Playing For Keeps (Montana Men) (9 page)

He’d take one look at her bloodstained clothes, put his
ticket book away, and haul her ass to the police station for questioning. No,
she couldn’t afford to get pulled over for any reason.

It wasn’t until her vision blurred she realized she was
crying. Jayla scrubbed the tears off her face and squared her shoulders. No
doubt if Molly’s body had been discovered, every able-bodied cop in the D.C.,
Arlington, and Langley areas was looking for her by now, plus the Secret
Service and God only knew what other kind of government agency.

There were security cameras in the elevators at the
Ambassador. She knew that. Those tapes were the first thing the Fed boys would
retrieve
—
unless
—
oh, shit
—
unless Kane took the tape.

But would he have
thought to do it?
Yes, of course. Kane was a professional and far from
stupid. He’d know there were cameras. Maybe that was why he’d never stepped
inside the elevator, why he’d waited just outside after popping Molly, waited
on
her
to panic and try to escape the
confines of the restrictive car.

Or maybe he’d disabled the cameras before he chased Molly
down and shot her, but if he hadn’t, and if he hadn’t taken the time to snatch
the tape, then it’d prove
she
hadn’t
killed Molly, but it would also plainly reveal she’d witnessed it from start to
finish.

Surely it proved she hadn’t had anything to do with
Molly’s murder.

What if the film was grainy or out of focus? Or didn’t
even exist? Suppose the cameras had no film in them? God, she had to stop this,
had to stop envisioning all kinds of scenarios.

In her mind, she heard the all-points bulletin spreading
across the Washington area.

Be on the
lookout—White female—Early-to-mid-twenties, wanted for questioning for the murder
of the nation’s first lady, considered armed and dangerous.

Jayla eyed the little black kit on the seat opposite hers.
Her lifeline. It held the supplies that were a necessary part of her life from
morning to night and all the hours in between. Oh, yeah. Considering everything
through a blur of tears, she laughed at the idea that the things inside the
case might be considered a lethal weapon. Uh-huh. She supposed she was armed,
all right.

Determined to beat the weepy feelings assaulting her, she
guessed the needles in the kit might be used as lethal weapons or even the
insulin. Sure, she could stab someone in the eye with one or overdose them with
the medicine. Huh! She’d have to be fast though to beat the bullet headed her
way.

Impatient with what she considered her body’s weakness,
she eyed the rearview mirror. This time of night traffic was non-existent,
especially with the ice and snow storm already rearing its ugly head.

Nothing behind her. Nothing in front. No suspicious
looking cars with an even more devious looking man dressed in a drab green
T-shirt, camouflage pants, and carrying a wicked looking gun.

Glaring at the red light, she wondered why it was when one
was in a hurry the light took forever to change. The Mustang’s powerful engine
purred like a big cat, impatient to be off.

“Fuck it.”
She
punched the gas. The car surged into action, leaping forward like the powerful
animal it was named after. Sometimes it scared her just how much muscle the
little car possessed. Tonight, Jayla was thankful for every bit of speed the
engine claimed, but she knew damn well the distinct car grabbed attention.

The sporty, souped-up red Mustang with white racing
stripes down the hood, and an engine that hummed in perfect harmony, was
distinguishable. For sure, it usually made her an easy target to locate, which
was probably why her stepfather, Senator Hamilton Ross had bought it for her,
along with the fact it was his way of soothing his conscience.

Well, it didn’t even things up between them, not by a long
shot, and if the senator believed for one second it did, then he had some
surprises headed his way. She wouldn’t rest until she managed to smear his name
and topple him off the throne he coveted and thought he deserved. It was the
only way she’d ever be free of his control.

Between Kane and the senator, she felt as if she was
suffocating. Until three months ago, they’d known where she was every minute of
the day and night. She’d accepted the car because it was a means of escape. It
handled like a dream, and was fast. She’d made damn certain of it.

As long as she was in it, Jayla felt moderately safe.

But she couldn’t live in it, not when she’d left Kane, and
certainly not now.

