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“That supposed suicide was a little too convenient,” Clark replied. “Too bad we can’t get you clearance to interrogate Warden Craig Green.”
Trevor scanned the mourners and focused on one woman. She was something special to look at. Sunlight glowed on the honey-blond highlights in her hair. She had dark eyebrows and high cheekbones. Even from this distance, her eyes seemed to flash with fiery intensity. Unlike the other mourners, she stood straight and proud, with her fists on her hips. Trevor adjusted his binoculars to check out her curves. Very nice.
“The blonde standing by the casket,” he said. “Who is she?”
Clark took a moment to zoom in. “I don’t know her name, but I’ll tell you this. That is one angry woman.”
Mike Clark had also been trained in strategic intelligence collection. His greatest talent was reading body language and subtle emotions. Trevor referred to him as “the human lie detector.”
Trevor studied the blonde. “She doesn’t look like she belongs here. Her black coat is something a city gal would wear.”
“And it’s a little shabby,” Clark said. “Like she’s fallen on hard times. Maybe that’s why she’s so mad.”
The preacher finally made his way to the grave-side. He opened his Bible. Through their transmitter, they heard his sonorous voice, quoting scripture.
The mourners removed their hats and bowed their heads…except for the blonde. Her full lips pinched tightly together, as if she were holding back a strong emotion.
“Something else about her,” Clark said. “She’s deeply unhappy. Doesn’t want to show it, but she must have cared about Lyle Nelson.”
“Sierra Collins.” Trevor made the identification. “She fits the dossier profile for Nelson’s ex-fiancée.”
She’d be the perfect person for him to interrogate. For several months, she’d been privy to Nelson’s secrets. According to one report, Nelson had contacted Sierra when he escaped from prison with the other fugitives. He might have told her his plans or indicated the whereabouts of the Militia’s current hideout.
The mourners sang an off-key rendition of “Amazing Grace” as the coffin was lowered.
“…Ashes to ashes,” the preacher intoned. “Dust to—”
Sierra interrupted. With her fingers clenched into fists, she strode to the edge of the grave.
A silence fell on the mourners as they waited to see what she’d do. Would she speak? Would she throw herself, weeping, into her ex-boyfriend’s grave?
She spat on the coffin. Her voice came clearly through the transmitter. “You owed me, you miserable son of a bitch. Burn in hell!”
Trevor couldn’t help but be impressed by her gall. “You were right, Clark. That’s one troubled lady.”
She’d said that Lyle owed her, which made Trevor think she might have been promised some kind of payoff. That made sense. He could only think of one reason why such a beautiful woman would hang around with the likes of Lyle Nelson: money. She was a girlfriend for hire—a tough, heartless woman who traded on her good looks to get what she wanted.
This time, however, it appeared that she’d made a miscalculation. Spitting on the coffin was a transgression that wouldn’t be easily forgiven.
Three burly mourners grabbed Sierra Collins and forcibly escorted her through the cemetery, away from the grave. When a reporter tried to follow, one of the men snarled and the reporter backed off. They were headed for the road, where many vehicles were parked.
Trevor figured it wasn’t going to be good news for Sierra when these guys got her alone. He tucked his binoculars into his saddlebag. “I’m going after them.”
“Need help?”
“Three of them and one of me.” Trevor liked those odds. “I don’t think it’s a problem.”
“I know you can deal with three friends of the Militia,” Clark said. “But can you handle that little spitfire?”
“I’ll try.”
He flicked his reins, and the mustang stallion emerged from the pine forest. Trevor urged his horse to a gallop at the edge of the trees. Smokey, the mustang, didn’t need encouragement. This stallion liked to run hard and fast.
In minutes, they approached an outcropping of rocks and trees. Sierra and her three captors were hidden from the view of the people at the cemetery.
One of the men had his hand over her mouth.
Suddenly, he yanked his hand away. “She bit me! Damn you, Sierra.”
“Let me go,” she snarled. “Leave me alone, Danny.”
“Can’t do that,” he said. “You insulted my friend, and you’ve got to pay.”
Trevor rode up at full gallop. The mustang stopped short, and he dismounted in one fluid move. “What’s the problem here?”
“None of your business,” said the one she’d called Danny. “Ride on.”
“You boys are friends of Lyle Nelson,” Trevor said. It was a statement, not a question. “That means you’re enemies of mine.”
He sized them up. The one on the left was as tall as Trevor’s six-foot-three-inch height, but he was skinny as a stick and pasty-faced. None of these guys was in good shape. Nor did they have Trevor’s training in hand-to-hand combat.
Though he didn’t take the impending battle lightly, he was confident. His muscles tensed, and he focused his energy. Behind his eyelids, his mind became crystal clear.
He could take these guys.
Walking fast, he strode into their midst. There was one on his left, another on his right. Danny was still busy trying to subdue Sierra.
The guy on the left pulled a handgun from the waistband of his jeans. Big mistake.
With a swift kick, Trevor disarmed him. A chop to the throat brought him to his knees, gasping. His wind-pipe wasn’t completely crushed because Trevor had aimed carefully and held back on his assault. He didn’t want to kill these guys. Just to teach them a lesson.
The second man attacked from behind. Trevor snapped around, delivering a karate chop that broke his nose. The assailant fell back, moaning.
Danny released Sierra and made the tactical error of charging at Trevor. It took little more than a side step and pressure on the pain center at the elbow to direct Danny’s clumsy charge into the nearby boulders. He crashed, then slid down the rock face, unconscious.
