U.S. Marshals: Hunted (U.S. Marshals Book 1)

by Laura Marie Altom

  He missed his little girl.

  Hearing her laugh over cartoons while he sat at the breakfast table, drinking fresh-squeezed orange juice and reading the Wall Street Journal. Willow slept late, then stayed late at the office, so morning had been his time with Meggie. Sometimes he’d actually get her to eat a breakfast more substantial than Pop Tarts.

  The night before, Willow would carefully lay out the clothes Meggie was supposed to wear to preschool, but he and his daughter had always secretly jazzed up those outfits. Making additions like a pirate eye patch or pompoms or a tiara.

  All the way to school, they’d sing commercial jingles, neither of them remembering the real words. By the time they arrived, Joe never wanted to let her go.

  And so sometimes they’d drive around a little more.

  To the doughnut shop at the end of Lever Road for cake doughnuts with pink sprinkles. Did she still like those? Or were her tastes more refined now that she was a Beverly Hills kid? Was she more into croissants?

  On and on into the night he drove.

  He pulled over to gas up, and once back on the road, Gillian again fell asleep. Portland wasn’t that far from his island. He could’ve been there and back twice. But it felt good being behind the wheel. Like he was back in control.

  But then he made the mistake of looking at the woman sleeping beside him. And never had he felt more out of control.

  15

  * * *

  “Where are we?” Gillian asked, shivering in the chilly night air Joe had let in upon entering the car.

  “A cheap motel. Apparently, the only kind out in the middle of nowhere.” He handed her a single brass key dangling from a burgundy plastic diamond key chain.

  “Classy,” she said with a weary grin.

  “Hey, only the best for the women I date.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

  She wanted to be excited by his playful words, but as tired as he had to be, as unconventional as their situation, she knew those words meant nothing more than a faint stab at lightening their moods.

  “The place only has rooms with one bed,” he said. “That okay?”

  She nodded.

  He started the car, driving it to the far end of the single-story motel, which looked suspiciously like the one used in Psycho.

  He parked behind a Dumpster so the car wouldn’t be visible from the road.

  “Want me to call the bellman to fetch our bags?” she asked.

  “Ha ha.” He climbed out, walked around to her side as if he planned on opening her door, but she’d already done it.

  She handed him the room key.

  Inside, he flicked on a lamp that sat on a low table between two gold velvet chairs. Gold-flecked wallpaper served as a lovely backdrop to the gold brocade bed. Stale cigarette smoke filled the air, but never had Gillian felt more secure. No way was anyone finding them here.

  She jumped when Joe tossed the key on the dresser with a clang.

  “It’s okay,” he said, curving his hands around her shoulders. “Well…” Slowly turning her to face him, he added, “Aside from the sixties-era James Bond decor, it’s okay.”

  Easing her arms around him for a hug, she said, “Thanks, but aren’t I supposed to be reassuring you?”

  “Sorry. I forgot. Have at it.”

  She gave him a swat, then reached for the remote. They got a whole six channels. Two aired church services, one news, one infomercials, one Love Boat, one Gunsmoke. In the mood for entertainment that didn’t include gunplay, she backed onto the too-soft bed, settling for watching Cruise Director Julie fall in love.

  “Mind if I take a shower?” Joe asked.

  “Go ahead. Sounds like a good idea.”

  He reached into the laundry bag and pulled out a sack.

  “What’s in there?”

  “Toothbrushes and paste. A couple T-shirts for us to change into. I grabbed them while you were in the restroom at the gas stop.” One shirt was gray and featured six Oregon lighthouses. The second was navy with a baby seal. “This one’s for you,” he said, handing her the navy one. “As much as I’d love seeing you in a color other than blue, I figured you’d feel more at home in this.”

  “Thanks.” His sweet gesture tightened her throat.