Jayla imagined the senator’s bevy of ex-black ops already
knew where she was headed. Kane was her stepfather’s number one man, and
Hamilton had spies everywhere. If her stepfather was somehow involved in
Molly’s assassination, then by now, Kane would have reported that Jayla had
seen his kill. Her stepfather’s men were likely in motion, racing to locate
her.

However, Kane Masters was the one who’d come after her
with every bit of muscle he possessed. He had his own small army, men even more
dangerous than the ones who worked for the senator. Kane. She shuddered at the
thought of the sadistic bastard getting his hands on her…again.

The
swish-swish
of the wipers snared her attention and drew her back to the here and now. It
helped push away the guilt and the painful memories of her time with Kane.

How long had the wipers been on?

She didn’t remember turning them on. It slowly dawned on
her she hadn’t switched them on. They came on automatically when they were
needed. Jayla blinked, surprised the predicted snow the weatherman had forecast
earlier that morning had finally arrived and turned the sides of the highway
into glistening ribbons of white crystal. Huh. It must have been falling for a
while because she felt frozen through and through. Right. She doubted the chill
icing her bones could be blamed on the steady drop in temperature.

If she was lucky, her car would be harder to spot in the
dark with snow falling thick as feathers from a torn pillow. She adjusted the
heat, but nothing melted the layer of ice glazing her blood. Oh, God. She had
to get her mind on what was happening around her or she’d end up dead.

Dead like
—

No! No. She refused to dwell on it. It was done. Over. No
bringing back Molly Westcott. No bringing back her own mother or Barbara—

No bringing back
—

Jayla wiped the tears off her face with a trembling hand.
“Stop it! Stop the pity-party, right now.”

Except for Samantha Rivers and Lacey McCord, there was no
one who cared if she lived or died. Lacey was a distant cousin, and it was only
recently they’d forged a bond. But her cousin had just gone through a terrible
ordeal. Nope. She couldn’t dump her problems on Lacey.

Right here, right now, there was only her best friend. No
way was she involving Sam in this political nightmare. Jayla set her jaw. She
was catching that damn plane to Hawaii, and she was going on vacation with
Samantha. Kane could rot in hell.

Jayla whipped the car onto the empty parking lot on the
far side of the statuesque CIA buildings. The building provided office space
for some of the country’s finest operatives. She released a pent-up breath.
Samantha. CIA. Maybe she’d be better off confiding in her friend. Sam would
know what to do, and she’d see to it the Feds didn’t lock her away. Jayla
sighed. She had to stop this. Stop bouncing back and forth and make a decision.
Tell Sam or not tell her.

Oh, God! What should she do? There were no answers to the
critical questions plowing around in her head. She was very much afraid she’d
never discover what the correct answers might be.

Inhaling deeply, then releasing the restricted breath,
Jayla fought against the terrible pictures flashing through her mind. She
probably should have gone to the Secret Service, but she figured it was the
first place Kane would look for her. He had friends there, too, many powerful
friends.

Her hand shook as she switched off the key and dropped it
in her bag. Checking her surroundings in the dark as best she could, she at
least made certain her vehicle was the only one in the parking lot before
unlocking the door and sliding out.

Jayla grabbed the tan trench coat off the passenger seat
and pulled it on. It wasn’t the best for this type of weather, but at least it
covered the blood stains on her clothes until she could get somewhere and
change. She flipped up the collar, snuggled deeper inside the thin, silky
lining and headed across the icy tarmac.

Hurrying toward the building as fast as the slippery
pavement allowed, Jayla hooked the shoulder strap of her black leather bag and
fished out her cell phone. Quickly, she punched in a number set on speed dial.

“Operation’s Office, Flayme Jansen speaking. How may I
help you?” The feminine voice on the other end sounded reserved and
business-like.

“Miss Jansen?”

“Yes?”

“It’s Jayla Ross. Is Samantha there yet?”

“Not yet. She should be here soon though. She’s expecting
you.”

“Yes. I need to see her right away. It’s urgent.”

“Please hold. I’ll contact Miss Rivers.”

