by Norris, Kris
“Chevy’s gassed up and ready to go. Would you like me to follow you? Just in case?”
“Actually, I was wondering if you could handle O’Mally on your own?”
For the first time since she’d spotted him, his armor cracked just a bit. His eyes widened, followed by a furrow of his brow. “Is there a reason I’ll have to?”
She took a few steps to the side, studying both men before smiling up at Cannon. “Here’s the thing. I wasn’t really the one who collared O’Mally. If you hadn’t stepped in…” She shrugged. “Chances are I would have gotten myself into a bit of a bind. Had a few tough choices to make. Seems only fair you get to cash in on that.”
He frowned. “But…you’re a federal marshal. He’s a wanted felon.”
“I’m a federal marshal who happens to be off-duty. Whose partner ditched her and is lucky she didn’t end up another victim. You were right. I should have let O’Mally go. Caught up with him another night. Or just left him for the bail bondsman to deal with. It’s not my money at stake. But I guess I just kept hoping my backup would show. And O’Mally’s the kind of scum I take personal offense to. The idea of him loose, hurting other women, really boiled my blood. Not something I could easily let go of.”
She walked over to him, stopping a bit closer than she normally would have. “I love Seattle. But there’re a lot of wayward souls who call this place home. Thinking this city could use a few more men like you. Just do me a favor? Keep this between us. I can’t have everyone thinking I’ve gone soft.”
Cannon watched her, leaning in even closer. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Guess this means I’ll be seeing you around. Oh, and you might want to consider expanding your practice. Maybe look into personal security. Overseeing corporate events. Consulting with companies. In fact…” She reached into her purse, rummaging around until she found the card she’d been searching for. “Take this.”
Cannon accepted the offering, brushing his fingers across hers in the process. “Admiral Jonathan Hastings? You know him?”
“You could say that. Give him a call. Tell him I sent you. I’m betting he has the kind of clearance you can talk about your background without worrying about national security. I’m sure he’ll have a list of people who could use your services. If you were serious about starting a business.”
“I was, but…” He huffed. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I know. Consider it that retake we talked about.”
She headed for the door, stopping when Cannon called out her name. She glanced at him over her shoulder.
He pointed to the bodyguard. “Aren’t you forgetting something? Or did you already call the cops for him?”
“The bodyguard? I knew he looked familiar. I just remembered. His name is Jason Stanwick. He missed his court date, too. And the twenty-five thousand dollar bounty on him went live…” She looked at her watch. “At midnight. That should be enough to get you started. You can handle both of them, can’t you? See you ‘round, Cannon.”
“Jericho.”
She turned back one more time. “Yeah?”
“You tell your partner if he ditches you, again, I’ll be paying him a visit.”
“In a completely non-threatening way, seeing as he’s a Deputy U.S. Marshal.”
He smiled. “Right. Non-threatening. And I will see you, again. Soon. That’s a promise.”
“Then, that’ll be your second test. Keeping your promise. See you don’t fail it.”
“Haven’t failed a test, yet. Consider it a date, Deputy Marshal.”
Date. She hadn’t had anything like that in…
She snorted, heading for her Jeep. She’d taken another leap of faith, tonight. She only hoped this one would turn out better than her previous encounters. That maybe Cannon was a man she could trust.
Chapter Three
So, this was where Jericho worked. It didn’t look different than any other federal office Cannon had been to. Though, he couldn’t quite overlook the fact that there were only a few women scattered amidst a dozen men.
Seemed the Marshal Service was still predominately male. Though, it was nice to see they were, at least, making an effort. In fact, more than a few of the higher ranking positions were women. Not that he was looking for anyone other than Jericho.
And her dick of a partner.
After spending the night babysitting O’Mally and Stanwick, Cannon had finally hauled their asses into the station a couple of hours ago. He’d wanted to give Jericho time to change her mind, not that he’d thought she would. But, he’d been ready in case she’d returned to the bar, cuffs in hand. Half of the local marshal service in tow. But, once sunrise had come and gone, he’d decided to hand the men over—get his reward.