The other two staggered to their feet. Trevor motioned them toward him, but they both took off running, leaving the handgun behind.
Trevor picked up the gun. He searched Danny, and found another pistol. He stowed both weapons in his saddlebag.
The immediate threat was gone, but he didn’t want to hang around while the other two men recruited a mob to come after him.
Picking up his hat, Trevor dusted off the brim and approached Sierra.
“Nice job,” she said. “Is that karate?”
“A type of karate. It’s more like Korean street fighting.”
She was even more attractive in person than when he’d observed her through the binoculars. Her thick hair was multicolored and tawny like the pelt of a cougar. Her eyes were dark. She held up one palm, signaling him to keep his distance.
“So,” she said. “What am I supposed to do now? Should I tip you?”
Her voice had a New York accent. “Where are you from?” he asked.
“Brooklyn. And you know what? I can’t give you a tip, after all. I’m broke. That scum-sucking Lyle left me without a dime.”
“Money is important to you.”
“Duh!”
He recalled his prior impression that she was a gold digger. But the label didn’t quite fit. Her cotton blouse and black skirt were cheap—one step up from thrift shop. And the bangles she wore on her arm were junk. “I don’t want your money. A simple thank-you is enough.”
“Hey, I didn’t ask for your help. I can take care of myself.”
Trevor glanced toward Danny, who was sprawled against the rock, groaning. He was beginning to regain consciousness. “Before I got here, it looked like you weren’t doing a real good job of protecting yourself.”
Her chin lifted and her dark eyes flared. “I do okay.”
“I want you to come with me, Sierra.”
“How do you know my name?”
He shrugged. “You’re Lyle Nelson’s fiancée. That makes you famous.”
“Ex-fiancée,” she said coldly.
If she was sad about her former fiancé’s death, she was hiding it well.
“There are a few questions I want to ask,” he explained.
“Forget it,” she said. “I don’t even know you. What makes you think you can tell me—”
“You’re coming with me.” He shot her a hard-edged glare. “No point in arguing, Sierra. We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
Not in the least bit intimidated, she tossed her head and laughed. “Let me tell you something, mister. Nothing about me is easy.”
He had the feeling that truer words were never spoken. Sierra wasn’t going to cooperate with him in this interrogation.
On the ground, Danny had begun to recover.
Sierra walked past him and peeked around the edge of the granite outcropping. “Damn. It looks like there’s a bunch of mourners headed this way.”
“We need to get moving,” Trevor said.
“Yeah, that sounds like a plan. How are we going to do that?”
“Ride with me.”
Her full pink lips pursed as she considered his suggestion. “How do I know you’re not going to carry me off someplace?”
“You don’t,” he said.
“But I sure as hell don’t want to stay here.” She glanced down at Danny, then looked back at Trevor. “Okay, mister. Let’s ride.”
When he boosted her into the saddle, her skirt rode all the way up, giving him a breathtaking view of her well-shaped calves and smooth, creamy thighs. He could have stood there all day, just looking. But they needed to make tracks. He mounted behind her.
His saddle wasn’t meant to hold two people, and they were a tight fit. He reached around her to take the reins. “Hang on, Sierra.”
“Wait a minute.” She turned her head to look at him. “What’s your name?”
“Trevor.”
She gave a quick nod. “Okay, Trevor. Take me to my car. It’s a peacock-green Nissan at the edge of the parking area.”
There wasn’t time to argue with her. Danny was already on his feet.
“We’ll double back,” Trevor said.
With a flick of his reins and pressure from his heels in the stirrups, he directed his stallion toward the north end of the valley. The headquarters for Big Sky Bounty Hunters was about twelve miles from here, and that was their destination.
With the extra weight on board, he didn’t want his horse to be strained. But they needed to move fast. Trevor eased Smokey down the slight incline to the meadow. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw seven or so mourners in pursuit. “Let’s go, Smokey.”
His horse broke into a steady gallop, easily out-pacing the men who followed on foot. The animal was covering ground, flying across the meadow. But it wasn’t a graceful ride.
And Sierra wasn’t making it easier. She was wiggling around in the saddle. “Let me down.”
“You’re coming with me,” Trevor said.
“The hell I am.”
The pathway up the pine-covered hillside was narrow, and he’d slowed his stallion’s pace. Before he could stop her, Sierra swung her leg over the pommel and slipped off the saddle. She fell to the ground with a loud shriek. So much for a subtle escape.
Trevor dismounted and stood over her. “I want you to answer some questions. That’s all. Tell me the truth, and I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
“No deal.” Though she managed to stand up, her legs were shaky from the ride, and she braced herself against a tree trunk. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
When he reached for her arm, she hauled off and took a wild swing, which he easily deflected. Was she nuts? She’d just seen him take down three men. “It won’t do you any good to fight me.”
She swung again, and he caught hold of her wrist. They were face-to-face. She was breathing hard. Her lips parted and her face was flushed as she struggled to get free from his grasp.
Sensing that she was preparing to kick him, Trevor backed her up against the tree trunk and leaned against her so she wouldn’t have room to slam her knee into his groin. “You’ll answer my questions,” he said.
“No!” Her head whipped back and forth in fierce denial.
“That makes me think you’ve got something to hide.”
“I don’t care what you think.”
Trevor should have been annoyed. Sierra was making things more difficult than they needed to be. Instead, he found himself attracted to this hardcore, unrefined woman with the New York attitude. She was tough and strong and sexier than any woman had a right to be.
