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  “You’re married?” asked Glendora.

  “I was. For seven years. He was a tank commander until he died in Afghanistan in his second deployment, March 4, 2011.”

  There was a moment of absolute stillness. Cassidy had successfully silenced his grandmother. Clyne did the math and realized Jovanna had been adopted when she was about four and she had been seven when Walker had died. The US tank commander had been her father for only three years. How many occasions had he been home during that time? They would have given him leave, of course. But army tours were two to six years each. Had Walker re-enlisted to support his family?

  Cassidy met his gaze with a challenge and held it, those flashing eyes now reminded him of seawater, as blue and deep as the Pacific Ocean. And now he realized what made her different from every other woman he had ever met. She was a warrior and she was a survivor. A veteran who, like him, had lost someone important. Not comrades, though perhaps she had. She had lost her husband.

  He looked at her with new eyes, his head cocked as he wondered if he dared to ask if any of the men and women in her unit had been lost.

  “He signed for a second tour?” asked Clyne.

  “Yes. I stayed home with Amanda and Gerard re-enlisted for another four years. I joined the bureau after my daughter started school. Gerard came home whenever he could.”

  Clyne’s head dropped. He’d made so many assumptions and felt ashamed of himself. He’d even asked her when they had divorced. He rubbed his hand over his forehead and prepared to apologize.

  “But I’m not the only veteran at the table. Clyne was in the US Marines. Also enlisted after 9/11. Deployed to Iraq.” She turned to him with a sweet smile. “A sharpshooter, right? Thirty-six confirmed kills.”

  He sucked in a breath. All eyes turned to him as if suddenly he was the stranger at the table. He’d never told them.

  Clyne stood and grabbed Cassidy by the arm and hustled her out of the room. She went along but once in the foyer she tugged away, breaking his hold with such ease it startled him into stillness. He’d forgotten that Walker was a fighter, too.

  “What’s your problem?” she asked.

  “I don’t talk about that time.”

  She snorted. “Maybe you should.”

  He tilted his head to one side, wondering where she got the nerve to tell him what he should do. “What would you know about it?”

  “Not much. We were just the ones who had to clean up your mess.”

  Suddenly he needed to know about her time in the military. Had she seen action?

  “Where were you deployed?”

  “I flew birds, Black Hawks. Medical transport mostly.”

  The hairs on his neck lifted again.

  “Afghanistan?”

  “Iraq, 2003. Don’t worry. I didn’t transport you. I checked.”

  So she knew he’d been wounded. He didn’t like that she knew so much about him.

  How many broken, bleeding bodies had she carried to safety?

  “You want me to go back in there?” She glanced toward his waiting family.

  He shook his head.

  “Call it a night.”

  She glanced at her watch. “Fine. See you at 0800.”

  For some reason he wanted to talk to her. Ask her about her tour of duty and maybe learn how she could still carry a gun and enforce the law and fight the bad guys when all he wanted was to stay here where things made sense.

  “You know how to find the hotel?” he asked.

  “My GPS does. Good night, Cosen,” she said. “Please thank your grandmother for the meal. She’s an excellent cook.”

  * * *

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Cassidy left the tribe’s casino in the wee hours of the morning, passing through the din of ringing bells and the flash of colored lights that was way too bright for this early in the day. It seemed that most of the guests were white men and women, older, overweight and mesmerized by the whirling wheels and bright digital displays. They sat immobile on the wide stools with coffee and liquor waiting at the ready, their casino players’ cards connecting them like umbilical cords to the machines.

  Once outside the sun showed no hints of appearance but she paused to savor the clean air. She had spent a lonely night in her vacant hotel room with far too much time to think. Much to her chagrin, her thoughts lingered on Clyne and how he had cared for her when she had been shot. He’d been more than professional; he’d shown a kindness and concern that disquieted. One soldier looking out for another, she told herself. It had to be, because she was not willing to accept that the attraction she battled was mutual.

