Karen Hughes - Wed to the Witness p.04

“Dammit, Cheyenne.” He scrubbed his hands over his face then dropped his hands and stared out at the dark yard. “Dammit.”

They stood in silence, thoughts and space separating them while music from the bandstand floated, soft and sensuous, on the breeze.

“I’m not your drunken father or the moron you dated in college,” Jackson said finally.

She slid him a look. “What?”

“I saw what happened today. A boy is alive because of you. Maybe I had a hand in things, but I wouldn’t have been there to pull Johnny out of harm’s way if it hadn’t been for you.”

As he spoke, Jackson reached out and took her arm, then turned her to face him. “I’ll concede your gift of sight makes you different from most everyone else. Since I’ve seen it at work, I know it also makes you special. Very special.”

She opened her mouth, closed it on a shudder and felt the first tingle of relief loosen the fist around her heart. “Special.”

“I don’t like secrets, Cheyenne. I’ve seen what they do to relationships. I wish you could have trusted me enough to tell me your secret.”

“I didn’t want this to end. What we have, what we maybe could have.” She closed her eyes for a brief instant. “I care about you, Jackson. I was selfish. I didn’t want you to walk away.”

“Like most every man you’ve cared about.”

“That’s right.”

“Just when I think I get my footing, you knock me off-balance again.” He gently traced the line of her earlobe, idly fingering the simple gold hoop she wore there. “I’m not used to a woman doing that to me.”

Her heart began to pound. “You’re not?”

“No. This gift of yours—the way you are—is new to me. I need time to take it all in.” Slowly, he pulled her into his arms until his body brushed hers. “That doesn’t mean it changes how I feel about you.”

Her throat went dry. She still couldn’t quite believe. “Doesn’t it?”

“We’ve stayed in each other’s minds since the night of my uncle’s party because you and I sparked something in each other that’s impossible to ignore. I don’t want to ignore it. I want to find out what that something is and exactly how I feel about you.” His eyes stayed on hers as he lifted a hand to her cheek and stirred her heart. “Is that what you want, too, Cheyenne?”

“Yes.” The word came out on a shaky breath. The band’s steady, sensuous beat matched that of her pulse.

His mouth took a slow, quiet journey over her jaw, down the line of her throat, back to her trembling lips. Even as a shiver coursed through her she felt her body warming, melting. The air seemed to go very still, very suddenly. Now the only sound was her own uneven breathing.

“You were supposed to save me every dance,” he murmured against her mouth.

Her hands wound into the fabric of his shirt. Her mind blurred. “I can’t…hear the music…anymore.”

“To hell with dancing, then.” One of his hands slipped beneath her loose braid to cup the back of her neck as she arched her head back. In the moonlight, reckless need glinted in his eyes. “I want you.” His other hand cupped her breast, kneading, tormenting. Her nipple budded, strained against the silk of her bra. “I’ve never wanted a woman the way I want you.”

Her arms slid up, and she dug her fingers into his hair. The remembered vision of candlelight glowing gold against their joined bodies played back in her head. Destiny, she thought dimly. This man was her destiny.

“Candlelight.” Her breath caught in gasps as she raced greedy kisses down his neck.

His hand shoved beneath her blouse, her bra, seeking flesh. Heat flashed so fast and hot, it incinerated her skin. Her body strained and trembled against his. When her legs went weak, she clutched at him for balance. “I want candlelight. And sweet wine. But first, I want you.”

“You’ll have them. You’ll have all that and more,” he said, then latched his mouth onto hers.

Eight

“Inside,” Cheyenne managed to moan before Jackson’s mouth clamped against hers in a dazing, dizzying kiss that heated her blood until it flash-fired beneath her skin, roared in her head.

“We…can’t do this…on the front porch.”

She scraped her teeth over his jaw and felt him tense like a runner on the mark.

“We’re going inside.” His voice was rough, urgent while one of his hands worked at the buttons on her blouse. “And we’re not coming out. Ever.”

“Fine. Good.”

They staggered together across the porch, hot, hungry mouths locked. When she took a stumbling step backward, he swept her up into his arms and jerked open the screen door. Her fingers plunged into his hair, her body straining against his with urgent need.

He carried her inside the small house, then kicked the front door closed behind him. A weak wash of light coming from the lamp she’d left burning in her bedroom illuminated the small living room in silver light and shadow.

When Jackson set her on her feet, Cheyenne discovered her knees were loose, her head filled with blinding light and colors. If he hadn’t shoved her back against the nearest wall and trapped her body with his, she knew she would have crumpled to the floor.

Against her belly, she felt him pulsing with need.

His breath a harsh rasp through his lips, he caught her face in his hands. “Tell me.” Eyes the color of the storm-tossed sea bored into hers, searching. “Tell me you want this, Cheyenne. You want us.”

“Yes.” Her throat was so dry the word was barely audible. “I want us.” His warm, musky scent filled her head, made her heart thud. “I want to feel you.” Her unsteady fingers worked to free the buttons on his shirt, then shoved material aside. “Touch you.” Frantically, she tugged his shirttail out of his jeans, then rose on tiptoe to nip at the pulse in his throat. “Everywhere at once. Here. Now.”

His eyes glimmered in the weak light as he fought the shirt off his arms, flung it aside. “You’ve got a bed—”

“Now.” A hum of pleasure surged up her throat while her exploring hands slid across his chest, savoring the power of sinew and muscle, soaking up the feel of him. “Here, Jackson. Right here.” With a light fingertip she traced the swirl of coarse, dark hair that circled one nipple, then her mouth replaced her fingertip.

He tasted dark and dangerous and so very male.

“Holy…” Beneath her lips, she felt his heart jolt, then thunder.

Wrapping her braid around one hand, he arched her head back to expose her throat to his mouth. He dipped his head, his lips scalding hot against the point in her throat where her pulse hammered.

“All right, Cheyenne, here.” When he raised his head and met her gaze, she felt a shocking jolt at the burn in his eyes. “The first time, right here.” His voice seemed to throb the words across her skin, making the flames in her blood rage hotter. “We’ll find the bed later. And use it.”

Lust clutched deep in her belly while he helped her fight off her boots. He shoved her shirt off her shoulders, down her arms, then to the floor. With an expert flick of his fingers, he unhooked her silk bra, dragged it off and found her flesh.

“You’re beautiful.” Gazing down at her, he cupped her breasts in his rough, clever hands, his thumbs performing a slow, erotic massage of her nipples. “Perfect.”

The flash of passion, the fury of need that darkened his eyes filled her with a sense of decadent power as she stood before him, naked from the waist up. Time and place became nothing against a hard, driving desire for him. Only him.

Urgency made her fingers clumsy, and she fumbled with the button on his jeans. She whimpered when he caught her wrists in his hands, stilled her movements. “Not yet,” he murmured. “We’ll get to me.”

Need raged, clawed inside her when his teeth seared a hot path across her exposed flesh. She drew in a sharp breath at the sensation of his mouth trailing down her ribs, then lower to the waist of her jeans.

She felt the insistent tug of his fingers at the button, then heard the rasp of the zipper, followed by the exquisite torture of his mouth moving lower still. His hands stroked over her hips, slipping beneath the loosened waist of the jeans. Denim whispered against her flesh as he skimmed them off. Then he went down on his knees, his hands locked at her waist, and nuzzled her through the thin silk of her panties.

Desire flooded her veins like flame leaping along a trail of gasoline.

“Jackson…” Her knees threatened to buckle, and she had to cling to his shoulders for support.

She writhed against the first touch of his tongue, the tender stroking, the feather-soft flicks. When he lightly nipped the crest of flesh where her lips joined she thought she would shatter into a million pieces. The pressure of his mouth intensified as his lips suckled her through silk. The air around her thickened; her breath snagged in her lungs while the wet pulse between her legs pounded.

Inch by inch he peeled the heated silk down her legs, then pulled her to the floor with him. Beneath her back she felt the softness of the rug that pooled in the center of her living room.

Her mind went hazy when Jackson leaned over her, blocking out everything else. Nothing existed for her but him. Only him.

His mouth began feasting on her flesh, his greedy hands racing over her quivering body in ruthless exploration. Heat pumped through her blood; she felt herself going warm and soft, melting into his touch, becoming one.

Her hot, hungry mouth nipped his neck, his chest. Her nails dug into the hard ridge of his shoulders. She couldn’t get enough of him, of his taste, his touch. He seeped into her, pore by pore.

She whimpered when he eased away to pull off his boots; her fingers tangled with his as he stripped off his jeans and briefs.

In a heartbeat of time, she gazed at him through the dim, silver light. His body was beautiful, tanned and strong, with muscles that rippled and tightened as he moved.

He came back to her, his greedy mouth claiming one breast to feed, suckle, devour, his teeth scraping erotically over her aching, budded nipple. Words strangled in her throat, images exploded in her brain and she arched back, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Minutes, or maybe hours, later, his mouth shifted to her other breast and reworked its torrid magic.

He fanned his long fingers low over her belly then cupped her, his hand molding against her already sensitive flesh with intimate possession. She writhed under his touch, her hands raking into his hair, fisting. His fingers moved against her wet heat, relentlessly driving her up, the need for release building, clawing viciously inside her.

