Sheltered by the Lawman (Lawmen of Wyoming Book 5) Read online

  Cull was sure he’d hit the man.

  He heard sirens in the distance, but he couldn’t wait for their assistance. He sprinted down the shadowed alley and hit the fence running, flying over it in record time, just in time to see the gunman hop into a vehicle, burning rubber and squealing tires as he took off.

  Aiming at the car, Cull wanted to take the shot, but by now the fire and gun shots had drawn a crowd and he couldn’t take the risk of hitting an innocent bystander.

  Cursing, he watched until the car, a beat-up Oldsmobile with the back tag removed, disappeared. He quickly made his way back to the unconscious woman. The spots of blood on her forehead had turned into a trickle and left a red trail down her pale cheek. She was eerily still and he had to check her breathing again. Thankfully, she was alive.

  Someone had meant to kill her. Would have killed him too.

  Goosebumps scattered the woman’s flesh and he realized she must be cold. Drawing her into his arms, he sat back onto his bottom and leaned against the side of the car, cradling her close as he watched the apartment burn. He touched her slender neck, sliding the tips of his fingers gently along her smooth skin, feeling her pulse. It was stronger now, but her color was still too pale for his liking.

  Flashing lights feathered across the building as the police cruisers stormed in. The woman moaned, and he threaded his fingers in her hair, attempting to soothe her. “It’s okay, Monica. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” He squeezed her tighter, suddenly feeling like he’d become her protector.

  Her eyelids fluttered. “Wh-who are you?”

  “The man who saved you,” he whispered.

  “Don’t leave me,” she said softly and closed her eyes.

  Chapter 3

  SHE WAS BLATANTLY aware of her headache minutes before she opened her eyes. The throbbing pain vibrated her temples and the inside of her ears ached. She shifted her position as a wave of sickness rolled through her stomach, making her feel like she might vomit. Once the feeling subsided some, she moved her arm, but it was constrained by something. Finally opening her eyes just a crack, the bright overhead light made her squint in pain.

  She moaned and shut her eyes, waiting for the pulsating pain in her temples to subside again.

  Forcing her lids to open, she looked around her at the blank white walls, the beeping monitor by her head, the tightening blood pressure cuff and the IV hooked to her arm. Where was she? In a hospital? She tried to work through the fuzzy paths of her brain but couldn’t remember how she got here.

  Bringing a shaky hand up, she rubbed her forehead, feeling a stinging sensation under the bandage. Was she injured? How did she get hurt? Blinking, she remembered a purse…fire…beautiful blue eyes staring at her. And nothing else but void.

  Her mouth was so dry and she was so thirsty. What she needed was water and maybe a painkiller, but her pain was quickly fading. Something told her that whatever was in the bag of fluids was enough to take the edge off, but was it also the reason why she couldn’t remember anything?

  Hearing a moan, she held her breath. She saw two dusty boots.

  Who was in the room with her?

  It took all her energy to lift herself on one elbow and look across the room. A solid minute passed before she could focus. A man was stretched out in the chair. His white hat was pulled over his face and he was asleep by the sound of his even breathing. Who was he? And why was he here?

  Feeling dizzy, she dropped back onto the bed and tried to keep her eyes open, but her lids were heavy. She was so tired. Relaxing into the pillow, she allowed the heaviness to take over. Maybe later she would remember…

  ****

  Cull was glad that he’d found an extra shirt in his truck as he sat in the narrow chair in the overcrowded lobby in the emergency department. He’d cursed himself a dozen times for taking this case in the first place, yet how the hell was he supposed to know it would turn out to be a shit mess? To his right was an elderly man holding a bloody cloth to his forehead while a woman who must be his daughter paced back and forth only to stop every few minutes to remind the man to keep pressure on the injury.

  To his left was a crying toddler who refused his pacifier and his only solace was a commercial advertising dandruff shampoo playing on the TV from across the room.

