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  “This is nice,” he said. “I may have to keep this.”

  At his feet, the deputy stirred, and he pointed the service weapon at the man’s head as he came around.

  “Don’t get up,” he told the man. Then, he sighed heavily. “See, now? I told you not to look at me and you did. Now you know my face.”

  Clover, still rooted to the spot, could see the deputy’s groggy expression as he gazed up at the robber. Even so, there was no fear there whatsoever, but Clover was feeling a good deal of apprehension. She didn’t like what the robber said or the way he said it. It led her to believe that the deputy was in danger, much more than the rest of them. The robber was zeroed in on the man’s badge and what he represented. She could already see it wasn’t going to go well for him.

  At her feet at the base of the counter, tucked in under the lip of the bottom shelf, was a loaded rifle. The owner always kept it there for times such as this. In fact, he’d been robbed three times in the past year alone. Being a lonely stop on a lonely highway, they got their share of shifty characters. Clover had always known the gun was there but she’d never had to get near it much less use it. Still, she couldn’t let the robber shoot the deputy in cold blood. She knew that was where it was headed simply by the way the robber was speaking; her training, in her past life, told her as much. Once, very long ago, she had dealt with people like this on a daily basis. She knew she had to gain the upper hand and she had to get that deputy off the ground. If she didn’t, things were going to be very bad, indeed.

  “What am I supposed to do now?” the first robber said, bent over the supine deputy. “If you saw my face, then you can identify me and I don’t want to go to jail. So what am I supposed to do?”

  He pointed the service revolver at the deputy’s face. The deputy didn’t flinch as he looked down the barrel of his own gun.

  “Right now, you’d just be held for armed robbery,” he said evenly. “If you kill me, it’ll be murder and Wyoming is a capital punishment state. Robbery will get you ten years, maybe less. It’s really your choice if you want to die by lethal injection or just spend the next ten years in prison.”

  The robber shook his head sadly. “If you aren’t around to identify me, then I can’t get caught,” he said, a ludicrous statement considering everyone in the restaurant had seen him. “I’m gonna have to kill you.”

  “You need to reconsider that action.”

  He said it so calmly, as if discussing the weather. Meanwhile, the skinny kid who had stolen all the money and candy was now rifling through the gift shop items they had on a shelf, stealing little knick-knacks. The second robber with a gun was holding the weapon on the cooks, owner, and the other waitress. His attention was diverted by the owner, who was trying to talk him out of robbing him. Only Clover and the hobo weren’t being closely watched and she knew she had to move. It was now or never while everyone was diverted. She wouldn’t have a second chance.

  Under the radar, she reached out and collected the deputy’s empty water glass on the counter in front of her. Making sure that the robbers’ attention was still elsewhere, she threw the glass as hard as she could at the front door. As it exploded against the doorframe, she hit the floor and grabbed the rifle behind the counter. She rolled to her knees, using the counter as a shield, and fired off a well-aimed shot at the first robber, hitting him squarely in the torso.

  The first robber launched backwards with the force of the blow, hitting the old linoleum floor in an explosion of blood as the deputy’s service revolver flew out of his hand and landed not too far from where the deputy was still on his back. But before the deputy could get to his weapon, Clover expended the used shell and turned the rifle on the second robber with the gun. He was running towards her and managed to peel off a shot that ruptured the coffee machine behind her. Clover deftly ducked it, cocked the rifle, and got off a second well-aimed blast that hit the second robber in the head.

  His skull exploded, sending blood and tissue everywhere. Meanwhile, the deputy was up with his revolver in his hand, pointing it at the third robber, who was, by now, screaming that he didn’t want to die. He threw the money bag on the ground and lifted his hands into the air, begging the deputy not to shoot him. Behind him, the deputy could hear Clover cocking the rifle again and he threw up a hand to stop her.

  “No more,” he told her, his focus on the quivering robber, now down on his knees. “It’s all over.”

  Clover held the rifle with a rock-steady grip, the sites on the sobbing robber. She just stood there, holding it, her finger on the trigger as if waiting for the man to make a wrong move so she could take his head off, too.

  So many thoughts and memories suddenly flashed before her eyes at that moment, things she hadn’t thought of in six months; her husband, her two young children, a boy and a girl giggling at her, calling her “mommy”. Then there was her job, a badge on her chest, her assignment to the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department Gang Taskforce that took six years of her life.

  Commendations. Arrests. Trials. A man with the gang moniker of Mickey Mouse with a teardrop tattooed on his face telling her that she would live to regret the day she was born. She didn’t believe him, of course, until her husband was driving the children to school in her car one day and Mickey Mouse and his friends were lying in wait a block from the school.

  Ambush. Blood. Death.

  The rifle fell out of her hands. She was whirling blindly for the kitchen door, bolting through it as the deputy called after her. She had her car keys in her pocket because she always kept them with her and her car was parked back behind the grill. She jumped in the car without her purse or any of her identification and tore off in the direction of Green River, a little town where she rented a little one bedroom trailer for two hundred dollars a month, month to month.

