman with the changes she’d made to fool even Jasmine’s fiancé. As Max would have said of one of his magic tricks, “This definitely plays.”
The talent required to perform magic or a con was showmanship. Only a small percentage of the act was the actual trick. It was amazing what could be done with a little misdirection.
She shook her head and backed away, using everything Max had taught her. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry.”
He closed the distance between them, his fingers clamping over her wrist. He was strong but she cried out more in surprise than actual pain.
He quickly released her. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please. Don’t go.”
She had him. So why did her instincts tell her to run? The “tricks” with her father hadn’t been this up-close-and-personal. She could see the combination of hope and naked relief in his eyes. He loved Jasmine.
Molly knew what it was like to lose someone she’d loved. Clearly, Sheriff Cash McCall had never gotten over that loss. She hadn’t considered that after seven years he might still be in such pain. She didn’t have to look to know that there was no wedding band on his left hand. She doubted there was even a woman in his life. But what guy would wait around for a woman seven years knowing she might be dead or just never coming back?
Sheriff Cash McCall obviously.
He seemed to be staring at her in a kind of bewildered amazement. “If there is any chance that you’re Jasmine—”
“There isn’t,” she said.
“Please. Something made you come here.”