Jayla whimpered. She hated being put on hold. Worse, she
loathed standing outside while the sleet and snow peppered her face. The street
lights made her a perfect target for a would-be assassin. In this case, there
was no choice. She looked around. Odd, there were no guards on duty. Maybe they
were inside out of the cold, or taking a break.

After what seemed like forever, the secretary came back on
the line. “Miss Ross?”

“Yes?”

“Where are you now?”

“Outside. Here.”

“I’ll buzz you in.”

“What about Miss Rivers?” Jayla tore open the door as soon
as she heard the buzzer. Making certain it locked behind her, she turned left,
made a beeline to the rows of gleaming elevators and punched the up arrow.

“She’ll meet you here as soon as she can get away.”

Shit!
“How long
will that be?” The elevator door swished shut behind her. Irritated, Jayla
stabbed the sixth floor button with more force than necessary. Usually, it was
Sam waiting on her. Why couldn’t this one time be like all the others and Sam
already here, tapping her toes and anxious to be on her way?

“I don’t know, Miss Ross, at least an hour. Maybe two. As
you know, Miss Rivers is attending the first lady’s dinner party at the White
House at Mrs. Westcott’s specific request. She can’t simply leave. I’m sorry.”

“Yes, I know,” Jayla replied as patiently as she could
manage. It wasn’t the secretary’s fault
she’d
witnessed firsthand exactly where the first lady was and what had happened to
her. “I just thought…hoped…she might have left there early.”

“I’m sorry.”

She clenched her fists to keep from punching the wall. She
didn’t have an hour or two. She didn’t have any other option, either. Sam would
be here when she got here. Jayla prayed it was quicker than within an hour. Did
Sam know Molly had left the White House?

“All right. All right. I’m in the elevator,” Jayla stated.
“I’ll be there in a sec.”

“You know the suite number?”

“Six-zero-one.”

“Come on in.”

Jayla flipped the top down on the phone and dropped it in
her bag.

CIA.
Her
new best friend
―
or her worst enemy?
She didn’t know. Did she have an
alternative? Not today. Much as she hated to drag Sam into this mess, she
needed help. She had to trust in her friend’s ability to keep them all safe.
There was simply no one else to turn to, at least no one else she trusted.
After giving it some thought, she figured Sam and her department would end up
in the thick of it anyway.

Jayla accepted she was in hot water, and no matter the
risk to Sam, this was bigger than the two of them or the one of her. She
despised the fact she had to pu
ll her friend into this, but she
couldn’t do this alone. It was way over her head. Certainly she had no evasive
skills. The only survival skill she possessed was she knew how to shoot a gun
—
thanks to Kane. However, that didn’t
mean she’d get the chance to
shoot first.

The other thing she was good at wasn’t going to save her.

She needed Sam’s help. At least she knew she could trust
her friend. It was all the others, the powers above Sam she didn’t trust.

How in the world had she managed to get enmeshed in s
uch
intrigue? Murder. Lies. Videos. Sex? Oh yeah, in D.C.
—
everything revolved around lies and
sex. She was in it up to her neck, all of it. Her universe was about to erupt
around her head in a shower of the worst kind of hell.

The elevator stopped and the doors slapped open with a
soft
whoosh
.

“Hello, baby.”

Jayla’s breath caught in her throat. “Kane,” she choked.
“How
—
”

“Does it matter?” he asked in that sexy, gravelly tone
she’d once loved, but had learned to hate. “You’re here. I’m here. And I have
the gun. That’s what matters to me.”

Numb, she couldn’t believe her sorry ass luck. “It’s the
only thing that’s ever mattered to you,” she said faintly.

“You didn’t really think you’d escape me…did you?” H
e
leveled the deadly gun with the silencer at her and squeezed the trigger.

Chapter Five

To die is nothing, but it is terrible not to
live.

~Victor Hugo

Rimrock, Montana

Blackstone Ranch

February 16, Monday

Nine hours before the assassination…

Standing
beside Lacey at her son’s graveside, Rafe McCord eyed his sweet wife of two
days, and wondered how he’d been lucky enough to win her love. Lucky that she
was a strong woman and survived the terrible ordeal the serial killer, Smitt
Davis, put her through.

