Luck of the Draw Page 14

  Below her window, he turned then as if sensing her. His gaze shot to her window. She froze, wondering if he could see her. If he was thinking about what had almost happened tonight. Or thinking about the past. Thinking how much she’d hurt him.

  Dropping his head, he turned back toward the lodge. She stood listening for his boots on the hardwood floor of the hallway. She didn’t dare move until he’d passed her door. She hadn’t realized that she’d been holding her breath until she heard his door close at the end of the hall.

  Tonight, she’d come so close to telling him the truth but for all the wrong reasons. She couldn’t bear the anger she’d seen in his gaze. The pain. The frustration. The suspicion. But that would be nothing compared to how he would feel when he learned what she’d been doing when they’d met.

  Lying down on the bed fully clothed, she cried until she was exhausted and the well of tears had gone dry. She listened. The lodge creaked and groaned, but she heard nothing from Garrett’s end of the hallway.

  It was time. With the sheriff coming in the morning, she had no choice. She had to know what was going on, how she’d gotten to Whitefish to begin with and why. And she had to find out tonight as soon as she was sure Garrett was asleep.

  She lay in the dark listening. It had been several hours since he’d gone down to his room for the night. Was he asleep? She remembered how easily he used to nod off. A clear conscience, she thought with a grimace. She, on the other hand, had spent long hours lying beside him, listening to his steady restful breaths, while she thought about her life and the mess she’d made of it before Garrett.

  Refusing to let herself wallow in those memories now, she rose from the bed and padded barefoot across the cool hardwood to the door. Listening, she heard nothing. The utter silence of this place was unnerving. She’d spent too many years in a city with the sound of sirens and the roar of traffic at all hours of the day and night. Because large cities were safer for her. She could disappear into the crowds.

  Gripping the knob, she eased open the door. The hallway was dark. She listened to the absolute silence for a few moments before she stepped out and quietly closed the door behind her.

  For a moment, she stood in the dark and listened, waiting. Garrett was staying at the end of the hallway. She stared at his closed door for a moment longer, then turned and padded silently down the stairs.

  Moonlight shone in the lodge, lighting the stairway as she quickly descended. She’d spotted the phone earlier—a large old black one sitting on a small table near the door to what Garrett had said was his office.

  She went straight to the phone, picked it up and was relieved to hear a dial tone. Garrett had said it was the only outside line at the lodge so she didn’t have to worry about him picking up an extension in his room to listen, did she?

  It was a chance she’d have to take. Still, she hesitated. She had desperately wanted to make a call from the hospital. But a woman who said she couldn’t remember anything wouldn’t have anyone to call—just as Garrett had pointed out earlier. She hadn’t been able to take the chance at the hospital anyway. Just as she couldn’t chance telling the sheriff the truth. She never knew who she could trust so she trusted no one. Until Garrett.

  She knew that once she made the call, it would be traced. They would know where she was—if they didn’t already. Taking a breath, she dialed the number that had become engraved on her memory.

  The line began to ring. It was even later back east, but she didn’t care. This might be her only chance. The phone rang again. She held her breath and waited, not sure what she hoped he would tell her when he answered.

  By the fourth ring, she was starting to worry. What if something had happened? What if he was somewhere off the grid? What if a lot more than her piddling life had been compromised? Or what if he was on his way to Montana?

  In the middle of the fifth ring, he picked up. “Hello?” He sounded half asleep.

  “It’s me.”

  She heard him stir, covers being thrown back, feet hitting the floor. He swore. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?”

  She didn’t. “I was in a car wreck. I ended up in the hospital. I can’t remember the days right before that.”

  He swore. She could imagine him raking a hand through his hair. She’d put him through so much. “I know,” he said, sounding less angry. “Your DNA was flagged. When it came up and I saw you’d been arrested for shooting someone. Why did you run?”

  “I don’t know that I did. I don’t remember anything about the days before I woke up in a hospital. I don’t remember killing anyone.”

  “Where are you? I can send someone to pick you up.”

  “I need to know what I’m doing in Montana. Did you—”

  “I didn’t contact you.”

  A memory, sharp and painful, flashed in her mind. A photograph of her and Garrett. But when she tried to hang on to the memory, it quickly slipped away. Had someone sent her the photo? The room seemed to sway for a moment before she said, “My cover—”

  “Was fine until you ran.” He swore. “Krystal, what were you thinking taking off?”

  “My name isn’t Krystal,” she snapped.

  “Call yourself whatever you want, your life is in danger if they find you. You know this. We’ve been through this before. If you had just stayed—”

  “I can’t do this anymore.” Her voice wavered, but she knew she’d never spoken more truer words. “I’m done.”

  He swore and when he spoke it was through gritted teeth. “You know that you weren’t really eligible for the program. I stuck my neck out—”

  “How did you get me in then?” she asked now, suddenly suspicious and wondering why she hadn’t been before. “My father and stepmother’s killer is behind bars. You never needed me to testify.”

