The Marshal's Witness
Lena Diaz
Breaking protocol and going on the run with protected witness Jessica Delaney wasn’t in US Marshal Ryan Jackson’s plans. He’ll do whatever it takes to protect Jessica, but, as the net around them tightens, Ryan’s deepest loss may be the one danger he never anticipated.
“Ryan, I don’t want you to die for me.”
Jessica had followed his orders all day and had the blisters to prove it. She wasn’t putting up with any more today. She jabbed her finger against his chest.
“Four marshals died protecting me. I don’t want your name branded into my conscience, too.”
She whirled around and stomped through the bushes, struggling to hold back the angry words she wanted to say. For the first time since she’d testified, she’d gone on the offensive, determined to protect Ryan in any way she could. For what? So he could lecture her?
“Jessie, wait.”
Ryan caught up to her and grasped her shoulders. He forced her to turn around, but she refused to look up at him.
“When I couldn’t find you, I thought someone had…” His words faded away and he pulled her tightly against his chest.
He was worried about her? That’s why he was so angry?
He gently pushed Jessica back and cupped her face between his hands.“Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
Ryan yanked her toward him and captured her lips in a fierce kiss…
About the Author
LENA DIAZ was born in Kentucky and has also lived in California, Louisiana and Florida where she now resides with her husband and two children. before becoming a romance suspense author, she was a computer programmer. A former Romance Writers of America Golden Heart
finalist, she won the prestigious Daphne du Maurier award for excellence in mystery and suspense. She loves to watch action movies, garden and hike in the beautiful Tennessee Smoky Mountains. To get the latest news about Lena, please visit her website, www.lenadiaz.com.
The Marshal’s
Witness
Lena Diaz
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Thank you, Allison Lyons, for loving my story. Thank you, Nalini Akolekar, for seeing the Mills & boon Intrigue author inside me before I did. This book is dedicated to my special sister, Laura brown, for fighting the good fight against breast cancer, and for being the inspiration for me to chase my dreams. I love you.
Chapter One
One juror. That’s all it had taken to set a murderer free.
Jessica Delaney flattened her hands against the conference-room window of the White Plains Federal courthouse, watching the mockery playing out two stories below.
Mistrial. The word left a bitter taste in her mouth. What would that juror have done if his friend had been brutally murdered in front of him? Or if his life had become the nightmare Jessica’s had become, living in fear that her former boss would discover where the government was keeping her during the year-long trial?
She’d been foolish to think her testimony could make a difference, that a twenty-eight year-old accountant could put the head of the most powerful crime family in New York away, when others had tried and failed before her. She’d given up everything—her home, her friends, her job—to become the government’s star witness. For what? DeGaullo was free, and she was about to go into hiding.
For the rest of her life.
Her hands tightened into fists as Richard DeGaullo waded through the crowd of reporters, smiling and waving like a foreign dignitary instead of a man who’d viciously executed a young mother, leaving two small children behind to mourn her death.
He jogged down the steps, his perfectly pressed suit jacket flapping in the wind as the first fat raindrops from an afternoon storm splattered against Jessica’s window. Freedom waited for DeGaullo in the form of a black stretch limo snugged up against the curb.
The driver opened the rear door. Jessica sucked in her breath when DeGaullo turned and looked up, as if he knew she was watching. He raised his hand in a jaunty salute, flashed a cocky grin, then slid inside the car.
A loud knock sounded behind Jessica, making her start in surprise. She turned around to see a man she didn’t know, standing in the open doorway. The briefcase he held looked like a child’s toy in his large hand, and the top of his head barely cleared the door frame.
Jessica’s gaze darted past him to the marshals in the hallway. William Gavin, the marshal who led her security detail, gave her a reassuring nod before closing the door, cocooning her in with the stranger.
A polite greeting died on Jessica’s lips as the man strode toward her, his angular face tightening into lines of disapproval. With his coal-black suit emphasizing his massive shoulders, he looked like an avenging angel, or a demon, swooping down to punish her for her sins. She tensed against the urge to flinch away when he stopped in front of her.
“Move away from the window.” he gently but firmly pushed her away from the glass. The look in his dark blue eyes, as he scanned the courtyard below, reminded her of a hawk sighting its prey. Seemingly satisfied, he flipped the blinds closed and crossed the tiny room to the table in the corner.
He pulled out a chair and raised an expectant brow. Jessica reluctantly obeyed his unspoken command, taking the seat he offered. She stiffened when he leaned down, his lips next to her ear.
“Never stand in front of a window, especially with the light behind you,” he said. “Don’t make it easy for him.”
She shivered at the feel of his warm breath whispering across her skin, and the deadly warning in his words—words that rang true after seeing DeGaullo wave at her. Since the stranger seemed to be waiting for a response, she nodded.
He moved to the chair across from her and set his briefcase on the table.
“I was told the glass is bulletproof.” Jessica immediately regretted her statement when she realized how defensive she sounded.
The stranger’s dark brows arched but he didn’t bother to look at her. He was more concerned with the papers in his briefcase.
Jessica pressed her lips together and took the opportunity to study him. Tiny lines bracketed his mouth. On someone else they would have been laugh lines, but she couldn’t picture this man laughing. His eyes were guarded, as if he’d seen too much, and the tragedies in his life had stamped themselves onto his soul.
He took three pieces of paper out of his briefcase and placed them on the table in front of her. “Nothing’s bulletproof if you have the right weapon, the right motivation.” His deep voice echoed through the small space. “Your former boss has plenty of both.” He reached a tanned hand into his suit jacket, pulled out a pen, and tossed it across the table.
Jessica managed to snatch the pen before it could fall onto the floor. “Who are you?” She slapped the pen down on the table.
“Deputy U.S. Marshal Ryan Jackson.”
Jessica’s face flushed as she recognized the arrogant disdain on his stern features. He didn’t approve of her, and he didn’t try to hide it. Jessica curled her fists in her lap. She was so sick of being judged by people who didn’t even know her. The last year had been a trial in more ways than one, sitting in the courtroom every day, feeling the weight of the jurors’ stares, their contempt.
As if her own guilt wasn’t enough.
She leaned forward and waved her hand at the papers. “What’s all this?”
“Official acknowledgement of the WitSec rules before you take on your new identity.”
“WitSec?”
“Witness Security.”
“Marshal Cole always calls it Witness Protection,” she murmured absently as she skimmed the pages. “Why isn’t he here to take care of this? He’s the one I usually work with when there’s any paperwork to be done.”
“He’s unavailable.” Without giving her a chance to ask any more questions, Ryan pointed to one of the pages. “This is your acknowledgement of the first rule of the program. Never contact anyone from your previous life. No snail mail, email, text messages and especially no phone calls.”
“I know the rules.” She scrawled her signature beneath the statement.
“Rule number two,” he said, as if she hadn’t spoken, “never go anywhere you’ve ever lived or even visited in the past. Five, ten years from now, you still can’t go back. Ever.”
Hearing those words in Ryan Jackson’s ominous tone made the second rule sound even worse than she’d remembered. This was the last time she’d ever see the beloved city where she’d spent most of her adult life.
Who would have thought she’d miss the smell of exhaust as the rows of taxi cabs jostled for position every morning, or the constant flood of tourists getting in her way on the side-walk? She would definitely miss the aroma of fresh-baked bread wafting out of cafés, and the thick, juicy cheeseburgers at Junior’s, with cheesecake for dessert—plain, the way it was supposed to be.
After today, nothing would ever be the same again.
Her hand shook as she signed on the dotted line.
Ryan’s gaze flicked up to her face.
Jessica blinked, fighting back an unexpected rush of tears. She wasn’t about to cry in front of a stranger, especially a stranger as cold as the one across from her.
He watched her intently as he recited the last rule. “Never tell anyone about your past. Break any of these rules and the government can toss you out of the program. More importantly, break any of these rules and your life will be in danger. No one has ever been killed in WitSec, as long as they followed these three rules.”
His dark eyes narrowed at her. “People who break these rules die. Do you understand?”
Her stomach did a little flip and a deep sense of dread crept over her. The fear that always simmered beneath the surface threatened to take hold. But with Ryan watching her so closely, as if he expected her to break down at any moment, she straightened her shoulders and tried not to let him see how much his words had affected her.
“I understood the rules the first five times I heard them.” She signed the last page with a flourish and raised a brow. “Are we done?”
