One Night Standoff - By Delores Fossen Page 0,48

I consider you a person of interest, too. Just like my birth father and Quentin. I think any one of you could be working for Riggs.”

James’s glare became even more intense. “Prove it.” And with that challenge, James walked out.

“You really think he’s dirty?” Lt. Ryland asked.

“Hard to tell, but he’s been keeping secrets.” Like not telling them about his association with the hit man. “Plus, it seemed to me that Melvin shut up awfully fast when he saw James.”

Both Saul and Lenora made sounds of agreement.

“My brother’s FBI,” Ryland said. “I can have him make some calls and ask some questions.”

Clayton wasn’t about to refuse any help. “Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

The lieutenant left, and since Lenora already looked exhausted, Clayton made plans to do the same. There was just one problem with that.

Where to go?

The ranch hands were still repairing the bullet damage to the house. Besides, Lenora might not even be able to rest there with the god-awful memories of the attack.

“I need to make arrangements for a safe house,” he let her know, and he scrubbed his hands over his face to give him time to catch his breath.

“You’re making the ranch safe,” she reminded him. “Plus, you know that’s where you need to be, since Kirby won’t leave and go elsewhere.”

No, Kirby wasn’t budging, but he couldn’t let that be a reason for returning. “I have to put your safety first.”

“And you can do that at the ranch.” She huffed, probably because she realized she wasn’t convincing him. “Look, I’m worried about bringing the danger to your family, but I don’t think it’ll go away just because we’re not there.”

She was right about that. No matter where they went, the gunmen would still likely come to the ranch looking for them. If only he could get Kirby to go somewhere with them. Of course, his foster father was known for his pigheadedness.

“Since Kirby’s not giving us a choice, I’d rather be surrounded by marshals I trust. Including you,” she added. “If I’m tucked away at a safe house, the worst could happen there. Another attack. Especially since Quentin and James don’t seem to have any trouble finding us.”

That was true. But he still wasn’t convinced. “A safe house is still our best bet.” He saw the argument in her eyes—that he couldn’t make any place safe enough—but then he saw something else. “You’re not thinking of running anymore.”

Lenora blinked, obviously surprised that he’d picked up on that. “Not thinking of it in the near future,” she corrected.

Well, that was a start, but it wasn’t nearly good enough. Not with the stakes this high. “We need to make the time to talk.”

She blinked, maybe troubled by that. Lenora and he always seemed to be on the same wavelength, so she probably sensed that the talk wouldn’t just be about her safety. Nope. They had some personal stuff to work out.

That didn’t include sex.

All right, maybe it did. But it included a whole lot more, and talking rather than sex was how they had to work things out between them.

Too bad his body was still trying to veto that idea.

“Talk,” she repeated. “Something we can do at the ranch. Let’s face it, Clayton. We don’t have to reinvent a safety net at the ranch. There’s one already in place. And besides, no lawman is going to give us as much backup as your family.”

“You trust them?” he asked, because he was certain that Lenora wasn’t exactly comfortable there.

“If you do, I do,” she confirmed.

Well, he certainly trusted them all right, but that didn’t mean this was the right choice.

On the other hand...

Maybe it was the bone-weary fatigue settling in or the realization that she was right—there was no safe place. But Clayton decided to go home, get some rest and hope that he could come up with a better solution for Lenora’s safety.

He only made it a few steps before his phone buzzed again. With everything that had gone on, the first thing he thought of was Kirby, that maybe there’d been another attack at the ranch. But it was Dr. Cheryl Landry’s name on the screen.

“Clayton?” the doctor said the moment he answered. “The guy you shot is finally out of surgery. We did the best we could, but he’s in critical condition.”

Not the best news he could have gotten, but at least the shooter was alive. That was a start.

“Can I talk to him?” Clayton asked.

“If he wakes up,” the doctor clarified. “My advice is to