FIFTEEN
She hated waiting forthe Grim Reaper to show up unexpectedly. Then again, since Zack and Joe were planning this ridiculous plan to fake Zack’s death, it wasn’t exactly unexpected.
Whitney tried to relax as she sat on the lounge chair on the veranda outside the back door. The veranda overlooked the large expanse of land all the way to the thicket of trees. The sun had dipped on the horizon, and she sat with a dark brown wool blanket wrapped around her. A cool breeze teased the loose hairs on her neck, causing her to shiver. Underneath the blanket on her lap was her Glock. She wouldn’t leave home without it anymore.
The day had worn her nerves ragged. As much as she argued with Zack and Joe about their ridiculous scheme, she had wasted her breath. Those two stubborn men were convinced that they could make the shooter believe Zack was dead. Exhaustion had taken its toll on her, and now all she wanted to do was sit on the lounge chair and watch the sunset as the day turned into night.
Mixed emotions filled her head, confusing her. She wanted to be a good FBI agent, and she was determined to stop the hitman from completing his job. But she also knew she was doing it for the wrong reasons. When most of her life she’d been fighting to get approval from those she’d loved, it was nearly impossible to stop and allow people to love her for herself and not what she could do for them.
For years, her mother had hinted that Joe didn’t want either of them, which explained the divorce, but now Whitney knew different. Joe loved her unconditionally. And the other man in her life... What were his feelings? He was attracted to her, but only when she wore make-up and left her hair long and flowing over her shoulders, and wore pretty clothes. And yet, some of the things he’d said to her made her feel as if he liked her for more than her looks. If only she could believe that.
“Good evening, Whitney.”
The man’s voice startled her, and she jumped. Automatically, her fingers wrapped around the butt of the gun still hidden underneath the blanket on her lap.
One of Joe’s employees stopped his horse several feet away from the veranda, jumped off the animal, and then tied the reins around a post. Wallace – Wall, to most everyone at the ranch – had worked for Joe since he was a little boy playing with stick horses. Wallace was around her age, too, but when she lived on the ranch with her mother, the pompous woman forbade Whitney from becoming friends with the ranchers even though at the time it was Wallace’s father who worked for Joe, not Wall. Her mother was all right with Whitney becoming friends with the household staff, but not the rugged cowboys. Whitney recalled her mother acted as if they were too far beneath theirstationin life. At the time, Whitney didn’t know what that meant. Now she understood completely what her mother referred to.
What a snob her mother had been... and still was.
Whitney relaxed her fingers around the gun and gave Wallace a small smile. “Hi, Wall. Are you done for the night?”
“Yeah. I was just taking the horse back to the stable when I saw you.”
He stepped closer, removing his hat out of politeness. Whitney always thought Wallace was a nice guy. He was always sogentlemanlywith the girls, and even the older women. Whitney never looked at him and saw more than a friend. His gray eyes and bright smile were his finest features. Chestnut hair fell over his forehead and into his eyes a little. If only he’d push back the hair – or get it cut – people would be able to see his face better. He was slender and tall – but too lanky for her taste.
“I’m glad you stopped. We haven’t seen each other in years. How is life treating you?”
Smiling, he nodded. “Not bad. I’m one of your dad’s right-hand men, and I enjoy working on the ranch. Joe is a great employer.”
“Are you married yet?”
His cheeks flamed with red. “No.”
“Why not? You’re a great guy. Any woman would be lucky to have you as her husband.”
The color covering his face turned brighter. “I just don’t know how to meet girls, and I certainly don’t know how to talk to them.”
“I’ll have Zack help you.”
Sheepishly, he shrugged as his gaze dropped to the ground. “I don’t know if that’s what I want right now.”
“That’s okay. I won’t push.”
“I... um,” he stammered, stepping closer. “I’m glad you and Mr. Greyson are all right from this morning’s shooting. I wish we could have found the coward who did this.”
Sighing, she nodded. “Coward? Yes, possibly. I just wish I knew why someone was shooting that close to the house. I definitely don’t think coward, I thinkidiot.”
“I agree. They weren’t using their brain.”
“Tell me, Wall,” she shifted on the longue, bringing her feet off the chair and onto the ground. “Did you see any signs of where the shooter had been?”