She tossed the pen across the table, forcing him to grab it before it fell on the floor.
The corner of his mouth tilted up in a grin, surprising her. “Not quite.”
He shoved the pen and papers into the briefcase, his expression sobering, as if he realized he’d let his guard down. “You’ve memorized your new identity?”
“Marshal Cole has grilled me for months to prepare me. I’m not likely to forget.”
“Convince me. What’s your name?”
She tapped her foot, irritated that she had to go through the same routine again. “Jessica Adams.”
“Address?”
“New Orleans, Louisiana.”
He raised a brow.
She blew out a frustrated breath and rattled off the address—a house number and a street that meant nothing to her, but that were more ingrained in her memory now than her real New York City address had ever been.
He fired off questions about her fake bio, her new social security number, the names and birthdates of her pretend family. For the first time in her life, she was grateful that the foster families who’d shuffled her back and forth had always kept her at a distance, as if they were afraid her bad genes were contagious. If she’d had a real family, people who loved her and were loved in return, she didn’t think she could give them up and leave them behind.
Ryan shoved back from the table and rose to his feet. “Ready?”
Was she ready? Ready to move a thousand miles away to a place she’d never been, a place she’d never wanted to be? Was she ready to have her past erased as if she’d never existed, living in fear that Richard DeGaullo would find her and punish her for betraying him?
Her stomach twisted into knots. She wanted to cling to her chair and hide, but that wasn’t an option. All she could do now was face her future, however uncertain it might be.
“I’m ready.” She stood and wiped her sweaty palms on her slacks, and followed him to the door.
He paused with his hand on the knob, his mouth curving up into the first genuine smile he’d shown since entering the room. “You’re going to be okay, Jessica Adams.”
And with that, he was gone, striding down the hallway, leaving her with her usual contingent of marshals.
“Ready, Jessica?” William echoed Ryan’s earlier words.
She tore her gaze away from Ryan’s retreating back, stunned by how his smile had completely transformed his features, giving her a glimpse of the lighthearted man he must have once been. She cleared her tightening throat. “Ready.”
The four marshals flanked her on all sides as they headed down the hallway toward the back stairs. One of the marshals moved to let another man pass and gave him a curt nod. Jessica frowned, surprised the marshal had let the stranger get so close to her. He must have been someone the marshal knew and trusted.
Thoughts of the stranger evaporated as Jessica descended the stairs, getting closer and closer to the bottom. By the time her feet touched the last step, her instincts were screaming at her to run, hide—anything but walk toward the exit at the end of the hall.
Her heart pounded in rhythm with her steps. Twenty feet to the door.
Nineteen.
Eighteen.
Too fast. Slow down. Please, slow down.
Far too soon they stood at the back door. Had she said she was ready? She was wrong. She wasn’t ready.
Her pulse leaped in her throat. Soon she’d be completely, utterly alone, without marshals guarding her twenty-four-seven. Her safety would depend on a web of lies and documentation, her fate in the hands of some paper pusher she’d never met.
Panic tightened her chest. She jumped when one of the marshals opened the door and it slammed against the wall, caught by a blast of surprisingly chilly wind for early September. The oak trees lining the street swayed, their branches clicking together like tiny drummers foretelling her doom.
With William urging her forward, she had no choice but to move. She couldn’t cling to the door and cower in fear.
She stepped outside.
A gust of wind and rain blasted her, whipping her hair around her face. The light sprinkle that had started earlier was now a steady downpour, pelting the small group as they hurried across the concrete to the street that ran along the back of the courthouse. A black cargo van waited fifty feet away at the curb. Uniformed policemen lined the sidewalk.
Thunder cracked overhead, making Jessica jump. Lightning flashed, filling the air with the smell of something burning, reminding Jessica of gunfire the night her friend was killed—the flash, the smell.
The spray of blood as Natalie fell to the floor, DeGaullo standing over her.
The van’s open door was dark and menacing in the maelstrom of wind and rain. Jessica couldn’t breathe. Her lungs squeezed in her chest. Was this how Natalie had felt as she died?
Please, I don’t want to die.
Thunder boomed again and the rain became a deluge. Three of the marshals ran ahead to the van, positioning themselves to watch for anyone approaching. Jessica froze, unable to take another step. She was too exposed, too vulnerable, the safety of the van too far away.
“Come on,” William urged. “We’re almost there.” He pushed her forward.
She stumbled, gasping for air.
Someone shouted, but the words were snatched away by the wind. Jessica whirled toward the sound. Ryan Jackson stood in the open courthouse doorway. He dropped his briefcase and sprinted toward her, his arms and legs pumping like an Olympic runner. He might have shouted her name, but she wasn’t sure.
William cursed and grabbed her shoulders. Another shout, a metallic click, an explosion of light and sound. A wall of searing heat slammed into Jessica. She tumbled through the air, her screams mingling with the screams of others as the concrete rushed up to meet her. A sickening thud, burning, tearing agony, then…nothing.
Chapter Two
Smooth, soft sheets surrounded Jessica. But the fluffy pillow beneath her head did nothing to relieve the searing, throbbing pain that shot through her body. She tried to open her eyes, but her lids were too heavy, the pain too intense. The smell of antiseptic wafted through the air. A high-pitched beep sounded from far away.
Pain jackknifed through her head. She cried out, squeezing her eyes against the harsh light filtering through her lids. She tried to raise her hands to block out the light, but someone grabbed her arms, forcing them down.
“Let me go,” she cried, but her dry throat made coherent speech impossible. The words sounded garbled even to her own ears.
“Hold her still before she hurts herself,” a man’s exasperated voice ordered.
“I’m trying, Doctor,” said another male voice, inches from her face. “She’s stronger than she looks.”
“She’s in pain.” A woman’s voice. “Can I give her the morphine now?”
Morphine? Jessica relaxed slightly against the hands holding her. Yes, morphine. Please. Everything hurt, especially her head.
“Not yet. I’m trying to wake her up, not put her back under.”
Back under?
“Ms. Adams, I’m Dr. Brooks. You’ve been in an accident. Can you open your eyes?”
An accident? She gasped and cried out when the hands holding her down pressed on the upper part of her left arm.
“Be careful, David. You’re pressing on her stitches.” Dr. Brooks. The man who wouldn’t give her morphine.
A stab of hot, sharp pain shot through the left side of Jessica’s face. She moaned and tried to pull away from the rough, calloused hands holding her so tightly.
“Give her some morphine.” The doctor, sounding impatient. “One-third the usual dose, just enough to calm her down.”
“It’s okay,” a feminine voice whispered to Jessica. Soothing, gentle hands brushed against her. A low beep sounded. Moments later the pain dulled to a bearable ache and the urge to sleep flooded her veins. She fought its tempting pull and opened her eyes, blinking against the bright fluorescent lights.
A young man in lime-green scrubs was leaning over her bed, his hands clamping her wrists down.
“Release her, David,” the voice she recognized as Dr. Brooks ordered.
The man in green let go of her arms and she pulled them against her chest. She turned her head on the pillow to put a face to the voice she’d heard. An unsmiling man stood on her right side. Instead of the white smock she’d expected, he wore an immaculate dark blue suit, his short, blond hair lightly curling around his face.
“Miss Adams, do you know where you are?” he asked.
She looked at the bed’s metal railing, the IV pump, the stethoscope draped around the doctor’s collar. “Hos…hospital,” she rasped.
“That’s right. Cohen Children’s Medical Center.”
Children’s? That didn’t make sense. Wait…wasn’t that in Long Island? She was in Louisiana, wasn’t she? She tried to speak again but her throat was too dry, too tight.
The doctor motioned to the older woman standing beside him, dressed in a Daisy Duck smock. “Get her some ice chips.”
The woman left the room. The man in green adjusted the IV drip. When the woman returned, she held a yellow paper cup to Jessica’s lips.
“Let these melt in your mouth, sweetie. I bet your throat’s as dry as dust about now.”
Jessica gratefully accepted the cool ice chips, instantly liking the short, rotund woman whose voice she recognized as the lady who’d wanted to give her morphine.
When her throat lost some of its dry, scratchy feel, she offered the nurse a weak smile. “Thank you.”
The nurse patted her hand and motioned to the man the doctor had called David. They both left the room.
The doctor flashed a light in her eyes and listened to her heart. “Do you remember the explosion?”