“Look at me,” he said when her eyelids fluttered shut. “I want to watch your eyes when you become mine.”

“Yours.” The shadows around them seemed to shift while his fingers stroked. Sensation slid over sensation, building inside her in trembling, shuddering layers, then exploded. Her vision grayed; his name tore from her lips in a half sob.

Strength gone, her hands slipped from his shoulders. She lay motionless, sweat slicking her flesh, helpless to do anything else but gasp for breath.

One of his hands slid beneath her, his fingers splaying at her back to lift her hips.

His body was like iron over hers.

A sob of pure, overwhelming pleasure eased up her throat when he pushed inside her. Her body opened to his, joined with his. Arching, she buried her face in the hollow between his neck and shoulder and brought him in deeper. She gave herself over to him completely, moving with him, welcoming the deep, smooth strokes of his body inside of hers.

In that fleeting moment before they plunged together into the roaring dark, Cheyenne understood that she was his. There would never be room for another man in her mind, in her heart. Jackson was the one. The only one.



Eventually, they found Cheyenne’s bed. And made good use of it.

Now, hours later, Jackson lay awake, propped on one elbow, watching her sleep while the heady scent of her drifted through his senses. They’d turned out the light earlier after he had lit the candles scattered around the bedroom. The flames had since drowned out in their own wax. The only light left was from the moon, pale streams of it slanting over the bed, turning Cheyenne’s skin a warm, seductive gold.

She lay sprawled on her stomach, her breathing slow and even, her hair a glorious blue-black fell on the white pillow. He reached out, grazed his palm along the length of her body.

A sigh rose up her throat.

Even now that he’d had her, he was half-wild to get his hands on her again, to feel her under him.

Emotions that he was helpless to put a name to or understand surged through him. Before tonight he had accepted he had feelings for her. But he hadn’t known, couldn’t have known, that a woman’s touch—this woman’s—could sever the knots of his control so quickly. Thoroughly.

They had known each other only a short time. Before that they knew of each other, walked around the edges of each other for years. That was why he had carried with him the faint memory that something was different about River’s shy little sister. Something mystical.

He understood now what those secrets were he had seen in her eyes. Visions, he thought. Much more than mere wisps of intuition—she had proven that today when her actions had saved Johnny Collins’s life. The power she possessed seemed something more akin to subconscious dreams rooted in some sort of surreal reality.

Frowning, Jackson blew out a breath. He had no true understanding of what powers she possessed. But he did recognize that, by telling him about the gift of her heritage, she had pushed aside caution, exposed herself, made herself vulnerable. For that, he was responsible. He watched her, lying curled beside him, warm and soft and trusting, and hoped to hell he could handle the responsibility.

That he didn’t know for sure didn’t come as a surprise. Responsibility meant commitment—where relationships were concerned, he had always involved himself in straightforward affairs, no gray areas, no untidy emotions. No woman had ever made him feel the need to dip below the surface. With Cheyenne, at some point when he wasn’t looking, he had gone fully under.

Reaching out, Jackson stroked his fingers along the silky softness of her hair. Logic told him that his being the suspect in two attempted murders was reason enough to keep their relationship as it was now—no strings attached, with walking away an option. The thought of her doing that had his fingers clenching in her hair. It didn’t seem to make a difference that he didn’t need more complications in his life right now. All that mattered was that Cheyenne James wasn’t just any woman. She was his woman.

To his profound amazement, he was beginning to think he meant to keep her.



Cheyenne woke just after dawn feeling achy and sated…and totally decadent from having spent most of the night being ravished and ravishing. Stretching like a contented cat, she shoved her disheveled hair out of her face. The corners of her mouth lifted at the memory of Jackson loosening her braid, working his fingers through the long, thick strands, then fisting his hands in her tangled tresses while he eased himself into her wet depths.

Twin surges of fulfillment and excitement swam through her. She and Jackson had shared more than passion during the hours they’d spent together. There were feelings that ran deep below the surface, too. How deep, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that they existed. Eventually they would have to be faced, then dealt with.

Turning her head on the pillow, she gazed through the weak dawn light. Jackson lay asleep on his side, his face half turned toward her. Against the white pillowcase, his face looked deeply tanned, shadowed by jet-black stubble. His hair was a rumpled mess, his mouth slightly open, his lips relaxed.

Thoughts of how that mouth had destroyed her control sent a shudder of pure longing through her. Easing out a trembling breath, it was all she could do to keep from reaching out and raking her fingertips through the dark hair that dusted his chest, then letting her hand slide lower….

She closed her eyes. It wasn’t just passion she felt stirring in her belly, she realized. Last night Jackson had accepted her as no man ever had. She had opened both her body and her soul to him and he had not turned away.

He had touched her heart simply by understanding, by seeing what was inside her. He had seen, and he had accepted.

She loved him.

Her eyes widened as the realization settled around her. Oh, God, she was in love with him! It was that simple. That staggering.

That terrifying.

Although she’d shared her body with Jackson, given him her trust, she wasn’t sure what to do about sharing her emotions. Gnawing her bottom lip, Cheyenne thought back to their youth, to the seemingly unending stream of high school girls he’d entertained during weekends and summers at the Colton ranch. Then there was Sophie’s comment about the number of hearts Jackson had reportedly broken after he’d moved to San Diego. Cheyenne knew it wasn’t his nature to want to hear a woman’s declaration of love. Most likely it would put the fear of God into him.

It came close to doing the same to her.

Swallowing past the tightness in her throat, she slid out of bed. She needed time…and space to think.

At one point during the night when they’d taken a breather from pleasuring each other, Jackson had gone into the living room and retrieved their clothes. Now Cheyenne stepped shakily around the pile where he’d dumped them, grabbed her robe, then padded across the hall to the shower.



A sharp hammering noise woke Jackson. With his face pressed into the pillow, he could smell Cheyenne. Her soft, seductive scent brought a dreamy image that both aroused and soothed.

The hammering grew louder.

His mind still hazy, Jackson shifted, reached for her—and discovered he was alone in bed. Raising his head, he caught the sound of running water. Cheyenne, he reasoned, was in the shower.

Another burst of ungodly noise brought the realization that someone was banging on the front door. Blinking, he decided if the racket was going to stop, it was up to him to see to it.

“Hold on,” he muttered.

Groggy, he sat up, raking a hand over his stubbled jaw. He retrieved his jeans off the floor where he’d piled them last night, pulled them on. On his way down the hall, he tugged on his hopelessly wrinkled white shirt.

“I’m coming,” he said as the thudding continued. Jackson reached the door and yanked it open. His heart stopped.

“Detective,” he said evenly.

Thad Law, dressed in a blue suit, blue tie and white shirt, stood on the porch, the morning sunlight sparkling clear behind him. “Mind if I come in, Colton?”

“Would it matter if I did?”

“Nope.”

Jackson stepped back, pulling the door open wider. Law followed him in, his gaze flicking toward the dim kitchen, then across Jackson’s shoulder toward the hallway. “Where’s Miss James?”

“In the shower,” Jackson said, although he no longer heard the water running. “Are you here to see me, or her?”

“Both. I’ll get my business with you taken care of first.” As he spoke, Law shoved back one flap of his suit coat and pulled a pair of handcuffs off his belt. “Jackson Colton, you’re under arrest for two counts of attempted murder.”

Jackson’s stomach knotted. “If you’re basing this arrest on the evidence you presented me a week ago, you don’t have a case. You and I both know that.”

“New evidence has come to our attention.”

“What new evidence?”

“We’ll get to that. Downtown. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

The knots in Jackson’s stomach turned to pure acid. He knew he had no choice but to do what Law said. The cop patted him down for weapons. When the cold steel bands snapped around Jackson’s wrists, his body gave a compulsive jerk.

“You have the right to remain silent—”

“I’m an attorney. I know my rights. I don’t need to hear them—”

“Jackson!”

With her hair wrapped in a towel and a white terry robe belted at her waist, Cheyenne darted from the hall. Eyes wide, her face pale, she looked at Law. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why else?” Law asked. “I’ve got evidence that points to Colton’s guilt.”

“Of what?”

“I figure you have a pretty good idea, Miss James. Just in case you need it spelled out, the charge is the attempted murder of Joe Colton. Two counts.”

She took a step forward. “I don’t care what evidence you think you have. Jackson is innocent.”

“Doesn’t look like it from where I’m standing.”

“Jackson.” She turned to him, her already pale face bloodless now. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Call my Uncle Joe.” Jackson gritted his teeth. It was all he could do not to jerk away when Law clamped his fingers around his upper arm. “Tell Uncle Joe I’ve been arrested, and the charge. Have him contact my cousin, Rand—he’s a criminal attorney in D.C.”

“All right.”

“I’ve got business with you, too, Miss James,” Law said. “I need a formal statement from you. After you make that call, get dressed and drive to the station.”

Jackson saw something dark come and go in Cheyenne’s gaze. “After I talk to Joe Colton, I’m calling my attorney. He’ll be in contact with you, Detective Law.”

“By all means, consult counsel. Bring him to the station with you. Just make sure you show up.”

