In Her Sights (6 page)

Now that Joy was out of danger, his mother seemed to have recovered her nerves. She pushed the cinnamon-and-sugar-colored hair away from her face. “You were worse.”

“That I don’t believe. I think Joy gets her independence from a certain Irish grandmother.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, dear,” she said. “And Gabe, if I see any crumbs from those chips…no oatmeal cookies for you.”

A cell phone’s ring cut off Luke’s bark of laughter and Gabe’s stammering reply.

They each rummaged through their pockets. With a rueful grimace at his mother, Luke pulled out the ringing phone. “Sorry.”

His mother waved him away and turned back to the kitchen as he scanned the screen for a number. Blocked call. Interesting. His informant? Would Grace block her calls? “Montgomery.”

“I didn’t expect you to lie to get your name on the front page,” a mechanical voice said, the tinny tones chilling in their anonymity. “That pissy little sniper doesn’t deserve anyone’s praise.”

What? The call was about Jasmine? He forced his tone to remain calm. “How’d you get this number?”

He motioned Gabe to follow him and headed to the living room for privacy. Luke punched the speakerphone button. Odd, electronic laughter floated through the line. “Journalists aren’t the only ones who know where to find information, Mr. Montgomery. The web is a wonderful equalizer. I’ve been reading your past articles. ‘The Plight of Europe’s Lost: Bosnian Refugees and Their Battle to Survive’ and ‘The Truth from the Battlefield: Afghanistan Uncovered.’ I had high hopes for you, but you disappointed me. That’s not good. People get hurt when they let me down.”

Gabe’s expression turned dangerous, mirroring Luke’s instincts. He wanted to climb through the phone and shut the coward up.

“Are you there, Mr. Montgomery?”

“I’m here.” He forced the fury from his voice. He needed an ID. “Why don’t we start over? What’s your name?”

“Don’t patronize me. I’m giving you a chance to make things right, to tell the truth for a change. I’ll even give you a hint, if you think you can follow a real lead.”

“I’m listening,” Luke said as he struggled for control.

Silence echoed through the line.

“Hello?” Luke asked. “Are you still there?”

“You may not be the right man for the job,” the voice mused. “You defended her already. So has your brother. Not smart. It could get the people you care about in trouble.”

“Who the hell is this?”

“No need to fear. Not if you write the truth this time. I know you’re investigating the sheriff’s office, so here’s a riddle for you. ‘Which member of SWAT is hiding her past because she’s a murderer?’”

Jazz pulled her truck into the darkened parking lot of her apartment building and yanked the keys from the ignition. The gloomy night matched her mood. Luke Montgomery had been back in her life for two days, and he’d already wreaked havoc. Yesterday’s confrontation at the gym sure hadn’t dissuaded his interest in her past, and it certainly hadn’t helped her equilibrium. She couldn’t deny her body’s reaction to him or her desire to feel those broad shoulder muscles ripple under her hands. She missed touching and being touched, but her head knew she couldn’t let herself want him. She had too much to lose.

The temperature outside had dropped, so Jazz tugged her Arvada Police Academy sweatshirt on, then slung her exercise bag over her shoulder and exited the pickup. Her muscles ached with fatigue. In the past twenty-four hours, she’d clocked more than her share of miles on the Apex jogging trail near her apartment, and she’d spent more than her share of time in the gym pummeling the punching bag.

One question still pounded in her head. How had Tower known about her name?

He’d enjoyed spouting off the information in front of the team—and Luke. She’d seen the guys’ uncertainty spike at the accusations, and Luke’s gaze had turned suspicious, his focus intent.

Lord, she’d seen that same look in his eyes when he’d received the first tip about his close friend, Derek Mason’s, involvement in that city works scam. Hundreds of thousands of dollars changing hands, all the rumors pointing Derek’s way. It hadn’t mattered that he’d been Luke’s childhood friend. Luke had started to dig, ferreting out the truth. When it came out that Derek had lied to Luke, he’d torn Derek apart in print.

