Rocky Mountain Revenge

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. What’s wrong?”

“His heart. It...it doesn’t look so good, I guess.” Her father didn’t have a heart where she was concerned, but as far as Anne knew, his health was fine.

“You never talked much about your parents before.”

“My mother died when I was little.” True. “My father and I aren’t particularly close.” Also true.

“I understand. You want to try to patch things up before it’s too late. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll call Mr. Strand first thing in the morning and explain.”

Anne had been hoping to avoid a phone call to the principal. Lying to her best friend was bad enough; the more people she spoke with, the greater the chance of getting her story mixed up. “Thanks. I’ll call you again when I know when I’ll be home.”

“Don’t worry. Have you told Jake?”

“Jake?” She glanced at the man in the passenger seat and he sent her a questioning look. “Why would I tell Jake?”

“He’s from New York, isn’t he? He could fly back with you. Then you wouldn’t have to be alone.”

Maggie made it sound so romantic—the old flame comforting her in her time of need. In some ways, having Jake with her was comforting; at least he knew the truth about her. But she shouldn’t trust him, and being with him complicated the situation even more. “I haven’t seen Jake. He never knew my father, anyway.” More lies. She hoped her friend would forgive her one day for her deception. Not that Anne would be around to accept that forgiveness. Now that her father had learned her identity, the Marshals office would give her a new one. If she kept this up, she wouldn’t even remember who she was.

“I have to go now,” she said. “I’ll talk to you soon.” She hung up before Maggie could ask more questions.

“Do you think you convinced her?” Jake asked.

“I think so.” She scrolled through her phone directory until she found the number for U.S. Marshal Patrick Thompson.

He answered on the third ring, his voice as crisp and alert as if he’d been expecting her call. “Anne. Is something wrong?”

The concern in his voice brought a knot of tears to her throat. Marshal Thompson had always been kind, gentle even, treating her the way a caring big brother would look after his little sister. He’d done his best to make a horrible situation better, and the memory of that came rushing back at the sound of his voice. She struggled to rein in her emotions. Now was no time to break down. “One of my father’s men, a man named DiCello, broke into my house tonight,” she said. “He’s dead and I’m leaving. I thought you’d want to know.”

“Did he say how he found you? Did he say where your father is now?”

“No. We...we didn’t talk much.”

“You shot him?”

She hesitated, and looked again at Jake. “Yes.” When they found the body, they’d probably figure out she’d lied; DiCello had been shot from behind, with a different gun from the one she owned—the gun Thompson himself had most likely given her. But none of that mattered now. “I’m headed to a place where I think I’ll be safe, at least temporarily.”

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