A moment of stunned silence followed.
“Wow,” Cheyenne said. “That’s sad.”
“Are you sure about this?” Brooks asked, his expression now intensely focused. “Witness protection is federal jurisdiction.”
“That’s what she told me. I believe her.” Nash hesitated, then made a decision. “Brooks, I need you to look into not just this murder, but Sadie Blair herself. Her history, her connection to witness protection, everything you can find. I need to know what I’m dealing with here.”
The FBI agent nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. Might take some clearance to access witness protection records, but I have channels.”
“I don’t like this,” Porter said. “If Bill Harris is the same one who was just killed, and this woman’s father was killed after their cover was blown, getting involved with her could bring heat on all of us.”
“Too late,” Nash replied. “We’re already involved.”
Chance rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “He’s right. If there’s a connection, we need to know about it.”
“What’s your next move?” Colt asked.
Nash glanced again toward Sadie’s window. “I’m going to try to convince her to work with us instead of alone. She’s scared, but she knows things we don’t.”
“Be careful,” Blaze warned. “If people are getting killed over this …”
“I know.” Nash’s tone was resolute. “But I’m not about to let her disappear from my life again. And I’m definitely not letting her face whatever this is by herself.”
They all looked shocked.
Trey cleared his throat. “Well, then it seems you’ve decided this.”
“That’s why I called.”
“I’ll call with updates from my end,” Brooks said. “And Nash—watch your back. We’ve seen how dangerous people can get when they’re after this gold.”
The group nodded solemnly, all of them remembering the violence that had come with their gold hunt—particularly from Truman Birch, who had nearly destroyed their family before his obsession led to his own death.
Everyone echoed goodbyes as the call ended.
Whatever she was hiding, whatever danger surrounded this gold hunt, one thing was certain: Amanda Levitt—Sadie Blair—had just become the most important lead in the Cross family’s search for the conquistador gold.
And Nash wasn’t going to be blindsided again—by either the danger or the woman at the center of it all.
CHAPTER 4
Sadie woke with a start, heart hammering against her ribs, the remnants of her dream still clinging to her. She’d been at prom again, Nash’s arms around her as they’d swayed to a slow song, his blue eyes looking down at her with that mixture of adoration and hope that made her feel both cherished and terrified.
Then the dream had shifted, as dreams do. She was hiking up a canyon trail, the sun beating down on her shoulders. Around a bend, she’d found Nash sprawled on the ground, lifeless, his hands clutching a pot of gold like something from a children’s fable about rainbows and leprechauns. Blood pooled beneath him, and she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream, couldn’t move.
Sadie pushed herself upright, running shaky fingers through her tangled hair. Her ankle throbbed dully, a persistent reminder of yesterday’s disastrous encounter.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, testing the ankle. Still swollen, but bearable. Enough to move around her apartment, at least.
In the kitchen, she filled her coffee maker and leaned against the counter while it brewed, trying to shake off the lingering unease from her dream. The rich aroma filled the small space,but even that familiar comfort couldn’t dispel the knot of anxiety in her stomach.
Her gaze fell on Nash’s business card, still sitting on her coffee table where he’d left it. She limped over and picked it up, running her thumb across the embossed lettering: Nash Cross, Attorney at Law, Smith and Owens. She assumed it was some prestigious law firm.
Attorney. It suited him somehow. She could imagine him in a courtroom, that intense gaze focused on a witness, his mind working through complicated arguments with the same methodical patience he’d shown while taking apart complex math problems in high school.
He’d looked good. Fit. Strong. Muscular. She thought of him carrying her yesterday; he’d done it without strain. His black hair was shorter than she remembered, styled professionally but still with that hint of unruliness that suggested he ran his fingers through it when thinking deeply. And those blue eyes—Wyoming sky blue, her teenage self had called them—were still just as piercing, still capable of seeing straight through her defenses.
Sadie sank onto the couch, coffee mug warming her palms, remembering the week before prom.