She shivered. His fury over his old friend’s deceit had been as terrifying to watch as the tenacity with which Luke had followed every lead. He’d acted like Derek’s activities and the secrets he’d kept had been personal betrayals.

She’d almost let herself trust him, but she couldn’t deal with Luke coming after her like that. She’d realized then he’d never forgive the things she’d done in the past. She’d had no choice. She’d left him before he could mount an investigation on her. If he found out her birth name, he might learn it all. Jazz gripped the strap of the canvas duffel. Her past was no one else’s business. Her
legal
name was Jasmine Parker. It had been for twelve years.

She fingered the plastic nametag attached to the bag. She’d spent a long time getting the name on that tag. After five years in foster care, seeing the distrustful looks and listening to the whispers of each new foster family upon recognizing her name from all those sordid newspaper articles, she’d finally been old enough to request the change in a New Mexico court.

As Jazz, for the first time in her life, she’d been free. A new name, a new town, a new state, a new life.

Jasmine Parker
was
her real name. She hadn’t lied at the gym, but she hadn’t revealed the whole truth either. She’d learned the hard way: sometimes it made sense to give up and start over. That’s what she’d done. So why couldn’t Luke just leave her alone? Why couldn’t Tower?

She rounded the corner of her apartment building and headed toward the back entrance. A faint shuffling came from the shadowy stairwell, just audible over the sounds of faraway traffic. She peered into the darkness. Silence billowed around her; her muscles flexed in readiness. Listening, waiting.

Could it have been a cat or a squirrel? She squinted along the hedge bordering the sidewalk, but she couldn’t see the stairs leading down into the building, much less a scurrying animal. She cursed her landlord for not fixing the bulb in the entryway yet. The nearest light was down the street, barely illuminating a beat-up VW and a rusty red Pinto a half-block away.

Both seemed empty, but she couldn’t banish the sense of being watched.

She slid deeper into the shadows, then slowly shifted the duffel off her shoulder and worked the side pocket zipper to reveal the holstered gun inside. Sweat trickled down her back as she grasped the Glock, the extractor flush with the slide. The chamber was empty of bullets.

Jazz eased the duffel onto the ground beside her then pulled the slide back until the comforting click echoed in the night.

An owl hooted. Slices of moonlight bounced off a figure slouched in the shadows next to the cave-like stairwell entrance, hands thrust out of sight in his jacket. Was he hiding a weapon?

She tightened her fingers around the butt then stepped forward. “You there. This is the police. Come into the light, hands where I can see them.”

A throat cleared. “There is no light, Jasmine. Not unless you count the moon.”

Luke’s velvet baritone sent shivers through her. She hadn’t forgotten what his whisper sounded like in the dark. She wished to God she had. Her fingers relaxed against the trigger even as nervous anticipation throbbed at the base of her neck.

A slight breeze rustled the trees nearby. She searched the darkness for his features, and he stepped into the moonlight, his footsteps silent on the concrete despite his size. That solid, muscular build had made her feel small when he held her against him. The beam illuminated the square jaw she’d caressed many a morning, and his eyes still mesmerized her. Brown pools of chocolate that could see straight into her soul, and when they turned dark with passion…

She shivered. He could melt her with a look. But seeing him didn’t get any easier. “What are you doing skulking out here, Luke? If I’d been more paranoid, I could have shot you and asked questions later.”

“In your dreams, honey. I could’ve disarmed you in seconds, and you know it. Besides, you’re too good at your job to shoot first.”

“Lucky for you.” With a few deft motions, she unloaded the weapon and replaced the bullets in a small leather case.

“Not bad. You know your way around that gun.”

“I’m a sniper. I’m good at a lot of things, including detecting bull when I hear it.” She tucked her gun in the duffel then straightened. “We’ve said all we need to say.”

