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  “No, it wasn’t.”

  He winked. “Cross my heart.”

  Another surge to her power source.

  Maybe she hadn’t closed out of everything. She tried to remember. Why was she getting so confused recently? Had to be that aftershave and the memory of his kiss.

  Clay glanced at his watch. “Micah McGraw’s in town. He agreed to see us.”

  The password issue no longer seemed important. Violet turned off her computer, grabbed her coat and purse and raced after Clay, who held the elevator door open.

  “We’re meeting him at Police Headquarters,” Clay said. “Micah should be there by the time we arrive.”

  Police? As in Chief Howard? Not her favorite person, but she wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to talk to Marshal McGraw. As long as she stayed far enough from Clay so her mind could function, she’d be all right. Get too close to him, and all her good intentions would be for naught.

  Clay escorted Violet into the conference room where Micah McGraw stood waiting. Tall, lean and wiry, he was a casual reflection of his brother dressed in a blue shirt and jeans.

  The Marshal’s brown eyes were warm as he stepped around the long rectangular table and greeted them with a firm handshake. Clay eyed the Stetson on a nearby table and a heavy parka thrown over the back of a chair.

  “Pleasure to meet you,” he said returning Micah’s handshake. The Marshal indicated a chair for Violet on his left. Clay sat across the table from her. She appeared calm and in control, exactly as Clay had expected her to act.

  “Let’s start at the beginning. Jackson said you have information about the two women murdered in Montana?” Micah seemed as straightforward as his brother. Younger, but equally as focused.

  Violet repeated what she’d told Clay.

  “So you deduced the women were in Witness Protection when you saw a picture of Jade with me?”

  “That’s right. I found your name in a listing of U.S. Marshals.”

  A muscle in Micah’s neck twitched.

  “Your office handles Witness Protection,” Violet continued. “I made the connection.”

  “And did you receive information from a Mafia informant?”

  “Yes, a contact in Chicago. Her boyfriend works for the Martino family and that’s how she gets her information. My informant believes both women were targeted by the crime family.”

  “What else did your source say?”

  “She sent an e-mail that mentioned Eloise Hill.”

  The same muscle in Micah’s neck twitched as he flicked his gaze to Clay.

  Oblivious to the look that passed between the two men, Violet explained what she knew about the woman who had testified against the old don, Salvatore Martino. Violet concluded by saying, “The Martino family somehow has figured out that Eloise was placed in the Witness Protection Program in Montana, and they’ve been hunting down and killing women in the program in this state, hoping one of them will be Eloise.”

  “Is that your take or the source’s?” Micah asked.

  “My source verbalized it first. But it’s obvious, isn’t it?”

  “Do you have any additional information about your Chicago informant?”

  “We communicate online. She’s called me a few times but always using a disposable phone. If I try to call her back, a recording says the number’s no longer in operation.”

  Violet hesitated a moment before continuing. “We were going to meet at a coffee shop near the UMT campus, but she thought someone was following me and fled. Someone she recognized from Chicago.”

  The Marshal glanced at Clay. “It wasn’t me. I was tailing Violet, but the gal in the coffee shop never saw me.”

  “Someone scared her off,” Violet insisted. “She’s on the run and needs protection.”

  “Did your source ask for your help?” Micah asked.

  The look on Violet’s face didn’t require explanation. She had cooked up the plan on her own to get the woman into Witness Protection. True to character, Violet was sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. As much as Clay applauded her desire to help, she was putting herself in danger at the same time.

  Micah explained his hands were tied unless the informant was willing to turn herself over to the authorities. No matter what Violet wanted, the mob girlfriend might not want protection, which was what Clay was beginning to think about Violet. She kept ignoring his warnings to be careful.

  The Marshal straightened in his chair, apparently ready to end the meeting. “As I mentioned, Violet, I can’t move forward on this unless you can assure me the source is interested in working with my office and willing to provide evidence against the Mafia.”

