Wed to the Witness (8 page)

Cheyenne blinked. “Could you do that? Are you that good of a shot?”

Jackson gave her a grim smile. “Growing up, I spent all my summers on my aunt and uncle's ranch. I practiced target shooting, hunted, put down injured cattle and horses. I'm as accurate with a gun as you are with a bow and arrow. That's another bit of information about me Law picked up. If anything, the cop is thorough.”

“Is this insurance policy the reason you went to L.A. yesterday?”

“Yes. I planned to walk into the insurance company, introduce myself to the agent who sold the policy, then get him to admit it wasn't me whom he'd done business with a couple of weeks ago.”

Jackson shoved a hand through his hair. Twenty-four hours later, his stomach felt just as sick as it had when he'd ended his meeting with the agent.

“The man insisted I'm the person who took out the policy on my uncle's life. The signature on that policy looks enough like mine that I'd be a fool to give the cops a voluntary handwriting sample for comparison.”

“If it wasn't you who bought the policy, who did?”

“Los Angeles is full of starving actors and celebrity
look-alikes. I imagine it would be easy to find an actor so desperate for money that he'd impersonate someone for a couple of hours and not ask questions about why he was hired to do the gig. The risk of doing so would be minimal.”

“Because he was disguised to look like you no one could identify him.”

“Only the person who hired him, who isn't likely to talk since doing so would implicate him or her in the scam,” Jackson concurred. “Chances are, the guy who pretended to be me couldn't have fooled someone who knew me, but that's not what he needed to do. The insurance agent had never laid eyes on me—the real me—until yesterday. The man who walked into his office and handed him a cashier's check told him he was Jackson Colton. The agent didn't have reason to think otherwise.”

“So, where were you when the policy was purchased? Can you prove you were somewhere else? With someone?”

“It was a couple of days before my sister's wedding. I was here, in Prosperino. I had a lot of thinking to do that day, so I got up early, left without telling anyone where I was going and just drove. I paid cash for my gas and meals. If I had known I would need an alibi, I'd have made sure I had one.”

Cheyenne nodded, her gaze locked with his. “You said Detective Law has three reasons to suspect you. What's the third?”

“It's the most damaging,” Jackson said while dread tightened his chest. “And it involves you.”

“
Me?
How could it involve me?”

“At the birthday party I told you I was going to refill our glasses so we could toast Uncle Joe. When I left
you, I headed across the courtyard to take a shortcut to the bar through the service hallway. Right before I stepped into the hallway, I glanced across my shoulder. You were watching me. I liked knowing that.”

“Yes, I watched you.” Her cheeks blushing, she dropped her gaze to the fingers she'd entwined in her lap. “I remember hoping you wouldn't be gone too long.”

“I had every intention of getting back to you in a hurry.” He hesitated. “Cheyenne, has Detective Law questioned you about what happened that night?”

“No, not Law. None of the guests could leave until they'd given a statement to the police. I gave mine to a uniformed officer. He asked if I had noticed anyone acting suspicious, if I'd seen anyone with a gun. Things like that.”

“From what I gather, now that Law suspects me, he's re-interviewing everyone who was there that night. He'll probably get to you soon.”

“Which will be a waste of his time. I didn't see who fired the shot at your uncle.”

“No, but you did see me near the service hallway. You did watch me disappear inside.”

“Yes. So?”

“So, did you keep watching the hallway after that?”

“No.” She frowned, as if pulling back memories of that night. “I started talking to Rebecca Powell. Then Rafe came up,” she said after a moment. “Not long after that, we heard the gunshot and Rafe dragged us to the floor.” She raised a hand, palm up. “How am I involved in this, Jackson? Is it because I can give you an alibi for where you were right before the shooting?”

“That's one way to look at it,” he said, his mouth curving into a sardonic arch. “And I wish that were the
reason I'm here talking to you, but it's not. The police have determined the trajectory of the bullet fired at Uncle Joe. They know that whoever shot at him stood a few feet from the entrance to the service hallway. You can place me near there right before the shooting.”

