receiving some medical care. Better if she didn’t call the police. They’d only get in his way. Besides, based on the homework he’d done on the town, the sheriff was recovering at home from a stroke and the deputy chief was in charge. He was only a year younger than Holt’s thirty-two years. Probably didn’t know diddly-squat. This town barely had two thousand residents. Biggest crime might be cow tipping.
Then again, Alejandro Gonzalez had been spotted here by Agent Livingston, so who knew what was going on? A place like this wouldn’t be on anyone’s radar. Could Alejandro have been meeting the head of the Juarez Cartel? No one had ever seen his face before. Which meant he could be hiding right under their noses.
Did Blair know who he was? Was that why she’d moved here after her husband had been gunned down by the Juarez Cartel? Had she been in on Mateo’s execution? Or had the head of the snake moved here to lie in wait and strike at Blair as a move against her former brother-in-law, Hector Salvador?
Too many questions clogging the wheel. Holt inhaled and exhaled, concentrating on the here and now.
“I’ll call the police once I get my sister to Doc Drummond’s.” Her tone didn’t sound convincing, and her eyes shifted before she looked away. Nope. She wasn’t calling anyone. Seemed odd for someone innocent. “Let me drive you. I know you managed to drive home, but neither of you seem to be in any shape to be behind a wheel.” It killed Holt to see a hurting woman. A stray thought of his high school love crashed into his mind. She’d hurt for so long before the cancer took her, ruining all their dreams for a future together.
But he didn’t want to think about it. Thinking meant feeling. And Holt didn’t want to feel. Not even right now while looking at the lovely Blair Sullivan. He was feeling something. Something he shouldn’t. She was an assignment. That was all.
Blair gnawed her bottom lip. “I think we’ll be okay.”
Gigi was already walking toward his truck. “Do you know where Doc Drummond’s office is?”
“I just moved here, but it’s a small town. In fact, it appears you and I are neighbors. I rented the McCowens’ house across the street.”
“Cool.” Gigi climbed inside the Ford F-150 he was using as his cover vehicle. “You have a head injury, Blair. I don’t want to wreck for the second time today. So get in.”
Blair hesitated and chewed on her thumbnail as if considering the offer. “So you live across the street.” She eyed him. “What brings you to Hope?”
“I’m opening up a used outdoorsman store. Kind of a dream of mine. That’s why I was at the auction today. Trying to stock the place.” And the lies continued. Worst part of his job—especially if he was lying to someone innocent. He wasn’t sure she was, but he wanted her to be.
Blair scowled at Gigi, who had taken up homestead in his truck. “And where is your business?”
Okay, this might be a little too coincidental, but he’d make it work. “Only place I could find for the right price. I leased a building on the square. Right by what appears to be your shop.” He pointed to her bulky box truck. The side was painted with a huge Christmas tree, and the name of her business was scrolled in red: It’s A Wonderful Life Antiques. “Guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, neighbor.”
Blair didn’t budge. She wasn’t buying it. The woman was tough. Smart. If she wasn’t a person of interest professionally, he’d admit she was definitely someone he’d like to get to know personally. But nothing serious. Holt’s heart couldn’t afford to do serious.
“Don’t worry, I won’t come knocking for a cup of sugar. I don’t bake.” If Holt could put her at ease, lower her guard, he could get close. At this rate, he wasn’t getting nearer than arm’s length, and that wasn’t good enough.
“Neither does she,” Gigi called from the cab of the truck. “My head hurts. Let’s go.”
Blair stepped forward and froze. “My gun! Where’s my gun?”
“I have it. You weren’t exactly thinking clearly back there.”
“I’d like it back before I go anywhere with you.” Her tone was laced with suspicion, caution.
Holt slipped it from his waistband and handed it to her. “What are you doing carrying a gun?”
“Why does anyone carry a gun? And I live in the South.” She grabbed her purse from her truck, tucked her gun inside, locked the doors and slowly made her way to his truck. He hoped she had a license to carry a concealed weapon. “Gigi, get out. I’ll take the middle.”
Safeguarding her little sister from the mysterious and probably—in Blair’s eyes—dangerous man. Something about her fierce protectiveness unraveled a cord he’d kept a tight rein over.
No doubt, this woman would sacrifice herself for her family. Whether she was the good guy or the bad. But which was she?
* * *
Blair sat next to Holt in Doc Drummond’s office, staring through the gold lettering painted across the large picture window announcing that this was indeed a doctor’s office. The heat filtering through the pane warmed her face.
“You doing all right?” Holt asked. He hadn’t budged since they entered. This man didn’t even know them. Why would he stick around like this?
“What do you think?” She hadn’t meant the question to come with a sting. “Sorry.” Blair lightly touched the bandaged area of her head where she’d hit it against the steering wheel. Thankfully, her hair covered it. She didn’t need the town asking a bunch of questions, although news traveled at warp speed, so they’d know about the wreck. Not the bullets, though. And she preferred to keep it that way.
Doc Drummond had bought her quick story, which wasn’t a lie, of losing control of the wheel and running off Farley Pass. She probably should have come here in the first place, but she’d been rattled and frightened. She’d wanted to get home. Safe.
Down the cobbled streets, neighbors bounced in and out of shops. Kids licked dripping ice-cream cones; friends laughed and peeked inside each other’s shopping bags. Vehicles lined the area in front of the regal courthouse.
Felicity Potts, the owner of Read It and Steep Bookstore and Tea Company, was sweeping the welcome mat. Blair caught her eye and she waved.
Blair waved back.
“Tea shop. How about I go over there and get a cup for you?” Holt asked.
Blair tried to see past Holt’s good looks to the kindness he showed. Was it real? When it came to men, her judgment stank. Mateo had proven that. “Are you going to get some for yourself, too?”
“Yeah, I don’t do tea.”
Blair smirked; couldn’t help it. “Chamomile.” She reached into her purse. “Let me get you some cash.”
He laid a hand over hers. “I got it. Be back in a minute.”
“Thank you. For the fourth time.”
“Five if you want to thank me for the drive over.” He swept his dark hair out of his eyes and left, jogging across the street.
Blair