  He sighed. “Yes, your father’s associate, Harvey Mattson, went down for the murders, but it’s more complicated than that. If you remembered who you saw that night—”

  “I haven’t.”

  “But we believe that whoever has been trying to kill you is afraid you will and there is a chance that you will remember and we can tie up all the loose ends on your father’s case. But now you’re going to have to be given a new identity once we pick you up and straighten out all your legal problems.”

  His words sent ice up her spine. “I’m telling you I wouldn’t have run. My cover must have been blown.”

  “If that’s true, then they already have come for you again. Where are you? You need to come back in. We’ll set you up—”

  “No.” Not again, she thought. She could barely remember who she’d once been. She was sick of living one lie after another. Her pulse pounded in her ears. “My cover was blown before I headed to Montana. Wait, there was a photo someone stuck under my door.” It was of her and Garrett.

  “When I went by your place I did see a photograph of you with a cowboy. Is that what you’re talking about?”

  Her heart leaped to her throat. She’d been right. Someone had found her. They’d wanted her back in Montana. They’d known she’d go to him to warn him. The threat had been clear.

  “Look, it doesn’t matter. You can’t do this alone. You’ve already tried that.”

  No, she couldn’t. “I’m serious. I’m done with all of it.” She hung up and thought about taking the phone off the hook. She waited a few minutes, but he didn’t call back. He was probably relieved to be rid of her. Either that or he was already on the phone to Alistair—if he hadn’t already called him. Because if she hadn’t been eligible for the Federal Witness Protection Program, then there was only one person who could have gotten her into it. Her guardian.

  They would be able to find her now. A US Marshal could get the number from the landline within minutes. But she’d confirmed what she’d feared. Garrett was also in danger. Someone had sent her a photo of the two of th
em. It had been a warning. Which meant that not only had her cover in the program been compromised but they had known about her and Garrett. But who had known about them? She’d been so sure that Garrett was her special secret, that she’d left quickly enough that she hadn’t put him in danger.

  She felt sick to her stomach. The photo had been a warning that they didn’t just know where she was. They knew about Garrett. She’d known then that she had to warn him. What had happened after that, she had no idea until she’d awakened in the hospital with blood under her fingernails.

  Standing in the starlight-filled lodge, she knew there was only one thing to do. She couldn’t put it off any longer. She had to tell Garrett everything tonight. She hurried up the stairs to her room to dress.

  * * *

  WHEN THE PHONE rang in his room, Garrett picked it up quickly before it would awaken Joslyn. He knew it was Billy calling and was anxious to hear what he’d found out.

  “I would have gotten back to you sooner, but your line was busy,” the PI said. Before Garrett would consider what that meant, his friend added, “Are you sitting down?”

  He had been lying in bed still fully clothed staring at the ceiling, but now he sat up. “How bad is it?”

  “I found an article entitled, Poor Little Rich Girl, Monica Wilmington. You want me to read it to you or just give you the gist of it?”

  “The gist.”

  “She lost her mother at three and her father and stepmother in a brutal murder at five.”

  Garrett let out a curse.

  “It gets worse. Monica is believed to have witnessed the carnage. She was found hiding in a closet covered in blood.”

  Garrett got to his feet to walk to the window. The dark summer night did nothing to chase away the chill he felt. What would something like that do to a child? Or even an adult?

  Billy continued. “Insiders say that the girl didn’t speak a word for weeks. The only witness to the murders, Monica isn’t just not talking. Insiders say she claims no memory of the incident. After that, she was being cared for by her father’s close friend and prominent businessman Alistair Vanderlin. He’s still her guardian—until she turns thirty.”

  He didn’t know what to say. She’d been through so much. Was that why her family thought she needed medical attention? “So no immediate family?” He murmured the question, but realized Billy wasn’t listening.

  “Wait until you hear this. Her father left behind a fortune. Some went to stepdaughter Amethyst, who was thirteen when her mother and stepfather were murdered and stepson Peter, who was eleven. The bulk will go to Monica when she turns thirty, which is only days away. Garrett, I’m talking about over a hundred million dollars.”

  He thought he must have heard wrong. He was speechless. Couldn’t be the same woman. His Joslyn couldn’t be this poor little rich girl.

  As if his friend was questioning the same thing, he said, “Monica Wilmington. Is she your Joslyn? The possible murderess down the hall?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Wow,” Billy said. “I found some photos of her on a yacht in the Mediterranean taken with a telephoto lens, it looks like, when she was in her teens. A couple more paparazzi shots at nightclubs when she was a little older. But then nothing. This woman is drop-dead beautiful. If she is the same woman...”

  He wasn’t sure of anything. “According to the sheriff who plans to pay us a visit in the morning she is Monica Wilmington.” He turned at the soft tap on his door. “I have to go. Thanks for doing this. I owe you.” He hung up. There was another soft tap at his door, this one more insistent.

  Still overwhelmed by what he’d learned, he walked to the door and opened it to find Joslyn standing there. Her amber eyes were wide and shiny.