  Cull’s eyes naturally dipped to the dirty backpack that the woman had on her when he’d found her. It drew him like metal to a magnet, and even as he pulled the rusty zipper he felt a stab of guilt. Hell, what did he have to be guilty for? He’d saved her, been shot at, busted up his knee when he jumped over the fence, and was still in Cheyenne when he’d rather be home.

  As the daughter continued to pace back and forth and the toddler cried even more, Cull waded through several changes of clothing, each article as simple as the oversized clothing she was wearing when he first saw her, a can of mace, and a book of poetry by Robert Frost which had been read numerous times by the worn pages. He liked Frost too.

  Laying the book aside, he went back to rummaging through the bag, finding a tube of lip balm, a five-dollar bill, and nothing else. How could she not have any ID?

  Flipping through the pages of the book, something slipped out and fell to the floor. The pacing woman almost stepped on it. She bent, picked it up and gave a shaky smile. “She’s pretty.”

  He took the picture and his gaze was drawn to the woman staring back at him from the photo. It was taken on the beach and she looked so carefree. The sun teased her red hair …not exactly red, but strawberry blonde with darker highlights that seemed to perfectly catch the glint in her bright green eyes. Her wide smile was beckoning. She looked young. Innocent. Beautiful.

  What drove her to become an escort? To get involved in a dangerous lifestyle? As a lawman, he knew the stories, probably heard most of them in his career. Sometimes they were the truth and sometimes they weren’t. He didn’t need to hear hers.

  He tapped the picture and sighed. It didn’t matter to him what her story was, or how she got here today. His job was simple. Apprehend her, then drop her off with Deke and he’d take it from there. What mattered she’d have to face those she’d wronged. If she’d played a role in a man’s death, she’d have to suffer the consequences.

  Yet, this wasn’t a simple case. Not when someone had shot at Cull. He’d been shot at before, but this, well, he didn’t like loose ends, or assholes who attempted to kill him.

  A good detective always had questions and Cull had many. For one, why did a woman who was known for her ‘skills’ of drawing a man in have a backpack full of worn oversized clothing and nothing else? Was this her disguise? Was the assailant waiting for her inside her apartment? Did she know him and had they planned to meet?

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  Maybe he was searching for answers he wouldn’t find. That happened in some cases. If a man could figure out how a criminal’s mind worked there wouldn’t be any crime.

  Needing to stay on track, he’d left his number with the officers at the scene in case they had any more questions. Certainly, they’d want to speak to the woman in the hospital before it was all said and done. In the meantime, he needed to stay close to her. This was a business deal.

  He could tell himself that this was all about making sure she didn’t get away, but the truth was that he was a little—or a lot—worried about her too. Someone had tried to kill her, and for them to want to get rid of her meant she’d either pissed someone off or she knew something important. What did she know?

  When she’d been holstered into the back of the ambulance, he’d been on the edge of riding with her, but instead was carted off by Detective Whitlock to answer a few questions. Cull didn’t tell the detective everything he knew about the woman. He didn’t exactly lie, but he’d whittled down the truth, saying he’d been in the neighborhood, saw the smoke and raced in to save her. Simple as that. It would only be a matter of time before they connected her real name, but for now the lease for the apartment was under a false name.
/>   He needed to be careful. When he’d held her in his arms and she’d asked him to stay with her, something triggered in him. A part of him that hadn’t been touched, or examined, in too long reared its head.

  The last relationship he had lasted all of five minutes and he’d realized then that he needed to steer clear of anything long term. He didn’t have what it took to please a woman for anything other than a good time between the sheets, and here lately, he hadn’t been seeing much action in that area either.

  Cull needed to get his head on track. He didn’t have any connection or obligation to this woman other than seeing that she faced the heat of her wrongdoings…and to get the reward. Easing into the chair, an image of how she looked in the picture flooded his braincells. She was unlike all the other badasses he’d arrested or brought in for questioning. She’d been so small, vulnerable in his arms. If he hadn’t come when he did, she wouldn’t be here. Why did his throat constrict?

  “Mr. Cade?”

  He brought his gaze up to the nurse. “Yes?” He stood.