  She reached her vehicle and paused to admire the fine lacy pattern of ice crystals that frosted the windshield. Then she used her gloved hand to scratch an area big enough to peer through. March and still they had frost up here. It was the altitude, she knew, but the terrain was so different from Phoenix. Lovely, really.

  She had told Amanda all about her brothers last night. Even sent her the photo that Luke had shared.

  Today they would not be investigating Manny Escalanti or searching Salt River for Ronnie Hare because Clyne was heading to Phoenix for another rally against Obella Chemicals. That event would take place at 11 a.m., indoors this time in the civic center. Luke had point, Gabe accompanied Clyne and she had rear security. That meant another three-hour drive by herself behind Clyne’s vehicle where her only job was to watch for possible attack from every vehicle they passed. Oh, joy.

  At least they had a phone tap on Escalanti. She was considering how to place a camera and microphone in his crib as the procession departed.

  Cassidy peered through the gap in the frost as she drove until the defroster softened the edges of the ice, and she attacked the retreating edge with the wiper blades. By the time she reached Black Mountain the window was clear. By the time she reached the Cosen residence, the darkness receded to reveal a gray cloudy morning.

  She waited in the drive for the two men. Clyne cast her a glance. He cut a striking figure in his topcoat. She ignored the spark of interest, crushing it out like a cigarette butt.

  Luke stopped at her driver’s side. “Everything good?”

  “All set.”

  “You got coffee?”

  She lifted the paper cup with the casino logo. Luke nodded, grinned and headed to the large SUV that held the tribal seal on the front door.

  She pulled out behind them and the small procession started down the mountain. She wished she had her helicopter. Her stomach growled and she fantasized about a piece of Glendora Clawson’s pecan pie and the table that had been so full of life and energy. She’d never been at a dinner like that. When she was young she usually ate with her mother. Her father ate on base or after she was in bed. She shifted uncomfortably as she thought of all the dinners that she shared with Amanda over a white pizza box or containers of takeout. The comparison was glaring and not very flattering.

  Last night she had met them. The Cosen family. And they were not some terrible monster of clannish bumpkins. They were bright and friendly and connected in ways she could not understand. Being among them made her long for something she had not even known she still wanted. Brothers. Sisters. And the real possibility of nieces and nephews.

  Was she wrong to deny her daughter this family? Was she really operating on what was best for Amanda or what was best for Cassidy Marshal Walker?

  Gradually the sun emerged; the day brightened and warmed as they wound down the mountain past the rocky outcroppings and red rock.

  Cassidy snapped back to focus on the road. When the dash clock read six forty-five she dialed home and checked in with Amanda, who was using digital flash cards to cram for a science test.

  Once she reached Phoenix, Cassidy turned her attention to the event. Another rally. Cosen was an activist of the first order
, delivering poignant speeches and garnering support for his causes. They were important causes, she admitted, but her main objective was Cosen’s safety, second only to finding something to incriminate him.

  They finally reached a two-lane highway and soon afterward arrived at the downtown Phoenix City Center. Then she trailed Luke’s vehicle to Phoenix Convention Center and then into the underground parking facility.

  She parked in the first available spot, diagonally across from Forrest’s vehicle, and climbed stiffly from her sedan. The drive had tightened all her back muscles into one giant ball of muscle spasm. Stretching helped a little.

  The air in the parking garage smelled of gasoline, rubber and rotting garbage. The comparison between this and Black Mountain was startling and she began to see what was so appealing.

  Agent Forrest and Cosen were out of the SUV and she headed in their direction as they turned toward the entrance to the convention center.

  An engine revved. She caught motion in her peripheral vision. A dark pickup truck took the corner so fast the tires squealed. The truck sped toward them, halogen lights blinding in the subterranean garage. She had time to dive for safety. Instead, she charged forward into Clyne, rushing him out of the way.