“I can also say that I saw you go into the hallway.”

“Then you shifted your attention to Rebecca. You wouldn't know if I'd stepped back out seconds later, pulled a gun and shot at Uncle Joe.”

He saw the flash in her eyes as awareness settled in. “I guess it would be safe to say that your situation is likely to get worse if I tell Detective Law where I saw you and when.”

“That about sums things up.”

“I see.”

She rose, walked to the far end of the porch and stood, arms crossed over her chest, to stare out at the small lawn. Her hair rained down her back, as black as a moonless night.

“So, here you are,” she said after a moment. “Jackson Colton, who professes to have never wanted a serious relationship with a woman, claims to suddenly want one with me.”

“I do—”

“Is it just a happy coincidence that I'm the one woman who can maybe prevent you from going to jail if I keep my mouth shut about where I saw you that night?”

He closed his eyes. As an attorney, he had anticipated her reaction. As a man whose feelings for her seemed to deepen by the minute, he'd dreaded it. He shifted against the rail, then settled back again to study her profile.

“I didn't come here to try to sweet-talk you into keeping me out of jail.”

“Really?” She turned and gave him a steady stare. Her burnished skin carried a flush of anger; her mouth had thinned. Jackson saw the full power of her heritage in her face. “A woman involved in a serious relationship might think twice before implicating her lover in an attempted murder.”

“Am I going to be your lover, Cheyenne?”

Her chin rose. “That's exactly what you tried to become this morning. But you discovered I'm not a woman who's easily seduced. Your Plan A didn't work. You've had all day to come up with a new course of action. Is this Plan B, Jackson? Have you come here this evening, expecting to cajole me into not telling the police where I saw you?”

Understanding her reaction didn't stop anger from churning inside him. Jaw set, he pushed off the rail and walked across the porch to face her.

“Listen to me,” he said, forcing a steadiness into his voice he was far from feeling. “I didn't want what happened between us this morning to stop with a kiss. I'm sure that was obvious. I want you, Cheyenne. Every time I see you, get close to you, smell you, that need deepens. Like now.”

“I…” When she took a step back, he took one forward. “I don't want—”

“I do,” he continued quietly. “I want to take you someplace quiet where the only light comes from flickering candles.” Slowly, his eyes skimmed over her face, lingering on each feature. “I want to drink sweet wine with you and listen to you sigh while I peel every piece of clothing off your body. Then I want to make love
with you until I'm the only man who ever has, or will, exist for you. That's what I want, Cheyenne.”

Her lips parted, trembled. “Don't. I can't think straight when you say things like that.”

“Good, because I'm having a hard time thinking straight when I get around you, too.” He blew out a breath. “My kissing you this morning had nothing to do with the problems I've got with the police. And I'm not here now to try to ‘cajole' you into keeping quiet when Thad Law contacts you. I expect you to tell the man the truth about that night, just like I did.”

She slicked her tongue over her lips. “You
want
me to tell him I can place you in almost the exact spot as the person who fired a shot at your uncle?”

“Hell, no, I don't
want
that.” Jackson jabbed a hand through his hair. “But it's the truth, so there's nothing I can do to change it. I didn't try to kill my uncle that night. I was halfway to the bar when I heard the shot. I ran back into the courtyard where all hell had broken loose. It's my bad luck no one saw me in that hallway. Just like it was my bad luck months later to be alone when the bastard took a second shot at Uncle Joe. Those are facts
I
have to deal with. Just like I've dealt for almost a year with thoughts playing in my head of the time you and I spent together at the birthday party.”

“Maybe I…” Her voice was ragged, unsteady.

“Maybe you what?”

Dragging in a breath, she wrapped her arms around her waist. “There's no maybes about it. Since that night, I've dealt with those same kind of thoughts about you.”

