by Norris, Kris
That’s when he’d muttered something about not loving her right. As if he could find a wrong way. She’d still been seeing the stars she’d mentioned when he’d asked if they could try, again. Give him a chance to do it right. She hadn’t thought it was possible for him to make her come any harder than she already had. In fact, she wasn’t sure she could orgasm, again.
God, had he proved her wrong. On all accounts. After finally finding the strength to move, he’d carried her to the shower. She vaguely recalled Colt glancing their way before disappearing into the shadows. She’d been about ready to slap Cannon up the side of the head for carrying her into the bathroom—naked—until he’d stepped under the spray and simply held her.
They’d stood there for five minutes before he seemed willing to move. To release her long enough to grab some soap—wash her. She’d casually suggested she give him another blow job when he’d grunted, the firm line of his mouth suggesting he’d made some sort of decision.
He’d been unrelenting after that. Against the shower wall. Then, the door. Again, in the bed. That time, he’d teased her forever before finally sending her over. There wasn’t an inch of skin he hadn’t tasted, a spot he hadn’t licked and kissed. He’d been overly gentle all morning, as if he was afraid he’d hurt her, despite her assurances to the contrary. Never straying more than a few steps apart.
And now, he was standing four feet away looking as if she’d dealt him a physical blow.
Cannon shifted on his feet, obviously still waiting for her answer. But how could she say anything without either alienating him or crucifying herself?
Instead, she took a calming breath, resisting the urge to grimace when her ribs burned. Cannon might not have hurt her, but a few rounds of rambunctious sex had definitely irritated her side.
Another frown. “Okay, if you don’t want to answer that, then how about telling me how sore your ribs are? Because I saw your mouth twitch when you inhaled, just now. You’re hurting, again, sweetheart.”
“My ribs are fine. I’m fine. Everything’s…” She would not say fine one more time.
Fatigue weighed on her shoulders, and she took a moment to drag out the chair from the table—sit back down.
Cannon tsked then marched over to the counter. He turned his back for a few moments, then returned to her side, a steaming cup in his hands. He placed it between hers. “Drink.”
More tea. The man seemed to have an endless supply today. Every time she’d turned around he’d shoved a cup in her hands, giving her the same single-word order. She was starting to wonder if he was some kind of wizard. Making the damn mugs just materialize out of thin air. But, the liquid was warm, and after a week of mostly water and crackers, it was nice to have something different.
She took a sip, using the pause to gather her thoughts, waiting until Cannon reclaimed his seat next to her. She glanced around at his buddies—brothers. Teammates. Hers, now, too. They’d sat quietly during the discussion, then allowed Cannon to voice his objections, without interrupting. Though, they looked more than a bit amused by her and Cannon’s bickering.
Jericho focused back on Cannon, fully aware he was the one she needed to convince. “To answer your first question, no, I don’t have a death wish. I just need answers. And the only place I’m going to find those are at the office. I can’t access enough files, here. Not everything is available remotely. I need my computer. The records’ room. Hell, to talk to Art.”
“You still think you’re missing something.”
“I know I’m missing something. I just can’t figure out what’s bothering me. Every time I get close to placing it, my memories get hazy.”
“That’s because you’re still recovering.”
Damn. She should have seen that one coming. Though, he had a point. While the wound had closed and most of the stitches had dissolved, she wasn’t a hundred percent. Maybe not even seventy-five. Her reflexes were bound to be slower. And, if she were being honest, her ribs did hurt. Sure, all the endorphins last night had blocked out any discomfort. But now that they weren’t making love—the pain had bled through.
All of which Cannon was obviously aware of because he was looking at her as if he could read every thought. Track the progression of her ideas by the way she tilted her head or furrowed her brow. Lying wasn’t going to win her any arguments. And, whether she wanted to admit it or not, she wanted him to be on board. Needed him to be. He and his buddies were the only people she could truly trust. And the last thing she wanted was to brow-beat them into helping her.
