frantically. Part of her wanted to stand her ground and demand to know what game he was playing. Another part of her, the part that relied on instinct, said get away. Now!
There was a second exit at the far end of the room. She grabbed her handbag from the floor and took off toward that door, scooting past people as fast as she dared, waiting for one of them to stop her. She looked back only once to see if Trill or whoever he really was, had followed. He was behind her, all right, his face set in a grim frown. She glimpsed the glint of silver on his wrist as he pushed a chair out of the way. His face was rigid with fury....
Julie exited into the stairwell and ran up a flight of stairs, sure Trill would assume she went down. She paused midstep as the door below her opened. Trill’s footsteps pounded down the well as the door closed behind him. Julie resumed climbing.
She didn’t know the building. She wasn’t sure how to hide or how to get away. She fled to the women’s restroom, but that was hardly a long-term solution. All she carried was her handbag and her only loose clothing was her now-smudged and torn raincoat. The damn thing was as red as a cape at a bullfight. Add her waist-length black hair and the fact she was five foot seven inches to say nothing of the blinding-white bandage wrapped around her head and she knew she stood out.
Looking at herself in the mirror, she chose the most obvious solution. Off came the bandage, revealing the scrapes on her forehead. She left the one covering her cheek in place as it was tinged pink in places and a bandage had to be better than blood dripping off her jaw. Up went her hair. She turned her lightweight coat inside out to reveal the tan lining and pulled the hood up over her head.
Sunglasses from the depths of her purse came next. She still looked like Julie Chilton, but maybe not if you were expecting different attire. It would have to do. It took every ounce of courage she had left to head back to the stairs.
The trip through the station was nerve-racking even though she more or less ran the whole time. Trill had pushed her in front of a bus, she was sure of it. She couldn’t prove it, though, she just knew....
Somehow she reached the sidewalk without incident and crossed the street. She hurried along with her head down and caught the first city bus that came by. She didn’t care about its route as long as it took her away from this area. It actually traveled past the station again and she peeked carefully through the window. Trill stood on the sidewalk, looking north and then south. As she watched, he took from his breast pocket a pair of sunglasses and perched them on his nose.
They had orange lenses.
She couldn’t go to her office because James Killigrew hated the sight of her. She couldn’t go home because Trill knew where she lived. She’d resided in Oregon less than a year and the one friend she’d made was a neighbor who worked swing shift at a restaurant and then checked in on her ailing brother before finally arriving home around midnight. Even if Nora was home, though, how could Julie add to her responsibilities, and how could Nora possibly help?
Whatever was going on, Julie knew she’d landed smack-dab in the middle of it. Someone wanted her dead. Why would Trill lie to her about being a policeman? Why would he try to eliminate her when she called to challenge him? For that matter, how did he know she’d called his phony office if he didn’t work there? Or did he know?
How did things get to this point? What did she do now?
Chapter Two
Tyler Hunt, whistling a tune that was stuck in his head, looked up from unloading bags of grain when he heard the approach of a vehicle. An airport shuttle van rambled down the road, carrying, no doubt, either a Boston attorney named Red Sanders or a doctor by the name of Rob Marquis. Everyone else had already arrived.
The Hunt ranch was a working operation covering thousands of acres of land. Anyone who signed up for the biyearly cattle drive had to be willing to work because what went on here was the real deal. Cows and their calves had to be herded from the winter pastures in the basin up to the high mountain pastures for summer grazing; greenhorns and pros worked together to make it happen.
The shuttle stopped in the big parking area and a middle-aged man with a handlebar mustache and brand-new buckskin chaps climbed out of the back. Hard to tell which he was, a doctor or a lawyer. As the driver retrieved his suitcase, the man looked around with a big grin on his ruddy face. Tyler smiled; enthusiasm always boded well.
A slam of the door up at the house announced Tyler’s mother, Rose Hunt, had also witnessed the arrival and taken time from stocking the chuck wagon to play hostess. A tiny dynamo of a woman who Tyler knew was as tough as the earth she tended, twice as strong as she looked and four times as softhearted, she walked out to the van with a little less enthusiasm than usual, exchanged pleasantries with the driver and picked up the newcomer’s suitcase as the van took off back toward town.
Tyler heard the name Sanders float across the yard—the guy in the chaps had to be the lawyer—as John Smyth, another guest who had arrived earlier in the day, came out of the house. He took the suitcase from Tyler’s mother, who seemed reluctant to release it. As Smyth turned to the lawyer, Rose took off toward the house. It apparently didn’t occur to Red to tote his own bag. Couldn’t help but wonder how a guy like that was going to handle herding cattle without someone holding his hand, but you never knew.
Smyth was a strapping, tall man in his late thirties with dark eyes, a quick wit and helpful disposition. He’d been here only a few hours, but Tyler had spotted him everywhere, talking to everyone, listening with the kind of concentration that encouraged people to open up. He seemed particularly interested in the workings of the ranch and appeared to be a natural when it came to riding and roping.
Tyler kept at the grain, whistling as he worked. There were a good dozen sacks left to unload and tote inside the barn. Rose would make the lawyer feel at home, serve him up something cold to drink, introduce him to the others, get him started with orientation. Then later Tyler would make a grand entrance and give a little pep talk.
Another vehicle caught his attention. This one was familiar, too, as it was the farrier’s big white rig. Tyler had been expecting him for hours and was relieved he’d made it. One of the horses they used to pull the chuck wagon had thrown a shoe the day before, so Lenny had had to make an unscheduled visit three weeks earlier than usual. Tyler threw a sack down on top of the others and jumped out of the truck.
At six foot two inches and muscled from thirty-four years of ranch life, Tyler was a formidable man in his own right, but the farrier always made him feel like a dwarf. What everyone who met Lenny soon recognized, however, was that he had the disposition of a sweet kid. The horses loved him.
The truck stopped close by and Lenny launched his six-foot-six-inch, 250-pound frame from the cab. “Sorry I’m late,” he bellowed in a deep voice that lived up to the packaging. “Got tied up over at Hidden Hollow. So, you’re having trouble with Ned?”
Tyler explained about the thrown shoe.
“I’ll get started on him. The rest of your string isn’t due for reshoeing for almost a month. Long as I’m here, you want me to check ’em out? I’m not due at the Blister Ranch till tomorrow morning.”
“Sure,” Tyler said, taking off his hat and wiping his forehead with his sleeve. “You’re welcome to spend the night. We can offer you a bed and a decent dinner.”
“No need. You know me, I’m like a turtle, carry my little home on my back.” With this he gestured at the dusty camper on the rear of his truck. Tyler wasn’t altogether sure Lenny could stand up straight in the thing. Behind the truck he pulled