  “The young woman you were sitting with earlier is awake now. Would you like to see her?”

  And here it was. Did he want to see her? He should deny the opportunity because why did he need to see her? He’d already sat with her most of the night. As long as she was here in the hospital he didn’t have to worry about her escaping, although did she have any clue who he was? He didn’t think she did.

  Cull did the opposite of what he knew he should do. He decided to see her. When he entered her room, she was staring out the window. Clearing his throat, she turned her cheek and his stomach clenched. Her face was smudged with ash and her forehead was covered with a large bandage. Her skin looked two shades whiter. Lying in the bed with wires hooked to her made her look tiny and vulnerable and he felt that susceptible part of him react again.

  Her expression remained blank. Did she not remember him saving her? He shifted in his boots while she remained silent. What does a man say to a woman in a situation like this? “Hey, I’m here to apprehend you so hurry up and heal.” Or, “Do you have a preference for a color of handcuffs?” He cringed. Not because he didn’t like the idea of putting her in cuffs, but the fact that an image evolved in his mind that didn’t involve clothing. Where the hell did that come from? He’d never been this way before. He’d always kept boundaries between personal and professional.

  The wild disarray of her hair and bruising on her cheek didn’t help his situation. He was raised a gentleman and taught to take care of a woman when needed. Although he guessed Monica could handle herself, right now she looked scared.

  “Hey,” said Cull quietly. Her brows scrunched.

  “Uh…do I know you?” she asked softly.

  He sensed that he needed to be gentle when he explained who he was to her. After all, she was hooked to machines and she looked like she’d been run over by a freight train…and yet still beautiful. Feeling guilty, he squashed the feeling. The only alternative was to let her slip away and pretend he never found her, but that only meant she’d be bait for the other sharks that needed a hundred grand. “I’m Cullen Cade.”

  “Are you the one who saved me?” Her eyes crawled into his body and squeezed.

  “Yeah. Your apartment was on fire.” He wasn’t sure how much she’d been told and wasn’t sure he should be the one who revealed that someone almost killed her.

  “I-I asked to see you, Mr. Cade.”

  “Cullen…or Cull. People call me Cull.” He gnashed his teeth together and cursed under his breath. What the hell? Did he care what she called him?

  “Nice to meet you, Cull.” His name came off her tongue as if she was trying it on for sound. “I-I was hoping you could help clear something up for me.” She squinted and reached up to touch her forehead.

  “You okay?” He stepped closer and she recoiled against the bed. A wave of protectiveness swept through him.

  “I’m a little sore. My head. Do you know what happened? Did I fall?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “Everything is…a bit blank.” Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips.

  “I don’t have all the details on what happened. A detective, his name is Whitlock, will want to speak to you, ask you a few questions when you’re feeling up to it.”

  “A detective? For a fire?”

  “The fire department and local police are working together to figure out what happened. This is completely protocol in these situations.”

  As if that was enough to satisfy her for the time being, the tension in her expression eased some and her lips pursed, which were an amazing color of pale pink. “Are you and I…you know…”

  He blinked. “Are we what?”

  “Do we know each other? I don’t have a ring on so I’m assuming we’re not husband and wife, or engaged, but are we involved?” she said those words without cracking a smile. Was she joking? When he didn’t answer, one corner of her mouth dipped into a frown. “I’m sorry if we are. Sorry that I have no recollection. I’m having difficulty remembering much. The doctor said this can happen after a head injury.”

  Oh shit! A difficult case just became more difficult. “Amnesia?” His throat tightened.

  “The doctor explained it all. He said I have a concussion, which is a type of brain injury that can impair a person’s cognition…or memories, for days and even weeks.”

  “So, you don’t remember anything prior to the accident?”

  She gave her head a shake against the pillow. “You didn’t answer me about you and me.”

  He could only stare for a good five seconds. Was this a manipulation tactic? Could he trust that she really couldn’t remember? She didn’t fake the fire and getting hit over the head. “Don’t worry. We don’t know one another.” Relief spread over her pale features, but it didn’t last long. Moisture filled her eyes and her full bottom lip puckered slightly. “Do you know your name?”

