“I’m not sure for how long.”
“Contact me in three hours. I’ll have the details sewn up then. We’ll have you out of there soon. In the meantime, take care of yourself and hang low. And check out of that damn hotel. Find something else, now, on the other side of town.”
“Goes without saying,” Trent said.
He disconnected and glanced at Tara. Her face was white. But her chin was set in a determined manner.
“New arrangements are being made to get us out,” he said. He took her hand. “We’re out of this hotel.”
“Why?” she said with worry heavy in her voice.
“Considering what happened, the original plan is compromised. We can’t trust that they don’t know about the plan to meet a small plane and fly out. They know we’re here and what part of the city we’re in. We’ll have new arrangements in three hours’ time. That’s not long,” he assured her. “The shooter is gone. And whoever they are, they won’t get it together that quickly.” He didn’t mention Enrique’s name. But the sequence of events kept playing through his mind and reminding Trent of the possibility of his deception.
The three hours passed uneventfully. They spent time on the fringes of a crowded beach and sat at a popular restaurant. Both were places where other foreign tourists frequented. With his sleeve covering his bandaged upper arm and their souvenir T-shirts, they looked no different than any other young couple.
When he gave Jackson a call, he received the final instructions that would get them out of Mexico, hopefully without incident and without further delay. They were leaving today.
“We’re almost home, babe, almost home.”
“Babe?”
He bent down and kissed her. “Always,” he murmured. His left arm held her close and he vowed to himself that it always would.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The helicopter flew them to the border city of Ciudad Juárez. From there, Jackson had arranged an expedited border crossing that took them to El Paso, where a Cessna was waiting to take them to Houston. This time there were no glitches.
Two days later, they were in the safe house that Jackson had arranged. Tara had become Jessa Banyon, and Trent was playing her husband, Jeff. For the next four months, the world would know them as the Banyons.
Trent looked over at Tara with a smile. “What are you thinking?” he asked.
“That one day I’d like to go back to Mexico. Despite everything that happened and why I was there, it’s still a place I’d love to explore.”
“That surprises me. Considering everything.”
“Of course, without some of the excitement we had this time,” she said and leaned her head against his arm.
He smiled down at her. He’d done more this trip than keep her safe. He’d found the woman who’d once been the girl he loved. And he’d discovered that he didn’t love her anywhere near the same way he’d loved the girl—he loved the woman more.
She looked up at him. “Did I ever tell you thank you?”
“Thank you?” He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“For risking your life to save mine.”
“It’s what I do.”
“And that frightens me,” she said. “I’d hate to worry about someone I love every day, every waking hour.”
His heart tripped. Someone I love. What did she mean by that? He didn’t know if he dared hope if...
“I love you, Trent,” she said. “That terrified me at first but when I had that gun in my hand and realized that I could save you, I lost my fear of a lot of things. It’s strange. My grandfather’s collection frightened me. But defending you changed all that. Actually needing the weapon I held in my hands made me realize their place, that it’s not all death and destruction. Protection. Like you do.” She turned to look at him and smiled, putting a finger to his lips. “I know that was a lot. No need to respond. Not now, we’ve waited all these years.”
“Tara, I don’t know what to say.” He knew what he wanted to say but he wasn’t ready. This wasn’t something he could knock off without a thought and yet he should.
She smiled. “I know that you’re good at what you do. And I’m not so scared of letting myself go. I mean, with my feelings.” She paused as if for effect. “Let’s give us a go.”
Damn, he thought. That was his line.
“Definitely,” he said and it was lame but in the moment it was all he had.
She leaned over and kissed him. It was a kiss that was full of promise and hinted at more as their tongues met and mated.
There were still weeks until the trial. He could only guess that the spark that had begun in a wild chase through Mexico would continue to grow. He couldn’t see it being any other way.
Four months later
“I CAN’T BELIEVE that it’s over,” Tara said as she took Trent’s hands in hers. “Can you?”
The crazy race to save her life was over and yet their life together was just beginning. The danger that they’d faced on foreign soil was gone. The danger they’d faced here at home was now behind bars. Jackson had been busy in the first weeks of their arrival home. There had been arrests. Lucas Cruz and two members of his gang were behind bars. A third was dead, killed by local sheriffs, after they’d pulled off two more bank robberies. Another was missing.
Unfortunately for Lucas Cruz, the two surviving members of his gang testified against him to receive less jail time.
In Mexico, Yago Cruz had been arrested by authorities and immediately gave up Enrique’s name. But it was easy to accuse a dead man. What was clear was that both the truck that tried to take them off the road outside Lake Chapala and the man who tried to shoot them in San Patricio had ties to the cartel. Unfortunately, only the shooter in San Patricio had been caught.