Explosion? Oh, no. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as horrific images assaulted her. The boom she’d thought was thunder, so loud her eardrums ached. The blast of heat. Burning, tearing pain as something ripped into her flesh. A sickening crack. A moment of intense agony when something hit her head with the force of a battering ram.
She gasped and opened her eyes. “I remember.”
“Excellent.” He didn’t seem to notice her distress. “The headache you’re experiencing is from a cracked skull. That was your most serious injury, but you’ve got enough stitches in you to sew a patchwork quilt. Minor burns, scrapes. You had a collapsed lung when you were taken to the ER. Your face—”
She tried to focus on his words, but in her mind’s eye she saw Ryan Jackson back at the courthouse, running toward her, shouting her name. Why? What had he seen?
“—multiple contusions,” the doctor continued. “I’ve kept you heavily sedated to control the swelling in your brain, but you’re past the danger point now. I expect you’ll make a complete recovery.”
She twisted her fingers in the sheets, noticing for the first time that they were pink, covered with cartoon fairies and flowers. The walls were painted in soothing pastels. “Where am I?”
He sighed impatiently. “Cohen Children’s Medical Center,” he repeated, “in Long Island. Apparently some very bad people are after you. Your bodyguard transferred you here once you were stable. He seems to think that no one will look for you in a place like this.”
“Long Island? Bodyguard?”
The doctor looked past her toward the other side of the room. “You have five minutes.” With his crisp order lingering in the air, he strode out the doorway.
Bewildered by the doctor’s abrupt departure, Jessica turned her head and met the icy stare of Marshal Ryan Jackson, sitting in a chair across the room.
Something about that look filled her with dread.
She recoiled against the sheets before she could stop herself. The mocking look on his face told her he’d noticed her reaction.
“You’re as pleased to see me as I am to see you.” His harsh voice raked across her nerve endings, making her head pound harder. He slowly unfolded his long, muscular body from the chair and crossed the short space to stand by her bed.
She could feel the heat from him, smell the light, clean scent of his soap. In another lifetime he would have been appealing. But her attraction to him was eclipsed by the anger rolling off him in waves.
She fought the urge to squirm farther away and concentrated on asking what she desperately needed to know. “What happened? The other marshals, how badly were they hurt?”
His lips flattened. “All dead. The only reason you’re alive is because you didn’t get into that van, and because Marshal Gavin shielded you with his body.”
She covered her mouth, swallowing hard against the bile rising in her throat. She’d spent nearly every waking minute with those marshals for twelve months. She knew what foods they liked, what shows they watched, what made them laugh or curse.
Her heart twisted painfully in her chest and she shook her head in denial. She immediately stilled when the throbbing in her head worsened. “What happened?” she whispered, gritting her teeth against the pain.
“Someone, presumably one of DeGaullo’s men, blew up the van using a damn toy, a remote-control car. I saw the car a few seconds before the blast.” His jaw tightened. “My warning came too late. Except for you. Ironic, isn’t it? A woman who dedicated her life to cooking the books for the mob survives, while four decent, honorable men die.”
She jerked back from the raw fury and accusation in his voice. The sudden movement caused a wave of nausea. She sucked in a deep breath and bit back the sharp retort hovering on her tongue. Ryan Jackson didn’t know her, or why she’d made the choices she’d made. He’d just seen his colleagues die, and he obviously blamed her, at least partially. She could understand that. She’d probably feel the same way.
“When are the funerals?” She struggled for a calmness she was far from feeling. “I want to go.”
“You can’t go to their funerals.” He spoke in short, clipped tones.
Anger flared inside her, overriding her sympathy for him, overriding her horror over what had happened. “I don’t care what you think of me, but I have to go to their funerals. I owe them that.”
He reached toward her arm. Before she could move away, he gently lifted her wrist and unwound the IV tubing that had become tangled around one of her bandages.
“Whether I would have allowed you to go to their funerals is a moot point. In spite of your miraculous survival, you didn’t come away unscathed in the blast. You’ve already been here for quite some time, and the doctor said you’ll be here several more weeks, maybe longer. The funerals were held a few days after the explosion.”
She clasped her hands on the railing beside her, hatred for DeGaullo filling her like a living thing. He’d hurt so many people, including the one person she’d opened up to about her past—Natalie—and now he’d stolen her right to pay her respects to the men who’d died protecting her. “How long has it been since the explosion?”
He pulled up her covers and arranged the call button so she could easily reach it. He tugged at the wrinkles in her blanket, smoothing them out.
She frowned at his actions. It dawned on her, from the faraway look in his eyes, and the way his expression had softened, that he probably didn’t realize what he was doing. His movements seemed automatic, like he was operating on autopilot.
The lines around his eyes were deeper than before. He looked tired, almost haggard. Silver threads shone in his dark hair, as if he’d aged several years since she’d met him at the courthouse.
His hands stilled. He straightened, his eyes frosting over, his cold mask back in place. “Two weeks. The funerals were two weeks ago.”
He yanked his hand back and crossed to the window. A moment later, he squared his shoulders and turned around to face her. “I’m the lead field agent on your case now. When you leave here, I’ll take you to a new location, settle you into another new identity.”
Her mouth dropped open and she stared at him. She shook her head in denial, no longer caring that it made the pain worse. “No. I won’t agree to that. You’re too angry. You obviously blame me for what happened. I’ll tell the Justice Department that I won’t—”
“You think I want to be assigned to this case?” His jaw went rigid as he stepped back to her side. “You’re not an innocent bystander who happened to witness a crime. You chose to cover up your boss’s crimes for five years. The only reason you went to the Feds was because DeGaullo killed your friend, and you knew you were next. As far as I’m concerned, you’re almost as bad as he is.”
Her body flushed hot beneath his scalding words.
“But,” he continued, before she could speak, “since I’m a former army ranger, and people are trying to kill you, the government has decided I’m their most qualified marshal to keep you alive. Against my wishes, they’ve assigned me as your temporary guardian.”
His eyes flashed as he held her gaze. “Four men gave their lives for you. I’m not going to allow their sacrifices to be meaningless. When I became a marshal, I made a vow that I’m honor bound to keep. I will keep you safe, whatever it takes, whether you want me to or not.”
RYAN FIRMLY SHUT the door to Jessica’s hospital room and slumped back against the wall in the hallway. He scrubbed his hands across his face and rubbed his tired eyes. For two weeks he’d sat in that uncomfortable plastic chair in the corner of Jessica’s room, watching over her. He’d slept in the cramped window seat, listening to the machines hooked up to her beeping along with her vital signs, calling the nurses when she cried out in pain. He’d held her hand when she twisted against the sheets in the throes of a nightmare.
And the minute she woke up, he’d been a complete jerk, blaming her for his friends’ deaths. Did he blame her? Yes, partly, but that didn’t excuse his actions. His mother would be appalled if she’d seen her son treat a woman that way, any woman, regardless of what she’d done.
Especially since the reason he’d behaved that way had nothing to do with the explosion, and everything to do with the way she affected him. When he’d looked into her soft brown eyes and that shock of attraction rippled through him, just like when he’d first met her, he’d been so disgusted at himself that he’d lashed out. How could he want her so much, knowing about her past, the choices she’d made that went against everything he believed in?
Physically, she was exactly his type—petite and curvy. Even with her stitches and bandages, she made his blood run hot. He could understand that. She was a beautiful woman, and he was still young enough to appreciate that. What he couldn’t understand was why her appeal went far beyond her outward appearance.
When he looked in her eyes he saw the pain she didn’t acknowledge, the kind of pain that went far deeper than cuts and bruises. He knew what caused that pain in him—the lives he’d taken while performing his duties, the betrayal by someone he’d trusted, the men under his command who’d lost their lives as a result of that betrayal.
But why was she suffering? What had happened to put those shadows in her eyes?
And why did he care?
He rubbed his neck to work out the stiffness. He didn’t know what it was about Jessica Delaney that drove him so crazy. All he knew for sure was that he needed to put some distance between the two of them. The only way to do that was to finalize her new identity and get her new location set up.
He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out his cell phone, and texted the message that would set everything into motion…Sleeping Beauty is awake.