“Like I said, my lawyer will be in touch.”

Jackson felt Law’s fingers tighten on his arm. “You don’t want to get on my bad side, Miss James. Trust me on that.”

Frustration began to rise in Jackson, and with it anger. Cheyenne was playing with fire, trying to protect him. This was his problem, he needed to make her understand that.

He met Law’s stony gaze. “Let me talk to her before we leave.” He dipped his head toward one corner of the living room. “Over there.”

Law narrowed his eyes. “You’re an attorney, Colton, you know what I can do if she refuses to cooperate. You going to clue her in?”

“That’s exactly what I intend to do.”

A muscle working in his jaw, Law aimed a hitchhiker-like thumb in the direction of the living room’s far corner. “Five minutes.”

As he moved, Jackson tried to block out the cold, desperate feel of the cuffs that secured his wrists behind his back. He couldn’t dwell on that. Nor could he lose himself in the rush of useless emotions—anger, outrage, a hated sense of vulnerability—that bubbled in his blood. He had only a short time to make Cheyenne see that she couldn’t protect him. That he didn’t want her protection.

When they reached the end of the couch, she turned to face him. “Jackson—”

“We don’t have much time,” he began in a low voice. “I need you to listen to me. First, do you even have an attorney?”

Her gaze flicked past his shoulder to Law. “No. There’s one who handles legal matters for the residents of the reservation. I’ll call him.”

“Don’t bother, chances are he doesn’t know much about criminal law. When you talk to Uncle Joe, tell him you have to make a formal statement, that you need one of his attorneys to go with you to police headquarters.”

“I don’t want to make a formal statement.”

“Cheyenne—”

“I can place you in almost the exact spot where the shooter stood at your uncle’s birthday party. That can only hurt you. I don’t want to make a formal statement.”

“You can’t not make one,” Jackson countered through his teeth. “You don’t have the right to refuse to talk to the police. You only have the right not to incriminate yourself when you do talk to them.” He paused, took a deep breath. “You’re trying to protect me, I understand that. There’s a part of me that even appreciates it. But in doing so, you’re putting yourself in jeopardy. That’s not how we’re going to do this, Cheyenne.”

“Law intends to use me to make you look guilty.” Anger flashed in her eyes. “You’re not.”

“You’re right, I’m not. But my guilt or innocence isn’t the point here. The point is what he can do to you if you try to put him off for long.”

She lifted her chin. “I doubt he can do a lot.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Law might let you drag your feet for a day or two, but the bottom line is, he has to make his case so he can present it to the D.A. Your statement is part of his case. If you refuse to cooperate, Law can arrest you on a charge of material witness to an attempted homicide. If he feels like it, he can also add withholding evidence and impeding an investigation charges. He can go before a judge, say that you’re an unwilling witness—which you are—and because of that you might be a flight risk.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Law doesn’t know that, and neither will the judge. So, if Law asks the judge to hold you without bond, chances are the judge will grant the request. For a while anyway, you’ll be stuck in jail with no way out.”

Color flooded her cheeks. “That’s blackmail.”

“It’s also law enforcement.” Jackson leaned in. “No way in hell are you getting locked up because of me, Cheyenne. Do you understand that?”

“A vision sent me to help you.” She placed an unsteady palm against his cheek. “I need to help you, Jackson. I don’t know how I’m supposed to do that.”

“Start by calling Uncle Joe.” The tears swimming in her eyes almost brought him to his knees. “Have him call Rand. Tell him to get you a lawyer. Come in and give a statement to Law.” Jackson turned his head, placed a soft kiss against her palm. He wanted to hold her, touch her. All he could do was savor the taste of her.

Nine

“Look, Law, I’ve told you the truth,” Jackson said two hours later. “Repeatedly. There’s nothing else I can tell you. I don’t know who tried to kill my uncle. All I know is, it wasn’t me.”

He and the detective were in the same small room, sitting in the exact spots at the scarred table where their initial interview had taken place a week ago. Burns still tattooed the tabletop; the air carried the same stale odor of cigarettes and sweat. As it had a week ago, Law’s small recorder sat beside the notepad that the cop had placed in front of him.

The difference was that Jackson was now under arrest. The cops had fingerprinted him. Photographed him. Placed him in a bleak, sterile holding cell. The thought of going back to a cell, just the thought of it, had his blood icing.

He clenched his hands, still smudged with the remnants of fingerprint ink, and met Law’s steely gaze. “I wish to hell I hadn’t been alone in that service hallway when someone took a shot at Uncle Joe during his birthday party. And if I had known four months ago what I do now, I wouldn’t have driven in from San Diego and arrived at the house just minutes after the second attempt on my uncle’s life. I would have waited until the following day and flown to Prosperino with my father. But I didn’t. I drove. And I arrived at Hacienda de Alegria right after the shooting. Those are the facts. The truth.”

When Law pursed his lips, the small, paper-thin scar on his left cheek turned even whiter. “No, Colton, I don’t believe you’ve told me the truth.”

“What you believe doesn’t matter.” Jackson leaned forward. “It’s what you can prove. So far, all we’ve done is rehash what we went over a week ago. Yes, I was the attorney of record on Amalgamated Industries vs. Jones. I helped my former college roommate take control of his family’s business away from his father, who was addicted to alcohol, drugs and gambling. That doesn’t prove I planned to kill my uncle and take control of Colton Enterprises from my father. And I don’t know who the hell it was who walked into that L.A. insurance company and bought a policy on Uncle Joe’s life that names me as beneficiary. My guess is it was some starving actor who’d do most anything for the right money. All I know for sure is that man wasn’t me.”

“You’re correct, Colton, all we’ve done so far is rehash. It’s time we made some progress.” Law pushed back his chair and stood. Sometime after their arrival at the station, the detective had shed his jacket. Now his white shirt looked almost as rumpled as Jackson’s. The cop had opened his collar, loosened his blue tie. Rays from the room’s stark fluorescent lighting glinted dully off the gold badge clipped on his belt beside a holstered automatic.

“Let’s talk new evidence.” Law moved to a small table beside the door, retrieved the manila envelope lying there. “I’m looking forward to hearing your explanation for this.”

He strolled back to the center of the room. Easing a hip onto the table, Law opened the envelope and pulled out a large plastic bag. Inside the bag was a blue-steel automatic.

“Tell me about this,” Law said, holding the top of the bag between a fingertip and thumb.

Wariness tightened Jackson’s chest. “I can’t tell you about it. I’ve never seen that gun in my life.”

“Nine-millimeter German Luger. Ballistic tests confirm this is the gun used in both attempts on your uncle’s life.” Law’s mouth curved into a feral smile. “Ring any bells?”

“No.”

“So, you’re telling me you’ve never seen this gun?” Law extended his arm to give Jackson a better view of the weapon. “Never shot it?”

Jackson stared at the Luger, noting the notch in one of its dark grips. “That’s what I’m telling you.”

“How do you suppose your prints got on it?”

Jackson felt the muscles in his shoulders tighten. “No way in hell are my prints on that gun.”

“They are.” Law shrugged. “I don’t know, Colton, maybe the evidence fairy put them there.”

Jackson took a breath, braced himself. “Look, I told you last week someone has gone to a lot of trouble to set me up. The Luger is another piece in that setup.”

“Yeah, I remember your theory. Trouble is, you’re the only person swimming in the suspect pool. I’ve tried, but I can’t eliminate you.”

“That’s because when someone gets set up, they look guilty.” Jackson narrowed his eyes. “Where did you find the Luger?”

“In a Dumpster, a couple of blocks from the PD.”

“You just happened to look in the Dumpster and got lucky?”

“Dispatch got an anonymous call yesterday, telling us where to look. We dusted the Luger for prints, then ran them through the system. You’re in there because you were fingerprinted when you joined the California bar.” Law leaned in. “If I were you, I’d confess and get everything over with.”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

The cop sighed. “I figured you’d say that.”

A knock sounded at the door. “Company.” Law slid the bag holding the Luger back into the manila envelope. He rose, walked to the door, opened it and stuck his head out. Seconds later, he looked back at Jackson. “Your lawyer’s here, says he wants to confer with you.”

Jackson blinked. He didn’t know what time it was—he’d left his watch on Cheyenne’s nightstand. But he was sure his cousin Rand hadn’t had nearly enough time to make the trip from Washington, D.C. to Prosperino.

“I’ll talk to my client in private.”

Jackson leaned back in his chair, surprised to see his father stride through the door. Graham Colton was dressed for business in a pristine needle-thin pinstripe suit, perfectly tailored to fit his lean, wiry build. Thatches of gray edged the temples of his thick, blond hair.

Jackson rubbed a hand over his face. He remembered now his uncle saying that his parents had planned on arriving last night at Hacienda de Alegria. Great, this was all he needed.

Graham waited to acknowledge Jackson until Law stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.

“Quite a mess you’ve gotten yourself in, son.”

“I didn’t get myself into it.” Unlike you when you slept with Aunt Meredith and fathered Teddy. “Someone shoved me into this mess when I wasn’t looking.”

“Hmm.” Graham pulled out the chair Law had occupied. He sat, steepling his long fingers that sported a pair of gold rings. Jackson noted there was no concern in his father’s eyes, just speculation.