  After several blinks, her shoulder lifted and dropped. “No. Maybe. I don’t think so. The name Monica is stuck in my head.”

  “Anything else?”

  She stared at the wall as if to collect her thoughts. “And jewelry. The flashy type that’s dangerous to wear on the subway.”

  That sounds about right. “I guess that’s a start.”

  “Oh, and a fur coat. I hope I don’t own a real fur coat.” She sighed. “Am I right? About my name at least?”

  “I have your bag.” He slid it off his shoulder and placed it next to her hip. “Maybe if you look through your things it’ll trigger a memory.” He sure hoped so.

  “Okay,” she said softly, but she didn’t hurry to reach into the bag, Instead, she clasped her hands tightly, working her bottom lip while she stared at the bag.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I guess I’m being ridiculous,” she muttered and pushed herself up.

  “Here, let me help.” Without thinking, he reached under her arms and gently lifted her against the pillow so that she was sitting upright. He pulled back slightly and their faces were within inches. Her eyes, an amazing color of green and bright like stars, seemed to reach in to his deepest, darkest secrets. Her bottom lip was slightly fuller than the top and trembled. With a jolt of awareness, he stepped back and turned his gaze away, hoping she didn’t see his discomfort. “No, not ridiculous. You’ve been through a traumatic event. Anyone would respond with apprehension. If you’re not ready to look through it—”

  “No, I need to. Everything’s a blur inside my head.” Would she cry? Oh hell, if she cried he’d weaken a little more. He needed to keep the facts at the forefront of his brain. This could all be an act and yet he didn’t think so.

  Grabbing the chair from the corner where he’d taken a nap earlier, he sat down. “Take your time. Want me to help?”

  She nodded. “If you will.” Without any hesitation, he took out the small pile of crumpled clothing and laid it at the bottom of the bed. “I guess I wasn’t a fashionista.” She gave a nervou
s chuckle.

  The next thing he took out was the picture where she was smiling. “Does this ring a bell?” She took the photo and held it for a good minute, staring, but he didn’t see any recognition in her expression.

  She turned it over and read the back, “The beach vacation. Best time ever!” He watched her pale and she laid the picture aside. “So far we know my name is Monica and I love the beach.”

  “You also love poetry.” He took out the book and showed her.

  Her brows scrunched. “There isn’t any ID?” She narrowed her gaze and looked at him as if asking for help. What could he say? If she truly did have memory loss what could he say, or not say, that could interfere with her getting her memories back? He swiped a hand down his face.

  “Hell, I don’t know a lot about memory loss, but what I do know it can be confusing putting all the thoughts back into place.”

  She brought her slender hand to her face and squeezed the bridge of her nose. Her nails were short and unpolished, and her fingers bare of jewelry. Where was all the bling she remembered? “I-I don’t know. I have a splitting headache.”

  “How about we take care of this later.” He stood and tossed everything back into the bag, setting it aside. “I’m sure they’ll keep you for observation and you’ll feel better after you’ve rested. Maybe you will have all your memories back by then.” He took a step toward the door and he saw her eyes widen slightly. “What? What’s wrong?”

  “Are you leaving?” Her voice trembled.

  He shoved his hands into his back pockets and shrugged. “You should sleep.”

  “I know this is weird, but you’re the only person I know in the entire world.” She clasped her hands so tightly that he could see the whites of her knuckles.

  Damn. He should tell her a straight up ‘no’ and run like hell. He could say goodbye to the reward. Why didn’t that settle well in his gut?

  Cull could hear his brothers now, telling him that he was allowing his emotions to own him and there was no place for emotions when it came to business. This was a simple business deal that had taken a sharp turn for disaster. Yet, it wasn’t her fault that someone broke into her home, struck her over the head and set her place on fire leaving her for dead—and without her memory. And to think that he was the only one she knew did conjure up his protective side. Was she safe? What kept the person who did this from returning to finish the job? Would she understand the danger?