  Violet offered a weak smile. “There’s something else.” She pulled the picture of Jen Davis from her purse and handed it to Micah. “The informant said the mob’s looking for this woman. She’s in Witness Protection. Her name’s Jen Davis. My informant heard her boyfriend mention Mama’s Diner in Billings.”

  Clay explained about the apartment where Jen had lived until a few days ago. He wrote down the address and handed the paper to Micah.

  “We’ve been concerned about Jen. The FBI is tracking down all young women with green eyes in Witness Protection.” There was a sense of urgency in Micah’s voice that hadn’t been evident earlier. “We’ll focus on the address you provided and see what we can uncover.”

  Micah concluded the meeting with a dose of advice for Violet about staying clear of the mob and not bringing trouble upon herself.

  She’d heard the same message more than once from Clay but hadn’t taken what he had said to heart. If only she’d be swayed by Micah.

  The Marshal repeated his offer to help Violet’s informant should she be interested, then he stood and shook their hands. Clay expressed his gratitude for seeing them so quickly.

  “I had to be in town on business,” Micah said. “I’m glad it worked out.” The genuineness in his smile and the concern in his eyes reminded Clay of Jackson.

  “Let me know if you learn anything new about Jen Davis,” Clay said. “Once the informant comes forward, she may have more information.”

  “We’ll pass everything on to you, Clay. I promise.”

  Clay placed his arm on the small of Violet’s back as they left the office. He guided her through a maze of corridors, heading to the side door and the parking lot. As they rounded the last corner, a man in uniform—early fifties, silver-tipped hair—walked toward them. Even without reading his name tag, the rank on his uniform left no doubt he was Chief of Police Walter Howard.

  “Sir.” Clay extended his hand and introduced himself.

  The chief nodded. “Jackson McGraw mentioned you were in town. Stop by my office so we can talk sometime.” He turned to Violet. “I haven’t seen your parents in a while, Violet. I hope they’re doing well.”

  “They’re fine, thank you.” Without further comment, she stepped around the chief and continued down the hallway.

  “Have a good day, sir,” Clay mumbled, hastening to catch up with her.

  Memo to self—find out what the friction was between Violet and the chief. Clay held the door for her. She hurried into the cold, no hat or mittens, coat open wide.

  What was she thinking about? Micah? The women she wanted to save? Or her ill feelings toward the chief of police?

  NINE

  Deep in thought, Violet had little to say on the way back to her office. Clay seemed to understand. She had hoped Micah would help her free Gwyn from the control of the mob, but he needed more information and an assurance she would provide evidence and testify against the Mafia.

  Gwyn had undermined the mob’s control every time she slipped information to Violet, and she’d finally escaped her boyfriend’s control. But as scared as she had looked fleeing from the coffee shop, Violet doubted Gwyn would agree to working with the law.

  For Violet, coming face-to-face with the chief of police had brought back vivid memories of everything that had happened so long ago in her hometo
wn of Granite Pass. A number of the officers on the force had shoved her dad around, but she never recalled Wayne Howard being involved. Had she misjudged him over the years?

  Violet had gone into journalism to right a wrong that had happened when she was only seven years old. Her mantra—the core principle that shaped her work in journalism—was Protect the Innocent, especially those wrongly accused. The finger of guilt, even when misdirected, had a long memory.

  As much as she hated to open old wounds, maybe she needed to have a heart-to-heart with her dad about the facts as she remembered them. He and her mom had reestablished themselves in the community and had moved on from that terrible time in their lives. Violet seemed to be the only one who still struggled with the past.

  When Clay pulled to the curb in front of the Plaza Complex, Violet hesitated before opening the door. “Are you going back to Bernice’s house now?”

  “Actually, I planned to hang around downtown until you get off work.” He winked. “Just in case you need me.”

  Heat tingled her spine. His looks did the oddest things to her insides. Right now they felt like mush. “I won’t be too much longer. There’s a coffee shop on the first floor and an alcove with chairs on the third floor just to the right of the elevators. That is, if you need a place to hang out.”