“Before we get into things,” Graham began, “I’ll tell you what’s going on from my end. Your current fling— I forget her name—called the house this morning.”

“Cheyenne,” Jackson said through his teeth. “Her name is Cheyenne James, and she’s not a fling.”

Graham’s brows arched over cool blue eyes. “I see. Anyway, when Cheyenne called, I answered the phone. She wanted to speak to Joe. Since he was out riding and hadn’t taken his cell phone, she had to settle for me.”

Jackson propped his elbows on the table and rubbed at the headache that snarled in both temples. “Did you get her a lawyer? Has she come in yet to give Law a formal statement?”

“No, on both counts.”

Jackson smashed a fist onto the table. “Dammit, she needs a lawyer! I want her to make a statement. No way in hell is she going to jail on my account.”

“Calm down,” Graham said mildly. “After Cheyenne told me everything, I had her drive to the house. Joe was back by the time she arrived. He thinks you’re innocent, by the way, and he’s incensed you’ve been arrested. He called Rand’s office, got hold of his new wife…” Graham raised a hand. “I can’t remember her name.”

“Lucy.”

Graham waved the information aside. “She said Rand was in Sacramento attending to some business. Apparently, he had planned on surprising Joe and Meredith with a visit before he flew back to D.C. Anyway, Joe contacted him, then sent the corporate jet to pick him up.” Graham glanced at his watch. “Rand should have arrived by now. Joe’s meeting him at the airport. They’ve got an appointment with Yale Williams to arrange your bond.”

“Good.” Yale Williams was a judge who’d been Joe Colton’s friend for years. Jackson felt the tension backing off knowing that chances were good he wouldn’t have to spend the night in a cell.

He rubbed his gritty eyes while fatigue pressed down on him like a lead weight. “What about Cheyenne?”

Graham angled his head. “I get the idea you care about this woman.”

“I do. She needs a lawyer to bring her in so she can make a statement.”

“I disagree. She should hold off—”

“I don’t give a damn—”

“You’re wasting time getting angry. Your Uncle Joe and Rand agree with me. In fact, Rand talked to Cheyenne on the phone while he was on the way to the airport. She told him she can place you at the party, in the vicinity of where the shooter stood when he tried to kill Joe. At almost the exact time of the shooting.”

“That’s right, she can.”

“No way does Rand want her giving Law a formal statement. As of their conversation, Rand is also representing Cheyenne. He told her to stay at Hacienda de Alegria. Once we get you out of here and back to Joe’s, we’ll put our heads together. Have a strategy session, so to speak.”

Jackson blew out a breath. Except for the two summers he’d interned in the L.A. County D.A.’s office, he’d had little experience with criminal law. On the other hand, Rand was one of the country’s top defense attorneys. A master at strategy, he was considered lethal in a courtroom. Jackson trusted him explicitly.

“Okay. Good.” He met his father’s dispassionate blue gaze. “I appreciate you handling things.”

“I should mention that your mother is staying at Hacienda de Alegria for a few days. Since she’s also an attorney, she considered coming here with me. I told her you only need one lawyer at a time. She agreed.”

Typical, Jackson thought. The woman who’d barely acknowledged his presence while growing up would never consider he might want—or need—a mother’s emotional support.

He gave his father a sardonic look. “I doubt an entertainment attorney would do me much good right now.”

“Probably not,” Graham agreed. “Your uncle gave me a rundown on the evidence the police had as of last week. That doesn’t sound like much. What did Law base the arrest on?”

Jackson closed his eyes, opened them. “He says they received an anonymous call telling them where they could find the gun—a Luger—used to shoot at Uncle Joe. They looked in a certain Dumpster and found the gun. Ballistic tests match the Luger to the slugs found at both murder attempts.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you’re under arrest.”

“Law claims my prints are on the Luger.”

Graham sat silent for a moment. “Did you do it?” he asked quietly.

Control kept Jackson in place, made his eyes flat, held his voice even. If he got out of the mess he was in, there was no way he would spend another day working with the father who had so little faith in him.

“Our business is done, Graham. You can leave now. And don’t bother making that strategy session tonight.”



On long-ago weekends when Cheyenne visited her brother, River, at Hacienda de Alegria, she had spent hours curled up in Joe Colton’s paneled study, made warm and vibrant by deep rugs and polished brasses. She’d expended most of her time leafing though the collection of Colton family photo albums that Meredith had meticulously maintained. Young and desperately shy, Cheyenne had turned the heavy pages slowly, mesmerized by the faces that smiled back at her, the locations pictured, both familiar and exotic. And always, always her young girl’s heart had sighed over the pictures of Jackson Colton flashing his bold, reckless, irresistible grin.

Tonight there was no humor in Jackson’s face.

He had settled in the maroon leather wing chair that was a twin to the one she’d chosen, both angled in front of Joe’s massive mahogany desk. The Colton patriarch, along with his attorney-son, Rand, had persuaded the judge—an old family friend—to grant a bond for Jackson’s release. The three men had arrived grim-faced at the house in time for Jackson to shower and change before dinner. Now he wore tailored slacks and a black linen shirt that deepened his tan and turned his gray eyes the color of a storm-tossed sea.

With so many people around, Cheyenne had barely had a chance to talk to him, certainly hadn’t had a moment alone. While Jackson was in the shower she had met with the tall, dark-haired attorney. She had once heard that seeing Rand Colton argue a case in court was like watching a wolf circling a potential kill and losing patience. Even so, Rand’s eyes were oddly gentle in such a strong-featured face. Cheyenne supposed that was why it had been easier than she thought it would be to propose the strategy she had worried over for most of the day.

She doubted Jackson would react with equal calm.

“The Luger with your prints on it is our major concern.” Rand spoke as he walked to the wet bar built into a small alcove between towering bookcases. He poured a snifter of brandy, then glanced over his shoulder. “Does anyone other than Dad want a drink?”

“I’m off alcohol,” Jackson said while Cheyenne declined the offer with a shake of her head.

Rand arched a dark brow. “Since when?”

“Since the one drink I had at Liza’s wedding reception knocked me for a loop.”

“It’s best to keep a clear head now anyway while we figure out how to deal with the Luger.” Mouth pursed, Rand carried the snifter to his father who was leaning back at his desk, glancing occasionally at the bank of security monitors built into the nearby wall.

Cheyenne sat in silence, breathing in the scent of leather and beeswax. She wondered whether Graham and Cynthia Colton, both attorneys, had opted not to join them for this brainstorming session or hadn’t been invited. All she knew for sure was that Jackson’s parents had both been quiet and subdued at dinner. As had Meredith. Even the usually rambunctious Joe, Jr. and Teddy had eaten their meal in almost total silence. They’d slipped away the first chance they got and dashed into the kitchen where Inez had their favorite dessert waiting.

Rand eased onto the edge of the desk and met Jackson’s gaze. “Do you remember ever seeing that Luger?”

“No.”

“Have you been at a firing range since the second attempt on Dad’s life? Maybe someone laid the gun down and walked off. Maybe you picked it up, returned it to them? A scenario like that would be enough to get your prints on the gun.”

Jackson shoved a hand through his dark hair, leaving it appealingly rumpled. “I’ve racked my brain about that Luger since Law pulled it out of that envelope. I don’t remember ever laying eyes on it. I sure as hell never shot it.”

Joe scowled into his snifter as he swirled his brandy. “There’s got to be some logical explanation for your prints to be on that weapon.”

Jackson raised his chin. “Uncle Joe, I give you my word, I didn’t—”

“Boy, don’t you even start!” Joe’s blue eyes sparked when he leaned forward in his chair. “I know it wasn’t you who took those potshots at me. Only a fool would think that. I’m a lot of things, but not a fool.”

“Thanks. Your belief in me means a lot.”

Cheyenne’s heart went out to Jackson when she saw the effort it took for him to smile.

Rand plucked a brass paperweight shaped like an oil rig off the desk, weighed it in his hand. “I plan to file discovery papers tomorrow so I can get a look at all the reports and evidence the police have. I’ll arrange for my experts to conduct independent ballistic tests and fingerprint comparisons on the Luger. I also want my handwriting specialist to examine the signature on the insurance policy someone bought in your name. Those tests will take a couple of days. In the meantime, we need to address Cheyenne’s dilemma.”

“That’s right, we do,” Jackson said.

Cheyenne’s heart clenched when he rose, stepped to her chair and placed a palm on one of her shoulders. “She isn’t going to spend one minute in jail on my account. I want that understood up front.”

She placed her hand over his, then looked up and met his gaze. “I don’t want to give Law a formal statement about where I saw you at the party.”

Jackson’s fingers tightened on her shoulder. “Dammit, Cheyenne, we’ve talked about this. I told you what Law can do to you. Your being stubborn isn’t helping.”

“I disagree,” Rand said mildly.

Jackson slid his cousin a narrow-eyed look. “She’s trying to protect me by putting herself in a situation where Law can arrest her. That’s not going to happen. Deal with it.”

“Cheyenne’s testimony doesn’t prove you pulled the trigger, but it places you at the location—at almost the exact time—from where the shot was fired at Dad. It won’t help our case to have a jury hear that.”