  She cleaned out the little home in twenty-seven minutes and then she was back on the road again, leaving everything behind just as she had done before. She didn’t care about the possessions; she only cared about getting away. Her fragile heart and fragile mind couldn’t handle anything else. She knew if she had remained with the deputy and gave a police report about the incident at the Hi-Way, that they would need her real name and once she gave that, it would all come out. The truth. Then she couldn’t hide from it anymore.

  She couldn’t face the truth. She had to keep running.

  Chapter One

  Two years later, the month of June

  Riverton, Wyoming

  AT THE TAIL end of a twelve hour shift he wasn’t even supposed to be working, the last call before he went home was an unwelcome delay between him and his mattress. All he wanted to do was go home and sleep. Hell, this wasn’t even his city but he was on a mutual aid call. Exhaustion fed his irritation as he pulled the sheriff’s unit up in front of a row of restored brick buildings that had been built back at the turn of the nineteenth century.

  He grunted as he wearily climbed out of the car, securing his baton. Then he pulled out his hat, a regulation uniform cowboy hat that was expensive and pristine, and put it on his dark head. Bright blue eyes glanced up at the sky as the morning deepened, noting it was going to be another hot and dry day. They saw a lot of those this far north in Wyoming, the curse of the high plains summer that could leave them hot and dusty one day, wet and muggy the next.

  As he closed the car door, muffling the chatter on the radio, he made his way onto the curb. The call had been from the trendiest restaurant in town, or so his dad had told him, and he took a moment to inspect the exterior. The Coffee Cakery it said. His mom and dad apparently loved the place, but this was the first time he’d come here. He was only back in Riverton because his dad had assigned him to the substation in Lander. As Sheriff of Fremont County, his dad had the right to assign his deputies anywhere they were needed.

  So he was back in the town he’d grown up in, a place he didn’t particularly like hanging out in. But he knew the town like the back of his hand, which made him particularly effective
when it came to law enforcement and public safety. With thoughts of hurrying through this call, he made his way inside the crowded, fragrant restaurant.

  A pretty, young hostess tried to kick people off of the counter for him until he insisted he wasn’t there to eat but to work. The girl with the big, fake, pink nails and nose piercing had no idea what he was talking about, calling over one of the waiters, who went in search of the manager. The manager seemed to know what the call was about and gestured for him to follow. He ended up following the man all the way into the back of the restaurant as the manager called in to the open office in the back.

  “Kinley,” he said in a heavy Mexican accent. “The deputy is here.”

  The manager excused himself as a figure emerged from the open office. The deputy found himself gazing into green eyes with a thick fringe of lashes. He felt an odd sensation as he gazed into them, like an electrical current, and he soon realized that he recognized the face belonging to the eyes. Long ago, on a winter’s day, those eyes had saved his life. He was so startled that his mouth actually popped open.

  “It… it’s you!” he hissed.

  Kinley Connors-Berrington recognized the deputy, too. The granite-square jaw and bright blue eyes were an instant giveaway, stirring memories long buried. She stumbled back, her mouth open and her eyes wide.

  “Oh… oh, God,” she gasped, grabbing at the doorframe. “It’s… you from the….”

  The deputy took a step towards her, hardly realizing that he was moving. He was in a complete state of astonishment, shocked to the bone to see someone he never honesty thought he’d see again. In his excitement, he came on like a bull in a china shop. With his size and booming voice, he could be intimidating and forceful whether or not he wanted to be.

  “Do you remember me?” he asked, eagerly. “Jesus Ch… this is amazing. Do you work here?”

  Kinley was still holding on to the door frame, looking at him with big eyes. But those eyes quickly filled with tears and the joy and surprise on the deputy’s face disappeared when he saw how upset she was. He realized that he must have come across much stronger than he had intended, but his surprise had been great. It still was. He held up his hands in a soothing gesture.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, quietly. “I didn’t mean to upset you. But, seriously… I’ve been looking for you for two years and….”

  Kinley turned away from him, swiftly, retreating into the office and trying to shut the door. “Please… please just go away,” she said tightly. “Please go.”

  The deputy wedged himself in the doorway so she couldn’t close the door but stopped short of entering. He could see how shook up she was and, if he thought hard about it, he knew why. She had fled the crime scene those years ago in a panic and they’d been unable to find her. She probably thought she was in some kind of trouble and that he was here to deliver the bad news. He hastened to reassure her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again, more gently. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m just surprised to see you, that’s all. I’ve been looking for you for two years and here you were all the time.”

  By this time, Kinley was behind her desk, using it as a barrier between them. She looked as if she were about to jump out of the window.

  “Would you please go?” she whispered nervously.

  He sighed heavily, realizing she wasn’t going to be an easy sell. She was defensive and frightened, and he felt badly.

  “Look,” he said, lowering his voice. “You don’t have to be frightened. You’re not in any trouble or anything. I’ve been looking for you because I wanted to thank you.”

  Kinley was still stiff with apprehension, with disbelief. She wiped at her brimming eyes. “I… I don’t know what you mean.”