Even
though she hadn’t shared all the details with him, Rafe knew enough to know
Lacey had suffered unspeakable horrors at the butcher’s hands. He might not
have felt the physical pain his wife had endured, but she’d lost not only her
little boy, Joseph, but lost their baby as well. His child
.
A baby he’d desperately wanted with her.

His
heart grabbed. It’d be a long time before either of them got over the loss of
Lacey’s two-year-old son or the tiny being they’d created during the Christmas
holidays. He wondered how Danger bore the death of little Joseph.

Rafe
tamped his mental wanderings down. God, he didn’t want to think about Danger or
the boy. He didn’t want to think about the man who’d loved Lacey first and
still did, or the awful things Danger had said and done to her. In a way, her
ex had been almost as cruel as Smitt Davis, but without the violence.

Sometimes it didn’t take carnage to wound a soul. He had a
feeling whatever cruel things Danger had said to Lacey, she’d carry them in her
heart ‘til the end of her days. Disgust and rage rose in the back of his throat
like bile. He understood Danger hadn’t been a well man, but unkind words, once
spoken, might be forgiven, but were rarely forgotten.

Rafe
acknowledged the fact he was more than blessed Lacey was even alive. Every time
he looked at her, his heart ached. She looked pale, way too slender and so
fragile looking, he felt like weeping every time he looked at her.

Although
he’d tried and continued to try his best to comfort her, she bore the brunt of
he
r
grief alone. She needed space, time to grieve in her own way for the children
she’d lost, but he was terrified to let her out of his sight
—
afraid Smitt Davis would return and
finish what he’d started.

He
didn’t know if he’d ever be comfortable with Lacey out of his sight again. Rafe
figured a psychologist would have a field day with any one of the three of
them. But deep inside, he believed if Davis got his hands on Lacey again, she’d
never survive the serial killer’s brutality. So he remained near her—always on
guard.

He
watched helplessly as Lacey mourned for the son Davis had taken from her. Rafe
brushed away a solitary tear. Joseph wasn’t his child, but he’d known the
little boy since his birth. How could he not feel her loss or grieve with her,
for her? Not when he was crazy in love with Lacey. Her loss was his loss. She
hurt, he hurt.

Danger
had seen to the child’s burial while Lacey was still fighting for her life.
Rafe thought her son’s death and burial must seem surreal to her. She needed
this closure. God, he just wanted to get her out of this daunting country and
to his ranch in Triangle, Texas. Get her away from all the horrible memories,
the heartache and pain, hold her in his arms, and let her healing begin. Love
her. Cuddle her. He figured she deserved lots of cuddling, and by God, he
intended to see she got it.

Rafe
squeezed Lacey’s shoulders. She looked up, her expression bleak and lost. His
heart grabbed. Tears stood in her gold-colored eyes. No matter how much petting
he gave her, no matter how much he loved her, she reminded him of a broken
doll. Crushed. She’d never be the same again.

Bruises
still marred her face. Her right arm rested in a sling. Two bullet holes still
mended and thin scars the color of strawberries marred the tender flesh of her
belly where Smitt had cut her multiple times with a knife.

Gone was the feisty woman who’d once laughed, teased, and
flirted shamelessly. He thought that woman had probably died down in that well.
Lacey was quieter, a paler shadow of her former self. More serious. Where once
her eyes had sparkled with silent laughter, they now reflected deep pools of
pain. The woman he’d fallen in love with, the lively, cheerful female whose
laughter had captured his heart, no longer existed. In her place was a woman
who was stronger for her ordeal, but one who rarely smiled, and sometimes
flinched when someone got too close to her.

Rafe
didn’t care. All his focus was on Lacey and what she needed. He intended to
spend the rest of his life making her smile, making her happy. She deserved no
less.

Tugging
her into his arms, he bent closer, shelteri
ng her from the sharp bite of the icy
wind. They’d been standing here for at least thirty minutes. The bitter cold
cut through their denim coats, but he refused to rush her. If she needed to
stand here all day, then he’d remain beside her and hold her hand.

