Page 44 of Cowboy’s Last Stand (His to Protect #1)

N atalie stayed up most of the night, crying her heart out.

Jason didn’t hang around in hopes she’d change her mind. He left within the hour with all of his worldly possessions on his back. She resented his swift departure even though she’d asked him to go.

How could he have withheld the truth from her this entire time?

Lies of omission were still lies. Her instincts had warned her not to trust him.

If only she’d heeded that warning and kept her distance.

Instead, she’d given herself to him, body and soul.

She’d fallen head over heels in love with him.

As soon as he was gone, she’d climbed the stairs to the apartment and searched for remnants of his presence.

Like an addict, already jonesing for the next hit.

She’d found two envelopes on the countertop.

One was addressed to her, the other to Marcus.

She’d returned to her living room couch, set them on the coffee table, and stared at them.

Although she longed to tear open the envelope and pore over every word, she restrained herself.

She didn’t need to read his heartfelt confession, or professions of love, or anything else that might soften her resolve.

She didn’t need any more lies or excuses.

She did study the handwriting, which looked nothing like Mike’s. She ran a fingertip over the slanted letters of her name. There were no curls or loops, no flourishes. Just a bare-bones scrawl in plain black ink, simple and unadorned.

Wiping the tears from her eyes, she went to her bedroom and brought out the box of mementos she kept hidden.

She had to look at Mike’s letters. Something about Jason’s insistence that he hadn’t read them bothered her.

He was probably lying about that too. She untied the yellow ribbon, which didn’t appear to have been disturbed.

Then she stared at the pile of envelopes.

There was one she always avoided, set aside in the corner of the box.

It was from Mike’s commanding officer. Stomach roiling, she removed the bereavement letter and scanned its contents.

The name of Mike’s CO was typed at the bottom of the page.

As she read the brief account of Mike’s death, another name jumped out at her.

EOD Technician Jason Reed.

Injured in action alongside Mike. Probably alive because of Mike.

She clapped a hand over her mouth to smother a sob. She’d glanced at this once, two years ago, and never looked at it again. Jason’s last name had niggled at her memory, but she hadn’t been able to pinpoint the reason.

She couldn’t believe she’d been so obtuse.

Maybe Jason had been right. Maybe she’d known all along who he really was.

He’d told her everything she could handle hearing.

She’d had her head buried in the sand about the details of Mike’s final moments, and the settlement, and everything else related to his death.

It was too painful to process. She’d wanted to stay numb.

Sickened by the realization, she picked up another letter, and another.

She read them all, searching for mentions of Jason.

His last name appeared on two different pages.

In the first one, Mike had referred to him as Reed, a man he admired greatly.

Valiant in dangerous situations, Reed was quiet and reserved on base.

He liked to scribble in his notebook and read novels while the other soldiers were carousing.

The second mention made her heart lurch.

“I know you want me to write more, baby. I’m trying. I asked Reed for help with ideas. Maybe I’ll get better at this with time…”

He had gotten better, markedly so. His first few attempts were brief and lacking pertinent details.

She remembered writing pages and pages to him, only to get back a short love note.

When she’d asked him to elaborate, he’d delivered.

His next attempt had included the Lord Byron poem, “She Walks in Beauty.” She’d been over the moon about it, which had encouraged him to keep trying.

As the letters progressed, his voice had changed.

Mike’s faltering script and simple statements had transformed into something special. He’d shared insightful commentary on the war and funny stories about his comrades. He’d asked questions about Marcus and expressed his feelings to her. He’d been achingly sweet. She’d cherished every word.

Unlike the bereavement letter, she’d read these over and over again since Mike’s death.

Mike had been loquacious in person, like Marcus.

He’d also learned English as a second language.

Although he’d picked up conversational skills with ease, writing was more of a struggle for him.

Even so, she’d never questioned the letters.

Mike was the type of man who gave 100 percent and never quit.

She’d assumed that he’d put a lot of effort into it because he was devoted to her.

Now, these sacred mementos were tainted. Jason must have suggested the Byron poem. What else had he contributed? How much help had he given?

Fresh heartbreak washed over her, and she crawled into bed with the letters.