Seventy-five thousand dollars.
Seemed surreal, even for him. And he knew it wasn’t typical of what he’d normally get—that he’d essentially lucked out by bagging two extremely dangerous felons at once. Both with abnormally high bounties. But he had to admit, it was just what he needed. What had turned the tides on his venture. Made his decision to retire look viable, when he’d secretly been wondering if he should go back to the Army. If he’d jumped too soon. Given up the only lifeline he’d had.
But, now, he had options. Possibilities that had been nothing more than wishful thinking before. And he’d already made arrangements to visit a few available spaces—see if any suited his needs. He’d also put in a call to a couple of buddies. Brett “Colt” Sievers had jumped on board before Cannon had done more than ask the man if he might consider switching to a new line of work. Said he would meet up with Cannon within the week.
And all because Jericho had taken a chance on him. Had broken ranks. Though she’d brushed it off, he knew she could catch serious shit over letting him claim the reward when she’d been on scene. Could have brought both men in without having their bounties paid out. Cannon owed her, and payback started with the cup of coffee he’d gotten at the small café across the street.
He scanned the room, finally spying her at a desk shoved into the far corner. She had her back to him as she leaned against the inside edge, chair off to her left, her head bent as she focused on the folder in her hands. He started toward her, stopping when some shithead in a cowboy hat stepped in front of him, blocking his way. Though, Cannon respected the guy’s vocation, there was just something about him that immediately put Cannon on edge. And he was good at judging people. At reading their intent by the shift in their eyes, the line of their back. This guy wasn’t even polite about nearly knocking him into a desk, choosing to stand there as if the jerk owned the place. Cannon was pretty sure he didn’t—not when he could see the station’s supervisory deputy pacing inside his office.
Cannon eyed the man—the guy’s head barely reaching Cannon’s nose—waiting to see what move he’d make.
The jackass rolled his shoulders, exposing the gun on his hip—Glock. Looked like a twenty-six. What he guessed was standard issue for Deputy U.S. Marshals, though Cannon hadn’t missed that Jericho had chosen a Beretta, last night. Most likely her personal weapon or maybe a backup. Of course, the fact this jerk was already alerting Cannon to the fact he was armed and, apparently, ready to draw simply by Cannon walking across the room didn’t bode well. Not when the guy seemed twitchy. Almost as if he was coming down off of a high.
The man eyed Cannon. “Can I help you?”
Cannon fisted his hands, reminding himself he was just another civilian, now. That he didn’t have his ranking behind him. Wasn’t Special Forces—couldn’t demand answers or assume he’d get a pass. That there was a new order he needed to follow—even if he could have snapped the prick in two without breaking a sweat.
Instead, Cannon took a calming breath, never losing eye contact. The guy paled a bit, swallowing hard before crossing his arms over his chest. A clearly defensive move. Cannon hadn’t realized how much his ten years in Delta Force had changed him until he’d helped out a few friends a couple of mont
hs back. One of his buddies had gotten involved with a narcotics officer suffering from conversion disorder, leaving her temporarily blind. She’d all but crawled out of her skin when they’d first met. Had been able to smell death on him, or so she’d claimed.
It had been part of the reason he’d decided to retire. Knowing he couldn’t even wash the stench off him—that it had become etched in his DNA—had hit him hard. And he’d made a choice to get out before he lost any chance at having a life. One beyond insurgent cells and war. Where he didn’t spend years of his life pretending to be the very thing he hated, only to have it all go sideways on him.
But, apparently, he still had the mercenary vibe going because the guy lowered his hands, his right brushing over his pistol. It struck him, then, that Jericho hadn’t reacted to him. Hadn’t seemed the least bit intimidated by him or his actions. If anything, she’d held her head a bit higher. Had looked completely comfortable standing toe-to-toe with him. Just another quality to add to the list of reasons she intrigued him.