Chapter Three
In the three weeks since she’d awakened in the hospital to find Ryan Jackson in her room, Jessica had learned a few things. One was that he had a bit of the devil in him. So, as she stood beside him on the front lawn that had already turned brown in the cool fall air, she did everything she could to hide her disappointment. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d won this round, because the house he’d brought her to was the ugliest she’d ever seen.
And it was hers.
She glanced over at the three marshals leaning against the SUV in the gravel driveway. Judging by the looks on their faces, they agreed with her.
The house boasted rotting wood siding in a sickly mustard-yellow with patches of gray, as if someone had thought about changing the color but had changed their mind. The shutters on the two narrow front windows were missing half their slats. Weeds grew wild and tall, choking what once must have been a concrete walkway that led to the sagging porch.
“I suppose you would have rather gone to New Orleans.” Ryan studied the dilapidated cabin in front of them as if weighing its merits. “Probably more appealing to a city girl like you.”
Jessica pursed her lips, determined not to let his latest city girl comment goad her. He flung the mantra around as if it were the worst insult he could think of. It made her want to ask him why he didn’t consider himself a city boy since he lived in New York, but that would require an actual conversation, and he wasn’t open to that—not about anything personal, anyway.
Her shoulders slumped. He was right. Living in the gatorfilled bayous of Louisiana would have been infinitely preferable to living in rural Tennessee.
Emphasis on rural.
He’d scrapped the original location, reasoning that her notoriety after the bombing would put her at risk in a big city. She was more inclined to believe he just wanted to punish her, especially since her new last name so clearly demonstrated his opinion of her.
Benedict.
As in Benedict Arnold.
“You’ll have plenty of privacy on this dead-end road.” He sounded like a Realtor trying to convince his client a house was cozy instead of cramped.
She glanced over at the only other house close enough to see, a cabin next to hers with about thirty feet separating the two. Its yard was well kept. Its porch had a collection of bleached-white rocking chairs and terra-cotta pots with purple cold-weather flowers spilling over the edge.
In the twenty-minute ride up the mountain, bumping and jarring over every pothole and rock on the gravel road, Jessica had only seen a handful of other houses. What were the odds that whoever lived next door would be her age, someone with the same likes and dislikes, someone she could be friends with? Knowing that Ryan had helped his boss choose this location for her, she figured the odds were just about zero. Ryan wouldn’t want to reward the woman he held responsible for his friends’ deaths.
“Who lives in the cabin next door?” she asked, bracing herself for the worst.
“Me.”
“What?” Her mouth dropped open in shock. When she’d braced herself for the worst, having Ryan living next door wasn’t even on the list of possibilities.
He opened the neon blue front door and rolled her suitcase inside. “For the next few weeks, I’ll be your neighbor. Just until you’re settled in.”
“Oh, sugar.”
The corner of Ryan’s mouth lifted into a grin. “What did you say?”
“Nothing.” Jessica wasn’t about to admit that she’d grown up swearing worse than most boys, and that her last foster mom had gone on a personal crusade to clean up Jessica’s language. She’d made Jessica say sugar instead of cussing, a habit that had become so ingrained, it had stuck with her. Ryan would jump all over that and tease her mercilessly.
She brushed past him through the foyer into the main room. When she saw the faded, baby blue sectional, the dark wood paneled walls, and orange shag carpet, she had to clamp her mouth shut to keep from saying sugar.
Or something worse.
Ryan joined her, his mouth twitching as he looked around.
Jessica curled her fingers into her palms and kept her face carefully blank.
“Nice fireplace,” Ryan said, not bothering to hide his grin.
Jessica raised her brow at the behemoth sitting in the corner of the room. Big. That’s the only word that came to mind when she stared at the soot-covered stonework that went from floor to ceiling. Okay, ugly came to mind, too, but that pretty much applied to the entire house.
Fighting back her despair, she followed Ryan to the left side of the house that contained two small bedrooms separated by a bathroom.
The bathroom was tiny but clean, with a soft peach color on the walls. She’d have to replace the shower curtain because the colors didn’t match anything else in the room, but other than that…wait, what was on the shower curtain? What she’d thought were little birdhouses, on closer inspection were outhouses, with red and blue cartoon cats crawling all over them.
Her gaze flew to Ryan’s. He returned her stare, silently daring her to complain, confirming her suspicion without saying a word. She didn’t know how he’d managed it, but somehow he was responsible for that hideous shower curtain. She wouldn’t put it past him to have ordered the thing online.
Beyond annoyed, she tried to shove past him to get out of the room, but all she managed to do was wedge herself against him in the doorway.
“Would you please move?” she said, her face flushing hot.
His brows raised and his eyes flicked down to where her breasts were crushed against him. She expected him to make some kind of rude comment, but instead he jerked to the side, breaking the contact between them and leaving the doorway clear. His mouth clamped shut as he stared at the oval mirror above the sink, waiting for her to leave.
She rushed from the tiny room, desperate to put some distance between her and Ryan. If he’d been any other man she would understand why her pulse was racing and her breasts were tingling after touching him. But this was Ryan, a man who despised her. How could she possibly respond to him that way?
What made her humiliation worse was the way he’d reacted. How could her traitorous body yearn for his touch when he was so disgusted by her that he couldn’t even look at her?
He caught up to her and silently led the way back to the front of the house to the garage. He opened the door, just off the foyer, revealing a wall of boxes that contained all of her belongings, and a white compact the government had leased for her. Neither of them spoke. She self-consciously fingered her shoulder-length hair, newly shortened as a concession to her new identity.
The tour ended at a round, café-style table in the right, back corner of the living room just off the end of the kitchen. Ryan placed his briefcase on the table and clicked it open.
Jessica was too numb to even react when she noticed the rows of hideous red and yellow roosters marching across the wallpaper in the kitchen. All she cared about right now was getting through the next few minutes with some of her dignity intact, so she could be alone in her misery.
Ryan tossed a ring of keys on the table. He spread out a map, the crisp pages crinkling as he drew a red circle around a dot marked “Providence,” the town they’d driven through at the bottom of the mountain.
He drew another circle a short distance away, and connected the two circles with a red line. “This is your house,” he said, pointing to one of the circles. “Take the road out front down the mountain to get to town. They have everything you need—a grocery store, gas station, hardware store. There’s a diner across from the hardware store that I’m told serves a decent breakfast. There are a couple of chain restaurants farther down Main Street, and a handful of specialty shops.”
He extended the red line past Providence, down the interstate and circled another black dot. “For serious shopping, take I-40 West to Sevierville.”
“Sevierville?” She remembered passing through that city on the way here. “Isn’t that about two hours away?”
“I did warn you this location was isolated.”
Saying Providence was isolated was like comparing a hurricane to a light, summer breeze.
Jessica’s shoulders slumped again. “When you described this place, I thought it would be like Gatlinburg, a tourist town with cabins clustered together all through the mountains. I didn’t think I’d be so…alone up here.” She stopped her nervous chatter, already dreading his next city girl comment.
The silence drew out and she glanced up to find him staring at her with an unreadable expression.
“You don’t have to stay here.” His voice sounded sincere for a change, without a hint of mockery.
She couldn’t remember one time when he’d expressed any real concern for her feelings, so she didn’t trust this new, unfamiliar side of him. “What do you mean, I don’t have to stay?”
“You have to build a new life wherever you go. That’s hard to do if you hate the place. I can take you to a safe house; tell my boss you’ve changed your mind. It will take some time to research alternate locations, but—”
“No, wait.” She started to reach for his hand but stopped herself just short of touching him. She didn’t want to see that look of disgust cross his face again.
“I’ll stay. You said I’d be safe, that no one would think to look for me here. That’s infinitely more important than having a Starbucks on every corner.” She chewed her bottom lip. “They do have a Starbucks in Providence, right? I could really use a Venti Mocha right now.”
He slowly shook his head, his mouth twitching. “Not that I know of.”
“Oh, well. That’s not important.” And it wasn’t, not really. The thought of going back to a safe house again, code words for cheap motel, made her cringe. After flying from New York to Nashville and riding for hours in the middle seat of an SUV, squashed between two broad-shouldered marshals, all she wanted to do was rest. They could have flown in closer to Providence, but Ryan had taken the longer route, insisting it was necessary for security reasons.
He raised a brow, waiting for her answer.
“I’ll be fine. Really.” Would she be fine? She didn’t know, but she was willing to re-evaluate later.
He looked like he wanted to argue with her. But instead, he snapped his briefcase shut. “I’ll show you how to use the alarm.”