Because she knew Cannon would insist on shadowing her. Whether he agreed to the plan or not, and if she wasn’t smart about her decisions, she could get him hurt, next time. Or, god, killed.
She couldn’t think about that. Him dead. Especially from a bullet meant for her. It made it hard to breathe. To think about what needed to be done in order to put Ty Brown, and whoever else was involved in the incident, behind bars.
So, she took the only course of action left. “You’re right. I am still recovering. While I feel better, I know I’m slow. There’s no way I could outrun anyone, or chase them down, and having to fire my gun would probably drop me to the ground from the resulting pain. But, despite all of that, I need to go back.”
She held up her hand, stopping him from interrupting. “I know. But…they killed my partner, Cannon. My partner. Whether he was the one who stabbed me or not, it doesn’t erase all those years when he had my back. When he kept my ass alive by eliminating the threats I couldn’t see. If nothing else, I owe it to him to uncover who set that bomb. Killed him and left me for dead. Surely, you can understand that.”
A twitch beneath his left eye. “Now, you’re just fighting dirty. You know I understand, but…” He huffed. “Damn it, Jericho, the moment you step foot outside this loft, you’ll be a target. And not like before. This won’t just be the usual risks you’re accustomed to because of your job. If Ty Brown knows you’re alive, and we all know he does. Art couldn’t outright lie and say you’d been killed, so Brown is going to know that missing means alive. He’s going to be gunning for you. He’ll assume you remember everything that went down, which means you’re a loose end he can’t afford to have flapping in the breeze.”
She tilted her head, studying the way he glanced around the table then back at her. He was hiding something. “You think he’s put a contract out on me, don’t you?”
Cannon’s expression never faltered. “Brown. The Macmillans. Not sure who.”
“But you’re sure someone has a contract out on me.”
Another glance around the table. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
“How?”
“Excuse me?”
“I said, how? How do you know there’s a hit out on me? You said none of your investigations have paid off, so why are you so sure—”
“Because we got confirmation from one of the local gangs this morning.”
She blinked. “What…”
Cannon looked over at Addison—an ex-detective and Rigs’ wife. “Addison still has some connections from when she worked narcotics. She pulled in a few favors and heard it from a very reliable source that someone associated with the Macmillans put out a hit on you. Two-hundred and fifty thousand to whoever can prove you’re dead.”
Jericho stared at him while the words sank in. “Well, crap.” She pushed to her feet, pacing away before turning back to face the table. “That’s…unexpected. And a bit insulting. I would have thought I at least warranted double that.”
“Not funny. But, do you see why I’m concerned? I can shadow your ass until we’re pushing eighty. Drop anyone who comes hunting for you, sweetheart. But, once you go back to work…” He sighed. “You’ll be limiting my resources, even with the new status your uncle got me.”
“I can’t hide forever. And I can’t quit. Being a marshal isn’t something I do. It’s me, Cannon. The biggest part of me. You know I’d do anything for you, but please don’t ask me to do that.”
&n
bsp; His eyes softened, and he stood, walking over to her before taking one of her hands in his. “I’d never ask you to quit. All I’m suggesting is that you wait until we eliminate Brown. If he’s dead or back in custody, there’s really no reason to continue chasing you. Whatever else you might have on him, at that point, will be pretty moot, because they already have enough evidence to lock up his ass for life. He’ll be forced to accept either a life in jail or start talking and swing a deal. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the hit got switched to his head, instead of yours.”
“But that’s part of what I don’t understand. Why is he gunning for me, anyway? He’s already a felon. Already has every Deputy Marshal in the state hunting him. Why would killing me change anything?”
Rigs cleared his throat, gaining their attention. “If you ask me, something must have happened inside that car that puts a whole new spin on things. This something that’s bugging you that you can’t remember… I’m betting you heard or saw something that could completely alter either the case against Brown or his employers. Something even worse than what they have, now, so… If they kill you, nothing else will change.”
Jericho snorted. “It would be great if I could remember this apparent game changer.”
