the next evening. She hesitated when she saw him, recalling a movie about a stalker she’d recently seen on TV.
“It’s okay,” he said, smiling and holding up his hands. “I’m harmless. I wondered if we could talk.”
“I thought you were on your way home.”
He gave her a smile. “Well, the best-laid plans and all that.” He fell into step beside her. “Do you have time for a cup of coffee?”
She clenched her hands as indecision ate at her. Her brother had called. He wanted her in a safe house on the East Coast. She’d refused. He’d been furious with her.
His cover had been blown a month ago. That was why she’d had to give up her position with the dance troupe that had brought her from Los Angeles to Las Vegas to perform at the casino theater and take on the disguise as a waitress.
In a scandal that appeared to be larger than the Rampart case, the FBI had been called in by the LAPD chief of Internal Affairs to infiltrate a police crime ring. Her brother had drawn the assignment.
Now the gang knew of her and wanted to use her to force Adam into the open, according to his contact within the rogue-cop group. He had warned her succinctly of what would happen if either of them was found.
Naturally she would do whatever it took to protect her brother. The stranger was a cop, but far removed from the L.A. crime scene. He offered the perfect escape. Did she dare take it?
Adam thought she should. He’d checked out the deputy and found him to be legit. Apparently the Daltons were a very respected ranching family that went back for generations, according to Adam’s research, which he’d reported to her an hour ago.
If she wouldn’t accept protection, then she should go where no one would easily find her. Who, Adam had argued, would think to look for her in Idaho? He’d made a good point. She’d thought of little else during her time off.
“Yes, I have a few minutes,” she said to the deputy, putting off the moment when she had to make the difficult decision.
“Can you find the coffee shop? I seem to go around in circles here.”
She had to smile. “The casino’s designed that way. You have to go past the slots and gaming tables to get anywhere else.” She led the way to the café. “Tell me about your cousin,” she said when they were seated.
“There isn’t much to tell. She disappeared when she was three and a half from a car wreck, which killed her mother. Tink was nowhere to be found when help arrived.”
“Maybe she wandered away and got lost,” Honey said. A vision of the child roaming dazed and confused through a dark forest, perhaps searching for her father, flashed on her mental screen. Sympathy stirred in her.
He shrugged. “All we know for sure is that someone else was at the site. The cops found tire tracks and boot prints, a child’s prints next to them. A man in a pickup had come through town that morning. He stopped for gas. The station owner recalled his license plate was from California. How did you get the scar on your leg?”
Honey blinked at the change in subject. “My aunt said my cousin pushed me and I fell on a broken bottle.”
“Your aunt?”
Honey nodded, her mind still on the little girl who had disappeared. She knew what it was like to feel lost and bewildered. Abandoned. It was a scary thing for a child.
“What happened to your parents?” he demanded, leaning forward over the table to stare at her intently.
“They died.”
“How? When?”
“My father was accidentally shot in a bar. My mother got sick a couple of years later. It was a long time ago,” she said to forestall the questions she could see coming. “I wasn’t quite four. I don’t remember anything except my mother left for the hospital and never came back.”
“The woman who said she was your aunt—”
“She is my aunt.”
“Does she have children?”
Honey tried to figure out what he was driving at. “A son. He’s six years older than I am. Aunt May couldn’t have more children.”
“Hmm,” the deputy said as if this was significant.
“What?”
“What if she wanted another child, a little girl to complete her family? What if she was willing to pay?” the deputy asked earnestly.
Honey kept a straight face. Her aunt had hated having her and her brother in the house. She’d hated spending any money on them, even though she got a check from welfare each month to support the two orphans.
“I don’t think that’s likely,” she told him wryly, wishing she had been the loved and wanted little girl his words described, wishing she could have had a family like this man apparently had. If wishes were wings…
“Come to the ranch with me and talk to Uncle Nick,” he urged. “You might remember something. If nothing else, I can promise you a great vacation. Mountain air. Beautiful views. Quiet. No one to bother you.”
Did he realize how appealing that sounded? “I have to work.” She paused, knowing she couldn’t use him for her own purposes but already regretting the loss. “I’m sorry about your cousin. I hope you find her.”
“Thanks.”
He let her go, his expression thoughtful. Honey was aware of the scar on her thigh as she walked away.
Idaho. She’d studied maps of it last night. The state seemed far from everything she’d ever known. He, or the uncle he was so fond of, had a ranch there. It sounded like heaven, a sanctuary for the weary soul.
Peace. Quiet. Safety.
Oh, yes, she was tempted, so very tempted.
Chapter Two
By ten o’clock Zack knew the layout of the casino and had a plan. If there was the slightest chance the waitress was Tink—and in addition to the scar, there was enough about her past to justify the possibility—he couldn’t leave without trying to convince her to come home with him and at least talk to Uncle Nick.
He waited for her next to the locker-room door where he hoped she would soon appear. It should be her dinner hour about now.
“Ah,” he said in satisfaction. His hunch had paid off. She was right on time. “Hi,” he said when she came near.
Her head jerked up. One hand flew to her throat. For a split second she looked like a frightened deer caught in car headlights, then all signs of expression disappeared behind the heavy mask of makeup she wore.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said. “The deputy.”
“Zack Dalton,” he reminded her. “The cousin.” He shot her a questioning glance, wondering if she would tell him her name or call for the security guards.
She hesitated, then spoke firmly, as if making up her mind it was okay to share the information. “My name is Hannah Carrington. I’m called Honey.”
“Honey,” he repeated, keeping his tone neutral. “Are you ready for supper? I’m starved.”
“Are you joining me?” she asked with a certain wry amusement he found encouraging. Her lips, when she smiled, were delectable, like ripe cherries.
He grinned. “Yes, if you don’t mind. My treat. I cashed in the quarters, so I’m flush. I, uh, also have an idea I’d like to discuss with you.”
Once again seated in the coffee shop, he studied his companion while she glanced over the menu. Her absurd eyelashes cast long shadows over her rouged cheeks. He wondered how Uncle Nick would react to this “painted” woman.
Humor mingled with