Only a week ago, Trent and Tara had moved back to her place in Pueblo. She’d wanted to get back to Pueblo, her house and her job. For him, it had been a no-brainer. Anything she loved, he loved, too.
“Armed robbery and murder. Lucas Cruz and his gang won’t see the light of day,” he said. “Hard to believe that the trial is done.”
“And Carlos is free and clear. Thank goodness,” Tara said as she pulled a knotted rope for a little brown, white and black puppy to tug. The puppy looked amazingly like Maxx, Carlos’s dog. A second one with identical markings slept in her lap.
It had been a tough go for Carlos. A hard pill for the former cop to swallow. He’d been snowed and used by Enrique. The information he’d received from Enrique and relayed to Trent and Tara had taken them down that fateful road where Enrique had arranged to have them taken out by the man in the pickup truck. When that had failed, he’d tried again at San Patricio.
Enrique had paid for his crime. Although it hadn’t been proved, the general consensus was that the cartel had taken him out before an arrest could be made. The one good that had come out of it was that the cartel was no longer a presence in San Miguel de Allende.
Despite the fact that Enrique had paid with his life, Carlos claimed that didn’t clear him personally. He wanted to make it up to them, especially Tara. Besides offering free rent anytime they were in town, combined with an open invitation to visit, he’d offered something special to Tara. When a street dog gave birth to a tiny litter of two sired by Maxx beneath his patio, he’d been ready to give her one of the pups, knowing her love of dogs.
She’d told him that she wouldn’t take one of the puppies unless Trent was on board with the idea. Trent had immediately vetoed it while secretly agreeing with her. A dog would be good for her after everything that had happened. He’d hated seeing the disappointment in her eyes when he’d lied to her. But it wasn’t for long.
He’d contacted Carlos and arranged for the necessary shots and transportation for both pups. He had a plan that began the minute the puppies arrived and had time to recuperate from their flight.
“I still can’t believe that you did this,” Tara said as she held one of the pups in her lap. The other curled on top of her feet. “Or that you got both of them.”
“Carlos snowed me a bit,” he said with a laugh. “Said the little mites faced a harsh life on the streets. By the time he was done painting the picture, I was hooked. Besides, neither of these two will grow to any size and two small dogs can’t be any more work than one.”
She shook her head. “You’re crazy but what a great gift.”
“After everything that happened, I thought they’d give you some protection.”
“Protection?” she laughed.
“Okay, consider them an alarm system. Not that you’ll need it,” he said. “You have me. And I won’t let anything happen to you, babe.”
“I know,” she said. “I can’t believe it. After all these years, we found each other. And we’ll be married.” She touched his hand as if reminding herself that this was all real. “It’s a dream come true.” She snuggled closer to him. “And these two. Puppies and a proposal.”
“Don’t forget the flowers,” he said.
“Took a back seat.” She laughed.
His laugh soon joined hers. They’d gotten engaged a week ago on a hot summer night under a full moon. Trent had outdone himself in the romance department, or so Tara had claimed after she’d said yes. He’d gifted her with the two pups in a basket, jokingly calling them their starter family. She’d said it was over-the-top romantic.
“I can’t believe this is over,” she said with a pensive look. “That the creep is in jail along with his thieving buddies.” She smiled as the second puppy tried to scramble into her lap. She reached for the dog, and the ring that he’d given her glimmered on her left hand.
He bent to kiss her. The kiss morphed quickly from gentle and soft to something hot and passionate. It was always that way with them, no middle ground.
“Let’s take this show to another room,” he said, his voice thick with desire. He glanced to his left, where paintings for her first exhibit were lined up, waiting for next week’s show. The sight reminded him of her talent and her determination.
“Let’s,” she replied. She set the puppies down, took his hand and led the way.
The moonlight shone through the window and sparkled on the ring that he had given her, as if reflecting on the promises he’d made.
He’d made promises he knew he would keep. The easiest had been to love her forever. He knew that it would be as he’d promised; a life of dreams come true and a future that they would create together.
* * *
Look for the previous book in Ryshia Kennie’s American Armor miniseries,
Wanted by the Marshal,
available now from Harlequin Intrigue!
Keep reading for an excerpt from Unmasking the Shadow Man by Debbie Herbert.
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Unmasking the Shadow Man
by Debbie Herbert
Chapter One
The scratching began again. Skreek. A heartbeat of silence. Skreek. Skreek.
She could sleep through the blare of traffic in Atlanta, but this teeny noise in her mom’s old house in rural Virginia had roused her from deep sleep in a mere nanosecond.
It was the sound of her nightmares. The ominous scratching that had preceded the worst moment of her life and hounded Harper to this day. It was inexorably tied to the image of her sister Presley’s body lying on the kitchen floor as smoke swirled and fire licked the darkness. Harper sat up in bed and waited for the scratching to resume. But this time, the only noise was a faint swish of something soft brushing against a wall.