Cannon met the man’s expectant stare. “Actually, no, you can’t. I’m just visiting a…”
Fuck, what was Jericho to him? A friend? A stranger with possibilities? A potential lover? He hadn’t had one of those in quite a while. It hadn’t been an option while he’d been undercover. And he’d been too busy getting the paperwork for his hunter’s license to think about dating since retiring.
Not to mention he wasn’t sure he was dating material. That there was anything left inside worth sharing.
The guy sidestepped with him. “This isn’t a bar, and unless you have official business, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Look, buddy, I’m not in the mood to dance, right now, so unless you want to go a few rounds—”
“Easy, Dave. Cannon’s with me.”
The guy—Dave—spun, nearly tripping sideways as he looked at Jericho. “You know this guy?”
“Didn’t I just say that?” She smiled at Cannon, and fuck if his heart didn’t give a hard kick. Made him inhale as his breath stalled. That smile was exactly as he’d been picturing it all night.
She glanced at the two cups clenched in his hands. “Did you bring me coffee?”
He grinned, hoping he wasn’t simply baring his teeth or snarling, because he hadn’t truly smiled in years. Other than maybe last night—with her. Shit, this was quickly becoming something more than just a nice gesture...and he had no idea how to stop it. If he even wanted to stop it.
He offered her a cup. “Thought you could use a pick-me-up. I wasn’t sure how you took it, so I got one of those salted-caramel latte drinks.”
Her eyes widened as she cradled the paper cup in her hands. “You brought me caffeine and sugar? Together? You’re a damn godsend.” She took a cautious sip, moaning around the lip. “Oh my god. This should be illegal.”
Cannon clenched his jaw when she made another low moan. Christ, it was bad enough he’d spent the rest of the night thinking about her. Now, he had sound effects to go along with the sinful smile. The sexy sway of her hips. And it was the kind of noise he bet she’d make if he kissed her just right. Slid into her ever so slowly.
Dave huffed. “Jesus, Jer, get a room, why don’t you?”
Jericho arched a brow. “You’re just pissy because no one brought you coffee.”
“I can buy my own damn coffee. Besides, we’ve got work to do. You can socialize on your own time.”
Her smile faded as her eyes narrowed. “Maybe I’d have more of that if my partner actually showed up for a bust, instead of making me wait half the night, only to ditch me.”
“I already explained what happened. No one made you sit there. You could have left, anytime. Or called nine-one-one.”
“We’re talking about Nigel O’Mally. Scumbag and wanted felon. Besides, I only went there because you said you’d show. Do you know how much I hated walking out of there empty-handed?”
The guy replied, but all Cannon heard was a dull roaring inside his head. This was her partner? The fucker who’d stood her up? Left her there to handle not one, but three dangerous men on her own? Who hadn’t been assed enough to give her an hour of his time to bring in a known thief and suspected murderer? And he had the fucking gall to bitch about it? Make it seem as if it was Jericho’s fault?
Cannon took a step, only stopping when she palmed his chest. He glanced down. Her hand was half the size of his. She couldn’t keep him from moving if she grabbed him and used all of her weight. Christ, he bet he was double her weight. But there was something about the way she touched him—a tingle of awareness that shot through his torso and into his heart—that kept him from pushing past her. Punching the smug smile off of her partner’s face.
She met his gaze—stunning green eyes that made his pulse race. It never raced. Not in the field. In the two years he’d been undercover. When he’d been forced to take down six armed men with his bare hands. Yet, one look from her, and it tapped wildly against his ribs.
“Down, boy.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I won’t do anything permanent to him.”
“He’s a federal marshal, and we’re standing in the middle of the Marshal’s office.”
Dave drew himself up, glaring at Cannon. “Did you seriously just threaten me? Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Dave—”
“Who am I? I’m the guy who didn’t ditch your partner last night. Who didn’t leave her to face a bunch of armed felons on her own because I couldn’t pull my head out of my ass long enough to give a damn.”