Back in the foyer he demonstrated the keypad, forcing her to set and disable the alarm several times until he was satisfied she remembered the code and how to use it.
“This red button is a panic button. It alerts the police station in town.”
“But…you’ll be next door, right?” She hated the fear that had crept into her voice. No doubt Ryan would seize on that and make fun of her.
“For a few weeks, yes.” No sarcasm, no teasing.
Relieved, she followed him out onto the porch and watched with mixed feelings as he spoke to the marshals who’d been waiting outside. She didn’t remember their names, had made a point not to.
There were already four names branded into her conscience. Along with Natalie’s.
The marshals drove away, disappearing to the sound of tires crunching down the gravel road. When Jessica looked back toward Ryan, he was striding across the front lawn to his cabin next door. The rude man hadn’t bothered to say goodbye. Without a word or even a glance her way, he disappeared inside, shutting the door with a resounding thud.
A cold breeze blew through the trees, ruffling Jessica’s hair. She shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. The sun was going down, and the temperatures up in the mountains were dropping rapidly. The trees that had looked so beautiful a few minutes ago, with their yellow and gold fall foliage, now took on a sinister cast. Shadows shifted in the bushes across the street. She could easily imagine a gunman hiding there.
Would she ever feel safe again? Was she safe? Ryan wouldn’t have left her outside if she wasn’t, would he?
The wind blew again, carrying the scent of pine trees and a host of other, unfamiliar scents and noises, robbing Jessica of the last of her courage. She turned and ran inside the house.
Chapter Four
A scream shattered the quiet of Jessica’s bedroom.
Startled awake, she jumped out of bed, slammed into the dresser and fell onto the floor. Cursing the dark, unfamiliar room, she scrambled to her feet.
The noise sounded again—a short, throaty moan that echoed through the room, making Jessica wince.
Sugar. What was that?
Frantically feeling along the wall for the light switch, she bumped something on top of the dresser. She grabbed it to use as a weapon, and her other hand brushed against the light switch. She flipped on the light and whirled around to face whoever was in the room.
The room was empty.
She glanced around in confusion and shoved her bangs out of her eyes. The noise echoed through the room again. She nearly collapsed in relief. The noise was coming from her window, outside the house.
She chewed her bottom lip and debated calling Ryan to investigate. But what if there was some logical explanation for the noise? Did she really want to endure more of Ryan’s teasing if he came over and found a feral cat or some other animal howling outside?
He’d get a real kick out of that, and Jessica’s pride had already taken about all she could of his city girl insults. More important, she was on her own now, or supposed to be. Ryan was leaving in a few weeks. She needed to learn not to panic or assume DeGaullo had found her every time something unexpected happened.
Her mind was made up, but her feet were still deciding. Blood rushed to her ears. She gathered her courage, and inched toward the window. With her back against the wall, she raised her weapon and slowly lifted the edge of the curtain.
Two round, black eyes surrounded by feathers and a beak stared back at her through the glass. Good grief, it was just a bird, sitting on her window ledge. It blinked and gave another throaty howl. As if it was satisfied that it had done its job by waking her up, it screeched again, flapped its wings and flew away.
Jessica let the curtain fall closed. She’d been scared witless by a stupid bird. Was this the kind of life she had to look forward to? Being awakened in the middle of the night by screeching birds?
The bright red numbers on the bedside clock read six-thirty. Okay, so it wasn’t the middle of the night. But since she hadn’t slept well as she tried to convince herself she was safe without a marshal in the next room, it might as well be the middle of the night. She was exhausted.
She was also keyed up, full of nervous energy, so going back to bed would be just as futile now as it had been last night. She raised her hand to brush her bangs out of her eyes and only then realized she was still clutching what she’d grabbed off the dresser to use as a weapon. She stared in disbelief at what she was holding.
A blow-dryer.
Sugar.
What was she going to do if she met up with one of De-Gaullo’s men? Offer to style his hair?
She pitched the dryer onto the bed and trudged through the short hallway into the bathroom. Her shoulders were knotted with tension from her unpleasant wake-up call. Right now nothing sounded better than a hot, steamy shower to relax her muscles.
While she waited for the shower to get hot, she went about her morning routine. Normally she’d carefully fold her clothes and put them in the hamper, but she didn’t have the energy for that right now. She discarded her clothes in a sloppy pile on the white tile floor and stepped over the side of the tub.
Icy water pricked her skin like hundreds of sharp needles. She shouted and hopped out of the tub, right onto the pile of clothes. They shot out from underneath her feet across the slippery tile. Her hands flailed in the air, futilely grabbing for the countertop. She fell hard, smacking her head against the side of the toilet.
She lay there, naked, her head throbbing, while she tried to decide whether to cry, scream, or break something. Above her, the shower curtain billowed out over the tub. Every one of the red and blue cartoon cats grinned down at her as if they were about to burst into laughter.
A strangled gurgle wheezed between her clenched teeth. She rolled over, wincing when she put pressure on her left hip. She grabbed the countertop and painfully pulled herself to her feet. When she caught sight of her face in the mirror, she let out a low groan. A dark bruise was already forming on the side of her temple.
Could this day get any worse?
All those months during the trial, she’d longed for the comforts of her apartment, her Jacuzzi tub, the fluffy down comforter she’d bought two Christmases ago during a shopping trip with Natalie. She’d hated the cheap motel rooms the government called safe houses. She’d longed for the day when she’d be in a place she could call home again.
Now that she was, she realized how good she’d had it all along. At least the cheap motels had hot water. And she certainly didn’t have wild animals perched outside her window, screaming louder than Mrs. Bailey’s grandchildren when they ran up and down the hallway outside her apartment.
She shut the shower off and stood in front of the mirror, finger-combing her hair over her bruise. The tiny red scars that ran along her hairline made her pause. There were dozens of them all over her body, reminders of the explosion. Self-loathing filled her. How pathetically shallow to worry about downy comforters and jetted tubs when four men had given their lives for her.
They’d made the ultimate sacrifice, simply because it was their job, because they’d vowed to keep her safe. She was in awe of men like that, men with courage who did what was right, not what was easy. She’d worked for DeGaullo for years, too afraid to do what was right. Even the night Natalie had died, Jessica had been too scared to do anything more than cower beneath her desk. She’d done nothing to save her friend.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the countertop. If Natalie’s family, or the families of those dead marshals, could give up their modern conveniences to have their loved ones back, Jessica was certain they’d make that trade without hesitation.
So would she.
Resolved to appreciate what she had and not to complain, even to herself, she ran a sink full of cold water. She shivered through an old-fashioned washcloth bath. As she was about to leave the bathroom, the shower curtain caught her eye again.
The cats stared back at her, mocking her. Unable to resist a childish impulse, Jessica grabbed the curtain and gave it a tremendous yank. The shower rod popped off the tile and landed on the floor with a satisfying metallic clang. Jessica stomped on the curtain, ridiculously pleased to hear the plastic crinkle beneath her feet.
Feeling buoyed by her tiny victory, she dressed in a pair of jeans and a plain, blue T-shirt. The sun was up now, turning the brown curtains in her bedroom a light muddy color. Not yet ready to face the roosters marching across her kitchen walls, she decided instead to check out the view behind her house. She hurried through the living room to the breakfast nook.
No telling what was hiding behind the curtains covering the sliding glass door. Knowing Ryan, there was something awful in her backyard.
Like the city dump.
She straightened her shoulders, reached up, and slid the curtains back. Her mouth fell open at the dazzling view. The Smoky Mountains spread out before her for miles, dressed in the golds and reds of early autumn. Jessica couldn’t begin to imagine how spectacular the colors might become in a few weeks when fall was in full swing. For the first time since Ryan had announced he was relocating her here, she was excited. Yes, she was a city girl, but she could still appreciate the incredible beauty in front of her.
Yesterday, hemmed in between two marshals, she hadn’t had much of a chance to notice her surroundings. Today, she would take everything in and face her new life with enthusiasm. It was almost like she was eighteen again. Alone, without any family, she’d still been hopeful as she left her latest foster home to find her place in the world. This time, she wasn’t that naive young woman desperate to fit in and be accepted. Her blinders were off. She would never again give her trust so easily, only to find the people she’d thought were her friends were really her enemies.