Jackson reached down, hooked a finger under Cheyenne’s chin and nudged it up. “This morning Thad Law as good as told me he’ll arrest you if you don’t make a formal statement. He’s not bluffing. He’ll toss you in a cell. Trust me, it isn’t a pleasant experience. I know.”

Swallowing hard, she took the leap. “He can’t arrest me if we’re married.”

“What?” Jackson stared in astonishment as her face began to burn.

“I’ve… In college, my roommate was in pre-law. I remember her talking about how a wife can’t testify against her husband. That the police…” Cheyenne’s voice hitched. “I’m not trying to force you into something you don’t want, Jackson. It’s just that if we were married, Law couldn’t make me testify against you. You’re innocent. I won’t testify against you.”

His mouth thinned. “In other words, you’re giving me permission to use you to try to keep my butt out of prison.”

Cheyenne’s stomach jumped with nerves. “I don’t see it that way. Someone’s trying to make it look like you’re guilty. I’m trying to even the odds.”

Rand slid off the desk and walked to Jackson’s side. “You’re not looking at this objectively, cousin. The protection angle works both ways.”

Jackson dropped his hand from her chin and faced Rand. “The two of you have discussed this?”

“Cheyenne mentioned her idea to me while you were in the shower.”

“In that case, you should have mentioned to her that certain situations aren’t covered under the marital privilege law. One situation being that the criminal act in question can’t have occurred prior to the legal marriage of the spouses to each other. The first attempt on Uncle Joe’s life was nearly a year ago. The second one four months ago.”

“True.” Rand slid a hand into the pocket of his slacks. “However, the law being the law, there are always exceptions. I made a couple of calls before dinner. A California appeals court ruled just last month that a woman who witnessed a crime committed by her then-fiancé can’t be forced to testify on the grounds that the man is now her husband. The court felt that if she were forced to testify, her testimony could jeopardize their existing marriage.”

Jackson’s eyes narrowed. “A higher court could overturn that ruling.”

“It’s possible. If that happens, it won’t be for years. In the meantime, citing the court’s ruling is enough to prevent Law from getting his statement. Cheyenne will no longer be in danger of being arrested and charged with impeding an investigation.” Rand placed a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “There’s another aspect to this. With everything you’ve been through today, I imagine you haven’t had a chance to think things through.”

“What things?”

“If Cheyenne gives a statement to Law, the D.A. will plan to call her as a witness for the prosecution. He may even consider her his star witness. If that’s the case, I can’t represent both of you. She’d have to find another attorney.”

Jackson nodded slowly. “Which means you’d get a shot at cross-examining Cheyenne.”

“Exactly. And, as I do with every prosecution witness, I’d look for the peel.”

“The peel,” Jackson repeated, his mouth tightening.

Not understanding their use of the term, Cheyenne met Joe’s gaze. “Lawyer talk,” he said quietly.

Rand kept his eyes locked with Jackson’s. “I believe you know I would find what I need in Cheyenne’s background.”

“Yeah, I know.” Jackson clenched his fists. “Forget it, Rand. I won’t let you do that.”

“Would you rather go to prison?”

Jackson ran a hand over his face. “Dammit—”

“If you and Cheyenne get married, she’ll remain my client,” Rand pointed out. “She can claim spousal privilege. That will give us more time to concentrate on finding who set you up. Whoever did that had a very well-thought-out plan. It’s going to take some effort on our part to unravel that plan and find who’s behind it.”

Rand glanced across his shoulder. “Dad, why don’t you and I clear out and give Jackson and Cheyenne a chance to talk? Everyone’s had a long day. We can meet back here in the morning.”

“Sounds good.” Rising, Joe moved around the desk to stand at Jackson’s side. “You’ve got quite a woman here, son.” He winked at Cheyenne. “If you don’t marry her, I just might.”

Jackson arched a dark brow. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Joe slapped Rand on the back. “You didn’t have a chance to say more than a hello to your mother when you got here.”

As she rose from her chair, Cheyenne saw a shadow flicker across Rand’s eyes as he said, “You’re right, I didn’t. I’ll have to be sure and mention to her that I had some business in Sacramento.” He turned and followed his father out of the study.

Cheyenne waited to speak until the door clicked softly behind them. “I’m sure you feel like I’ve pushed you into a corner, Jackson. That wasn’t my intention.”

He gazed down at her, his eyes unfathomable. “No, your intention is to protect me. Because you believe I’m innocent.”

“I know you are.”

“You know that because a vision sent you to me.”

“Yes. My visions are only for good.”

“I’ll tell you what isn’t so good. You heard Rand mention finding the peel in your background?”

She furrowed her forehead. “I don’t know what that means.”

“It’s Rand’s term for his ability to get under some aspect of a story, or of a witness, so he can ‘peel’ the testimony back and damage the witness’s credibility.” Jackson reached, ran a hand down her long hair that she’d left loose and flowing. “Growing up, Rand heard the same rumors about you that I did. He’s got a memory that won’t quit.”

Cheyenne blinked. “You’re talking about my gift.”

“Yes. If you become a prosecution witness, Rand will conduct a background on you. One visit to the reservation and he’ll know all about your visions. In court, he’ll call witnesses to testify that you’re known to ‘see things.’ When he gets you on the stand he’ll ask if you’re sure you saw me near the service hallway just before the shooting. When you answer yes, he’ll suggest that, instead of actually seeing me, you just pictured me there in your head. Like you do so many other things. By the time Rand gets done, the jury will look at you as if you’re just some crackpot visionary.”

Cheyenne felt herself go pale. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“No, all you’ve thought about is protecting me.”

“A vision sent me to you because you need my help. That’s what I intend to do, Jackson. Help you.”

He cupped her cheek, his flesh warm against hers. “Is anyone else in your family this stubborn?”

Pride flared, had her angling her chin. “Mokee-kittuun means People of the Red River. The blood of my mother’s ancestors turned a river red before they surrendered to the white man.”

“Well, that explains it,” Jackson said, his gaze locked with hers. “I’ve never wanted a wife, Cheyenne. I can’t honestly tell you I want one now. That’s because of a lot more reasons than there might be a cell in my future. I grew up watching my parents’ hollow marriage. I saw Uncle Joe and Aunt Meredith’s relationship disintegrate. All that makes staying single look good.”

She took a deep breath. “I understand how you feel.”

“No, you don’t.” His hands settled on her shoulders. “I care about you, more than I’ve ever cared about another woman. Right now, I don’t know how deep those feelings go. All I know is that you’re who I want to be with. Make love with. I just don’t know if I can give you what you need.”

The lightning response of her body to his words no longer surprised her. “What I need—all I need—is for you to believe in me. In who I am.”

His eyes turned eloquent. “The same way you believe in me? In my innocence? No questions asked.”

“Yes. No questions asked.”

For the first time that evening, his expression softened. “How could I not believe in you?”

She raised on tiptoe, brushed his lips with hers. “Make love with me, Jackson.”

“We’ll get to that.” He nudged her back, yet kept his hands tight on her shoulders. “If you refuse to give Law a statement, you’ll wind up in jail. If you cooperate and testify for the prosecution, Rand will tear you apart in court. All because of me. The thought of either of those things happening to you ties my gut into knots. This isn’t your fight, Cheyenne, it’s mine. It may not be the right thing to do, but if the only way I can keep you out of this is to marry you, that’s what I’ll do.”

Her heart turned over. What would she give to hear him say those words under other circumstances? “It sounds like we’re protecting each other. I can’t bring myself to think that’s wrong.”

“A man ought to be able to give his wife guarantees. Make her promises. I can’t do either of those, Cheyenne. Even without your testimony, I could wind up in prison.”

“If that happens, we’ll deal with it.”

“If that happens, you’ll file for divorce. No way are you going to be saddled with a husband who’s locked in a cell.”

Reaching up, she cupped her hand against his cheek. If the thought of him going to prison terrified her, she could imagine how it made him feel. “Now’s not the time to think about that.”

He rested his brow on hers and slid his arms around her waist. “You’re right, I don’t want to think about it.”

“Then don’t.” She smelled the scent of his soap, his own spicy male tang, and nuzzled her face against his neck, wanting to absorb it. “Kiss me, Jackson. Tonight you don’t have to think about anything else but kissing me.”

He lowered his mouth and plundered. Need and pleasure burst through her in one sizzling ball of heat. Her arms wound around him, banded around him until it seemed his heart wasn’t merely thundering against hers but inside hers. The mindless pleasure she’d felt the previous night was back, and she surrendered to it.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he murmured. “Never enough.”

His lips left hers, but before she could protest, he pressed them to her throat. “Stay with me tonight,” he breathed against her flesh. “All night.”

Her breasts ached for his touch, her thighs trembled. “All night,” she promised.

He caught her face in his hands and stared down at her, his eyes dark and searching while his hard, lean body pressed against hers. “We’ll get married tomorrow, if you’re sure that’s what you want.”

She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. To even consider that their nights together might be numbered, that he would wind up in a cell for years—maybe even for life—had a terrible dread curling inside her belly.

She closed her eyes against the prospect. “Yes, Jackson, marrying you is what I want.”