  He held up a finger, begging silently for her patience, as he retrieved his wallet and began rifling through it. Then he pulled out what looked like a business card and set it carefully on her desk, facing her. Then he stepped back to a safe distance as she peered cautiously at the piece of paper. When she realized what it was, her face went slack with surprise; it was the driver’s license she had left behind two years ago when she had fled the Hi-Way Café. Now, astonishment joined the other emotions on her face as she looked up at him. The deputy smiled timidly.

  “It says your name is Clover Fields,” he said quietly. “We searched high and low for you but never came close to finding you. It was as if you had disappeared into thin air. I get that Clover isn’t your real name and, frankly, I really don’t care. I just wanted to thank the woman that saved my life and nothing more. Now that I’ve found you, I’m just very happy and relieved that I finally get to thank you face to face. That’s all there is to it.”

  Kinley stared down at the falsified driver’s license with her picture on it. She just stared at it, silently, as the deputy lingered by the door. For the longest time, she just looked at the identification and he just stood there, not moving a muscle. Then, she reached down and picked the license up, looking at it at close range.

  “You’ve been driving around with this in your wallet all this time?” she asked hoarsely.

  He nodded firmly. “I have,” he said. “It reminds me daily of how lucky I was when my guardian angel intervened.”

  Kinley looked up at him, sharply. There wasn’t any emotion in his face other than warmth. The bright blue eyes were glittering at her and she could feel that odd magnetic pull between them, the same pull she had felt two years ago when they had first met. Her gaze lingered on him a moment.

  “I don’t even know your name,” she finally said.

  “Reed,” he said without hesitation. “Reed Dewolfe McCoy.”

  Kinley’s gaze lingered on him a moment longer before sitting slowly in her chair. She finally put the license down. “Wow,” she murmured. “I… I don’t even know what to say right now.”

  He took a step or two into the office. “Well,” he said thoughtfully, “you can tell me why you called the sheriff’s department.”

  She looked up at him, confused. “Come again?”

  He grinned. “You called the cops, lady,” he said. “I’m the responding officer. How can I help you today?”

  She looked at him, realizing he wasn’t there to bust her, or yell at her, or anything else. She’d completely forgotten the fact that she’d called the sheriff’s department until he reminded her. The shock of seeing him had wiped that little detail from her mind. But now, realizing that there was no reason for her to be nervous or upset around him, she forced herself to calm. It was a struggle. She set the driver’s license back on the desk.

  “Right,” she said, giving him a weak smile as she shifted her focus. Why had she called the sheriff’s department? Oh, yes…. “Well, it seems that my employees are getting parking tickets on their cars when they park in the back of the restaurant and are there for over six hours. I told your desk officer that when I called but he said I needed to come in to the station. I told him that I needed someone to come out and see what I’m talking about so we can come to a resolution. I can’t have my employees getting parking tickets in our own lot.”

  His gaze lingered on her. “You own this place?”

  “I lease the building and opened the restaurant nineteen months ago.”

  He nodded, silently pulling out his pad of paper from his back pocket. Producing a pen, he jotted down a few notes.

  “Your name?” he asked.

  Kinley hesitated, waiting for him to say something about her real name and not the fake moniker of Clover Fields. That was all he knew her as. But he was focused on his pad of paper, pen poised, waiting for her to speak.

  “Kinley Connors-Berrington,” she finally said. “Connors with two ‘n’s. It’s hyphenated with the Berrington.”

  “Address?”

  “Can I just use the restaurant address?”

  “If you want to.”

  “605 East Main Street.”

  “Phone number?”

  “307-202-1559.”


  After he finished writing down the information, he turned on his heel and headed out of her office and to the back door of the restaurant. Kinley followed him out into the parking lot, standing quietly as he wrote down the municipal codes on the parking signs in the lot. She was more at ease with his presence now as he shifted into professional mode, giving her a chance to calm down after their shocking introduction.

  In fact, she found herself watching him closely, remembering the size of the man and his muscular build, and thinking that he had gotten more handsome over the past couple of years. He had the squarest jaw she’d ever seen, like the ones drawn in comic books for super hero characters. She watched him as he walked around the lot, looking at the cars, the parking situation, and jotted down a few notes. Still writing, he made his way back over to her.

  “How many employees do you have?” he asked.

  “Anywhere from eight to fourteen depending on the day and the shift,” she replied.

  He finished writing and looked at her. “You’re going to have to get parking permits for your employees for anything over four hours,” he told her. “The municipal code doesn’t allow for anything over that.”

  She looked at the big, metal black and white sign behind her. “They just put these signs up a little while ago,” she said, returning her focus to him. “I guess there has been a lot of traffic since I opened.”

  He looked around at the adjacent businesses. “My guess is that someone called the department to complain,” he said. “Your business is successful and you’ve got a lot of people parking all over the place. That tends to piss the lesser-busy businesses off.”

  She made a face. “Business-envy is a terrible thing.”

  He grinned, showing off his big, white teeth and perfect smile. “I have news for you, Ms. Berrington,” he said. “Anyone and everyone are going to be envious of you, so you’d better get used to it.”