Rigs shrugged. “They don’t know you have amnesia. Regardless, like Cannon said, you’re a loose end, and we all know those have a way of biting you in the ass. I’d be trying to kill you if I were in Brown’s shoes. Guy might be not be Einstein, but every warrior knows an enemy left alive today is one that can kill you tomorrow.”
She let her head tilt back. Christ, this was so much more than she’d planned on.
Cannon leaned in close. “Just a few more days. Then, if we still can’t find him, we’ll go in and talk to Art. Or go visit Admiral Hastings. Maybe one of them can swing some temporary arrangements so Colt, Rigs and Midnight can team up. Surround you with the best mini JSOG unit we can.”
Ice grunted. “Thanks for including me in your little joint special operations group, Cannon. I appreciate your faith and support.”
“You know damn well the medic stays put unless someone’s down. I need you healthy in case we run into another emergency.”
“Still, it’d be nice to be included. Just once.”
“You’ll get over it.” Cannon looked at her. “Well?”
She glanced around at the men then focused on Cannon. On anything other than the tug of her heart to make him happy. “So, what you’re saying is that, if we eliminate Ty Brown, we eliminate the threat against me.”
He frowned. That obviously wasn’t how he’d been expecting her to answer. “In a nutshell—yeah. That’s the hope, anyway.”
“Well, if Ty Brown is the problem, then there’s one way to fix it.”
“What’s that?”
“We take the war to him. I tracked his ass down once, I can do it, again.”
“Jericho…”
“I didn’t mean by myself. And I’m not asking to go to the office. You’re right. It’ll be too hard for you to have my back, especially if your team is sidelined.”
Cannon furrowed his brow. “What, exactly, are you suggesting, then?”
“Simple. We do what we both do best. We go hunting.”
Chapter Sixteen
Cannon had lost his mind. Why else would he have agreed to accompany Jericho on a hunt for Ty Brown? The guy who’d nearly killed her. Who’d most likely killed her partner. And who had put a hefty bounty on her head.
Insanity. Plain and simple. That, or he was so damn in love with the woman, he couldn’t see straight. Couldn’t tell a good plan from a bad one because he was too focused on her. On bending to her wishes. Keeping that blinding smile on her face.
Because seeing her lost, afraid that he wouldn’t—no, couldn’t—love her if she returned to her life as a Deputy Marshal had changed him. Made him view the situation from an entirely new perspective.
And he didn’t like it. Not when it meant taking her feelings into consideration instead of just doing what was safest. What kept her out of the line of fire. Because that’s where she was. In the crosshairs of any asshole who thought he could take her down—collect the hit money. Cannon was good. Exceptional, in fact, at protecting his teammates. Had pulled off some impressive feats to keep his brothers alive. Ensure they all made it back alive. And he was fast.
But he wasn’t faster than a bullet. And, with her sitting in the chair across from him, he couldn’t cover every possible angle. No one man could.
Of course, he had his team along. Rigs and Midnight had arrived at the bar a few minutes before them. Had remained visible long enough to give Cannon a curt nod when he’d walked through the door with Jericho and Colt. Then, they’d vanished.
Cannon knew they were still there. Spaced out in order to give Jericho the most protection. Cover as many targets as humanly possible. Ready to take out any threat or die trying. Along with Colt, sitting on Jericho’s other side, they’d made a virtual wall around her.
But nothing was absolute. And knowing he could lose her—here. Now. If he wasn’t fast enough. Smart enough. Good enough—it messed with his head.
He was accustomed to being laser focused. Emotions safely tucked away. Fear, a distant blur in his rearview mirror. So, sitting there, a cold sweat beading his skin, his stomach turning endless summersaults…
It was foreign. Took him back to the first few days after joining the Army. Before he’d become cold. Removed. Lethal. When he’d been so sure that he’d live and die in the Teams. That he’d never fall in love.
Jericho had torched those plans. Burned the fuckers into ashes then buried them under a few feet of concrete. Sure, he’d made the decision to retire before he’d even met her, but if she hadn’t fallen into his life—if that night at the bar had gone differently—Cannon might have returned.
