Secrets and Lies: He's A Bad Boy / He's Just A Cowboy. Lisa Jackson
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of bitterness. Though, if given the same set of circumstances, Rachelle would have stood up for him again. He was innocent, damn it, and no matter what else happened, she’d never believe him capable of murder.
Frowning at the turn of her memories, she shoved open the door and stepped outside. The air was clear, a hint of sunshine permeating thin clouds. Behind the low-slung building housing the offices of Fitzpatrick Logging was a huge yard surrounded by a chain-link fence and guarded by a pair of black Doberman pinschers who paced in a kennel that ran along the fence. Warnings were posted on the chain link. A few signs cautioned employees to wear hard hats and work safely. Other signs threatened would-be trespassers.
Trucks, loaded with logs, rumbled in and out of the yard. Cranes lifted the loads from the trucks, to be stacked in huge piles, while other trucks hauled their cargo away from the yard, presumably to a sawmill down the road.
Rachelle’s boots crunched on the gravel of the parking lot and so immersed was she in the report she’d received from Marge Elkins, she didn’t notice Jackson leaning against the dusty fender of her Escort.
“Short meeting,” he commented, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
“Wha—oh!” Her hand flew to her throat and she almost dropped the shiny-paged report. Though she’d thought he might show up, still he startled her. “What’re you doing here?”
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