“Tough talk coming from…what? Christ, are you a bounty hunter?” Dave turned to Jericho. “You’re siding with bounty hunters, now? And did you leave and let this asshole claim the bounty? Damn it, Jericho—”
“Nash! Faraday!”
Cannon glanced up. The man he’d seen pacing was standing in the doorway of his office, his deep booming voice cutting through the room. Most of the peripheral noise died off, leaving an odd quiet throughout the space. He moved toward them, stopping in front. He eyed the two marshals, mouth pinched tight, brows furrowed.
Jericho plastered on a small smile as she nodded at the guy. “Art.”
“The U.S. Attorney’s office just called. Jeremy Brenner’s over at the West Precinct. He has a possible security request. I’ll know more in about ten minutes. I’d like you both to handoff anything you have to Taylor and Watson. In case this stretches out over the next few weeks.”
Dave nodded, glaring at Cannon one more time before excusing himself then heading for his desk.
The guy—Art—frowned, glancing down at Jericho. “Is everything okay between you and Faraday?”
“Fine. Why?”
“You never were a good liar, Jericho. And it’s no secret he’s been…off a bit, lately. You two have always worked well together, and I’d hoped having you along would keep him grounded. But if that’s not the case…”
“He’s just having a hard time at home. We’re fine.”
He looked up, as if just now noticing Cannon’s presence. He nodded, extending his hand. “Art Collins.”
Cannon shook his hand. “Rick Sloan, though, my friends all call me Cannon.”
“Cannon. That’s funny. My brother-in-law did a few tours with a guy nicknamed Cannon. That wasn’t you, by chance, was it?”
“Could be. What’s his name?”
“Jackson Perry.”
Cannon snorted. Small fucking world. “Jacks? Hell yeah. Afghanistan about five years back. Guy knocked down more doors than I care to remember. Hell of a soldier. Heard he retired a couple of years ago. Joined local law enforcement. How’s he doing?”
“Doing fine, thanks to you. He said you pulled his ass out of a nasty firefight. Took a bullet to the leg for your troubles.”
“It wasn’t much more than a graze. Had worse.”
“So, are you still enlisted? Delta Force, right? Alpha squadron?”
Cannon glanced at Jericho, smiling at her wide eyes
and slightly gaped lips. He hadn’t divulged much information about himself for a reason. Though, the look she was giving him made him long to share a few more details. “I was until a couple of months ago. Decided to hang it up. Let the younger guys do the heavy lifting for a while. Just started up my own security business.”
Collins chuckled. “You’re the Sloan who brought in O’Mally and Stanwick this morning. Hell of a collar. You’re obviously still sharp if you were able to bag both of those felons at the same time. I just wish we had the manpower to hunt down a few more, ourselves. But…we have to prioritize. Even then, it feels like a never-ending task.”
“Happy to help out.”
Collins looked over at Jericho. “It’s odd. I heard a rumor that Stanwick claimed a female deputy marshal was at the bar where he was caught, last night. Blonde. Black skirt. That she just walked out. He couldn’t seem to recall the name.”
She grinned. “Don’t look at me. When’s the last time you saw me in a skirt?”
“Right.” He shook his head, turning back to Cannon. “Great finally meeting you. I hope we run into each other, again.”
Cannon nodded toward Jericho. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”
Collins eyed them then smiled. “Excellent. Hey, does your venture have a name? Never hurts to have quality help available—in case someone asks.”
“It’s called Wayward Souls.” He looked over at Jericho. “A friend mentioned the phrase, and it stuck.”
“Wayward Souls. I’ll keep that in mind.” He nodded then turned, making his way back to his office.
Cannon inhaled when Jericho slapped him in the chest. “What was that for?”
“You’re ex-Delta Force? Seriously?”
“You knew I was military.”
“You could have told me you were Spec Op, instead of me having to guess. And not any branch. Delta…” She whistled. “Explains the takedown. The knife.”