JESSICA STOOD AT the ridge-line where her backyard ended and the mountain dropped away. It wasn’t nearly as steep as it had looked from her back deck. A well-worn path angled down the mountainside until it reached Ryan’s house, then it angled down and disappeared into the trees below.
Those trees were so thick they blocked out the sunlight, forming a dark haven for anyone who might want to hide. Jessica rubbed her chilled arms and chided herself for worrying. She hadn’t broken any of the program’s precious rules. No one knew where she was. She was perfectly safe.
The sound of shoes crunching on the gravel road out front had her turning around. A large man with short, dark hair was jogging past her house. He reminded her of Ryan, but where Ryan was all muscle and brawn, this man was carrying a few extra pounds, as if he was a little too fond of his Friday-night beers.
“Morning,” he called out, his voice friendly as he waved.
“Morning,” Jessica automatically called back, but she was already heading toward her house to go inside. She needed to learn to face the world again, without her bodyguards, but today wasn’t that day. She wasn’t ready.
When the stranger saw her heading back to her house, he must have thought she was heading toward the street to meet him. He swerved into her side yard and jogged toward her.
Indecision froze Jessica in place. The safety of her house was too far away, and the stranger was almost right on top of her. She rushed backward several steps. The stranger ran forward, making a grab for her.
“No.” She twisted away and kept backing up.
The man lunged for her and grabbed her arm. “Whoa, there, miss,” he said. “If you back up any more you’re going to fall right off the mountain.” His brow wrinkled with concern.
“What?” Jessica glanced back. Her stomach dropped as she realized just how close she was to the edge. She scrambled forward and to the side, forcing the stranger to drop his hold on her arm.
“Thank you.” She gritted her teeth with embarrassment. This man probably thought she was an idiot.
He raised his hands as if to reassure her and stepped back, putting several feet of space between them. “I shouldn’t have run over here like that. Didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m still half-asleep. Haven’t had my morning coffee yet,” she joked. She glanced back toward the drop-off and shivered, wrapping her arms around her waist. A fall like that could have broken some bones, or worse. That would have been pathetic—living through a year-long trial, surviving a bombing, then falling to her death in her backyard.
A sound from next door had them both turning to see Ryan stepping outside onto his deck. He didn’t seem to notice them as he leaned against the railing with a coffee cup in his hand. He stared out over the mountains, enjoying the same view Jessica had been enjoying a few minutes earlier.
“Morning, Ryan.” Jessica gave an enthusiastic wave to get his attention.
He straightened, as if surprised, and returned her wave. He set his cup down on the railing and hurried across the yard toward her. His face bore an expression of polite interest when he stood next to her and looked at the stranger. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Jessica?”
“Oh, of course. Um, actually, we haven’t met yet.”
The man smiled at Ryan and held out his hand. “Hope I’m not intruding. I was jogging out front and saw this beautiful young lady. Just had to say hello. Mike Higgins. I’m renting a cabin down the road, about halfway up the mountain. Don’t have nearly the view you two have up this high.”
“Good to meet you, Mike. Ryan Jackson.”
The men shook hands and Ryan gave Jessica a pointed look, clearly expecting her to introduce herself.
“Oh, I’m Jessica…ah…Benedict.” She shook Mike’s hand, hoping he hadn’t noticed her hesitation. She’d almost said Delaney. She chewed her bottom lip and glanced up at Ryan.
He stepped closer as if to lend her his support. “You said you’re staying down the road?”
“I come up here every fall, been here almost two weeks.” He glanced back and forth between Jessica and Ryan. “Are you two permanent residents, or tourists like me?”
Jessica’s mind went blank, all her memorized lies flying away as easily as that bird had flown away this morning. Ryan smoothed over her silence and picked up the conversation. With a straight face, he told Mike he was a seasonal tour guide for hikers following the Appalachian trail through the Smokies. He rattled off names of landmarks like Cade’s Cove and something called Clingman’s Dome.
Then he turned the conversation back on Mike. Apparently Mike owned a small insurance company in Little Rock, and he was anxious to get some fishing action here in the mountains. Ryan made suggestions on where Mike could catch the biggest fish this time of year.
Jessica didn’t know if anything Ryan said about the area was true, but he sounded like he knew what he was talking about. If she hadn’t known who he was, she would absolutely believe he’d grown up around here and that he was a professional trail guide.
As he spoke he lifted his arm and put it around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. Only then did she realize how badly she was shaking. With Ryan’s warm strength supporting her, she began to relax.
It felt good being held by him—too good. It made her wish they could have met under different circumstances, before her life had gone so horribly wrong. Would he have liked her if they had? Would he have gifted her with that sexy smile that gave him a boyish, youthful look? Unfortunately, she’d never know.
“Thanks for the tips.” Mike shook Ryan’s hand again. “I’m going fishing real soon. Hopefully I’ll catch something big.” He gave Jessica a broad wink.
Ryan’s arm tensed around her shoulders. Or had she imagined that? He smiled at Mike and gave him a wave. Jessica followed Ryan’s lead, waving and smiling as the other man jogged back to the street.
As soon as Mike disappeared, Ryan grabbed Jessica’s hand and tugged her toward her house.
“Ryan, stop. Where are you going?”
He paused at her back door. “My coffee has to be cold by now. You owe me a fresh, hot cup. Don’t I smell coffee inside?” He shoved the sliding glass door back and hauled her inside, closing and locking the door behind them.
“You’re acting kind of strange. What’s wrong?” Her earlier unease was reawakening as she followed him into the kitchen. “Did you recognize that man?”
Ryan frowned at the empty coffeepot on the coffeemaker beside the stove. He opened the pantry and rummaged inside.
“Ryan?” Jessica repeated. “Did you recognize that man? Should I be worried?”
He turned around with a box of filters and a can of coffee and deposited them on the countertop. “Never seen him before.” He pulled out the drawer next to the stove. “Is there a measuring thing in here somewhere?”
Jessica shoved his hand aside and closed the drawer. “Let me do it.” She’d unpacked only a handful of boxes last night, out of necessity. The silverware was in the drawer below the one Ryan had opened.
After setting a tablespoon on the counter, she grabbed some non-dairy creamer out of the pantry, grateful that whoever had stocked her first supply of groceries had thought to include coffee. Before the trial, she’d had a habit of stopping at Starbucks every morning before work. She probably could have paid for a vacation in the Bahamas with all the money she’d spent on coffee.
“How do you take it?” she asked.
“Strong and black.” Ryan moved out of the kitchen and leaned against the countertop bar, resting his forearms on the worn butcher-block laminate.
Jessica spooned coffee grounds into the filter. “I appreciate you jumping in on the conversation with Mike. I went totally blank, couldn’t remember anything. I almost introduced myself using my real name.”
Ryan didn’t seem as appalled by that admission as she was.
“You did fine. It’ll be easier next time.”
Her stomach jumped at the thought of next time. “I hope you’re right.”
After starting the coffeemaker, she leaned back, taking her first good look at him since the fiasco with the stranger. Judging by the stubble darkening Ryan’s face, he hadn’t had a chance to shave yet this morning. His short, dark hair was slightly damp. He’d probably just finished taking a shower before he came over.
A hot shower, unlike hers.
“I don’t suppose you know how to fix a water heater?” she asked.
He raised a brow. “Yours isn’t working?”
“Nope. Unfortunately, I found that out the hard way.” She gave him a rueful grin and pulled her hair back to show him the bruise on the side of her head.
His brows drew down in concern. He rushed around the countertop, stopping in front of her. His fingers gently brushed back her hair as he examined her bruise. “What happened?”
Shivering beneath his touch, she stepped back before she did something stupid, like wrap her arms around his waist and pull him closer. She shook her head at her absurd thoughts. This was Ryan. Maybe she’d bumped her head harder than she thought.
She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, hoping he would think she’d shivered because she was chilled. “When the cold water hit me, I jumped out of the tub and slipped. Bumped my head on the side of the toilet.”
The corner of Ryan’s mouth twitched and he coughed behind his hand. “Ah, well, we can’t have that. I’ll see if I can solve your hot water problem.”
He headed into the family room toward the foyer. Jessica realized the shower curtain was clearly visible lying on the bathroom floor. If Ryan happened to glance that way, he’d know his little practical joke had paid off. He’d know how much that ridiculous shower curtain annoyed her.
Eager to turn his attention, she blurted out, “Have you had breakfast yet?”