  “Move,” she shouted.

  Forrest jumped clear of the front passenger tire. Clyne wrapped an arm about her and together they dove. They landed on the curb. The jolt of pain shot through her healing ribs like a sledgehammer. She caught the blur of a rear tire inches from her face. She grunted and rolled to her back, reaching inside her open blazer for her gun. By the time she scrambled to her feet, Forrest was already up, but the truck had made the turn and disappeared.

  “I got a plate,” he said.

  She turned to Clyne, who lay on his back. He braced himself up on his elbows. His dark trench coat flapped open, revealing the pale denim shirt unbuttoned and, at the throat, a leather cord tied about a small leather pouch. What was that?

  “You all right?” she asked.

  “Thanks to you, again.”

  “Who wants you dead, Clyne?” she asked.

  “Besides you?” He grinned.

  Forrest pulled out his phone. “I’m calling local police.” He placed the call and then met Cassidy’s gaze. “Almost looked like he was aiming at you, Walker.”

  “Me?” she asked, her voice filled with disbelief, and then the disbelief ebbed and she fixed her attention on Clyne, who had come to his feet. She scowled at him.

  “Did you arrange that?” she asked.

  Chapter Eight

  Now they were both frowning.

  “Me? Why would I do that?”

  “Because it’s cheaper than paying attorney fees.”

  “Then the same goes for you, I guess,” he said, rolling easily to his feet and standing to dust off his coat.

  Cassidy turned to Agent Forrest. “Plate number?”

  He lifted the phone from his mouth and gave her the number.

  “We get Clyne inside, then I’ll run the plate,” she said.

  Cassidy took Clyne to the security station, such as it was. They at least had offices with good solid doors and locks. Once she had Clyne secured, she began her investigation, calling the office to have them run the plate while Luke coordinated with venue security and the local police on-site. Reinforcements were en route. Registration information was sent to her mobile and showed the vehicle belonged to a member of the Black Mountain tribe.

  Cassidy felt him before she saw him and turned to discover Clyne leaning over her shoulder.

  “I know him,” he said. “Works for the Cattle Association.”

  “Step back,” she ordered.

  “I’m not armed.”

  “I am.”

  He stepped back.

  Forrest joined them. “No sign of the driver yet.”

  She showed him the registration information and Luke gave a low whistle.

  “I’ll call Gabe.”

  The head of the convention center security reported that they had footage of the driver. They all hovered around a large computer screen to watch.

  “I know Dale Donner,” said Clyne. “He’s the tribal livestock manager and would no sooner run me down than run over a child.”

  “His truck,” said Forrest.

  “Not the driver. Stake my life on it,” said Clyne.

  The driver was male but that was about all they could tell. He wore a ball cap, large sunglasses and possibly a false beard. They printed the images.

  “Not him. Too thin,” said Clyne.

  Over the next hour they made some progress on finding the driver, as the rally participants began to arrive.

  Gabe called Clyne to report that Donner was still at home and did not know the truck was missing. Her boss had been notified and he had recommended more agents, a request that Clyne Cosen had quickly declined.

  Luke’s contact with PPD told them that the police had recovered the truck only three blocks away, illegally parked by a hydrant. Their CSI were processing Donner’s truck for latents and physical evidence, which Cassidy knew could take a while. Long enough for the would-be assassin to make another attempt.

  It seemed the driver had vanished.

  “He followed us all the way from Black Mountain,” said Luke.

  And she’d never seen him, she realized.

  Luke left them to meet with local PD in the hunt for the driver. Phoenix PD was given the description and set out in hopes of getting lucky. Cassidy didn’t feel lucky.

  Particularly not when she was the one left guarding Clyne Cosen, yet again.

  Cassidy turned to Councilman Cosen. She was still unsure if he was the target or if Agent Forrest was correct and the shooter in the truck had been aiming at her. For now, she would act as if Clyne was the objective. But if she could find a connection between him and that driver, it would only strengthen her custody argument.