Ten

Patsy knew that Graham habitually rose before sunrise and took a walk on the beach. For that reason, she had crept out of her bedroom when the first thready light of dawn slid over the horizon. Now she stood on the beach, positioned out of sight from anyone who might peer over the rocky cliff that edged the rear of the Colton property. She knew damn well if Graham saw her he wouldn’t venture down the wooden staircase built against the cliff’s rocky face.

The air was lush with ocean spray as foamy waves slipped onto the wet sand. In her haste to leave the house she had pulled on snug slacks and a cashmere top, and forgotten to grab a jacket on the way out the door. The predawn chill prickled her skin, but she didn’t dare go back for something warm to wear.

She needed to talk to Graham.

With so many people staying at the house, this was the first chance she’d had to get him alone. And after Rand’s nonchalant mention last night that he’d been conducting business in Sacramento when Joe summoned him to Hacienda de Alegria, she had to do whatever it took to force Graham into resuming the blackmail payments.

At Rand’s mention of the city in which Meredith had attended college and worked, Patsy had murmured something about how lucky it was he’d been so close to Prosperino when Jackson got arrested. Smiling until she felt her face would crack, she then told him she was tired and going to bed. She’d had to wash down two Valiums with three fingers of vodka just to calm down. She hadn’t slept a wink all night. How could she?

He knew. The bastard had sent her the message through those cold-as-glacial-ice eyes of his. When she’d first taken over Meredith’s identity, Rand had treated her with deference, like a loving son. Over the years he had pulled away, grown distant. She no longer expected a hug and kiss on the cheek when she saw Rand. Lately a perfunctory nod was all she got. None of that had prepared her for the edgy suspicion she had seen in his eyes last night. It was as if he were waiting for something he knew would happen. Just waiting.

All of her senses screamed that he was close to putting the pieces of the puzzle together. He was a criminal attorney, for Christ’s sake. All it would have taken for him to start digging in the right places was one phone call from that runaway bitch, Emily. The thought had Patsy’s nerves slithering like restless snakes. What if Emily had remembered seeing her “two mommies” the day of the accident? What if, after that idiot Pike bungled killing Emily, she’d run to Rand for protection? He was smart and cunning and, like all lethal predators, he knew exactly when to bide his time and when to move in for the kill.

Patsy stared out at the sea, her eyes narrowing while her blond hair danced in the wind. She might still have some time to do damage control. After all, the cops already knew Meredith had a twin sister. Patsy closed her eyes and gave silent thanks that Meredith had saved the letter she, Patsy, had forged announcing her own death years ago. Lucky for her that the fire in the mental clinic’s basement had destroyed all of her records.

Still, Rand had gone to Sacramento for a reason, and he’d made a point to let her know he’d been there. What if Meredith had been fingerprinted when she was hired on at the nursery school she’d worked at? What if Rand had gone to Sacramento because he’d discovered what the police hadn’t—that some obscure nursery school had his mother’s fingerprints on file?

Identical twins didn’t have identical fingerprints.

Patsy put an unsteady hand to her throat. All Rand had to do was take a glass she’d used, or maybe go into her bedroom and retrieve a bottle of perfume, and he would have her prints. He could then have them compared, and he would know she was not Meredith. He would know she was Patsy, Meredith’s twin who had killed a man named Ellis Mayfield when she discovered he had sold their sweet baby, Jewel. Because goody-goody Meredith wouldn’t agree to lie for her, Patsy had been tried, convicted and sentenced.

Twenty-five years to life.

The vicious resentment she felt for Meredith bubbled up instantly. Her loving sister, her twin, had left her in a cell to rot for all those years. There was no forgiveness for that. Just revenge. Patsy had been taking that revenge, parading as Meredith, enjoying the Colton wealth and power for ten years.

The pinpricks of unease that surged up Patsy’s spine told her that her life as Meredith Colton might soon end.

If Rand suspected enough, if he got Meredith’s fingerprints and compared them with hers, he would know the truth.

She needed money—a lot of money—and she needed it now. Any minute she might have to pack up Teddy and Joe, Jr. and take off. She couldn’t do that, couldn’t survive without a stake. Dammit, Graham Colton had promised to pay her to keep her mouth shut about his being Teddy’s father. Pay was exactly what he was going to do.

She had gotten Jackson out of the way—just because Joe had cried to some judge to get his nephew out of jail on bond didn’t make a difference. Her getting Jackson’s fingerprints on the gun ensured that he was headed to prison, maybe for life. Served him right for sticking his nose into her business and putting a stop to Graham’s payments to her. Now that the son was essentially out of the way, it was time to deal with the father.

Her gaze drifted to the small, rocky alcove where she’d seen the person who’d actually tried to kill Joe hide the gun. She would love to see the shooter’s amazed face when the news came of Jackson’s arrest…and that his prints were on the gun.

The clatter of footsteps coming down the wooden staircase brought up Patsy’s chin. She leaned, her mouth curving when Graham came into view. She took a moment to appreciate his strong good looks, the thick blond hair threaded with gray, that evidenced a stylist’s touch. Even this early in the morning he was perfectly groomed, his heavy sweater and pleated chinos a complement to his well-toned body.

Just as quickly, she pushed Graham’s sinfully handsome looks out of her thoughts. She hadn’t come to this secluded apron of beach for seduction. She was there for money. Her whole future, and that of Joe, Jr. and Teddy, might depend on the next few minutes.

The instant Graham’s feet hit the sand, she stepped into view.

“Jesus, Meredith, you scared me!”

“You’re a smart man, Graham.” She leaned forward fractionally to make her point. “You’d better be afraid of me.”

Wariness slid into his eyes. “What the hell do you want?”

“You’re a guest in my home, darling. I’m just trying to make sure your stay is comfortable.”

“The next time I feel comfortable around you, I’ll be laid out on a slab. Just tell me what the hell you want.”

“Money. You promised to pay me to keep quiet about our little liaison. I have. Joe doesn’t know you’re Teddy’s father, which means you’re still named in Joe’s will. I expect you to keep your end of the bargain.”

He lifted a hand to his neck for a quick, impatient rub. “You know as well as I do that Jackson found out about the payments I made to you. He wasn’t bluffing when he told you if you keep leaning on me for more money that he’ll go to the police. In case it hasn’t occurred to you, what you’re doing is called blackmail. It happens to be illegal. You could get arrested.”

“Yes, well, Jackson knows all about getting arrested, doesn’t he? And because he has his hands full taking care of his own problems he’s too busy now to pay attention to yours. It’s time to stop trying to hide behind your son, Graham.” She gave him a sugary smile. “There’s one way, and only one, that will get you off the hook. You pay me one million dollars. In cash. If it makes you feel better, we’ll call it a loan—which I’ll never pay back, of course. That’s the only way you’ll be free of me.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “I can’t get my hands on a million dollars in cash.”

“You’ve got stocks, bonds, other investments.” Patsy lifted a shoulder. “Sell them.”

“I can’t just sell them,” he said with more than a touch of annoyance in his voice. “They’re in Cynthia’s name, too.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure out some way to get around the ice-bitch you’re married to.” Patsy narrowed her eyes. “I expect you to be smart this time. If you tell Jackson about this conversation, I promise you, you’ll be sorry. More than sorry.”

“Save the threats, Meredith. Jackson’s gone.”

“What do you mean, he’s gone? He’s out on bond for two attempted murders, his half-breed girlfriend is set to testify against him and the police have a gun with his prints all over it.”

“He and Cheyenne left the house this morning the same time I did. They’re going off somewhere to get married.”

Patsy blinked. “Don’t you think this is a strange time for that?”

“Not when you know the reason. Once they’re married, Cheyenne can claim spousal privilege. That means she can decline to testify against Jackson, which helps his case. Immensely.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that the police have the gun with his prints on it.” Patsy gave silent thanks that she’d been forward thinking enough to set that up. “Your eldest son is going to prison, Graham. Maybe for the rest of his life. He won’t be around to protect you and threaten me. All I want is a measly one million dollars. I need it to take care of your other son. If you don’t pay, I’ll go to Joe and tell him you’re Teddy’s father. You’ll lose millions, millions, when he writes you out of his will.”

“You act like this is all my doing, but we both know you came on to me, hotter than a cheap pistol.” Hands clenched against his thighs, Graham turned his head and stared out at the ocean. “You’re a conniving bitch, Meredith. I wish to hell I’d never laid my hands on you.”

Abruptly furious, she grabbed his jaw, making sure to dig in her nails when she jerked his head around and locked her gaze with his. “Don’t you dare stand there acting like you’re so much better than me. I was more than good enough for you the night you cornered me in that rest room and had me.” She felt herself vibrating with the anger he’d sparked in her. “Actions have consequences, you bastard. Your having to buy my silence is one of them. Pay up or your brother will be the next Colton you’ll have to deal with. Compared to Joe, I’m a walk in the park. And you know it.”

“Yeah.” He shoved her hand away, rubbed his jaw where her nails had left half-moon imprints. “All right, you’ll get your money. In cash. I just need time to get it together. Cynthia can’t find out.”