He looked over at her, just as she’d hoped. “Are you offering to cook?” His deep voice held a note of surprise as he paused in front of the door that led into the garage.
She was surprised, too. cooking for Ryan wasn’t something she’d ever expected to do. She barely cooked for herself, let alone someone else. What was the point of cooking when she could pop a frozen pizza in the oven? Still, the idea of doing something as normal as cooking someone else a meal sounded appealing. It had been far too long since she’d done anything that remotely resembled normal.
“I was going to fix myself breakfast, anyway,” she said. Ryan didn’t need to know that her version of fixing breakfast was to toast a piece of bread. “If you fix my water heater, I suppose I could make enough for two.”
“Biscuits, bacon, eggs?” His expression turned hopeful.
She groaned. What had she gotten herself into? “All right, but I’m not a good cook. I only know how to make eggs one way, well done.”
“I don’t mind.” He gave her a smug look as if it had been his plan all along to get her to cook him breakfast. Then he went into the garage.
Jessica ran to the bathroom and quickly rehung the curtain rod. Then she hurried back to the kitchen, hoping she could figure out how to fry an egg without burning it.
RYAN SHUT THE door and dug his cell phone out of his pocket. Jessica’s offer to cook breakfast had certainly surprised him. He didn’t know why she’d made that offer, but he was grateful to have her busy doing something else so he could do what he needed to do—find out who Mike Higgins really was. Something about that man was making all the hairs stand up on the back of Ryan’s neck.
Ryan pressed his boss’s number on his phone and weaved around the car and the stacks of boxes to the far corner of the garage. As he’d suspected, the thermostat on the water heater was turned on the lowest setting. The team that had set up the house for Jessica’s use had forgotten to turn the thermostat up. He turned the dial. The water heater clicked and hissed as it started heating the water.
“Alex Trask,” his boss’s voice sounded over the phone.
“It’s Ryan.” He leaned back against Jessica’s car and crossed his legs at the ankles. “We might have a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“A supposed tourist jogged up the street and introduced himself to Jessica. He said his name is Mike Higgins. He’s from Little Rock on vacation. Runs a mom and pop auto insurance business called Solid Rock Insurance. I want to know if he’s legit.”
“On it.” Keys tapped on a computer keyboard as Alex began his search.
Ryan drummed his fingers on the hood of the car. Hopefully, Higgins would check out. When Ryan had heard voices out his back door earlier, he’d gone out on his deck, pretending not to notice Jessica and the man in the jogging suit. He’d hoped Jessica could push through her nervousness and have her first real conversation with someone other than law enforcement since she’d joined WitSec. But when she’d waved him over, he’d realized she was too nervous to face the stranger without him.
“All right, here’s what I have so far,” Alex said. “The insurance company appears to be real. They’re listed in the phone book and have a standard-looking website with customer comments going back several years on the feedback page. The website also mentions that even though the owner is on vacation, the office is still open and serving customers. Does that sound right?”
“Yeah, that fits what he said.”
“You aren’t convinced?”
“Not sure. Anyone can fake a website. Something about him seemed…off. He didn’t strike me as an insurance salesman. He’s a big guy, my size, and he didn’t look the type to sit behind a desk eating donuts all day.”
“Hey, my uncle sells insurance. He doesn’t sit around eating junk food all day, either.”
“My point is that he makes me nervous. As he was leaving, he made a comment about going fishing, hoping to catch something big. There was something in his eyes, his voice. Sounded more like a threat.”
“Where is he now?”
Ryan crossed to the end of the garage and peered out one of the rectangular glass panes in the top of the garage door. “If we can believe his story, he jogged back down the mountain to his cabin.”
“I’ll dig some more, call the phone numbers on the website, see if I can get a picture of the owner to email to you. But as of now, I don’t see any red flags, no reason to pull the witness out.”
Irritation flashed through Ryan, but he tamped it down. His boss had field experience working with witnesses. Ryan didn’t. Before following the family tradition of going into law enforcement, he’d spent over a decade in covert operations as an army ranger. Everyone he’d met was either trying to kill him or was willing to sell information to someone else who wanted to kill him. Trust didn’t come easily to Ryan, especially after the way his last mission had ended. His boss might be right, but Ryan wasn’t taking any chances.
“Send me that picture as soon as you get it. But if that guy comes back before you can confirm his identity, I’m pulling the witness.”
RYAN LEANED FORWARD under the showerhead, both hands braced against the tiles, as hot water sluiced over his head and down his back. After Jessica had cooked, or more accurately, burned breakfast, Ryan had spent the rest of the day hauling boxes from her garage to various parts of her house and helping her unpack. She’d seemed wary of his offer to help at first, as if she couldn’t believe he was actually being nice to her.
A twinge of guilt shot through him. Jessica had every right to be wary. He’d never been especially friendly to her. And she was right to suspect he had an ulterior motive. He’d helped her unpack so he could stay with her in case Higgins returned. But he didn’t want her to know that. He’d explained his actions by saying that he wanted to hurry and get her settled so he could return to New York.
She’d had no trouble believing that.
Higgins hadn’t returned. And Alex had verified the insurance company’s phone numbers. He’d spoken to the receptionist who verified the owner was vacationing in Providence. So far Ryan hadn’t received the picture his boss had promised to email him, but the general description the receptionist had given matched the jogger from this morning.
Maybe Ryan’s internal radar was screwed up. He’d been out of the military for over six months, and he usually worked behind the scenes for the marshals, planning security details. Not having to dodge bullets or be on guard every day must have dulled his instincts. All the facts pointed to Mike Higgins being exactly who he’d said he was, a businessman getting away for a few weeks of fishing and relaxation.
Ryan shook his head. Higgins wasn’t the problem at the moment.
Jessica was.
Ryan had spent hours watching her curvy little bottom bending over boxes. He’d watched her pink tongue dart out to moisten her equally pink lips. He’d accidentally brushed against her when he helped her make sandwiches for lunch. And later, when she’d reached up high to put something on a shelf, he’d watched in agony as her T-shirt tightened over her generous breasts. He was in his own private little torture chamber, lusting after a woman he had no intention of sleeping with.
Ever.
Even though he desperately wanted to.
His irrational attraction for her was something he’d just have to deal with. Unfortunately, it looked like he’d be dealing with that a lot longer than he’d originally planned. When he’d asked Alex this afternoon how much longer he’d have to stay in Tennessee, his boss had dropped a bombshell.
Instead of watching over Jessica for a few weeks, which by itself was unusual in WitSec, Ryan was assigned to watch over her indefinitely.
That didn’t make sense. Jessica was settled in her new location. She didn’t need a marshal hanging around. That certainly wasn’t standard procedure. So why did Alex insist that he stay? Something wasn’t right. From the moment Ryan’s boss had yanked him off another case and ordered him to deliver papers to the courthouse the day of the explosion, nothing had felt right.
Ryan closed his eyes and rinsed his face under the spray of water. He froze when the cold muzzle of a gun pressed against the side of his head.
His eyes flew open and the shower curtain jerked back to reveal two men. Ryan didn’t recognize the first man, but he definitely recognized the grinning face of the man holding the gun.
Mike Higgins.
“Hey, Marshal.” Mike’s grin broadened. “Remember me?”
Chapter Five
Jessica put her toothbrush away, flipped off the bathroom light, and padded in her favorite New York Yankees nightshirt to her bedroom. Hopefully, She wouldn’t have any visits from noisy birds outside her window tonight. She was worn out from unpacking boxes all day. She hadn’t planned on unpacking the entire garage all at once, but Ryan had insisted. Since he’d done all the heavy lifting, she couldn’t exactly complain.
She was still puzzled by his behavior. Prior to today, she couldn’t remember one time when he’d spent more than fifteen minutes with her at any one stretch, not unless he had to, anyway. Other than stepping outside to take some phone calls several times today, he’d stayed near her every minute. He didn’t seem to want to leave. If she hadn’t started yawning, he’d probably still be here.
She was just sliding into bed when a bright orange light flashed outside the window, followed by a dull roar. Even without lifting the heavy curtains, she could see the flames flickering on the other side of the glass.
A bubble of panic swept through her. Jumping out of bed, she ran through the house to the front door. When she grabbed the doorknob, she yelped and yanked her hand back from the searing heat. With more caution, she held her palm a few inches from the door. Heat radiated toward her in waves. the front porch must be on fire too!
