stared at the father of her unborn child. The man she’d slept with because she’d been too distraught to make a logical decision.
Sex wasn’t always logical, though.
Neither was the attraction she’d felt for this lawman. The attraction had been instant. Probably because he had rock-star looks to go along with that cowboy attitude. Or maybe it was because she’d felt this, well, connection with him. Connection aside, it’d been beyond stupid to sleep with him. She should have just walked away. Should have written Clayton and this attraction right out of her life.
That would have been the safe thing to do.
But she hadn’t. And now he was lying on a gurney, maybe dying.
Harlan’s phone buzzed, and while he took the call, Lenora moved slightly closer so she could get a better look at Clayton. There was blood on his dark brown hair, on the side of his face as well, but the flow was barely a trickle now. She had no idea if that was good or bad. The only experience she had with head wounds was they were usually fatal.
“That was Dallas,” Harlan said when he finished the call. “Marshal Walker,” he added, but Lenora already knew who Harlan meant. Another of Clayton’s foster brothers. Another federal marshal.
In fact, Clayton had five foster brothers, all of whom were U.S. marshals. That would mean five sets of questions, and each of them would deserve answers as to why one of their own had been shot while having a cup of coffee with her.
“They found the shooter,” Harlan added. “He wrecked his truck only about four blocks from the diner.”
Lenora certainly hadn’t expected that and would have thought the guy would manage to get out of the area. “Who is he?”
“According to the ID in his wallet, his name is Corey Dayton. Ring any bells?”
“No.” And that wasn’t a lie. Of course, the ID could be fake, and she might recognize his real name. “Does your brother have him in custody?”
Harlan shook his head. “He’s dead.”
Lenora pulled in her breath. “From the bullet I put in him?”
“Maybe. But he wasn’t wearing a seat belt, and he crashed into a parked garbage truck.”
Part of her was relieved that the man who’d shot Clayton was out of the picture, but a dead man couldn’t give them answers, and Lenora very much wanted to know why this guy had fired into the diner.
“Tell me,” Harlan said, “is this connected to your friend’s murder?”
“I’m not sure,” she answered honestly. “When you can, you’ll want to question the man who murdered Jill. Adam Riggs,” she supplied, though Harlan no doubt knew the name of the man behind bars. And he would absolutely question him.
When his brother was out of the woods.
It was possible that Riggs had hired the shooter, maybe because Riggs was riled that Clayton had arrested him for Jill’s murder. If so, Harlan and the other marshals would soon find that connection.
So would Lenora.
She’d find it, and if Riggs was responsible, then he was going to pay, and pay hard.
Of course, Riggs could have hired someone to aim that shot at her, too, because he might believe that as Jill’s friend she’d helped catch him. She hadn’t. But there was a lot of twisted stuff in a killer’s mind. Especially this killer’s.
“Are there any loose ends with Jill’s murder?” Harlan asked.
Lenora knew where this was leading—the marshal was looking for quick answers. But she didn’t have them.
“Maybe I’m the loose end.” Lenora had to pause, take a breath and choose her words carefully. “Jill worked for Adam Riggs and discovered he was into big-time money laundering. She was about to testify against him when he shot and killed her.”
Lenora saw those images as clearly as she saw Clayton in front of her. God, when was this going to end?
“Clayton put you in protective custody along with Jill,” Harlan supplied. “Because he thought Riggs might use you to get Jill to back off her testimony.”
“He would have,” Lenora confirmed. “But killing Clayton and me now accomplishes nothing.” At least nothing that she was aware of.
Still, something wasn’t right about this.
But what?
What was she missing?
Maybe it didn’t even matter. What mattered was that Clayton had been safe until she’d arrived to tell him about the baby.
She saw Clayton’s hand move, and Lenora leaned in. Clayton’s eyes were open now. Still a little dazed looking. But he looked directly at his brother, who’d moved to her side.
“What happened?” Clayton asked Harlan.
It such a simple question, but it caused relief to flood through Lenora. Clayton wasn’t just conscious, he was talking.
“You were shot,” Harlan answered. The words didn’t come easily. His voice was clogged with emotion. “We’ll be at the hospital soon. You’ll be okay.”
Clayton stayed quiet a few seconds, shook his head and then tried to get off the gurney. The medics quickly stopped him from doing that.
“I have to go,” Clayton insisted. Definitely no slurred words now. He seemed like the determined, focused lawman that she knew. “I have a witness to protect.”
Well, focused except for that last part. Maybe he didn’t realize he’d been shot.
“Jill Lang,” Clayton added and tried to get up again. “I have to protect her.”
Lenora froze. Why would Clayton mention Jill’s name? Obviously he wasn’t as coherent as she’d thought, because Jill had been dead for two months.
“I have to protect her friend, too,” Clayton insisted while the medics held him down. “I have to protect Lenora Whitaker.”
Clayton certainly didn’t say her name as he had earlier. It sounded foreign on his lips.
As if he’d spoken the name of a stranger.
“Lenora’s here,” Harlan said, inching her closer so that Clayton could see her face. “She’s okay. She wasn’t hurt in the shooting.”
Clayton stared at her, and even though his eyes were indeed clear, something was missing. He shook his head, his stare aimed right at her.
“You,” Clayton said. He winced, took a deep breath.
“Yes,” Lenora answered. “It’s me.”
But he only shook his head again. “Who are you?” Clayton asked.
Lenora