  “Garrett,” she said on a ragged whispered breath. “I think there’s someone—” The sound of glass breaking downstairs cut off the rest of her words.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “STAY HERE. LOCK the door. Don’t open it for anyone but me,” Garrett said as he pushed past her and headed for the stairs.

  “Be careful,” she called after him.

  He couldn’t miss the irony. He’d thought the real person he had to fear was the one sleeping down the hall from him. The last thing he’d expected was to hear someone breaking in. A hardened criminal like the one who’d tried to kill her, would have come in like a stealth bomber—not making all this racket.

  At the top of the stairs, he slowed. The night even with the starlight was too dark to see who had shattered the window in the large front door to reach inside. He could hear the person fumbling with the lock. Within moments, the intruder would be inside.

  Garrett descended the stairs quickly, going straight to his office and opening his gun cabinet. The shotgun was kept there, always loaded. He stuffed the pistol into the back waistband of his jeans and tucked his shirt over it. Usually the shotgun was for scaring away bears—not human prowlers. He stepped back in the dark of the main lounge at the same time the large door swung open.

  “You’re sure no one is up here?” said a young female voice from the darkness. “I saw a pickup—”

  “The place is closed for the summer,” a male voice said a moment before the young man stepped in and reached for the light switch. “We have the place to ourselves.”

  The young female giggled. “You’re going to get me into trouble.”

  “He sure is,” Garrett said, snapping on a nearby lamp.

  For a moment the two in the doorway were blinded by the light, their faces caught in shocked surprise. The young female let out a shriek of alarm. The young male stared at Garrett, then the shotgun in his hands. “We were just going to—”

  “I know what you were going to do,” Garrett said. “But why don’t you tell it to the sheriff after he calls your parents.”

  The young man nodded, before turning and barreling into his date.

  Both finally got their feet under them to run toward the car parked down by the barn. Garrett walked out on the porch and watched them go. He could call the sheriff, but no real harm was done except to the window. He could get that replaced. He’d been young once. Hell, he still felt as randy as a teenager, he thought, turning to see Joslyn standing partway down the stairs.

  She was hugging herself, looking scared. Sometimes he forgot that just a day ago a man had dragged her into the woods to kill her. At least that’s what he thought he’d witnessed.

  “It was just a couple of kids,” he said coming in from the night and closing the door behind him. Glass glittered on the floor below the door window. He could hear the rev of the car engine as the two roared away. He locked the door even though anyone could reach in now to open it. One more repair to add to the contractor’s punch list, he thought.

  Settling his gaze on Joslyn, he thought about what Billy had told him. Poor little rich girl. His heart went out to the child Monica Wilmington had been. He couldn’t imagine the kind of scars that would leave on a person.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She nodded mutely, but he could tell she was still frightened.

  “I could make you a cup of hot cocoa.” He used to make it for her when they were together. He knew back then that she’d had trouble sleeping. Guilt?

  She gave him a sad, knowing smile. “Earlier, I was coming down to your room to talk to you when I heard someone breaking in.” She glanced toward the fireplace.

  “Since it appears we won’t be sleeping anytime soon I can build a fire to go with the cocoa.”

  Her face brightened. “A fire would be wonderful, but no cocoa, thank you. If you aren’t too tired, I really do need to talk to you.”

  He thought about what Billy had said about the line being busy the first time he’d tried to call back. That could only mean one thing. She’d called someone. And now she was ready to talk?

  Isn’t this what he
’d been telling himself he wanted? Just an explanation for what happened two years ago. But he realized he wanted a whole lot more than that. His heart thudded deep in his chest as he stepped to the fireplace and began to pile logs onto the embers. Behind him, he heard her come all the way down the stairs.

  By the time he got a blaze going, she was curled up on the couch under one of the lap quilts that had been folded on the back of a leather chair.

  “You sure you don’t want hot cocoa?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “I have a feeling that I’m going to need a stiff drink. Can I make you one?”

  “No, thanks.” She seemed to wait as he went to the bar and poured himself a shot of bourbon and downed it in one gulp. He poured himself another. He would have dragged the bottle back to the couch in front of the fire, except he knew he had to keep his wits about him. He hardly ever drank—until Joslyn had returned to his life, he realized.

  The fire crackled and flashed brightly as he sat down at the opposite end of the large leather couch so he could face her. So he could face whatever was coming. He took a sip of his drink, waiting, wondering what she was about to tell him and dreading it. He’d thought this woman couldn’t hurt him any worse than she had. But at this moment he knew that too had been a lie.

  * * *

  SHE STUDIED HIM in the firelight. He’d closed his eyes and leaned back on the couch, stretching out his long denim-covered legs to prop his boots on the large square coffee table. Her cowboy. That’s how she’d always thought of him. The only person she’d ever told about him was a young woman she’d struck up a conversation with on the bus one day when she was at her weakest. She’d had to tell someone about Garrett. Otherwise, none of it seemed real.

  “It sounds like a summer fling,” the woman had said. “I had one of those. They’re hard to forget. But if the two of you had really loved each other, the kind of love that lasts, wouldn’t you still be with him?”