A sick feeling flashed through her stomach. Unable to suppress a whimper of fear, she ran to the set of sliding glass doors by the breakfast nook just as a wall of flames shot up from the deck.
Trapped!
No. She was not going to burn to death. There had to be a way out. She ran to the garage entry door, but it was already warping from the heat, bulging in toward the foyer.
Someone was trying to burn her alive.
Frantic, she sprinted toward the spare bedroom.
Please, please, let the windows be clear.
As she raced into the room, the window exploded, raining glass down on the floor and shooting flames onto the comforter. Searing heat blasted at her as the fire greedily consumed the bedding and spilled over onto the carpet. Her eyes stinging from the smoke, she ran into the hallway, slamming the bedroom door behind her.
The air in the house was already thick and hot, turning black. Coughing, gasping for air, she crouched down beneath the heavy curtain of smoke. Tears streamed down her face from her stinging eyes as she crawled on her hands and knees to the middle of the family room.
Had she really survived everything she’d been through to die like this? There had to be a way out. If she filled the bathtub with water could she survive the flames? She didn’t see how she could, but it was the only thing she could think to try. When the flames got too hot, she’d sink beneath the water. Better to drown than to burn.
She started to crawl back toward the bathroom when the sliding glass doors exploded. She ducked, expecting to feel shards of glass raining down on her.
“Jessica, where are you?” Ryan’s voice yelled.
Ryan? He was here? How had he gotten inside past the flames? “Ryan.” She tried to yell, but she choked on the lungful of smoke she’d just inhaled. She coughed and tried to clear her throat.
Ryan appeared in front of her. She could barely see him as he pulled her to her feet and wrapped a soggy blanket around her.
“We have to run through the flames.” His deep voice was as calm as if they were about to go on a sightseeing trip. He grabbed her around the waist and guided her toward the breakfast nook.
She balked when she realized he was pulling her toward the sliding glass doors, or where the doors used to be. Now there was a gaping hole of shattered glass. A curtain of flames danced across the deck in front of the opening. The only thing keeping the flames from racing into the room was the tile floor.
He grabbed a placemat from her table and used it to rake the broken glass away from the doorway. “Come on. This is the only way out.”
“No, I can’t.” She shook her head and tried to tug away from him. The flames were so hot she felt like she was already burning.
He reached down and flipped the end of her blanket over her head, completely covering her. Her breath left her in a whoosh when he threw her over his shoulder, crushing her against him. He seemed to back away from the heat, toward the family room. Then he was running, and the heat seared Jessica even through the blanket. She screamed but the wet blanket muffled her cries. Ryan twisted violently beneath her.
They hit something solid with a bone-crunching thud. Then they were rolling, over and over until they finally came to a stop. Everything hurt, but she wasn’t on fire. Ryan flipped the blanket back from her head. She gasped as she realized they were both lying on the grass twenty feet from the inferno that used to be her back deck.
Ryan must have jumped with her through the flames where the sliding glass doors had been. He’d hurtled both of them over the railing.
A section of the roof caved in, sending up a shower of sparks as part of the back of the house imploded.
“Hurry, we’ve only got a few minutes,” Ryan said.
A few minutes until what?
He peeled the wet blanket off her. As Ryan stood, Jessica realized he was wearing a blanket, too. He shucked it off and Jessica drew in a sharp breath at the sight of his golden skin reflected in the firelight. His lack of clothing didn’t seem to bother him. Then she noticed his hair, short and spiked. Singed.
“You’re burned,” she exclaimed. She reached up to check his scalp but he ducked away, grabbing her hand and hauling her to her feet.
“Come on.” His voice was an urgent whisper. He tugged her behind him and took off in a jog toward the line of trees at the back edge of her property.
The darkness swallowed them up, and Ryan hugged the tree line with her in tow, running toward his house. He didn’t stop until they were standing in his bedroom. Jessica coughed, trying to clear her lungs from the smoke she’d inhaled. Ryan, seemingly unaffected, dropped to his knees in front of a closet and began shoving things into a large backpack that was already stuffed half-full, as if he made a habit of being packed for an emergency.
There were no lights on in the house, but Jessica could easily see everything in his bedroom because of the light from the flames next door reflected in the windows.
She looked back at him. “Shouldn’t you put some clothes on?” she blurted out.
He tossed the backpack onto the floor beside the bed and rushed across the room to what she assumed must be his master bath.
For a moment, the horror of what she’d just gone through faded as she gaped at the raw, male beauty displayed so boldly in front of her. Toned muscles rippled beneath Ryan’s tanned skin. Like Adonis, he was sheer perfection.
In every way.
She swallowed hard and forced herself to look at his face. “What are you doing? Shouldn’t we call the fire department or something?” She stepped to the doorway, shivering in her wet nightshirt. She gasped. Two men were lying on the floor, their faces turned away from her. Rivulets of blood seeped across the tile. Jessica jerked back onto the carpet and stood next to Ryan’s bed, her chest heaving, desperately trying to make sense of what she’d just seen.
Ryan grabbed some more items from a drawer in the bathroom and shoved them into a small leather case. He moved past her, threw the case in the backpack and zipped it closed. He yanked a pair of jeans off a hanger in his closet and pulled them on. Then he grabbed a thick wad of cash out of his top drawer and shoved it into his front jeans pocket. Three small rectangular boxes went into his backpack. Seeming to reconsider, he grabbed a fourth box and put that in as well.
Jessica swallowed hard. The word “ammunition” had been written on those boxes.
“Are…are those men…dead?” Jessica whispered. She clutched her throat, fighting a wave of nausea.
“It was them or me.” Ryan shoved his feet into a pair of boots. He thrust his arms into a long-sleeved black shirt and yanked it down over his head. As he pulled on his coat, he frowned at Jessica.
He yanked another drawer open and pulled out some clothes. After tossing them on the bed, he reached down and grabbed the hem of Jessica’s wet nightshirt. By the time she realized his intentions, he’d already whisked her shirt off. She frantically tried to shield herself, but Ryan impatiently pushed her arms out of the way and yanked a dry, long-sleeved sweatshirt over her head. Jessica froze, shocked at what had just happened, but Ryan was already reaching for a pair of sweatpants on the bed beside her.
“I’ll do it.” She grabbed the pants from him.
“The wet underwear has to come off, too.”
“Then turn around.”
Ryan’s mouth quirked up in a half grin. He turned around and dug back into the closet.
Jessica quickly shucked off her wet panties and shoved them under one of the pillows on the bed. Her face flaming, she tugged on the pants, rolling the waist down several times to get a better fit. They were far too big and she had to hold them up to keep them from falling off, but they were dry, and warm.
Ryan turned around, pitching a pair of socks on the bed. He frowned at the sweatpants and bent down, rolling up the pant legs to reveal her feet.
“Put these on.” He dropped a pair of tennis shoes on the floor in front of her and grabbed another coat from the closet.
Jessica stared dumbly at the socks and shoes. The indignity of Ryan stripping her clothes faded as the image of the two dead bodies on the bathroom floor crept back into her mind. There was so much blood. She twisted her fingers in the soft sweatshirt that hung to her knees and glanced back toward the bathroom.
Swearing, Ryan grabbed her around the waist and roughly set her on the bed as if she were a child. He tugged the socks onto her feet then shoved her feet into the tennis shoes and tightened the laces.
Jessica watched him put a jacket on her and roll the sleeves up to expose her hands, as if she was seeing him through a long tunnel, as if this was happening to someone else. The far-off whine of a siren had her looking back toward the window.
Ryan lifted her off the bed and set her on her feet. “Let’s go.”
He tugged her arm and she stumbled after him, holding up her pants, trying not to trip as the oversize shoes flopped on her feet. Ryan didn’t release her hand until they were in the garage next to a motorcycle. He shoved his backpack into the leather holder on the left side and put a smaller bag in the holder on the other side of the bike. Saddlebags, that’s what they were called, right? Jessica couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t focus. Why were they even in Ryan’s garage? The sirens were much louder now. Shouldn’t she and Ryan be outside waiting for the firemen?
Ryan hopped on the motorcycle and leaned over and shoved a helmet onto her head. He tightened the strap beneath her chin. Jessica slapped at his hands when he reached for her.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/lena-diaz/the-marshal-s-witness/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.