The
hours after her attack, the time she’d spent in the old well, hell, he knew she
had some catching up to do to settle it all in her mind, to free her soul of
the guilt she felt over Joseph’s death. Funny how things worked out sometimes,
how life raced at you full speed
and knocked you on your ass.

He’d
loved Lacey for three years, but she’d been married to Danger. He’d never
expected to hold her in his arms. Because of Danger’s involvement with another
woman, and the attack on Lacey and her son, she was now
his
wife. From the ashes of their wrecked lives, this was the one
thing he refused to
regret or was willing to change or give up. Lacey
—
his wife.

“Are you ready?” she asked quietly. “I need the last of
the boxes from the house. I want to get out of here, Rafe. Please?”

By here, he knew she meant Montana. “Are you sure
you’re
ready?” He hesitated, then
cleared his throat. “Lacey,” he said huskily. “Sweetheart, Karen’s in the
house. So is Danger. He’s weak. The man can barely stand. He’s using a walker
for mobility. I just wanted to prepare you, baby.”

“Walker?” Her gold eyes rounded with sadness.

“It’s temporary. He’ll get strong again in time. I can’t
believe he left the hospital without the surgeon’s release.”

“Danger does things his way,” she said a bit sadly. “And
the surgery, well you know, they drilled, instead of cutting his skull apart. I
think maybe that was less invasive than…” She shrugged. “You know?”

“Yeah. You’re right. I know I told you this before, and
God knows it kills me to say it again, but if you still love him, still want
him, I’ll set you free.”

A faint smile touched her lips, there, and gone in a
blink. “You keep making that offer one might think
you
want your freedom.”

“God no, sweetheart,” he rushed to assure her.
“Never.”
He wrapped his arms around her
waist and held her tight against his chest. “I never want to let you go. I want
to take you home and spoil you. When you’re ready, and if God’s willing, I want
us to try for another baby. I want our home overrun with the sound of childish
laughter, Lace.”

Her face abruptly looked blank. “Another baby?”

Maybe it was too soon for him to mention more children to
her. He cleared his throat. “At least three, if you want…someday.”

She fiddled with the collar on his denim coat. “I want
you, Rafe. I want your babies…someday. Right now, I can’t think about having
more children.”

He felt as if a knife had been thrust in his heart. “Okay.
I didn’t mean to rush you. I wasn’t rushing you. I just want our marriage to be
solid, a little something to cement it together.”

She tilted her head, searching his face. “I love you,
Rafe. For now, that has to be enough glue to hold us. You have no worries where
Danger is concerned. Danger…well, he made his choices…and he took away mine. He
made decisions without consulting me or giving me a chance. I’ve made mine.
Now…” She smiled. “I have three boxes in the house, in our bedroom.”

“Our
bedroom?”
He lifted a quizzical brow.

“The one you and I slept in together. After you left, I
moved into that room. Danger stopped being a husband to me months before, long
before you and I slept together. You’re the only one I’ve had sex with in over
a year.”

Rafe cupped her chin and pressed a light kiss against her
mouth. “We didn’t have sex, Lace. I made love to you. You gave me the most
incredible night, the most beautiful thing that’s ever happened to me.” He
rubbed his mouth against hers. “Wait for me in the truck. I’ll get the boxes
and we’ll get the hell outta here.” He handed her the keys. “Start the engine.
Lock the doors.”

Her gaze flashed to his and she nodded. She took the keys
and turned away.

“Lace?”

She turned back, a small figure wrapped in a denim jacket,
question in her solemn gaze.

“Here.” He pressed a gun in her hands, the backup he kept
in an ankle holster. “You know how to use it?”

“Yes.”

“Be sure you do if you have to. Don’t give the bastard a
fighting chance.”

“I never intend to.”

Rafe leaned down and took her mouth. When he released her,
he stepped back. “Go. I’ll be there shortly.”

“Okay. Thanks. I’m not up to facing Danger or Karen’s
hostility.”

“You don’t have to, sweetheart, that’s what I’m for.”