  “You should cancel this appearance,” she said.

  His answer was immediate. “No.”

  “Would you consider modifying your schedule? Appearing by video feed?”

  “No.”

  “Canceling the press conference or future outdoor rallies?”

  His eye ticked. It was the only evidence she had that he was rattled. “No. Obella Corporation needs to take responsibility for that chemical spill.”

  “Fine. Send someone else.”

  “No.”

  “You are a hard man to keep alive. You realize that?”

  He said nothing, just checked the time on his phone. It occurred to her that perhaps Clyne was more interested in causes than breathing. That troubled her.

  “You need body armor,” she said.

  He went pale and wiped his upper lip with the palm of his hand, rubbing it back and forth over his mouth as if trying to stifle nausea. Finally his hand dropped. But it was shaking.

  “No. Not again.”

  Funny, she thought. Getting shot at and nearly run down had not rattled him. But the mention of body armor made him tremble.

  He was a puzzle. Seemingly strong, proud and capable, he had a definite soft spot when it came to his military service. His uncle had mentioned that Clyne used to love to hunt. She wondered if he still did?

  “I hear the hunting is great up on Black Mountain,” she said.

  He eyed her warily, no doubt wondering about the sudden change of topic.

  “It is. We have some of the largest elk in the country.”

  “And guides.”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you be willing to guide me?” she asked.

  He flinched at the request and turned half-away to collect himself. Then that hand went to his mouth again. He really ought to see someone about this. His behavior had
PTSD written all over it. Seeking help was no shame.

  She’d taken advantage of a grief counselor after Gerard had died. It had helped. But Amanda had helped more. Her daughter gave her a reason to get up and make breakfast and go outside and reengage with the world. Eventually the joy had returned. What would happen if she lost Amanda?

  “I don’t guide,” said Clyne, now apparently recovered. “But Clay is an excellent guide. I’m sure you would have some luck.”

  She nodded her head and smiled. It was good to know your enemy’s weakness.

  His eyes narrowed right back.

  “Have you ever killed a man, Cassidy?”

  That question did not come out of the blue. He was probing her weaknesses, just as she had done to him. Still, she didn’t entirely keep herself from reacting. Her heart rate increased as she sucked in a breath. She held it and then let go in a long easy release. She wasn’t going to let this particular man rattle her.

  Cassidy knew this was the sharpshooter speaking. Seeking another connection with her that transcended the physical.

  “Have you, Cassidy? Have you looked down your sights and taken his life? Stolen him from his family and from all future generations?”

  She had. Twice. Cassidy looked at Clyne.

  Thirty-six confirmed kills.

  “I took down an armed bank robber in Phoenix. The guy had hit over eleven banks. And when we got to number twelve, he had hostages. I didn’t feel bad about it. Not even afterward. I wasn’t the only one who shot him, but it was my bullet that killed him. At least that’s what the ME said. There was also a kidnapper in Chandler.” She glanced away, swallowing down the gall rising in her throat. She stopped talking as her stomach tensed. She remembered him, Brett Parker, the man who had snatched a toddler right out of the child’s bedroom window. A few days later, she’d been there to take him down. The arrest went bad. He had killed the child almost immediately. Never meant to ransom her. Now she carried the memory of that dead girl and also her finger on the trigger when she sighted Parker. She remembered the recoil of her gun, the training that included everything but how to watch a man you killed die before your eyes. That moment entangled with the discovery of the child, submerged in that stream. They lived in her mind, repeating like a spliced video loop until she’d come to accept that she would never forget them, either of them, killer and victim. Wolf and lamb. Couldn’t. It was emblazoned on her memory, etched like the bullet from the barrel of her gun. She glanced at Clyne, met his steady gaze. Thirty-six kills. Thirty-six memories he could never erase. She scrubbed her hands over her face and shook off the horror.