  “Got some junk food, too.” He tossed bags of beef jerky and Doritos on the bed, along with two packs of powdered sugar doughnuts, Pringles and a couple of Snickers. “Hmm…” Eyeing his selections, he said, “All this looked better a hundred miles back. Now I’d prefer your French toast.” He winked, only something about the seemingly casual gesture wasn’t right. The way he stood there, hands in his pockets, outwardly so calm when on the inside he had to be freaking out…Was he putting on this ultra-relaxed act for her?

  “I—I like all this stuff,” she said, avoiding the real issue. If one of her co-workers had turned dirty, what if others had, too? Was the Portland office even safe? What happened if they got vibes that it wasn’t? Then what? They couldn’t keep running forever. Should she turn Joe over to the LAPD?

  He jerked his thumb toward the bathroom. “I’m heading for the shower.”

  “Joe, wait.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t you think we should talk?”

  “About what?”

  “Everything. My God, we both could’ve been killed. And it’s all my fault.”

  Silently, stoically, he crossed the room, settled his big hands on either side of her face, then slowly drew her up.

  “No. It’s not,” was all he said before tipping her face sideways, then covering her mouth with his.

  He kissed her urgently, sweetly, with such raw emotion her heart begged him to stop, while at the same time go on forever. Did he know what this did to her?

  It gave her false hopes of them having a future beyond the coming days and weeks. It made her want things she’d long since considered taboo. Things like little girls named Meggie, and babies, and two-story Victorians, and formal Sunday dinners around a dining room table busting with people she loved. Only none of that was ever going to happen for her, because she didn’t want it to, right? Those were things her father and brothers wanted for her, not what she wanted down deep in her soul….

  Which, at the moment, consisted solely of Joe kissing her and kissing her until the world stopped spinning.

  He pulled back. Sighed. “Time for that shower. Cold.”

  “Joe…”

  “If I don’t go…”

  Forcing back tears, she nodded.

  If he didn’t go, who knew where kisses could lead?

  Hugging herself while he entered the bathroom, flicked on the noisy fan-light, then shut the door, she couldn’t help but wonder where he wanted their kissing to lead.

  If he hadn’t still been mourning Willow, if she hadn’t been bound by a professional code of honor to keep her hands to herself, how different would things be between them? Would he be a romantic? Courting her over candlelight? Or the outdoorsy type? Preferring sailing or canoeing or—

  She sat down as hard as the mushy mattress allowed.

  Who was she trying to kid?

  Code of honor? She snorted. She’d thrown that out the window days ago. Face it, if she hadn’t fallen for the guy, he never would’ve been in danger. She’d have kept her radio and gun close at hand instead of tucked into some mouse-infested cabinet. She’d have followed up on that gnawing feeling that something had been wrong. She’d have focused on all those suspicions instead of trying to figure out names for the exact shade of Joe’s eyes and hair.

  If it weren’t for his quick thinking in taking a chance on finding the keys in Wesson’s boat, they’d both be dead. She was assigned to protect him, yet he’d been the one who’d ultimately got them to safety. He’d driven through the night while she’d used his shoulder for a pillow.

  Boy, was that cause for a promotion, or what?

  Laughing, crying, she withdrew her silver star from her jacket pocket and set it on the bedside table.

 
; Her father and brothers had been right. She made a lousy marshal. Who had she been trying to kid?

  Desperate to feel something—anything—besides the pain stemming from realizing her life’s goal was a joke, she peeled off her clothes.

  Easing open the bathroom door, she stood there for a second, breathing in the faint smell of disinfectant and the steam.

  “Gil?” Joe asked from the shower.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You needing the john?”

  “No.”

  “Then what…” He peeked his head around the shower curtain, then openly stared. “Oh.”

  Closing the door, she crossed the small space to join him. “I—I didn’t want to be alone.”

  When she put her hands on his chest, easing her fingertips through the coarse, wet hair, she had a front row ticket to the erratic pulse in his throat. She pressed open-mouthed kisses to his pecs, slid lower to his nipples and lower still to an area standing at attention.

  “God,” he moaned, tilting his head back. “Stop. I’ll never last.”