Rafe, ex-Special Agent, now sheriff of Triangle, Texas,
knocked on Danger’s front door—the one Smitt Davis entered when he attacked
Lacey. The man had wrought nothing but death and destruction and nearly
destroyed a wonderful young woman. One day, Rafe vowed, the bastard would pay.

Waiting impatiently for someone to let him in, Rafe
shuffled his boots. Damn, it was cold.

“Come…in,” Danger said, throwing open the door. His body
jerked with uncoordinated movements. He leaned heavily against the metal
walker, his breaths sharp and ragged. His speech sounded slightly slurred, most
likely from pain medicine Rafe decided. “It’s a bit of a mess, but…” Danger’s
words trailed off, he shrugged and turned toward the den.

“It’s okay. I’m here for the rest of Lacey’s things, not
to see your house.” Rafe prayed it was the last time he ever had to see Danger
or set foot in this house.

Danger turned a piercing eye on him.

Shit.
Even
recovering from surgery, the man could stare down a rattlesnake. Rafe realized
he’d sounded rude, but this wasn’t a social visit, and certainly the two of
them hadn’t parted on the best of terms at their last meeting, not when Danger
had attacked Lacey in her hospital bed the way he had, accusing her of
murdering Joseph.

Rafe had no doubt Danger hated his guts, after all, he’d
seduced the man’s wife, not once, but several times right here in their home.
Even if he’d done it with Danger’s silent approval at the time, Rafe knew it
hadn’t been a smart move on his part. The only room he hadn’t made love to
Lacey in was her and Danger’s bedroom.

He felt he didn’t have much decency left after sleeping
with Lacey and her still married to a man who was ill and not thinking straight
at the time, but damn it, she was
his
now. Rafe wasn’t about to question his good fortune. It wasn’t his fault Danger
gave her up.

The one decent thing he’d made certain he did was stay out
of Danger and Lacey’s bedroom and bed, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself
from touching her. God knew he’d tried, but in the end, he’d wanted her with a
desperation he still felt. He’d die before he ever left Lacey vulnerable to
another man the way Danger had done.

Rafe stepped inside the house and stilled.
Good grief.
His jaw gaped. His eyes wide
ned.
A bit of a mess
was a misnomer. It
was all he could do to keep from groaning. Karen, Danger’s new wife, was
already making her mark inside the house
—
and
not for the better.

Lacey’s tastes in furnishings were exquisite. Karen’s were
stunningly garish. The woman had stripped the homey wallpaper from the den.
Rafe was glad Lacey had remained in the truck. She’d hung the autumn leaf and
deer patterned paper to complement the local environment, as well as make the
den the masculine room it was meant to be.

Karen had replaced it with Pepto Bismol pink and neon
green wallpaper. The wide, busy stripes of the two colors bled together and created
a nauseating effect. He didn’t know whether to gag, laugh, or go someplace and
throw up. Swear to God when he met Danger’s evasive gaze, the man looked ready
to hurl. Rafe didn’t believe for a minute the sickness etched on the sheriff’s
pale face had anything to do with his recent medical condition. The man looked
ill okay, no doubt sickened by the horrible mistake he’d made marrying Karen.

Rafe turned away. Hell, it made him sick and it was none
of his business. He’d shared hot cocoa with Lacey in this room, made love to
her in front of the big fireplace Karen was having dismantled rock by rock. In
his opinion, the woman was not only a lunatic, she was a fucking nightmare.
She’d hooked her claws in Danger about as deep as a female could sink them. It
was obvious she intended to obliterate every trace of Lacey ever being here. He
wondered if she hadn’t figured out yet she could never erase Lacey from
Danger’s mind or heart.

Karen had never made any attempt to conceal her hatred for
Lacey. Odd, since she was the one who’d wronged Danger’s wife. Rafe eyed what
had once been a cozy room. The big, comfortable mas
culine furniture had
been hauled away and in its place
—
God,
he didn’t know
what
was in its place,
something tawdry with extravagant pink and white flowers bearing oversized
mint-colored leaves.