Tess was probably disgusted with her. Flighty, irresponsible Val, with her pickled brain. Val, who couldn’t be counted on to show up for anything on time.
Well, she was trying, blast it. She wanted to be someone her family could depend on. But it wasn’t always easy—hell, it was never easy. Especially when her inner demons reared their heads, as they had last night. But she couldn’t just give up and walk away. Her sisters and the Alamo Canyon Ranch were her last refuge—her one chance to heal.
She was still worried about Casey—maybe the dream had been a manifestation of that anxiety. He was a family friend, and she couldn’t avoid seeing him. But she’d been wise to end any notion of a relationship last night. Trying to protect her would only put him in danger. And learning the truth about her past would destroy him in ways he could never imagine.
In the bathroom, she brushed her teeth, raked back her hair, and applied a few dabs of foundation to her tired face. In her younger years, she hadn’t needed anything more than a touch of lipstick. But this morning, she looked . . . old, damn it, even though she was only twenty-seven.
She dressed hurriedly in the jeans and shirt she’d worn the day before. Mucking out the bull pen, if Tess would still let her help, would be a waste of clean clothes. She could shower and change later.
After disconnecting her cell phone from the charger, she dropped it into her purse and headed out of the room. In the doorway, she hesitated, then hung the DO NOT DISTURB tag on the outside doorknob. The room wouldn’t get made up, but at least the cleaner wouldn’t be coming in. After her experience with the manicurists, she was afraid to trust anyone.
As an afterthought, she broke off a loose thread from the lining of her jacket and placed it to lie between the door and the frame. If she came back to find the thread in place, she would know the door hadn’t been opened.
What if she was being overly cautious? What if the sense of being watched, the phone calls, even the incident in the restaurant, were just harmless events playing on her fears?
What if she was becoming irrational?
Deciding to skip coffee, she left the hotel and crossed the short distance to the arena at a jog. The main entrance was open, but aside from a few maintenance people passing in and out of the arena, the concourse was almost empty.
Val had gone partway around when she realized she didn’t know how to get from here to the bull pens. Maybe there was another entrance in the back. That could explain why she hadn’t yet seen anybody involved with the PBR.
She was about to go outside and look for another way in when she saw a strange man coming around the concourse toward her.
Dimitri! That was her first thought. But no, this man was a stranger—tall and lanky, dressed in new jeans and a plaid western shirt topped by a quilted Carhartt vest. His long-jawed face was untanned, his felt Stetson oddly set on his head, as if it were the wrong size. All in all, he struck her as someone trying to pass as a cowboy. The impression was confirmed when she noticed the wingtip oxfords showing below his jeans.
As they came even, she pretended to ignore him. But as she passed within hearing, he spoke her name.
“Miss Champion.”
Her pulse lurched. Her first impulse was to run, but the stranger looked fit enough to catch her easily. And there was no one close by to hear a scream for help. Drawing on her acting skills, she gave him a puzzled look. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “I believe you’ve mistaken me for somebody else.”
“I don’t think so, Miss Valerie Champion.” He thrust an official-looking photo ID toward her. “Paul Brandt, Assistant District Attorney for Clark County.”
Val willed her emotions to freeze. A new scene in her nightmare had opened. What happened next would be out of her hands. All she could do was try to appear calm and reasonable.
“Am I in trouble?” she asked, masking her anxiety with a smile.
“Not necessarily.” He appeared to be about forty, with a flat voice that played on her nerves like a bow on a cheap violin. “Is there someplace where we can talk?”
“That depends. What’s this about, Mr. Brandt?” she asked.
“I think you know.” He ushered her through a door that opened into the darkened arena. “We should be all right in here for a few minutes. Have a seat.”
Val chose a shadowed row, slipped into a seat, and prepared herself for a grilling. She knew better than to lie. But she’d be smart to reveal as little as possible.
Brandt took a seat next to her. “I need to be someplace,” she said. “Please make this quick.”
“Very well.” He cleared his throat. “How much do you know about the case against Carlo Lanzoni?”
“Only what I read in the paper last night.”
“According to police files, you were Lenny Fortunato’s girlfriend. Is that correct?”
“Yes.” If he was waiting for her to explain, he would have to wait a long time.
“And you know that Fortunato was murdered.”
“Yes.”
“A woman’s clothes were found in the room with his body. Were they yours?”
“They were.”
“Where were you when Lenny Fortunato was killed?”
Val felt a chill. “Am I a suspect?”
“Not at this time. We want to know what you witnessed. Were you in the room?”
“No, I’d just returned from an errand. I was outside in the hall.”
His look told her he’d guessed the nature of her errand. But to her relief, he simply nodded. “Tell me everything you saw and heard.”
Val made her story as brief as possible. But she knew that anything that strayed from the truth could get her in trouble later. “I hid until I heard Dimitri’s car leave,” she finished. “Then I went back into the room to make sure Lenny didn’t need my help. But he didn’t. He was dead.”
“You could’ve called the police.”
“I know. But I was too scared. I grabbed my purse, left everything else, and ran—caught a bus all the way to California.” She didn’t mention that she’d sold the cocaine to a dealer for enough money to get her out of town. “I’m clean and sober now, living with my sisters on our ranch. I only wish I’d never come back here.”
“But you’re sure the shooter was Dimitri, and you heard him say he was acting on Lanzoni’s orders?”
“Yes.” Val’s heart had begun to pound. She knew what was coming next.
“Would you be willing to testify to that before the grand jury hearing?” Brandt asked.
Val’s mouth had gone dry. She shook her head. “Lanzoni’s people are watching me. They’ve got eyes and ears everywhere. And I know what they’re capable of doing.”
“We could protect you.”
“That’s a joke.” Val felt her anger rising. “Could you protect my family? Could you protect my sister’s unborn baby? I can’t risk their safety. For all I know, I’ve even put them at risk by talking to you. Find some other way to get Lanzoni convicted for murder.”
“We’ve tried. We’re aware that Dimitri killed people. But we have no solid proof that he was acting on Lanzoni’s orders—only you can give us that.”
Val’s stomach clenched. She took a breath, willing herself not to show the strain. “I take it you haven’t got Dimitri,” she said. “If you had him, you wouldn’t need me.”