  “No one’s asking you to,” she said, easing him back so she could join him under the sinfully hot spray. She went back to giving him pleasure, and he didn’t last, and so she washed him, and he grabbed the soap and washed her. Only they never made it to the rinse portion, as not three minutes after she began rhythmically rubbing against him he was hard again and the water was growing cold.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said, turning off the faucet, then flinging back the curtain.

  He hefted her into his arms, kissing her lips, cheeks, neck, setting her down long enough to rip the spread off the bed. But in the split second it took him to do that, she grew tired of waiting, and pulled him back, twining her arms around his neck, kissing the indentation at the base of his throat.

  He slipped his strong fingers under the fall of her hair, lightly tugging back her head, roughly seizing her mouth, parting it to allow for the primal thrusting of their tongues.

  Shower droplets made way for sweat.

  The pocket between her legs hummed, and she eased them apart, urging one, and then two of his fingers inside her. When his rhythmic plunging had pushed her over the edge of reason, she tugged him down to the bed, inviting him in, only the bed was too soft and she’d sunk into it too far.

  “Dammit,” he said while she giggled. “Think this is funny?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Okay, then, let’s try this….” He took her hand, guiding her to the nearest wall. Leaning against it, he drew her again into the circle of his arms, into the warm shelter she so badly craved. He was kissing her, and then lifting her up, up, only to plunge deep within her.

  At first all she could do was gasp, but then with his every thrust, she pressed her fingertips into his back, kissing his shoulders, nipping his neck, until he ducked low to once again claim her lips, dizzying her with bold sweeps of his tongue.

  A few more deep, binding, soul-shattering thrusts and he tensed, while she clung to him, scarcely able to breathe past an all-consuming, shimmering white-hot glow.

  “Thank you,” he said, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.

  “Thank you.”

  Back on her feet, she held out her hand. “Think the water’s warm yet?”

  “Don’t know,” he said, twining his fingers with hers. “Let’s see.”

  * * *

  Joe woke the next morning, took one look at the woman lying beside him, and felt like the biggest womanizing jerk to ever live. Slipping his arm out from under her, he headed for the bathroom, rinsed off in what had to be his fourth or fifth shower in the last twelve hours, then dressed in dirty jeans and his new butt-ugly T-shirt.

  He wanted to go outside. Fill his foggy brain with fresh air. But even though the odds that they’d been followed were slim, taking a stroll didn’t seem like all that bright an idea.

  Settling for sitting in a ratty gold chair that had a cushion about as played out as the bed, he swiped his fingers through his damp hair.

  Okay, where did he even begin sorting all this out?

  First step was taking another look at Gil.

  Lord, she was beautiful, but her looks had never been up for debate. Her long hair was bunched around her face, looking more like a hat than sleek and sexy, but that was okay. She could’ve have been bald and he suspected he’d still have a raging boner for the woman. Leading him back to the whole chemistry issue.

  For all practical purposes, he was taken. Sure, Willow had been dead for, like, two years, but that didn’t make the pain easier to bear. The only thing that did that was…Gillian.

  Talking with Gillian, laughing with Gillian.

  Having wild-ass, kinky shower sex with Gillian—the kind you sure didn’t have with your wife.

  Great. So what did that mean? That she meant nothing more to him than a one-night stand? Because that wasn’t the case at all. When he dared take a glimpse at his future, he couldn’t imagine life without her in it.

  What if Meggie turned him down cold? Said she didn’t want to get to know a dad who’d for all practical purposes abandoned her? If that happened, the only possible person he could talk it over with was Gillian.

  He grabbed a Snickers off the table and tore open the wrapper with his teeth.

  His mouth still tasted like her.

  He took a big bite of the candy bar and chewed.

  Bottom line, whatever was going down between them had to end. Today. Now.

  He no right to take things further.

  Not the faintest idea even how.