Jackson acknowledged the streak of primitive male satisfaction that came with her words. “So, maybe you understand why I'm asking for a chance at a relationship with you?” he asked evenly. “There's a reason we've
stuck in each other's heads, Cheyenne. Maybe you'd like to know that reason as much as I would?”

“Maybe. Maybe just the thought of knowing scares me.”

“Doesn't do much for my nerves, either. Hell.” He ran his hands over his face, then gave her a considering look. “I have to say, though, that taking time to get to know each other does have its intriguing moments.”

Her eyes came to his, dark and curious. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, you're tougher than you look. There's a streak of steel inside you.”

“I take after my mother in many ways. Her people were warriors.”

A fact, he thought, that only heightened her underlying mystique that had fascinated him since the moment he'd laid eyes on her.

He studied her profile, both angular and soft. “Despite all that's going on, I consider myself lucky.”

“Lucky?” She slanted him a look. “The police suspect you of trying to murder your uncle. Twice. What could you possibly find lucky about that?”

“When I have a lot of thinking to do, I take in a movie. Losing myself in front of the big screen usually helps me work things out.” Without thinking, he raised a hand, intending to slide his palm down the tempting length of all that silky black hair. Remembering his promise to her, he let his hand drop to his side.

“I went to the movie the other night after I left the police station,” he added softly. “When I walked out of the theater, there you were. Lucky for me.”

“Lucky,” Cheyenne repeated softly, then drew in a quiet breath. She'd had no idea a man could entice so deeply, so completely with mere words. Not until Jackson's voice had skimmed along her flesh, leaving a
heated trail of magic with promises of candlelight, wine and seduction. She hadn't known how intimately he could touch her, without ever laying a hand on her.

Oh, how she wanted to pull those words to her heart, hold them close. Yet, she couldn't. Couldn't let down the barrier that protected all she was. Couldn't let her deepening feelings for him take root in her scarred heart.

“I appreciate you telling me about the police,” she said quietly. “About their suspicions.”

“I don't want secrets between us.”

His words tightened her throat. He had come to her and bared the truth. Yet she would not afford him the same openness about her gift.

The sun setting at his back cast shadows over his face, darkened his eyes to the color of pewter. “I didn't try to kill my uncle. I hope someday you'll know me well enough to believe that.”

Cheyenne struggled to get a grip on her tumbling emotions. The hurt that had ignited her anger and wounded her pride just moments ago had clouded her thinking. After the police had questioned Jackson, after he
knew
the harm she might bring to him, he had not sought her out, intent on seducing her into silence. Instead, he had gone to the movie theater.

Where fate had sent her in search of him.

She closed her eyes. With the first breath she'd drawn she had understood that she possessed the power to help people, that her gift of sight was linked solely to goodness. She had been sent to Jackson because he was in trouble. Because somehow, someway, it was in her power to help him.

Because he's innocent.

Looking up, she met his eyes calmly, so that he would
understand she spoke the truth. “I believe you, Jackson. I know you didn't try to kill your uncle.”

His eyes narrowed. “How do you
know
that?”

“I just do.”

He shook his head. “Not good enough, Cheyenne. This morning you were ready to walk away because you hardly know me. Now you're taking my word I didn't try to kill Uncle Joe. What's changed?”

“Nothing.” She tilted her head. “I see the truth in your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

“Yes.”

He stared down at her, his brow creasing. “I suspect this is one of those situations where it's best to quit while I'm ahead.”

“I'd say so.” She gazed out at the small lawn where a slate-blue twilight had settled. “Do you have any idea who's made the two attempts on your uncle's life?”

“No. Find him or her, and you'll find the person who's gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to set me up to take the fall for two attempted murders.” As he spoke, his hands clenched into fists, unclenched. “Whoever that is, isn't finished with me. I can
feel
there's more to come. Dammit, it's like walking through a field infested with snakes. You know they're there, but there's no way to predict where they'll strike next.”