sent the fax.
Noah studied the piece of paper, seeing that he was one of four sheriffs who’d been notified that a pair of con artists might be headed north toward the Canadian border. Huh, grifters … that was something you didn’t see every day. The man had a medium build, was in his mid-thirties with dark hair; the woman in her late twenties, brown hair, brown eyes, tall, attractive, the brains. Moran believed they were married but might be traveling separately.
Noah rubbed the tense spot in his right shoulder. Great, just what he needed. More trouble.
2
“MY BAGS?” ALANA PROMPTED when the cabbie pulled his atrocious ancient noisy sedan to the curb and just sat there, gazing out the windshield in apparent admiration of the cheap Halloween decorations that heralded Main Street.
“What? Oh, yeah, sure thing.” Harvey popped the trunk, then made no move to get out and retrieve her luggage. He simply relaxed against the cracked vinyl upholstery, his impressive paunch testing the buttons of his plaid flannel shirt. “Easiest money I ever made. You gonna need a ride back to the airport later?”
“God, I hope not,” she muttered, and dug in her purse for her wallet.
“What’s that?” he asked, cupping a hand behind his ear.
“Your muffler,” she said louder. “It needs replacing.”
He just grinned and nodded.
Guess she was getting her own bag. At least it wasn’t terrifically heavy. She sighed and passed him the fee she’d negotiated for him to drive her the hour and a half to Blackfoot Falls. To be fair, the man wasn’t really a cab driver. She’d arrived at the tiny airport to find one car rental counter, and that was it. Since she didn’t have a driver’s license she supposed she was lucky to have gotten a ride from the rental agent’s brother-in-law.
She climbed out of the car and yanked her bag from the trunk, setting it on its wheels before grabbing her carry-on and laptop, which she nested on top of the bag, anchoring everything securely to the pop-up handle. Normally, she was good at packing. But the last-minute trip and the mad dash to John F. Kennedy Airport to catch her plane had resulted in her purse ending up a catch-all that weighed heavily on her shoulder.
Alana watched Harvey make a U-turn, then sputter down the highway, tufts of disgusting black exhaust in his wake. She glanced around, hoping no one had noticed her arrival in the awful car, although she’d been careful to have him drop her off at the edge of town. He wasn’t familiar with the Sundance, but she figured that as long as he got her to Blackfoot Falls, that was good enough. She just hoped there was someone around who could give her directions. The place looked deserted.
She tucked her hair behind her ear and smoothed down the front of her jacket while searching for signs of life. Farther down the street there were several cars parked in front of storefronts, but the place was ungodly quiet for … she checked her watch, did a quick calculation and set the Rolex back to four-thirty, local time.
It wasn’t exactly the dinner hour, so where was everyone? Main Street looked to be about five blocks long, though surprisingly wide, with a small square of grassy semigreen in the middle, its centerpiece a huge tree with most of the leaves gone or faded to autumn-yellow. From the bare branches hung paper ghosts fluttering in the brisk breeze.
Not a single stop sign was in sight and definitely no traffic lights, even though there seemed to be a couple of residential side streets. Closest to her was a gas station, then a gun shop, and next to it a hardware store. Across the street was a video rental place and a pawn shop with a sign indicating the owner was gone for a week.
A number of stores stretched toward the far end of town, but Alana couldn’t make out what they were except perhaps for another gas station. Other than a banner strung between two streetlights announcing the annual fall festival, and the ubiquitous Halloween decorations, the town was rather nondescript. She wouldn’t be surprised if some of the shops had been abandoned, just like the old boarding house in back of her.
Her purse slipped off her shoulder as she noticed a woman and child carrying packages and walking toward a parked truck. As if a button had been pressed, the town seemed to spring to life. A pack of high-school-age kids started making themselves heard from down a long block. Three more pickups turned onto Main Street, one right behind the other, and a short, bowlegged man appeared on the sidewalk, headed in the opposite direction from her. Judging by his gait, Alana guessed he’d just left a bar.
Hell, she wouldn’t mind a cosmo about now herself. She added her purse to the carefully stacked pile of bags, and then grabbed the suitcase handle and started walking, rolling her cargo behind her. By the time she’d made it a block, more people had shown up—a few in cars, but monster-size, dusty pickups appeared to be the vehicle of choice.
The action was clearly centered on the other side of town, so she hadn’t received any curious looks yet. Although three women riding in a green sedan gave her a once-over as they passed. She watched them park and get out, and knew instantly by their tight, trendy clothes that they weren’t locals. Had to be guests from one of the dude ranches in the area.
A few minutes later she got her first friendly wave from a man driving by in a white pickup with heavily tinted windows. Her pulse jumped when she saw the word Sheriff emblazoned in bold black letters on the door, but the driver wasn’t the hottie she’d seen in the review pictures. Nevertheless, she watched him pull to the curb, get out and cross the street, then disappear inside the sheriff’s office.
The wheels of her suitcase caught on a crack in the sidewalk, and she turned to give it a tug over the bulging concrete. The rough jerk upset the balance and she nearly lost the case with her laptop. Alana exhaled in relief, made sure stability had been restored, and headed for the green sedan. Maybe she’d be lucky enough to catch a ride with the blondes. Otherwise, she could call the Sundance, ask someone there to send a car for her. Or better yet, why not ask the sheriff for information?
She smiled at the idea. It was a perfectly reasonable thing for a tourist in a strange town to do. Even if said tourist could tell full well the town was too small to offer public transportation. What would be the harm? She’d get a nice close look and see for herself if the reviewers were right about him being all that. Not that she cared about small-town sheriffs, even if they did know how to fill out a uniform.
She picked up her pace, bumping along on the uneven sidewalk, watching more trucks coming down Main Street as if in a parade. They seemed to be headed to the same place, and though she wouldn’t admit it, it was fun seeing all those cowboys pile out as each vehicle parked at the curb. Some of the men wore hats, some didn’t. All were dressed in jeans and Western-cut shirts, and sported cowboy boots.
A few of them spotted her and gave her quick smiles, but they were more interested in the blondes artfully lounging near the sedan. Alana didn’t take offense or give it a second thought. The women had dressed the part of tourists on the prowl, and she hadn’t. Nor would she. She never flirted, acted coy or did any of those things. Even if she wanted to play the helpless, eye-batting, oh-aren’t-you-a-big-strong-man game just for fun, she’d be really bad at it.
She crossed the street and saw the sign for the Watering Hole. Every time the door opened, country music blasted onto the sidewalk. Not only that, but the acrid smell of smoke was enough to choke a horse, and she was still half a block away. Guess she’d skip that place.
Too late, she realized she shouldn’t have crossed yet. Groups of cowboys gathered outside the bar, smoking, talking or just plain gawking
