Roan by Jennifer Blake Read Free Book Online Page A

cause and effect. After all, a corpse couldn’t object to a forged signature.
    Trust them, Doc Watkins had said. She had trusted the sheriff for a few brief minutes while he lay holding her on a dirt road, but that was over and done. There was no one she could trust now.
    â€œDonna, honey?”
    She forced herself to meet the doctor’s eyes. It was hard to lie to him in the face of his kindly concern, harder than she would have believed before tonight. Finally, she said, “I’ll be Donna, if that’s what you want, but I don’t remember anything except what I told you. Please believe me, I really don’t.”
    He sighed, then nodded, patting her hand again. “That’s okay, then, don’t you worry about it. Between the gunshot wound and the knot on your head, it’s a wonder you’re able to think at all. Things will work out, though, you’ll see. We’ll have you right as rain before you can get your foot back.”
    â€œI…hope so.” A sudden constriction in her throat took her voice. She wasn’t used to sympathy, much less the brand of kind acceptance that she heard in his voice.
    â€œDoc,” Roan Benedict said, a warning in his voice.
    The physician and the sheriff exchanged a long look before Doc Watkins turned back to her. “Right. I think Roanhas a few more questions, now. I know you probably don’t feel up to it, but—well, he’s been here since you were brought in last night, so maybe he deserves a hearing.”
    How could she refuse without looking both ungrateful and as if she had something to hide? Which she did, of course. Regardless, she managed a nod of agreement.
    â€œGood girl.” The elderly man turned toward the door. “I’ll let you two get on with it, then.”
    â€œYou aren’t leaving?” The very idea of being alone with the sheriff made her stomach muscles clench.
    â€œDon’t worry. Roan’s bark is worse than his bite. He won’t be too hard on you.”
    Doc Watkins sent the sheriff a stern look. If the lawman was affected by the warning, however, he gave no sign. He waited until the door had closed behind the white-coated figure of the older man, then he turned to pick up a black plastic case that had been sitting on the floor. As he placed it on the end of the bed, he said, “The main thing I need from you is information about your friends.”
    â€œMy friends?” She lifted an ironic brow.
    â€œThe two guys in the van with you.”
    â€œZits and Big Ears.”
    â€œWhat?” His face mirrored incomprehension.
    â€œMy names for them, since they didn’t exactly introduce themselves.”
    He sighed and looked fixedly at the wall above her head as if collecting his patience. “So we’re back to that, are we?”
    â€œAlways. Until you believe it.” Her smile was bleak.
    â€œYou don’t remember your name, but you do remember that you were kidnapped?”
    She lifted her uninjured right shoulder to indicate the incomprehensibility of the brain’s workings.
    â€œIt will go a lot better for you,” he said deliberately, “and for this Zits and Big Ears, if you cooperate.”
    She met his gaze for the first time. “Are you saying you have a lead on them?”
    â€œWe located the van, which was hot, of course, reported stolen from Miami, though why anybody would bother to rip off such a piece of junk—but never mind. Your Zits and Big Ears dumped it in a parking lot outside town. The lot belongs to a company that runs a shuttle back and forth to the gambling boat over on the Mississippi at Natchez. A local timberman got off the bus after a day on the boat and found the stolen van siting where his brand-new red Ford pickup with big, expensive mud grips had been parked.”
    â€œToo bad.” The comment was automatic as she searched his face. If he intended any added significance by letting her know