Re-enlisted, because civilian life hadn’t made sense. Hadn’t seemed worth the constant pull between doing what he’d been trained to do, but remaining inside the law. He’d been the law in the field. Had been given an objective then told to execute it. Whatever it took to get the job done.
Out here… Men like him either learned to toe the line or they ended up in jail. Or dead.
But she’d changed that. Had made adapting worth it. Made him a far better man without even trying. Which meant, it was time to end this mission. And, if he needed to use deadly force—he wasn’t going to hesitate or lose sleep over the casualties. Brown had started a war Cannon planned on finishing.
Her hand covered his, drawing his focus to her face. Fuck, she was beautiful. Those green eyes. Full pink lips. Her soft, thick hair pulled into a ponytail. Just staring at her eased the tight feeling in his chest. The edgy gnawing sensation in his gut. He’d do anything for her.
She smiled, and it felt as if the sun had exploded in front of him. “It’s going to be okay. Promise.”
He snorted, forcing himself to resume his scan of the bar—watch for any sign she’d been targeted. “That’s supposed to be my line.”
“But I’m not the one about to crawl out of my own skin. I’m actually surprised you’re not frothing at the mouth.” Her lips quirked. “Or working your way through every guy in here—wrestling them to the floor until they prove they aren’t a threat.”
“Don’t need to get close to tell that. I can see it the moment they walk in. Or look this way.” He glanced at her, again. “But, I’m not taking any chances. Someone could sneak in through the back. Hide in the shadows. And let’s not forget Brown’s made a living out of killing people and not getting caught.”
“I caught him.”
Cannon laughed. Fuck, he loved her. “Yeah, you did. So… Any ideas on where else he might be? We’ve been here for hours, and he’s still a ghost.”
She glanced at the new phone he’d given her then tucked it back in her pocket. “Nothing interesting happens before midnight. We’ve still got a bit of time. And trust me… If he’s going to show, it’ll be here. Guaranteed.�
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Cannon merely nodded. He’d been casing a different bar every night for a week. Had gone over Brown’s previous moves and anticipated where the bastard would most likely come out of hiding. This place…
It hadn’t made the list. It was too—country, for one. As soon as he’d walked through the door, he’d had to stop himself from turning to Jericho and asking her if she’d taken them to the wrong place. Nothing but a sea of Stetsons and kicks, with some cover band singing Alabama songs on a raised stage. Knowing every cowboy in here was most likely armed hadn’t eased his tension, any, either.
Also, it was outside Brown’s territory. If he got into trouble in here, he’d be facing another gang, along with whoever was chasing him.
But Jericho hadn’t seemed fazed. In fact, she’d smiled and headed for a table in the corner. The one he would have picked—a feat that had made him smile. She really did have good instincts. Which shouldn’t surprise him. She was one hell of a marshal.
Cannon gave her fingers a squeeze. “What makes you so sure he’ll come…here?”
She laughed. “First, with the kind of heat Brown has chasing him, he can’t go to his usual places, but he can’t venture completely outside his safe zone, either. And this place is pushing the boundaries of the Macmillan’s turf. The perfect compromise. Second, it’s in one of the nastiest parts of the city. Even I wouldn’t come here without your team as backup. And third…” She glanced around. “It has everything he hates. A country band. Red-neck boys. Overly priced beer. It’s the last place anyone would look. So, it’s the first place he’ll go.”
“You think he’ll venture that outside his norm? Humans are still animals, sweetheart. Prone to habits.”
“That’s true. But he’s suspected of killing a federal marshal. That enforces a lot of restrictions. He knows he’s on the top of our most wanted list. That they’ll probably call in more marshals from out of state. Have the SOG team on permanent stand-by. It’s been nearly two weeks. He’ll be getting cabin fever, by now. Guys like him aren’t used to living in hiding. And, after his stint in prison… He’ll be itching to taste freedom. Even if it means coming to a dump like this.”