Probably just a mouse scampering behind the old Sheetrock, or so she hoped. Disgusting as that was, she’d welcome the prospect of mice infiltration over creepier alternatives. As a child, she’d wondered if the house was haunted by a ghost—or an even scarier type of supernatural horror.
Harper pictured the wraithlike, filthy creature she’d glimpsed the night Presley died. The thing—she wasn’t sure if it was a person or some remnant from a dream—had loomed over her sister’s lifeless body. She’d screamed, and the pale figure had vanished into the shadows. Never to be seen again.
Nobody had believed her. There’d been no signs of forced entry, and a search of the old Victorian had revealed nothing unusual. Presley’s death had been ruled accidental.
But even now, the skin at the nape of her neck prickled at the memory.
This wouldn’t do. After all, she’d returned to Baysville in order to settle her mom’s estate and make peace with her own disturbing past. Time to discover what was real and what was imaginary. Over the years, she’d pushed that night’s events to the back of her mind.
Of course, she wasn’t always successful. At unexpected moments, a vivid image of pale skin draped on a frail, gaunt figure would crystallize from the hazy memories of the night Presley died.
Sleep was no longer possible, so Harper climbed out of bed and turned on the bedside lamp. The light reassuringly spotlighted the familiar and mercifully vacant room. All was in order. The peach-colored walls cast a comforting warm glow. Her white French provincial bed and dresser were old but classic and had served her since childhood. She could have taken the larger master bedroom across the hall, but it still felt like Mom’s room. Probably always would, no matter how many years passed after her death.
Harper donned her comfy, though tattered, pink robe and opened the bedroom door, flipping on the hall lights. The recently polished oak floors gleamed golden and reflected the bright sheen of her red hair. She gripped the iron railing of the staircase, surveyed the stairs, and then her eyes darted involuntarily to the kitchen. After all these years, she still checked to make sure no flames or smoke billowed from the room. Grimly, Harper made her way down the steps. Would she ever descend them without remembering that night?
At the bottom of the stairs, she stopped abruptly. Heat spread from her bare feet and then up her spine, tingling like an electrical shock. Someone was here. Watching. Swiftly, she turned and surveyed the empty staircase behind her. Nothing was there except for the same old portraits that lined the stairwell wall. Generations of grim Catletts stared back at her, as if in silent rebuke of her foolishness.
Skreek.
The scratching started up again. And had she heard an echo of a footfall? Harper’s ears strained, but she detected nothing else. The old house had gone eerily quiet.
Stop creeping yourself out. Nothin
g’s here but you and the rodents.
Harper strode to the den, flipping on every light switch along the way. She turned on the TV, and the reassuring voice of a morning news show filled the house’s quiet void. Then she marched to the kitchen and started coffee. Familiar sounds and smells eased the niggling worry in her gut.
See? You did it. Spent another entire night by yourself here. A couple more weeks, and you won’t think anything of it. Easy peasy. Onward and upward until she’d satisfied every speck of uncertainty about what had happened that night.
In the meantime... “Exterminators,” she said aloud, with a determined nod. Coffee mug in hand, Harper sat at the kitchen table and fired up her laptop. This wouldn’t be just any old routine extermination. No, she was booking the full Monty—the entire house wrapped in a toxic bubble by men dressed in hazmat suits. She pulled up a list of local companies and dutifully scribbled down a couple of numbers to call when their businesses opened this morning.
Taking that action, however small, made her feel more in control. One step at a time, as her mom would say. And if anyone had reason to believe in that mantra, it was Ruth Catlett. She’d buried a husband and a child, yet every day she’d risen before dawn to work at a local diner one block down the road. And if her spirits had never quite recovered from Presley’s death, she managed to put on her game face in public.
And now there was one. Harper was the last of her family. Oh, sure, there were a couple of aunts and uncles and cousins scattered about Baysville, but it wasn’t the same.
Harper sighed and sipped her coffee as she stepped onto the front porch. Streaks of purple and orange illuminated the sky and were reflected in the Pagan River’s rippling water. Many of the quaint shops lining the riverfront had already turned on their lights. Baysville was awakening to a new day. She’d forgotten how beautiful her hometown was. The Tidewater region of Virginia was steeped in history and picturesque in a way that a big city like Atlanta could never match. She sat in the glider for several minutes, enjoying the slower pace. No clients to meet, no ringing phones or assistants to send on errands. She’d been much too busy this past year with her interior decorating business. In some ways, it’d been therapeutic after her breakup with Doug, but she was over that disappointment. Any man that fickle and gun-shy over commitment wasn’t worth the heartbreak.
Marshal on a Mission Page 18