  He was too old for dating. Too tired for the games. He only wished he was too old and tired for the wanting. Even now, after giving himself the well-intentioned speech, he wanted her. Wanted her just as keenly as the first day he’d eyed her walking on his shore.

  * * *

  “You all right?” Gillian was back in the Jag’s passenger seat, only this time, she’d propped her sock-covered feet on the dash. If he’d seemed to mind, she’d have put them down, but since trading their motel room that’d looked so cozy in the darkness, yet so shabby in glaring morning light, for an equally blah cold, gray day, he’d hardly paid her any attention at all.

  He drove with both hands on the wheel. Narrowed eyes and a grimly held mouth weren’t exactly what she would’ve hoped for the morning after from the man who’d made love to her all night.

  Appropriate, maybe, considering their circumstances, but not welcome.

  What she wanted was the laughter they’d shared back on the island. Playing pick-up sticks late at night or reading each other passages from books they’d been immersed in.

  “Just thinking,” he said in answer to the question she’d forgotten having asked. “Wonder what we’re about to run into?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  What had she expected? For him to be thinking of her? Remembering what her hands, her mouth, had felt like on him, the way her mind kept replaying the feel of his rough fingers along her collarbone and throat?

  From the state highway leading out of Corvallis, he hit the northbound ramp for I-5. “Are there going to be feds everywhere? Are they going to lock me up like some caged animal?”

  “Don’t think of being protected as being jailed. When it’s over, and you’re back with…Meggie, it’ll be worth it.”

  “Yeah. Guess you’re right.”

  “Sure I am.” She shot a lazy smile his way. One that if they’d been real lovers she’d have followed up with reaching for his right hand, lacing her fingers with his and giving him a gentle squeeze. But the fact of the matter was they weren’t lovers. They were barely friends. For all practical purposes, they were nothing. Just business acquaintances who’d shared time together.

  If only she believed that in her heart. Maybe then she wouldn’t be faced with the superhuman task she knew—for Joe’s safety and her own conscience—had to be done.

  16

  * * *

  “Logue!” her team leader, Neil K
avorski, shouted through an open office door. “I’ll be doggoned, get the hell in here, girl! I can’t believe you’re all right.”

  Gillian initially shied away from him, but he made it impossible by pulling her into a hug. How had he survived? Hadn’t Wesson killed everyone else on their team? Or for that matter, could Kavorski have been secretly working with Wesson?

  Her stomach turned queasy until she stepped back and saw the cuts across his left cheek, bruises on his forehead and jaw.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, blushing after their hug. “Guess touchy-feely stuff isn’t exactly professional, but hell, I’m just so damn relieved to see you in one piece. We’ve all been worried sick. Some shock about Wesson and Finch going bad, huh? Wesson came at me with his Maglite, knocked me out, shot young Brimmer…it was all so fast! I didn’t know what was happening. When I came to, I radioed for help, but then I saw an explosion up at the cabin and thought I was too late.”

  He shook his head. “Anyway, Finch is still missing and Wesson is dead.”

  “How?” Gillian asked, in regard to Wesson’s death.

  “Found him dead on the trail leading up to the cabin. Shot in the chest.”

  On the trail?

  Gillian squeezed her eyes shut, forcing down a hot rush of nausea. Did that mean one of those shots she’d blindly fired into the night had killed him?

  “Good aim,” Kavorski said, patting her back. “Ballistics showed it had to be your weapon that did the job. So?” he asked, glancing beyond her to the bustling outer office. “Don’t suppose you have our witness with you?”

  “I wanted to check things out first. Make sure it was safe.”

  “Sure.” There he was again with the back patting. In all the years she’d worked with the guy, he’d never come within five feet of her. “Smart. I always knew you were one of those brainiac types. Damn fine marshal, too.”

  Grimacing, she said, “Thanks, but—”

  “No, really.” He ushered her into a chair in a loaner office and shut the door. “Will Benton and me were just talking after the debriefing about what a long way you’ve come. Met your brothers this morning. They all seemed like good guys. Real proud of you—all three of ’em.”