calls as well as copying Jasmine’s case file. He was surprised that he hadn’t been relieved of his job yet. He knew it was only a matter of time.
Cash had covered his tracks as much as possible and was just finishing up when the phone rang. He picked it up, afraid it was going to be Investigator Mathews with bad news.
It was Jasmine’s insurance company calling back.
“It took a while for me to find the policy,” the agent told him. “This particular policy was canceled almost seven years ago due to the car being stolen?”
Something like that. “I need to know if an accident claim was filed. In September seven years ago? It would have been right after she bought the car.” Cash listened to the shuffle of papers.
“None that I can see. September? Sorry. No claim.”
He raked a hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair, letting go of the breath he’d been holding. So Jasmine hadn’t filed a claim or reported the accident. He thanked the agent and hung up.
Now all he could do was wait. But he’d been waiting for either a call that Jasmine’s body had been found or that he was being suspended until the investigation was completed.
But neither call had come. Everyone in the city offices next door had gone home for the day.
He got up from his desk, too anxious to sit any longer. He should go home. If Mathews caught him in his office… He moved to stand in the back doorway. Here he could catch the faint breeze in the pines out back. The spring evening was hotter than normal and his office had no air-conditioning. Hell, few places in Montana had air-conditioning.
He didn’t want to leave just yet. He was waiting for a call back from the Dew Drop Inn, a bar on the outskirts of Bozeman. He knew Mathews would eventually check on the matchbook found in Jasmine’s car. Cash hoped to beat him to it. Mathews would be furious, but Cash would have to deal with that when it happened.
Right now, he needed answers, answers he should have gotten seven years ago. All these years he’d pretended Jasmine was alive. He couldn’t pretend anymore. At any moment, Mathews would call to say her body had been found in a shallow grave on the farm, that she’d been murdered.
For years, he’d put his life on hold, unconsciously waiting for that call. Now, it seemed the wait might be over.
Behind him he heard his office door open. He turned. His heart seized in his chest, all breath gone, all reason evading him as he stared at the woman standing in the doorway.
“Jasmine.” Her name was out before he could call it back.
She looked startled, as if she hadn’t seen him standing at the back of the office.
His heart lodged in his throat, his senses telling him something his mind refused to accept now that her car had been found. Jasmine was alive?
“I…I…” She started to turn as if to leave and he finally found his feet, lunging forward to stop her, half-afraid she was nothing more than a puff of smoke that would scatter the moment he touched her.
She took a step back, seeming afraid, definitely startled. He stopped just feet from her, struggling to rein himself in, fighting to believe what was before his eyes. My God, could it really be her? Jasmine? Alive? He could only stare at her. How was this possible?
She stared back, her green eyes wide. “I was looking for Sheriff Cash McCall,” she stammered, still angled as if she might bolt at any moment.
He cleared his throat, confused. “I’m Sheriff Cash McCall,” he said, realizing with a start that there was no recognition in her expression.
“I’m…I’m—”
“Jasmine, Jasmine Wolfe,” he said, the cop in him thinking of the blood found in her car, the seven years no one had seen her or the fact that she didn’t seem to know him from Adam.
She shook her head and held up what appeared to be a newspaper clipping, the edges torn, the print smudged as if she’d spent a lot of time looking at it. “I’m not sure, but I saw this and I thought…”
He took the clipping she held out, glanced away from her just long enough to recognize the Associated Press story about the discovery of her car.
“The woman looked like me….” She stopped. “This was a mistake.” She reached behind her for the doorknob.
“No.” He hadn’t meant to speak so sharply. “Please, don’t go.” He took a breath, tried to slow his racing pulse, tried to make sense of this. He’d been expecting a call that her body had been found, not this.
He stared at her, unable to take his eyes from her. Somehow Jasmine had survived. True, she looked different in ways he couldn’t put his finger on. But one thing was perfectly clear, she was more beautiful than even in his memory.
But where had she been all these years? And why was she looking at him as if she’d never seen him before and was as shaken by what she saw?
He stared into her eyes. She’d didn’t remember him.
Or maybe she did and was only pretending not to.
All he knew for sure was that if Jasmine had escaped the grave, then she would be back after only one thing. Vengeance.
MOLLY KNEW SHE WAS GAWKING but she couldn’t help it. To say Sheriff Cash McCall was nothing like she’d imagined was a major understatement. And it wasn’t just because he was drop-dead gorgeous. Which there was no denying he was. Tall, broad-shouldered, blond and blue-eyed but rugged looking. He wore western-cut jeans, boots and a short-sleeved, tan uniform shirt. A blue jean jacket hung over the back of his desk chair and close at hand was a pale gray cowboy hat.
It wasn’t his looks that surprised her. It was the feeling that she’d been headed here her whole life. As if everything else had just been time spent waiting for this moment.
She met his gaze and quaked inside at the rush of feeling. There was some powerful chemistry here that drew her to him and at the same time, warned her to be careful. Very careful.
“Jasmine,” he said again in his deep voice. “I can’t believe this.”
The sound of his voice seemed to echo in her chest, a drumming like that of her pulse. She tried to steady herself. Calm down. This is working. Just as she’d thought, she looked enough like the woman with the changes she’d made to fool even Jasmine’s fiancé. As Max would have said of one of his magic tricks, “This definitely plays.”
The talent required to perform magic or a con was showmanship. Only a small percentage of the act was the actual trick. It was amazing what could be done with a little misdirection.
She shook her head and backed away, using everything Max had taught her. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry.”
He closed the distance between them, his fingers clamping over her wrist. He was strong but she cried out more in surprise than actual pain.
He quickly released her. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please. Don’t go.”
She had him. So why did her instincts tell her to run? The “tricks”
