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Authors: Amanda Stevens
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So, it was refreshing to meet a man who had a healthy sense of himself and was not threatened by a female associate, let alone a superior.
And he seemed to be just a genuinely likable guy.
Of course, her initial assessment of him could always change. Sheâd been fooled before, unfortunately.
Closing her office door, Grace moved over to the window that looked out on the parking lot. Walsh had been heading toward his car, but he stopped suddenly, glanced over his shoulder, then slowly turned back to the station.
Grace wondered if he might have forgotten something else, but he made no move toward the building. Instead, he stood there for several seconds as if in deep contemplationâor conflict.
Then he seemed to shrug off whatever had held him immobile, and continued on his way across the parking lot.
But as Grace watched him climb into his car and drive off, she couldnât help wondering about those odd little moments of hesitation.
Was Dale Walsh really as open and direct as heâd led her to believe?
Chapter Six
When Cage left the station, he still wasnât sure what he aimed to do about the briefcase. Now that heâd met the target in person, he was having a harder time just walking away.
But he knew he was in no condition to reasonably assess the situation. He was tired, hungry and in pain. What he needed was a shower, some food and a safe place to hole up where he could do some serious thinking and planning.
Stopping by a discount store, he bought a change of clothing, underwear, socks and the essential toiletries he would need to make himself feel human again. He asked the clerk who checked him out for a motel recommendation, and a little while laterâafter a quick bite at a drive-thruâhe found himself at a rooms-for-rent place called Miss Neldaâs, which was run, appropriately enough, by a woman named Nelda Van Horn and her sister, Georgina.
The gingerbread-trimmed house was a rambling two-story with a wraparound front porch and a long balcony on the second floor where guests could enjoypanoramic views of the mountains and the spectacular West Texas sunsets.
The sisters looked to be in their seventies, one still a determined blonde, the other an improbable redhead, and neither the least bit shy about giving Cage a long scrutiny that was anything but subtle. They watched him sign the registry, then took a deposit in cash without blinking an eye. Next, they pointed him up the stairs to his room on the second floor.
The first order of businessâonce Cage had secured both the hallway and balcony doorsâwas to hide the briefcase behind an old steam radiator. Then he called his sister in Dallas and Andy in El Paso with the excuse that heâd broken down on the road and was spending the night in a town several miles to the east of Jericho Pass so they wouldnât call the police when he didnât turn up. Finally, he stripped off his dusty clothes and climbed into the shower.
After scrubbing the grime of the desert out of his hair and off his skin, Cage braced himself with his hands against the tile wall and leaned into the water, letting it sluice over his head and down his body until the temperature started to cool. Then he climbed out, dried off and sprawled on the bed, folding his hands behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling.
Grace Steeleâs suggestion that he stick around town for a few days, however impractical or ill-advised, was starting to have some appeal. If Dale Walsh had been, in fact, both a cop and a hired gun, Cage was now in a unique position to find the sheriffâs would-be killer. In all likelihood, the conspirator would contact him the moment heâor sheâlearned that Walsh had hit town.
On the other hand, the man Cage had met out on the highway might well have been an impostor. In which case, the real Dale Walsh was still out there somewhere, and dead or alive, he was bound to turn up sooner or later.
Cage knew what he
And he seemed to be just a genuinely likable guy.
Of course, her initial assessment of him could always change. Sheâd been fooled before, unfortunately.
Closing her office door, Grace moved over to the window that looked out on the parking lot. Walsh had been heading toward his car, but he stopped suddenly, glanced over his shoulder, then slowly turned back to the station.
Grace wondered if he might have forgotten something else, but he made no move toward the building. Instead, he stood there for several seconds as if in deep contemplationâor conflict.
Then he seemed to shrug off whatever had held him immobile, and continued on his way across the parking lot.
But as Grace watched him climb into his car and drive off, she couldnât help wondering about those odd little moments of hesitation.
Was Dale Walsh really as open and direct as heâd led her to believe?
Chapter Six
When Cage left the station, he still wasnât sure what he aimed to do about the briefcase. Now that heâd met the target in person, he was having a harder time just walking away.
But he knew he was in no condition to reasonably assess the situation. He was tired, hungry and in pain. What he needed was a shower, some food and a safe place to hole up where he could do some serious thinking and planning.
Stopping by a discount store, he bought a change of clothing, underwear, socks and the essential toiletries he would need to make himself feel human again. He asked the clerk who checked him out for a motel recommendation, and a little while laterâafter a quick bite at a drive-thruâhe found himself at a rooms-for-rent place called Miss Neldaâs, which was run, appropriately enough, by a woman named Nelda Van Horn and her sister, Georgina.
The gingerbread-trimmed house was a rambling two-story with a wraparound front porch and a long balcony on the second floor where guests could enjoypanoramic views of the mountains and the spectacular West Texas sunsets.
The sisters looked to be in their seventies, one still a determined blonde, the other an improbable redhead, and neither the least bit shy about giving Cage a long scrutiny that was anything but subtle. They watched him sign the registry, then took a deposit in cash without blinking an eye. Next, they pointed him up the stairs to his room on the second floor.
The first order of businessâonce Cage had secured both the hallway and balcony doorsâwas to hide the briefcase behind an old steam radiator. Then he called his sister in Dallas and Andy in El Paso with the excuse that heâd broken down on the road and was spending the night in a town several miles to the east of Jericho Pass so they wouldnât call the police when he didnât turn up. Finally, he stripped off his dusty clothes and climbed into the shower.
After scrubbing the grime of the desert out of his hair and off his skin, Cage braced himself with his hands against the tile wall and leaned into the water, letting it sluice over his head and down his body until the temperature started to cool. Then he climbed out, dried off and sprawled on the bed, folding his hands behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling.
Grace Steeleâs suggestion that he stick around town for a few days, however impractical or ill-advised, was starting to have some appeal. If Dale Walsh had been, in fact, both a cop and a hired gun, Cage was now in a unique position to find the sheriffâs would-be killer. In all likelihood, the conspirator would contact him the moment heâor sheâlearned that Walsh had hit town.
On the other hand, the man Cage had met out on the highway might well have been an impostor. In which case, the real Dale Walsh was still out there somewhere, and dead or alive, he was bound to turn up sooner or later.
Cage knew what he
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