Wed To The Witness. Margaret Price

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      Jackson slid his hands into his pockets, then clenched them into fists. At this point, he wasn’t charged with anything, nor was he a material witness to a crime. Therefore, Law had no power to keep him in Prosperino. If he walked out the door, climbed into his Porsche and headed back to San Diego tonight, the cop couldn’t do anything about it. Legally.

      Jackson exhaled a slow breath. All that could change later on. If he did leave town, Law might be able to use his departure as circumstantial evidence that he’d fled the jurisdiction after becoming aware he was a suspect in two attempted murders. Law had the taped proof he’d made his suspect aware of that fact.

      “I’m staying in Prosperino,” Jackson said evenly. He turned and headed for the door. Pausing, he looked across his shoulder. “I’ll be at my aunt and uncle’s until I find out who decided I should take the fall for this.”

      Law nodded while reaching for the tape recorder. “If your travel plans change, give me a call.”

      The anger he’d strapped in broke free as Jackson walked out of the building and into the adjacent dimly lit parking lot. He took exception at being accused of trying to murder a man he loved and respected. And he had one hell of a problem with being set up!

      He unlocked the Porsche, climbed inside; the engine roared to life when he twisted the key. Hands clenched on the steering wheel, he pulled out of the lot, swung in and out of evening traffic, then punched the Porsche into high gear when he reached open road.

      Dammit, he didn’t need this. He had stayed in Prosperino after his sister Liza’s wedding to decide if he wanted to continue working with his father. Now, here he was, contemplating a future that might involve jail.

      Jackson shoved a hand through his dark hair as the red Porsche slashed up the highway like a bolt of fiery lightning. To his way of thinking, things were either right or unquestionably wrong; he disliked intensely any murky in-betweens. This evening, Detective Law had shoved him into dark, murky water. He didn’t intend on getting sucked under.

      He was an attorney. He knew how to tear apart a case to get to the facts. His case was no different. All he needed was to figure out where to start.

      As he drove, he began to sift his conversation with Law around in his head—pulling it apart, dissecting it. He liked things to fall neatly into place, in their proper order, according to consequence. Habitually, he worked puzzles out through long, quiet contemplation. Slow and meticulous. Over the years, he’d discovered he did his best thinking in the flickering shadows of a movie theater.

      Since his very future now lay on the line, Jackson figured the faster he settled in front of a movie and decided on a game plan, the better.

      Blowing out a breath, he steered the Porsche around a corner, then headed toward the Cinema Prosperino.

      Cheyenne James had better things to do that evening than take in a movie. Gripping the ticket she’d bought—and had yet to use—she glanced around the red-carpeted lobby of the Cinema Prosperino, vaguely aware of the murmur of conversation and warm, buttery scent of popcorn that filled the air.

      She knew that the case files on the three adolescents she’d counseled in private that morning sat on her small desk at home, waiting her attention. Her late-afternoon meeting with her boss, Blake Fallon, had resulted in her obtaining permission to submit a grant for funding of a vocational work-training program for several of the teenagers who, like her, lived at Hopechest Ranch.

      She had planned on starting a draft of a proposal for the grant later tonight when she finished updating her case files. What she hadn’t anticipated was turning her back on her work and driving to the remodeled movie theater nestled between an espresso bar and art gallery on Prosperino’s main street.

      After the vision came, nothing could have kept her away.

      Her visions were her legacy, a gift from her mother of the blood through the blood. A gift she had embraced years ago and learned never to discount. The pictures she saw in her mind’s eye were not always pleasant, but had always proved accurate. When they came, she accepted them, and responded. Just as she had nearly an hour ago when the vision of the man’s eyes slid, cool and clean, into her head.

      Closing her eyes, Cheyenne pulled back the memory. Her breath shallowed as she pictured again gray eyes with the same hardness as rocks hacked out of a cliff. Her vision had revealed only the man’s eyes, not his face. She didn’t know his name. She had sensed only that he was in trouble and needed her help. And that she would encounter him at the movie theater.

      Flipping her heavy braid behind one shoulder, she watched as the doors to the still-darkened theater swung open. Several couples emerged, tossing empty popcorn sacks and soda cups into the container outside the door. A pair of teenage girls strolled out, whispering to each other as if trying to keep a secret from the two tall, gangly boys who trailed just behind them.

      Seconds later, a lone man emerged from the theater’s dim depths, his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his khaki slacks. Cheyenne’s heart took a hard leap into her throat and snapped it shut.

      Jackson Colton looked tall, rangy and intimidatingly fit, like a long-distance runner at his peak. His sharpfeatured face, full of planes and angles, looked as darkly handsome now as it had at his uncle’s birthday party. Yet, she noted the changes in him. Eleven months ago he’d stood relaxed, gazing down at her with smoky silver eyes while he oozed charm and sex appeal with an easy smile. Now his shoulders looked wire-tense beneath his deep-blue linen shirt, his mouth was set in a grim line and his eyes were no longer the color of cool smoke, but the gray, rock-hard agates from her vision.

      The instant his gaze met hers, recognition flashed across his face. His chin rose. Turning with catlike fluidity, he veered from the exit and strode toward her.

      Cheyenne’s pulse raced with the knowledge that fate had brought her to the man who had filled her thoughts so often since that long-ago night.

      “Cheyenne.” He said her name soft and low, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was there.

      “Hello, Jackson. How are you?” Just his nearness had her pulse thudding at the base of her throat.

      “Surprised to see you. Especially now.”

      “Now?”

      He raked his fingers through his jet-black hair. “After so long,” he amended. “It’s been nearly a year since my uncle’s party.”

      “Yes.” Once or twice, she had even caught herself wondering if he would come back to Prosperino again this year to help celebrate his uncle’s birthday. And if she would see him if he did.

      His gaze dropped to her hand. “I see you have a ticket for the next show.”

      “That’s right.”

      His gaze swept the lobby. “Are you here with someone?”

      “No.”

      “Meeting someone, then?”

      “I didn’t make plans with anyone.”

      “You haven’t used your ticket yet. We could get you a refund.”

      She tilted her head. “Was the movie that bad?”

      “No.” СКАЧАТЬ