Luke took in the fierce expression meant to terrify mere mortals, and damn if he didn’t get hard, because he also saw the translucent glow of her skin and the heightened flush of her cheeks as the moonlight bathed her face. His body didn’t know how to be cautious with her. His heartbeat quickened and tension worked its way through him. The damp tendrils framed Jasmine’s face, begging his hand to push them out of the way. How easy it would be to walk over, yank her against him, and kiss the hell out of her. Get it out of his system. Maybe her lips wouldn’t taste as exotic as his body remembered.

He wished he still had the right to steal her very breath then kiss her lips to softness.

“Old man Peterson should fix that light,” he said to distract himself.

“Mr. Peterson died a year ago. His son takes care of the place now.” She shifted the bag to her other arm. “What do you want, Luke?”

You. Naked in my bed two years ago, explaining what really caused you to walk out on me.
“I need more information for the next article.”

“Use what’s in the press releases. No way am I giving you an interview.”

“If I don’t get it, my editor will send someone else. Might as well admit you can’t get out of the discussion. Just start with something simple. Where’d you grow up?”

Her eyes flickered and shifted left. The back of his neck bristled and the tingle in his temple returned.
Don’t lie to me, Jasmine.
He knew from experience that lies begat lies, and secrets led to blackmail and bad choices. Things that could corrupt cops.

In his jacket he held the true answer to his question: a twelve-year-old notice from the
Sierra County Sentinel
in New Mexico, a small weekly press with fewer than five thousand subscribers and no database. Only the old-fashioned clipping service had discovered the truth misplaced in its archives.

She swallowed and met his stare before pulling away from him. “Fine. I grew up in Idaho. Now will you leave?”

“You’re lying…Jane.” He closed in on her, cornering her against the hard concrete of her apartment building. “Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, is a long way from Idaho. Imagine my surprise when my investigator tracked down the legal notice. Jane Sanford, ex-ward of the state of New Mexico, legally became Jasmine Parker on her fifteenth birthday.”

Her face drained of color. Her shock gave him no pleasure, no satisfaction, but she couldn’t know how seeing that fax come in through his office had sent him reeling in disbelief. Her life was a fabrication. He’d given her a chance to tell the truth, and she’d lied anyway. Now he wanted to know why, and he would find out…one way or another.

A car door slammed in the parking lot. Luke lowered his voice. “I don’t think we want to have this conversation in a stairwell, do you?”

“I don’t want to talk to you at all.”

“Not an option anymore and you know it.”

She scanned the area, and the chatter of a family coming toward them seemed to make up her mind. “Fine. Come on.”

Jasmine resettled the duffel on her shoulder, unlocked the door at the base of the stairwell, and hurried into the apartment building. Luke followed in silence.

As he strode into the apartment he hadn’t entered in two years, he studied the tidy room and for the first time noticed how little of Jasmine he saw here: no photos, only a few knickknacks, nothing on the bookshelf but official-looking training manuals, nothing to give him a hint of who she was or used to be. The scene was in stark contrast to his own house, with its wall of memories and photographs of each and every family member at nearly every important event in their lives.

Perhaps he hadn’t wanted to look beyond the passion between them in the past, but as she faced him in the center of the room, hazel eyes darkened, flashing green as she glared, memories assailed him. A touch football game at his mother’s house, a touchdown, an illegal tackle in the end zone culminating in a kiss. Jasmine sitting on the porch swing in the backyard, watching him and his brothers battle it out in volleyball, her expression surprisingly wistful. The longing on her face had been so deep he’d asked her later if she missed her family, but she’d shut him out—again. It had been the beginning of the end of their relationship. A few days later, she’d walked out.

“Why are you doing this?” she challenged. “My past, and my future for that matter, are none of your business.”

“As a journalist, the truth is my business. Why are you lying to me?”

She shifted and the tension emanating from her rose. “I haven’t lied. I
am
Jazz Parker.”