Patsy smiled and felt the tension in her stomach unknot. “Good boy,” she crooned. “Just don’t take too long. And be sure you keep Jackson out of this.”

“That’s not a problem,” Graham said. “I’m not exactly his favorite person these days.”



“I’m sorry, Cheyenne. As weddings go, ours wasn’t much of one.”

“It was fine.” Gliding her hands up Jackson’s bare chest, she stood on tiptoe, making no effort to avoid the stream of warm water that beat down from the shower’s spray. “The honeymoon is shaping up to be much better.”

He lowered his head to rub his wet lips over hers. “There is that.”

While steam rose around them, he pulled her against him, one hand resting on the curve of her waist, the other pushing through her thick, wet hair to the back of her head. He kissed her deeply, thoroughly; she tasted the warm water that had beaded on his lips, felt it on his fingertips as his hand curved low over her.

It was surreal to think that this man whose touch made her tremble was her husband. Surreal, maybe, but true.

She and Jackson had risen early that morning and driven south along the rocky, rugged coast to Mendocino. They stopped at the courthouse and obtained a marriage license. One hour later, they had stood beneath sparkling sunlight on an ocean cliff with a justice of the peace and his smiling wife. There, they exchanged vows while gulls swooped and whales played in the distant surf.

Mr. and Mrs. Jackson Colton had then checked into an inn known for its isolation and beauty. Once in their cozy, paneled room, they’d barely stripped off each other’s clothes before tumbling into bed. Hours later, Jackson had carried her into the shower. Now, with her entire body trembling from his touch, Cheyenne was certain he would have to carry her out, too.

“Cheyenne.” He murmured her name over the hiss of water and curling clouds of steam. His hands glided gently over the curves and sleek planes of her body, as if he were discovering her all over again. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she lost herself to sensations—the wet heat of his body sliding against hers, the dark hair plastered across his chest, the taste of him in her mouth.

“I need you,” he whispered hoarsely against her lips. “Just you.”

“And I need you.”

One of his hands moved down her belly, his long fingers cupped her, circling and kneading her sensitized skin until her legs threatened to give out. Just when she was sure she could no longer stand, he lifted her, guiding her legs around his waist as he pushed inside her.

The pure physical sensation of the act made her feel as if she had ceased to exist alone, and now existed as a part of him. For her, it was a joining that went beyond the physical to the spiritual, until body and soul became one. She loved him, yet she held that knowledge close to her heart. She knew Jackson cared about her, yet she was well aware the events of the previous day were the reason he was now her husband. Those events had not changed the man he was. That man had never before chosen to let a woman into his life. He hadn’t had much of a choice when he’d let her in.

Cheyenne pushed away the thought. She loved him. He needed her. With so many shadows hanging over their future, thinking about what might happen was useless. She and Jackson were together. That was enough for now.

Slowly, he lowered her to her feet, nuzzled her throat. “I think if we don’t get out of this shower now, we’ll both drown.”

“Save yourself,” she said as she slumped against the wet tiles. “I can’t move. I’ll never move again.”

“No way I’m leaving you,” he said, then pulled her from beneath the warm spray.

Fifteen minutes later, Cheyenne walked out of the bathroom, wearing one of the inn’s heavy velour robes. She had towel-dried her long hair and gathered it over one shoulder. She smiled when she saw that Jackson had already lit the logs in the fireplace built into one of the paneled walls. She glanced out the window that led to their private balcony. An early evening fog had rolled in, obscuring the inn’s grounds and the ocean beyond. The whole world seemed to have turned a cottony gray cloud.

“After you dry your hair, we should think about getting something to eat,” Jackson said as he stood before a small antique bookcase and uncorked the bottle of local wine he’d bought at a nearby store. He had pulled on casual slacks and a light sweater that was a shade darker gray than his eyes. His black hair was still damp, slicked straight back from his tanned face.

She slid him a look as she knelt in front of the fireplace and started finger-combing the tangles from her waist-length hair. “Food sounds good. I was beginning to think you didn’t plan to do anything on this trip, except ravish me.”

His mouth curved. “Certain appetites take precedence over others. It’s the law.” He moved across the room, crouched beside her and handed her a glass of red wine. “You thinking of suing me?”

“Could be. I have a really good attorney, you know.” The words weren’t totally out when she realized what she’d said. “Jackson, I’m sorry.”

“You were just kidding.”

“Yes, but considering the reason I have that lawyer…” She dropped her gaze to her lap where she’d clenched her hands. It was a jolt to see the plain gold band that circled her left ring finger. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes. As though they had agreed silently not to, neither she nor Jackson had spoken today about his arrest, or the real reason she now wore the gold band.

Last night, when they’d conferred one last time with Rand, he had suggested they get married as soon as possible, then take the next twenty-four hours to just be together. In the meantime, he would deal with the necessary paperwork. That paperwork included advising Detective Law and the District Attorney that Cheyenne James was now Mrs. Jackson Colton. Further, she was claiming spousal privilege and, therefore, could not be compelled to make a statement or testify against her husband.

“Cheyenne.” Using a finger, Jackson nudged her chin up while he settled beside her in front of the fire. “I’ve got pretty thick skin. After all that’s happened between us, I have to figure you’re on my side.”

“Yes.” She raised the glass of wine, took a sip and felt her flesh warm. “I just wasn’t thinking. And I didn’t intend to remind you of everything.”

“I haven’t exactly forgotten.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m planning on checking in with Rand before we leave to eat. By now he will have informed Law and the D.A. that they can’t force you to give them a formal statement. I want to make sure no glitches have surfaced.” He reached for her left hand, entwined his fingers between hers. “You’re my number-one supporter. I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you.”

She took another sip of wine, her brow furrowing as she set the glass aside. “Speaking of supporters, I’d like to ask you a question.”

“So, ask.”

“I’ve been wondering about your parents.”

His eyes narrowed. “What about them?”

“Why didn’t they join us last night to talk strategy?”

“I didn’t ask them to join us.”

“They’re both attorneys. Maybe one of them might have thought of something the rest of us didn’t.”

“Don’t count on it. Neither of my parents has ever given my sister or me much thought. I don’t expect that to change just because I’m facing prison.” He paused. “At the police station, my father asked me if I tried to kill Uncle Joe.”

“Oh, Jackson—”

“My sister, Liza, and I grew up in a house where manners took precedence over love. In fact, there wasn’t any love, not where our parents were concerned. They never gave much of a damn about us. They left our upbringing in the hands of nannies and housekeepers. Uncle Joe and Aunt Meredith were the ones who cared. Meredith intervened, told my parents that Liza and I would be spending most of our time at the ranch with them. We basically grew up at Hacienda de Alegria.”

Cheyenne’s heart went out to the man who as a child must have thirsted for his parents’ love. “On the weekends I spent there visiting River, your uncle always let me sit in his study and look through the photo albums. He always took time to tell me a joke and tweak my nose. Your aunt let me help her cut flowers from her gardens and showed me how to arrange them in crystal vases.”

“I doubt Meredith has even looked at a flower bed in the past ten years. She sure hasn’t spent the time promoting family unity.” Jackson angled his head. “I’ll stop before I’m tempted to tell you all of the sordid Colton secrets. I don’t want to make you sorry that you married into the family.”

“I won’t ever be sorry.”

“I hope not.” Jackson shifted, rested his back against the love seat upholstered in a soft raspberry-colored fabric. “Speaking of family, do you want to call River and Rafe and let them know they have a brother-in-law?”

Cheyenne shook her head. “I asked Rand to talk to both of them and to tell them I’ll explain things when we get back.”

“I plan on talking to them, too. Considering the situation, I doubt either of them will be delighted.”

“My gift passed to me from our mother, from the blood to the blood. She taught my brothers to understand the power of her visions. They understand mine. River and Rafe will accept what we have done.”

“Accepting doesn’t mean they have to like it.” Jackson rubbed his jaw. “Both might feel like going a few rounds with me, just for the principle of things.”

She arched a brow. “Think they’ll drag you behind the barn and gang up on you?”

“It’s possible. I keep thinking about your ancestors, how a river ran red with their blood before they surrendered to the white man. Your brothers have that same blood running through their veins.” Jackson flashed her a grin. “And I thought my family was scary.”

Laughing softly, Cheyenne resumed finger-combing her damp hair and shifted her gaze to the fireplace. Flames danced. A spark popped. Thin curls of smoke rose toward the chimney.

In the next instant, she no longer heard the greedy lapping of the flames against wood, no longer smelled the heady scent of wood-smoke. All had been replaced in her mind’s eye by a nearly blinding slash of light. Illuminated in the glare was a man’s hand, clenched into a tight fist. Beneath the skin, the knuckles showed white. In her hazy, half-dreamed dream, Cheyenne could see—feel—the searing anger that had caused that hand to clench. Fear tripped in her heart, beat wings in her stomach.

“Cheyenne, what is it?”

“He’s…” The air turned stale and hot, making it difficult for her to breathe. Her heart faltered; the fear she had felt transformed in an instant to cold, hard rage. “He wants…to kill him.”

“Steady.”