  “Are you worried about your safety?”

  “No, of course not. I just don’t want you arrested for loitering. Missoula isn’t Chicago, you know.” Her lips twitched. “Guys don’t wait around on street corners, waiting to pick up girls around here.”

  He laughed out loud, a good sound that turned her internal thermostat up a notch.

  “Let me find a parking place, then I’ll come inside. Can I buy you a coffee?”

  “No, thanks. See you in a few minutes.” Violet hurried inside and rode the elevator to the third floor. Settling into the swivel chair behind her desk, she booted up her computer.

  Jimmy neared and handed her a stack of photos. “Take a look at these and tell me what you think.”

  Violet admired the quality of his work. He was talented, and his college hobby was beginning to have a professional quality. “You should talk to Stu about spending more time with the photographers on staff.”

  “Trying to get rid of me, eh?” He was smiling, but she saw something in his eyes that was far from humorous.

  Quinn’s words came to mind about watching her back, especially around Jimmy.

  Violet wanted to check her e-mail to see if Gwyn had left a message, but knowing Jimmy’s wandering eye, she clicked on her document files instead and waited for the listing to appear on the screen.

  While he continued to study his own photos, Violet scrolled through her folders, searching for the information she’d compiled on police recruitment. She found the documents she needed but noticed the folder on the Martino crime family wasn’t in its rightful place.

  “Violet, what’s he doing here?” Jimmy asked, peering over the partition.

  She peeked around the divider and saw Clay sitting in the alcove near the elevators. Arms crossed over his chest, he smiled back at her, looking totally at ease.

  “Excuse me.” She left Jimmy at her desk and scurried into the hallway. Clay stood as she neared.

  “Do you want today’s newspaper to read or a magazine?” she asked.

  “I thought I’d pass the time by watching you work.” His eyes twinkled, and his lips curled into a grin that made her knees weak.

  She glanced into the newsroom at the reporters bent over their computers. None of them seemed to notice the man who had taken up residence in the alcove. Except Jimmy, who glared at both of them.

  The grin left Clay’s face. “Is that kid giving you a hard time?”

  “Jimmy?” She shook her head. “He just likes to complain.”

  “Well, let me know if he complains too much. Now get back to work and stop worrying about me.”

  “Yes, sir.” She turned on her heel and clipped back to her desk where Jimmy waited.

  “You need to be careful, Violet.”

  Advice everyone seemed to be giving her recently. She refocused on her computer files and did a search for the Mafia folder she’d compiled.

  Jimmy rounded her desk and leaned over her shoulder. “Problem?”

  “I can’t find some of my files.”

  “Check your recycle bin. Maybe you inadvertently deleted them.”

  She followed his suggestion and found a few discarded files but none involving Chicago crime.

  Jimmy flipped his thumb toward the hallway. “Wasn’t that cop using your computer earlier today?”

  “He was playing Sudoku, Jimmy, that’s all.”

  “And you believe him?”

  Jimmy’s comment irritated her. Yes, she did believe Clay. He wouldn’t delete her files.

  “He was poring over your computer for a long time.”

  “And how do you know what happened? Stu said you were tied up in traffic and couldn’t make the editorial meeting.”

  “I got back earlier than expected. That’s when I saw him at your desk. You’re not seeing clearly, Violet. Pretty evident you’re attracted to the guy. Your feelings are written all over your face.”

  She wrinkled her brow. No way.

  “Did he tell you why he’s in Missoula?”

  To keep her from digging too deeply into Mafia business, which she wouldn’t mention to Jimmy. Instead, she hedged. “He’s working with the U.S. Marshals office to ensure organized crime doesn’t get a foothold in this area.” Not a lie, but not the whole truth.

  “He deleted your files, Violet. You must have found information he doesn’t want revealed. Are you sure he’s working on the right side of the law?”

