always as they seem. Sometimes things are just too good to be true.”
How many times did I need to hear that?
I waited until she left before opening up the envelope. As I gazed at the information, an unsettling feeling roared to the surface. “What the hell?” There was some kind of game being played, but my question was which players were on what sides of the board?
I shifted the papers again, the flurry of butterflies in my stomach shifting to a lead weight. Creepy-crawlies had snaked their way to my skin, making sitting out in the open uncomfortable as hell. Why did I have the feeling I was being watched? I shoved the envelope into my purse, curtailing my emotions. The entire situation had a bad smell to it.
After tossing the bitter coffee, I headed toward my car. Snow had already begun to fall lightly, the air invigorating. As I unlocked the door, another vehicle grabbed my attention.
One big mother of a black Dodge Ram, the windows tinted.
I slipped inside my car, pulling the gun to the mouth of my purse before starting the engine. Grabbing my phone, I shifted to the photographs, finding the one I’d taken outside Sandra’s house. The truck was a dead ringer. As I backed out, I kept my eye on the rearview mirror. There was no movement of the vehicle that I could tell.
Exhaling, I kept both hands on the wheel as I headed out of the city, constantly glancing into the rearview mirror. While there was traffic following me, none of the vehicles were the size of the Ram. While I didn’t know the city very well, I was able to return to the clinic using a slight detour.
The apprehension remained, especially given the snow was falling rapidly. Time to get home and lock myself behind closed doors. Then I’d figure out what the hell to do.
I’d also determine whether I could trust Mustang. I hated not knowing, loathed being used by anyone. However, Sandra was right in that coincidences were tough to buy, especially when millions of dollars were at stake.
The tension started to ease as I turned onto the road leading to the clinic, even though my grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled. It was starting to get dark, the late afternoon light adding to the gloomy feel. Snow had already accumulated, pellets slapping against the window almost faster than the windshield wipers could keep up with.
Only a mile to go.
That’s when I noticed a brand new set of headlights behind me. From the amount and direction of the light coming in through my back window, there was no doubt the vehicle was much taller than a typical passenger car. As the lights began to creep closer, another wave of fear rushed into my system.
The asshole had followed me.
I pressed on the accelerator, determined to get home as quickly as possible, the tires jerking slightly until I let off the gas. “Shit.” A layer of ice had accumulated over the light snow, making the road slippery as hell. Another glance and the truck was even closer. Goddamn it. I carefully pressed on the gas pedal once again, doing everything I could to ignore the asshole behind me. I was almost there. Almost.
Suddenly, the car jerked to the right. Oh, my God. I was skidding out of control.
Chapter 10
Mustang
Danger.
I’d known about danger my entire life. Hell, I’d been the one to create it of my own free will while living in Montana growing up. The fact I’d been able to enlist in the Marines had been a feat in itself. I’d spent more nights in lockup than my parents would admit to anyone.
For some crazy reason, the thought was almost comforting.
I’d learned to harness all my pent-up anger, turning that rage into improving my skills. Although I’d been considered happy-go-lucky by a lot of the other guys, I’d always harbored a significant amount of frustration.
I’d gone back to work, doing everything I could to pass the time. And all the while, my thoughts drifted to the assholes who’d attacked her, anger remaining just below the surface. What kind of deal had been made around the ranchers? Was there some asshole trying to abscond with money or was one of the bigger ranchers attempting to hone in on business, absorbing the smaller ones? So many ranchers had seen brutal times, forced to sell off their cattle for a reduced price.
I hadn’t talked to my father in over a month, but I’d made