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The blond turned to her with the gun in his hand and said, “I’m DCI Logan Powell. Give me your car keys.”
A wave of confusion gripped her.Powell. Same surname as the chief deputy. “What?”
“Charlie Sharp, I’m a cop, who just saved your life. Give me your keys. I need to get you to safety.”
She searched the ground. Found her purse. Fumbled for the keys. Hurled them.
“Here.” He tossed her a key fob. “Go that way.” He pointed to the opposite side of the alley. “There’s a roadhouse on the other end,” he said, and she knew the place. “You’ll find my vehicle there. Meet me in the parking lot of the big-box store on Grand. Back end of the lot adjacent to the avenue. I’ll explain there.” He turned and took off in the direction Scarface had gone.
Charlie raced down the lane, hating the raucous clatter of her heels, but there was no way she was going barefoot.
The alley opened to A.J.’s Roadhouse. A rough, rowdy place. Lots of bikers. Brawls often broke out. All to be expected in this seedy part of town.
The guy hadn’t told her what he was driving. She scanned the lot and pressed on the key fob.
Lights flashed at her nine o’clock. She wobbled over to a crossover SUV. A Subaru Forester. Was it the same one that had been following her?
She got in and sped off.
By the time she drove into the back end of the parking lot of the big-box store off Grand Avenue, she was still shaking.
The area was well-lit and buzzing with activity. Other cars were parked nearby. Shoppers moving back and forth between the store and the lot.
She plucked the rest of the bobby pins out and removed the wig cap. Her thoughts whirled in her head. She replayed the incident in the alley and shuddered.
Dustin’s SUV pulled up alongside the Subaru. The blond hopped out, came around the side and climbed into his vehicle.
“Before you utter a word,” she said, “I need to see some ID.”
He pointed to the glove compartment. Reached for it slowly and pulled out a leather folio. He flipped it open.
Charlie eyed the photograph, along with the badge, the name and title beneath it: Logan Powell. Wyoming State Attorney General’s Office, Division of Criminal Investigation.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Powell. Are you related to the chief deputy. Holden. And the fire marshal.” She couldn’t remember his name.
Staring at this man up close, she already knew the answer. The resemblance to Holden was unmistakable. Same golden blond hair and bright blue, earnest eyes.
“Sawyer. Yeah. They’re my brothers.” For a moment, he just looked at her.
“You’ve been following me?” she asked.
“I was following the guy you’ve been tracking. Seth Olsen. I was sent here to investigate him. Then last night, I followed him following you.”
She shook her head. “No. I made sure I lost him.”
“He made sure you thought you lost him. Olsen is a seasoned detective who has been at this a long time. It’s his job to follow people without them knowing.”
Brian had warned her. She should’ve listened to him. He was only trying to keep her safe. Maybe shouldn’t have at the very least let him explain.
A shadow swept up to the window on the passenger’s side. Rapped on the glass with a gun. Bent down and peered in the car. “Can I join the party?” Brian asked.
SITTINGINTHEback seat of the Subaru, Brian gritted his teeth as Charlie got him up to speed about the attack in the alley and this guy’s intervention. He hated that he hadn’t been the one to protect her, but the only thing that mattered was her safety.
Brian figured that if he had waltzed into the strip club, he would’ve upset Charlie further, blowing her disguise—moot point now—and only sabotaged her efforts with his presence.
The second he saw that slick guy with the scar racing around to the back of the club, with Seth standing near the entrance, he knew something was up, but prayed he’d spot Charlie leaving any second.