She knew the voice she heard was Jackson’s, yet it seemed to come from far away. Everything around her was fuzzy and disjointed, except the man’s fist, lit in that painfully bright slash of light. Something dark lay beyond the light, a form whose edges seemed to waver. She reached out her hand, desperate to touch. The form shifted, retreated. Straining, she leaned forward. If she could only touch. She needed to touch—

“Cheyenne!” Jackson’s hand locked around her wrist, jerked it back. “You want to set yourself on fire?”

The images slid into one, fractured again before her eyes, then were gone.

“Cheyenne.”

Shuddering, sweating, she struggled up from the depths of the vision, following the sound of Jackson’s concerned voice. “Jackson…”

“I’m here.” She hadn’t known he’d put his arms around her, hadn’t realized he’d pulled her onto his lap. All she knew was he was there, holding, comforting.

“Oh, God.” She blinked, trying to clear the blur.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” His voice was soft, with a hint of steel beneath. “You had a vision, I take it.”

His eyes came into focus, gray and waiting. “Yes.”

He watched her, his face somber as he smoothed his palm down her damp hair. “That didn’t quite have the same effect as the vision you had before Johnny got hurt.”

“No.” She forced a swallow past the dry knot in her throat, then looked for her wine. “I spilled it,” she said quietly when she saw the glass lying on its side beside the crimson liquid that had pooled on the wood floor in front of the fireplace.

“I knocked the glass over when I grabbed your wrist. You kept leaning closer to the fire, reaching.” He shook his head. “I was afraid you might stick your hand into the flames.”

She took a breath that wasn’t quite steady. “I’m not sure what I was doing.”

“I’ll clean that up and pour you more wine.”

“No.” Being held in his arms felt like she’d landed in a safety net. “Later. Just hold me.”

“All right.” He placed a soft kiss against her temple. “You want to tell me about what you saw?”

“It was more than just what I saw.” She frowned. “I’ve never had a vision like that. Never felt one like that.”

“How did it feel?”

“Horrible. There’s a burning hatred. A fury.” Her voice hitched. “He wants to kill your uncle. He hates him and he wants to kill him.”

She felt Jackson’s body stiffen beneath her. “You saw who tried to kill Uncle Joe?”

“No. I’m sorry.” She could almost feel the hope slide through Jackson’s fingers like cold, dry sand. “I saw his hand…and a slash of bright light. Something else was there, just beyond the light, something dark. Black, maybe. It was too bright and I couldn’t see. That’s what I reached for. I thought if I could just touch it…”

A chill racked her body. Feeling drained, she rested her head against his shoulder. “It’s there, Jackson.”

“What is?”

“The answer we need to clear you. It’s there, beyond the light.”

Eleven

Three days later, Jackson stood on Hacienda de Alegria’s sprawling back terrace, hands jammed into the pockets of his slacks. The noonday sun shone down with blazing intensity while he watched Cheyenne, her movements smooth and controlled, walk across the stretch of manicured lawn toward the sea.

A tug of worry had him narrowing his eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was simply her trim black slacks and blouse that made her look impossibly thin, or if the stress of the past few days had resulted in her losing weight she couldn’t afford to shed.

She paused when she reached the staircase that led down the face of the rocky cliff to the beach below. Standing motionless, she stared out at the wind-tormented sea where wave swallowed wave. Her long, black hair blew around her face like a veil, but she made no move to control the thick tresses.

Something was happening. Something was building inside her that Jackson didn’t understand. Needed to understand.

She had slept only in fits and starts since the vision first came to her at the inn. Later that same night he had felt her slip from his arms, had watched her move soundlessly across the moonlit room to the love seat. She had sat curled there the remainder of the night, staring into the dark depths of the fireplace.

Each night since they had returned to his aunt and uncle’s house, Cheyenne had repeated the process, only now she left not only their bed, but their room. Because he sensed she needed to be alone, he hadn’t followed her. Where she went, he didn’t know. All he knew was that each time she moved from the circle of his arms, a part of his heart went with her.

Each morning when she returned to their bedroom, her face was pale with fatigue, her eyes shadowed. Haunted.

She spoke little of the vision, except to tell him that the light had grown brighter, as had the man’s hatred. “The answer is there, Jackson,” she had told him moments ago before she’d left to take a solitary walk on the beach. “It will come. You must have faith. You must believe. With time, the answer we need will come.”

Inside his pockets, his hands fisted as he watched her move to the staircase, then descend the first few steps. Seconds later, she disappeared from sight. He felt the loss as keenly as a punch in the gut.

He couldn’t avoid it any longer. Could not continue to deny how he felt about her. He knew those feelings had probably started settling inside him the moment he laid eyes on her at his uncle’s birthday party. Had intensified steadily every hour he’d spent with her. No other woman, at any other time, had ever come close to taking root in his heart. Hell, he hadn’t even thought it was possible. Not until Cheyenne had looked at him with simple, unquestioning faith in her eyes.

How could he not love her?

That no scrabble of panic accompanied the thought was a mild surprise. He dragged in a deep breath, bringing into his lungs the scent of salt spray, sunshine and the tea roses that bloomed in nearby planters. He had spent his life avoiding relationships, running from them because he hadn’t understood what it was that made the rare ones work. Now he did. Vividly. The key was finding the unique woman, the one who could stir his heart where no other could.

Cheyenne, his wife, stirred his heart.

He loved her.

Even as the knowledge raced through his mind, he quelled it. He could not, would not, tell her how he felt.

He knew her intimately now, knew how her mind worked, had seen for himself the stubborn slant her jaw took when she’d made up her mind about something. Although she hadn’t told him how she felt about him, he was almost certain her feelings mirrored his. If that were the case and he wound up in prison, she would refuse to file for divorce. Knowing that he loved her, she would fight for their marriage, sacrifice for him, perhaps waste her entire life. For him.

The absolute helplessness of his situation had his jaw locking. He couldn’t change anything about the evidence the police had against him, but he could damn well do something about her. It was best, for both their sakes, that Cheyenne not know his true feelings. That she continued to believe he was a man ready, able and willing to walk away from any relationship. Even their marriage.

She should believe that, he thought. He wanted her to believe it. Because if he wound up in prison, that was exactly what he would do. Walk away. Legally and emotionally. For her sake.

The sound of footsteps approaching from behind had Jackson turning.

Rand, dressed in a dark suit, white shirt and crimson tie, strode toward across the terrace. “You don’t look like a man who’s having pleasant thoughts,” his cousin commented.

“You got that right, counselor.”

“Detective Law sends his regards.” Rand settled into one of the padded, black wrought-iron chairs that dotted the spacious terrace. Reaching up, he loosened the knot on his tie and flicked open his shirt’s top button. “So does the D.A.”

“I’ll bet.” Jackson dropped into the chair nearest his cousin’s. “They still making noise about Cheyenne claiming marital privilege?”

“Yes. The D.A. plans to file a challenge with the court. He’ll probably do that this afternoon. Tomorrow at the latest.”

“You have an opinion on how that’ll turn out?”

“I believe our position will be upheld.” Rand slid him a look. “It wouldn’t hurt, though, for you to keep your fingers crossed. And your toes.”

“Yeah.” Jackson shoved a hand through his hair. “You and I need to get something settled between us. If it winds up that Cheyenne does have to testify for the prosecution, I don’t want you going after her during cross-examination.”

“Jackson—”

“It’s not negotiable.”

“It’s suicide.”

“Maybe. Look, I won’t—can’t—let you go for her jugular while she’s on the witness stand. I’ve seen you work, Rand. By the time you were done with Cheyenne, you’d have the jury on the edge of their seats, waiting to see what magical Indian potion she was going to stir up. That would destroy her.”

“Going to prison wouldn’t have the same effect on you?”

“We’re not talking about me.”

“Answer a question.” Leaning in, Rand rested his elbows on his knees. “Are Cheyenne’s visions real, or just real to her?”

“I can’t tell you I understand how they work. All I know is that I was there when one of her visions saved a boy’s life. I’d say that’s real enough.”

Rand pursed his lips. “This vision she says she’s having now about a bright light and a man’s fist and a dark object she can’t quite make out. Do you believe her claim is true? That the vision will eventually lead us to the man who took the shots at Dad?”

A fist of fear squeezed at Jackson’s gut that she wouldn’t find the answer. “Cheyenne says it will. She keeps telling me to have faith.” He shifted his gaze to the staircase at the top of the ragged cliff where he’d last seen her. “With my butt on the line, I’d be lying if I said I’m content to sit back and wait for the answer. I’m not. I’d prefer to have some rock-solid evidence of my innocence to take to the police. All I can say is, Cheyenne knows a hell of a lot more about visions than I do.”

“Well, let’s hope she knows what she’s talking about on this one.” Rand raised a hand, let it drop. “You’re an attorney, pal. I don’t have to tell you that our case has its weak points.”

“You’re right, you don’t have to tell me.” Frustration pushed Jackson to his feet. “Any word from your experts yet on the results of the ballistic, fingerprint and handwriting tests?”

“Not yet.” Rand checked his watch, then rose. “I’ll go make some calls now.” His hand settled on Jackson’s shoulder, strong and firm. “Maybe one of them will come up with something solid we can use.”

“I hope to hell you’re right,” Jackson muttered while he watched Rand stride across the terrace.