LITMIR.BIZ

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of his people. “Tell your boys to be mindful of Gabby. She’s in the living room watching television.”

      “Sheriff!”

      Wyatt turned toward where a deputy stood beside the open door to Wyatt’s dark blue truck. Winter sunlight glinted off the object the deputy held up with a gloved hand.

      The air left Wyatt’s lungs in a rush.

      His steel-bladed hunting knife, covered in blood.

      * * *

      Jackie Blain punched the freestanding, heavy black bag. Jab, jab with the right hand. Whack with her left elbow. Right foot roundhouse kick. Jab, jab. Whack. Kick. She focused on the punching bag with single-minded attention. For the moment, she was in the heat of battle against an imaginary assailant wanting to part her from her client. Not happening on her watch. Ever. That was why she trained two to three hours a day. At least, every day that she wasn’t on an assignment.

      The trilling sound of her cell phone broke through her concentration. Giving the bag one last jab, she whirled away and jumped over her sleeping English bulldog, Spencer, to grab the phone off the island counter.

      “Blain,” she answered.

      “Jackie, it’s your uncle Carl,” the voice on the other end said in her ear.

      Taken by surprise, she smiled. Carl was her mother’s older brother. “Hey. Wow, long time no hear.”

      She picked up a white terry-cloth towel from the pile sitting atop the bar stool and wiped her face and neck.

      “The street runs both ways, young lady,” her uncle chided.

      “Yeah, I know. Sorry ’bout that. I did call at Christmas and left a message.”

      “I know. And we were remiss in not returning the call.”

      She shrugged away his comment and turned to stare at the present they’d sent, an eleven-by-eleven landscape painted by a local Wyoming artist, which hung on her kitchen wall. The gift canceled out not returning her call.

      Walking to the window of her apartment located in Boston’s Back Bay neighborhood, Jackie pushed the blinds apart with her free hand. A fresh layer of snow covered the street below. Beyond the roofline of the apartments across the street, the downtown Boston skyline glistened in the midmorning winter sun. She never tired of looking at the city. So different from the flat cornfields of Iowa where she’d grown up. “So, how are you? Have you heard from my parents?”

      “We’re okay,” he said, but something in his tone didn’t ring true with his words.

      She dropped the blinds back in place. Her heart sped up. Her breath lay trapped beneath her ribs. She hadn’t heard from her parents in a couple of weeks. They were on a cruise in the Mediterranean. “And Mom and Dad?”

      “They’re good as far as I know,” he quickly assured her.

      Tension left her body in a rush of relief. “But something’s wrong.”

      “Yes. We could sure use your help,” Carl said.

      She blinked. Her uncle and aunt had never asked for anything from her before. This must be serious. “Sure. What do you need?”

      “It’s Wyatt Monroe. He needs you.”

      Sinking into the reclining leather love seat, her one piece of furniture that hadn’t come from a secondhand store, she asked, “Your employer? Needs me?”

      She’d never met Mr. Monroe. In fact, she’d never visited Wyoming, where her uncle and aunt lived. She’d thought about it back when her life had turned upside down. But then she’d found Trent Associates and, well, she never got around to making the trip that far west. She’d returned home to Atkins, Iowa, a couple of times, but preferred her parents to come to Boston. Going back to her hometown only stirred up old anger and humiliation. And reinforced the painful lessons she’d learned about love. Never fall for someone you work with. And never, ever give anyone that much power over your heart.

      She shuddered and pushed away the memories threatening to surface. She had a good job now with Trent Associates as a protection specialist. She had a place to belong. She had coworkers who respected her, cared for her and made her feel connected. Protecting others was what she was good at. And she had her dog, Spencer, for company. That was all she needed.

      “Wyatt’s in trouble.” Carl’s words broke through her thoughts. “Someone’s framing him for the murder of one of his ranch hands.”

      That piqued her interest. And raised her skepticism. Four years as a deputy sheriff did that to a person. “Are you sure he didn’t do it?”

      “I know he didn’t.” His voice was adamant.

      Still, old habits of suspicion held firm. “Are you his alibi?”

      After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “No. He doesn’t have one.”

      “Not good for him.” She kicked off her cross-trainers with a sigh. Her feet cooled immediately. She’d worked up a sweat on this cold March morning. “I trust he has a good lawyer?”

      “I’ve hired one. Against his wishes.”

      Jackie frowned. “Is his objection to you hiring the lawyer or to the lawyer himself?”

      Carl heaved a beleaguered sigh. “Both. He’s innocent and doesn’t see why he needs a lawyer.”

      Either the man was overconfident in the justice system or not right in the head. Jackie figured it was probably a little of both. “What can I do to help?”

      “Would you come here? Help us prove he’s innocent?”

      She sat back. “Uncle Carl, I’m not in law enforcement anymore. I’m sure the police there will do a thorough investigation.”

      “Maybe. But I’d feel better if you’d come out and keep an eye on the investigation. There are complications.”

      “What kind of complications? Either he did the deed, or he didn’t. The evidence will prove it one way or another.”

      “It’s not that simple here. Wyatt has a past,” Carl said.

      Jackie wrinkled her nose. “We all have a past, Uncle Carl. That won’t affect the evidence.”

      “What if someone wanted it to?”

      Her mind jumped back to Carl’s earlier statement. “You really think someone is trying to frame him?”

      “I do.” He lowered his voice. “Plus, there’s bad blood between the sheriff and Wyatt that goes back a long ways.”

      Not a mess she wanted to get involved in.

      “I have a job here. A good job.” Even as the words left her mouth, she knew she was overdue to take some vacation time. Her boss, James, had gone so far as to tell her if she didn’t take some R & R by spring, he’d bench her for a few weeks to give her some forced downtime.

      “Then I’ll hire you if that’s what it takes,” Carl said with a flinty edge.

      He wasn’t going to let this go. “This means a lot to you, doesn’t it?”

      “Helping Wyatt means everything to Penny and me.” Carl cleared his throat. “You know we wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important. If Wyatt is convicted of this crime... We can’t let it happen. Gabby needs her father.”

      “I take it Gabby’s his daughter?” Jackie remembered her mother mentioning that Mr. Monroe was a widower with a child.

      “Yep. A four-year-old bundle of joy. We’re very attached to Wyatt and Gabby. He’s like a son to us,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Gabby’s like a granddaughter.”

      Sympathy and understanding twisted her up inside. Her aunt and uncle had tried for a child for many years but never conceived. Jackie had

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