  “Of course, I’m sure.” At least she thought she was sure. “I’ll ask him about the files after work tonight. Besides, I saved the folder to my flash drive. I must have deleted the copy on my hard drive.”

  Jimmy raised his brow. “Are you two dating?”

  “Of course not. Clay rented a room from my neighbor, Bernice. She sometimes invites me over for dinner, that’s all.”

  Why did she need to explain herself? If she wanted to see Clay, she could. Jimmy was a friend and nothing more. When she looked up, she realized he had a different take on their relationship.

  “You and I have been friends for a long time, Jimmy.” Violet wanted to get that across loud and clear. “I know we went out a couple times in college, and I always enjoy being with you.”

  His mouth twisted. “No reason to explain your actions, Violet. You’re allowed to see whomever you want.”

  Allowed? Under normal circumstances, she’d call him on his choice of words.

  “Clay and I are friends,” Violet said. “End of story. We knew each other in Chicago.”

  Jimmy’s expression wilted. “So, you’ve got a history.”

  Why couldn’t he let the subject drop? Violet grabbed his arm. “Jimmy, lighten up, okay? Clay hasn’t changed anything between us.”

  He glanced down at her hand, and while his face was void of expression, his eyes narrowed. “If you want to find out about your missing files, I’d question that cop. He’s moved in across the street from you, now he’s deleting files on your computer and watching you while you’re at work. Wonder what will happen next? Everything might seem like a coincidence to you. But there’s a common denominator and his name is Clay West.”

  Jimmy walked back to his desk. He grabbed his jacket off his chair and stormed out of the newsroom, taking the stairs instead of the elevator so he wouldn’t have to pass her desk.

  Had she just lost an old friend because of Clay?

  Or was the problem with Jimmy brewing before Clay had ever come to town?

  The afternoon proved uneventful after the hot-headed reporter stormed out of the newsroom. Clay followed Violet home from work. She parked in her garage then crawled into his car. They headed for the hardware store and picked up a part Bernice needed for her garbage dispos
al, as well as two sturdy dead bolts for Violet’s doors.

  On the way back, Clay parked in her driveway and checked her house, which was starting to become a routine. Once assured no one had entered her home, he joined her on the porch where she waited.

  “Why don’t you sleep at Bernice’s house tonight?” Clay suggested. “I told you she’s got room.”

  “I can’t, Clay.”

  “Of course you can, but you’re being Aunt Lettie again,” he teased.

  “You don’t need to keep watch all night.”

  He held up his hand to stop her. “Let me do my job, okay?”

  “Is…is that all this is? Just a job?”

  He stared down at her, unsure of what to say. Standing this close made it hard to think straight. He was a cop from Chicago. A guy who grew up on the South side. Not the best of neighborhoods. He’d seen it all. More than she would ever know. Violet deserved better. She deserved someone closer to her age, a guy who came home every night and was never in the line of fire. White picket fences, a couple of kids that looked as beautiful as she did and church on Sunday.

  Clay wasn’t sure he could provide any of those things.

  But he wasn’t thinking correctly so, instead of giving her a spoken reply, he bent down and kissed her sweet lips.

  A few hours later, he was still thinking about that kiss when he crawled out from underneath the kitchen sink when the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it.” Bernice opened the door. “Why, honey, I’m so glad you can keep Clay company tonight. There’s a speaker at the church. I thought Clay might be interested, but he said you two had work to do.”

  Washing his hands in the sink, Clay chuckled as the older lady chattered on. Much as he had appreciated her invitation to attend the program, he didn’t want to push his luck. No telling what God might do if he stepped inside the sanctuary of a church. It had been too long. Thinking back, he realized the last time had been at his ex-wife’s funeral.

  Drying his hands on a paper towel, Clay turned just as Violet stepped into the kitchen. Her windblown hair swirled around her face. Cheeks colored by the cold and eyes that sparkled a greeting were every bit as inviting as the smile that curved across her lips.