One Night Standoff - By Delores Fossen Page 0,4

my line of sight,” she blurted out, wishing that she hadn’t, because it brought Harlan’s attention directly to her.

“Why did you come to see Clayton?” he demanded.

The truth would only lead to more questions, and she didn’t want to be interrogated by this particular marshal. “Two months ago, my friend was murdered. I wanted to know if there’d been any new developments. I wanted to make sure her killer would stay in jail.”

Harlan no doubt knew all about Jill and the investigation. He stared at her, suspicion in his eyes, and Lenora had enough instincts to know that if Harlan’s foster brother hadn’t been just a few feet away and bleeding from a head wound, he would have called her a liar.

She was.

And Harlan would have pushed for a better answer than the one she’d just told him.

But there was no reason for her to tell this man about the pregnancy. When Clayton was better, he could break the news to his family. And he could also decide if he wanted to be part of this baby’s life.

If Clayton survived, that was.

She stared at the father of her unborn child. The man she’d slept with because she’d been too distraught to make a logical decision.

Sex wasn’t always logical, though.

Neither was the attraction she’d felt for this lawman. The attraction had been instant. Probably because he had rock-star looks to go along with that cowboy attitude. Or maybe it was because she’d felt this, well, connection with him. Connection aside, it’d been beyond stupid to sleep with him. She should have just walked away. Should have written Clayton and this attraction right out of her life.

That would have been the safe thing to do.

But she hadn’t. And now he was lying on a gurney, maybe dying.

Harlan’s phone buzzed, and while he took the call, Lenora moved slightly closer so she could get a better look at Clayton. There was blood on his dark brown hair, on the side of his face as well, but the flow was barely a trickle now. She had no idea if that was good or bad. The only experience she had with head wounds was they were usually fatal.

“That was Dallas,” Harlan said when he finished the call. “Marshal Walker,” he added, but Lenora already knew who Harlan meant. Another of Clayton’s foster brothers. Another federal marshal.

In fact, Clayton had five foster brothers, all of whom were U.S. marshals. That would mean five sets of questions, and each of them would deserve answers as to why one of their own had been shot while having a cup of coffee with her.

“They found the shooter,” Harlan added. “He wrecked his truck only about four blocks from the diner.”

Lenora certainly hadn’t expected that and would have thought the guy would manage to get out of the area. “Who is he?”

“According to the ID in his wallet, his name is Corey Dayton. Ring any bells?”

“No.” And that wasn’t a lie. Of course, the ID could be fake, and she might recognize his real name. “Does your brother have him in custody?”

Harlan shook his head. “He’s dead.”

Lenora pulled in her breath. “From the bullet I put in him?”

“Maybe. But he wasn’t wearing a seat belt, and he crashed into a parked garbage truck.”

Part of her was relieved that the man who’d shot Clayton was out of the picture, but a dead man couldn’t give them answers, and Lenora very much wanted to know why this guy had fired into the diner.

“Tell me,” Harlan said, “is this connected to your friend’s murder?”

“I’m not sure,” she answered honestly. “When you can, you’ll want to question the man who murdered Jill. Adam Riggs,” she supplied, though Harlan no doubt knew the name of the man behind bars. And he would absolutely question him.

When his brother was out of the woods.

It was possible that Riggs had hired the shooter, maybe because Riggs was riled that Clayton had arrested him for Jill’s murder. If so, Harlan and the other marshals would soon find that connection.

So would Lenora.

She’d find it, and if Riggs was responsible, then he was going to pay, and pay hard.

Of course, Riggs could have hired someone to aim that shot at her, too, because he might believe that as Jill’s friend she’d helped catch him. She hadn’t. But there was a lot of twisted stuff in a killer’s mind. Especially this killer’s.

“Are there any loose ends with Jill’s murder?” Harlan asked.

Lenora knew where this was leading—the marshal was looking for quick answers.