to dig up the grave of secrets she kept carefully hidden.
“And why would you need to cover your tracks, young lady?” a sharp voice said from behind her.
Reacting on pure adrenaline, in one smooth move, Chloe pulled the long, thin knife from her shirtsleeve and whipped around. The knife disappeared just as fast when she faced a little old lady who looked like a strong wind could knock her over.
Covering herself with oozing Southern charm, Chloe moved toward whom she assumed to be Mrs. Denton, proprietor of the bed-and-breakfast. “I’m Samantha Bailey. I apologize if I startled you. I have a reservation.”
The stooped gray-haired woman, decked out in jeans and a plaid shirt, gave her a calculating look and grinned. Chloe didn’t trust that grin. Not for one New York minute. No pun intended.
“I don’t think so.”
That didn’t make sense. Maybe the woman was senile.
Chloe softened her tone. “I’m sorry. I’m not quite following you.”
Her survival antennae went haywire. Chloe slid her hand behind her back and had grasped the doorknob, ready to flee, when Mrs. Denton gleefully dropped her bombshell.
“From what I overheard you say, I doubt that’s your real name. Sounds like you’ll be a handful, but I’m up for the job.” The old lady’s chest puffed out. “I fought off two ruffians several months ago. They were after one of my guests.”
Chloe grinned when the older woman whipped a pencil-thin Taser out of her jeans pocket.
“Got one of the kids in town to order me this off the internet after that episode.”
She admired the older woman’s spunk, but Chloe couldn’t stay here. Not if Mrs. Denton was suspicious of her name.
This situation had created a big problem. She’d already introduced herself to the sheriff as Samantha Bailey, and there would be more questions than she wanted to answer if he found out she had lied.
Just as her hand twisted the doorknob behind her, the door was jerked open from outside. Chloe spun around to face the threat, knife back in hand. With one eye on her knife and the other on Geordie, Sheriff Hoyt stopped on the threshold of the door. In the blink of an eye, Chloe slipped the knife back up her shirtsleeve, but Hoyt’s sharp eyes hadn’t missed a thing.
Mrs. Denton nudged Chloe aside and approached the law and order of Jackson Hole.
“Sheriff Hoyt, so good of you to call.” She took him by the elbow and guided him inside.
Chloe girded herself. Her past was about the catch up with her. If Sheriff Hoyt discovered she had lied about her name, with his resources he’d discover her real name and try to find out about her past, which would raise more questions than she was willing to answer.
It took a moment before Mrs. Denton’s words halted Chloe’s urge to flee. She had no doubt that she could get away from the sheriff. Chloe took pride in her high success rate of escaping problematic situations.
“I was just welcoming Miss Bailey. Why don’t we move to the kitchen and have a nice cup of coffee?”
Chloe released her breath. Mrs. Denton hadn’t shared her suspicions.
The sheriff sighed and moved forward. It would have been rude not to with Mrs. Denton’s death grip on his arm. Chloe was wondering just how feeble Mrs. Denton really was when the older woman looked over her shoulder and sent her a saucy wink.
Did she dare trust this elderly woman to keep her suspicions to herself?
After the tragic death of her parents when she was young, Chloe had only trusted four people in her life: Stan and Betty, of course. Then there was Sarah Rutledge. She ran the orphanage. Neither of her parents had had any living relatives, so they’d made a contingency plan for Chloe to go to the orphanage should anything happen to them. They had wanted to avoid the foster care system. And then there was Uncle Henry. He wasn’t a blood relative, but he’d worked for Stan at the FBI for years before retiring and insisted Chloe call him “uncle.”
If the sheriff Googled or ran a search on her real name, any computer hacker would be able to track her down and her life wouldn’t be worth dirt because the killer would know where she was. The way she figured it, if he couldn’t find her or get in touch with her, she’d have time to find the disc he wanted and hopefully keep everyone she loved safe.
Sheriff Hoyt and Mrs. Denton disappeared around the corner. If she wanted to vanish, this was her chance. The place between her shoulder blades itched—a warning system that never failed her—and she glanced through the wavy glass just as the sedan she’d spotted earlier rolled slowly back down the street.
She whipped around and leaned against the heavy wooden door. How had they found her? She was very, very good at covering her tracks. And then it hit her. The killer’s minions had likely planted a tracking device somewhere on her bike.
She calculated her options and narrowed them to one. She’d have to make nice with the sheriff and trust Mrs. Denton long enough to check her mode of transportation for tracking devices. Moving toward the kitchen, she made her plans. She’d wait until everyone was asleep, check her Harley and leave. She’d hit the bank before getting out of New York, so cash wasn’t a problem for the time being.
“Come on, Geordie, do your sweet dog thing and let’s go charm the sheriff.”
* * *
When Samantha Bailey didn’t immediately follow them into the kitchen, Ethan had to force himself not to peel Mrs. Denton’s fingers off his sleeve. For being so elderly, the woman had a strong grip. He relaxed when Samantha and her dog sauntered into the warm, inviting kitchen, but his suspicions were resurrected when the menacing little dog padded up to him and licked his hand, all sweet and charming.
“I keep coffee made for any guests who might wander in, so ya’ll take a seat and we’ll have us a nice chat.”
Ethan sat at the oak table that had been there as long as he could remember, leaned his chair back on two legs and grinned. He wondered how Miss Biker Babe—he now knew she was a “Miss” thanks to Mrs. Denton—from New York would handle Mrs. Denton’s sweet, Midwestern etiquette.
Sam—the shortened name seemed more fitting for such a feisty woman—grinned and pulled out a chair. “Why, thank you, Mrs. Denton, that’s very gracious of you. Can I help you do anything?”
Surprise had him leaning forward and the front two legs of his chair slammed to the floor. A drawn-out, Southern accent flowed naturally off her tongue. The woman was an enigma. Mrs. Denton snorted a laugh when she turned and caught his surprise. “I’ve got it, but thanks for the offer.”
The dog heaved a satisfied sigh and lay—docile as a lamb—at Sam’s feet.
Three coffee mugs, along with a plate of cookies, were placed on the table. Mrs. Denton released an elderly-like sigh of relief when she sat down.
Ethan grabbed a warm chocolate chip cookie and closed his eyes at the first taste of bliss. He’d been enjoying her baking ever since he was a young boy.
“Wow!”
His eyes popped