She felt so stupid for not seeing what was right in front of her face.

The more she cried, the more she realized she wasn’t crying for Mike, and that made her even sadder.

Thoughts of her husband’s death no longer devastated her.

She wasn’t a grieving widow anymore. She made a fist and punched the pillows, hating Jason for taking that away from her.

She fell into a fitful sleep, only to be jarred awake by her alarm. She rose groggily and got ready to take Marcus to school. At least she didn’t have to work at the library today. She had to work at the Night Owl tonight. Maybe she’d call in sick.

After she dropped off Marcus, she returned to her pity party. She curled up on the couch with a box of tissues and her phone. She wanted to call her dad, but she wasn’t ready to speak. She wasn’t sure which details to share.

While she dithered over the decision, she heard a commotion outside. Frowning, she rose and glanced out the window. Wade Hendricks was walking toward her front door in uniform. Two squad cars were haphazardly parked outside. Her chest tightened with distress.

She threw open the door, imagining disaster. “Is it Marcus?”

“Marcus is fine,” Wade said. “I’m here about something else.”

“What?”

He glanced over his shoulder at the two other deputies. One stood in the driveway with his gaze on the side of the house. The other was stationed behind the open door of his squad car, speaking quietly on a radio. They looked cagey, as if they were expecting trouble.

“I need to talk to Jason,” Wade said.

She stared at him blankly.

“Is he inside?”

“No, he’s…”

“Upstairs apartment?”

She shook her head. “He left last night.”

“What time?”

“Around eleven.”

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “He took his backpack.”

“He left on foot?”

“Yes.”

“Which direction?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, uncomfortable. “What difference does it make? What is this about, exactly?”

“There was an incident last night. A fatality.” He cleared his throat. “Billy was shot in his trailer.”

“Oh my God,” she gasped. Wade’s face was so expressionless it appeared to have been carved from stone. It took a moment for her to process the information. Wade’s brother had been the victim of a fatal shooting. Billy Hendricks was dead. “I’m so sorry.”

“Can we look around?”

“Of course.”

Wade turned to the other deputies for a short consultation. Then he headed toward the apartment with one man while the other, Deputy Santos, stood beside Natalie. It dawned on her that Jason was a suspect in the shooting. She held her hands to her cheeks in disbelief.

What a nightmare.

Was it possible that Jason had gone to Billy’s for a final confrontation? She couldn’t imagine it. He’d been crestfallen by their breakup, but he’d left without argument. Surely, he wouldn’t have decided to kill a man on his way out of town. She tried to follow Wade, but Deputy Santos detained her.

“Stay here, miss.”

“Why?”

“The suspect is considered armed and dangerous.”

Natalie sank to the glider and sat with her arms wrapped around her middle.

The deputy’s words sent a chill down her spine.

She still hadn’t recovered from last night’s emotional turmoil.

Her eyes were swollen, and her head ached.

The idea of Jason being hunted by law enforcement turned her stomach. The whole thing seemed surreal.

Finally, Wade reappeared at the edge of the porch. He gestured for her to come toward him. She rose from the glider and followed him down the driveway. The other deputy was in the garage by the Ford truck. Its passenger door stood open.

“Take a look,” Wade said.

She did. Resting on the passenger seat was a wicked-looking revolver. She stumbled backward, too shocked to speak.

“Do you recognize the weapon?” Wade asked.

“No.”

“Do you own a gun?”

“You know I don’t.”

“I have to search the house,” Wade said apologetically.

She nodded her permission. Deputy Santos led her toward a squad car and made her sit in the back while the other two invaded her home.

She felt like an accomplice. She felt cold and dirty, like frozen slush with tire tracks all over it.

When Wade emerged from her home, he had her purse and her phone.

He handed both to her through the open door of the squad car.

“Are the security cameras on?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Can you send me the footage?”

“I think so.”

Swallowing hard, she opened the security app on her phone. Footage from both cameras was available to download. She selected segments for the past twelve hours and sent them to Wade. He checked his own cell to make sure the message came through.

“Jason is a person of interest,” Wade said. “We need him to come in peaceably, for his own safety.”