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

by Laura Marie Altom

  A knock sounded on the bedroom door. “Call me old-fashioned,” said the booming voice of Joe’s future father-in-law, “but until my little girl becomes your wife, she’s still my little girl. How about keeping this door open.”

  Joe groaned.

  Gillian pressed a quick kiss to his forehead, then hopped up from his lap to abide by her father’s wishes. Once the door hung open, she asked, “There, Dad, you happy?”

  “That depends,” he said, crossing his arms. “You ever give this boy an answer?”

  “Yeah,” Joe said, joining her at the door. “I’m still waiting.”

  “I don’t know…” Fingers to her temples, she grinned. “All this pressure. How will I ever decide?”

  Her father cleared his throat. “I’m not getting any younger…”

  Joe said, “Out with it. You going to marry me?”

  “Maybe? But first, we should—”

  “Brother,” Vince said with another shake of his head. “Knowing that stubborn streak of hers, looks like we could be here awhile. Joe, she’s all yours. I’m heading back to my TV Guide and coffee.”

  Once the coast was clear, Joe pressed his lips to Gillian’s, cautiously at first, but then increasing the pressure, along with the pleasure when he urged her sweet mouth open for a little tongue.

  “Mmm…” she moaned. “Yes, yes.”

  “What was that?” he asked after another kiss.

  Dazed, she said, “I—I said yes to your question.”

  “What question? It’s been so long since I asked, I kind of forgot.”

  “Is this what I have to look forward to for the next eighty or so years?”

  Shooting her a grin, tugging her back into his arms, he said, “Yep.”

  “Awesome. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

  Epilogue

  * * *

  “Whoa.” Joe slapped the L.A. Times on the tabletop.

  “What?” Gillian asked, looking pretty as ever at the breakfast table of their new beachfront home. Sunlight bathed Gil and his daughter—her daughter—in a glow straight out of an old-world painting. Freeze-framing their images in his mind, he fell still, almost afraid to breathe for fear the moment’s perfection might be a dream.

  “Daddy, did you know my friend Julie Brook-something has two kittens and a dog?”

  Looking as if she was trying to hide a smile, Gillian kept on brushing Meggie’s long, blond hair.

  He whistled. “I did not know that. Now that’s some real news.”

  “And she has a hamster. She used to have babies and a daddy hamster, but the daddy tried to eat the babies, so her mom—she’s a vetra-er-narian—said they should find new homes for the babies and the daddy.”

  “There you go, beauty queen. You’re all set.”

  “Thanks, Gilly.” Joe’s heart lurched when Meghan planted a great big, sloppy kiss on Gillian’s left cheek.

  “You’re coming today, right?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  “You’re coming, too, right, Daddy?”

  “I’ve already got it penciled in on my calendar.”

  “Okay, good, ’cause Grandma and Grandpa always take too many pictures, and I’d rather eat cake.”

  “Sure,” Joe said, pulling her onto his lap to breathe her in. The scents of her shampoo and new pink dress that smelled like the mall and the grape-flavored lip gloss Gillian brought her home as a surprise from her latest out-of-town assignment. “And how many kindergarten graduations have you been to that have led you to this conclusion?”

  His little girl scrunched her nose. “Huh?”

  “Ignore him,” Gillian said, spreading just the right amount of strawberry cream cheese on Meghan’s morning bagel. Patting the little girl’s chair, she said, “Come over here and eat. You don’t want to be too hungry to practice walking across the gym, do you?”

  “Nope.” Meghan squirmed from her dad’s lap to wriggle into her chair.

  On her way down, a row of sequins from her fairy wings—an added accessory that looked pretty darn cute, even if he did say so himself—scratched the underside of Joe’s chin.

  From outside came a sorrowful howl.

  Looking very grown-up, Meghan shook her head. “Skye just doesn’t learn, does he? That seagull doesn’t want to be eaten.”

  Joe took one look at Gillian and burst out laughing.

  “What’s funny?” Meggie asked. “If you were a seagull, would you want a dog eating you for breakfast?”

  “No, sweetie, I wouldn’t,” Gillian said.

  “Well, me neither. Guess Daddy would.” She stuck out her bagel-crusted tongue at him.

  He stuck his tongue out right back.

  While Meghan was busy making a mess of her breakfast, Gillian tapped the paper. “Before our kitten and hamster baby lesson, you were about to tell me something you’d read?”

  “Just a reporter prophesizing about Tsun-Chung’s sentencing today. Says he’s expected to get three consecutive life terms.”

  “You sure you don’t want to go?”

  Joe firmly shook his head.

  “Might give you closure.”

  He reached for his fresh-squeezed OJ. “Darlin’, it’s closed. I wasted two years of my life on this guy. I wouldn’t waste two more seconds. I sure as hell wouldn’t miss Meggie’s graduation.”

  “That’s all I wanted to know.”

  “Know what I want to know?” Meghan asked.

  “What’s that, sweetie?” Gillian wiped cream cheese smudges from the corners of the little girl’s mouth.

  “Whether you guys are gettin’ me kittens or hamster babies for my grat-u-lations present. Julie says it’s a special occasion, which means you have to get me something really good.”

  “Well, Gillian? You heard the girl. What shall it be, hamster babies or kitten babies?”

  She turned to Meghan. “Do we have to have more than one of each?”

  The little girl nodded.

  “Okay, then I vote hamster babies.”

  “I second,” Joe said. “Plus, this’ll be a lot cheaper than the playhouse I was going to give you.”

  “A playhouse?” Her eyes got wide. “Really, Daddy? Really? Can the hamster babies live in the playhouse?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She leaped from her chair, hurtling herself at Gillian. “Thank you, thank you. This is the best grat-u-til-ation ever!”

  “You’re welcome, sweetie.”

  “What about me?” Joe asked.

  “Oh yeah.” Meghan scrambled to him. “Thank you, too, Daddy. I love you.” Coming from her, those three simple words meant the world. Tears burned in his eyes.

  Those first few days after he’d come home to be a real father again had been tough. His daughter hadn’t quite known what to make of him. Granted, they’d spent a few meals together when he’d been on the run, but those times had been filled with his in-laws’ nervous chatter and Meggie catching him up on what all had happened in her life.

  At first, she’d cried a lot for her grandparents, but after Joe assured her they were just a short car ride or phone call away, she gradually opened up to him. Asking him to read her a bedtime story or help her pick out school clothes or take her for doughnuts like he used to.

  From there, the normalcy he’d so desperately craved had come tumbling back. And then Gillian had entered his and Meggie’s lives. Just for short visits at first. Then family outings. Until one day when Meggie asked Gillian if she would be her second mommy. And Gillian had tearfully agreed.

  Across the table, he caught Gillian staring at the two of them. Her eyes looked suspiciously wet, too.

  “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?” He reached for her hand, giving it a squeeze. I love you, he mouthed.

  I love you.

  From outside came more dog baying.

  From inside, “Can we go get the hamster babies now?”

  “What about graduation?”

  “Let’s skip it. I’ll just do kinder-g
arden again next year. It was fun.”

  Fun.

  Joe squeezed his wife’s hand and his daughter a little harder. Yep, that perfectly summed up his new life.

  Keep reading for an excerpt of the next story

  in my U.S. Marshals series: CHASED

  U.S. MARSHALS: CHASED

  * * *

  LAURA MARIE ALTOM

  Prologue

  * * *

  Eight years ago…

  Caleb Logue hadn’t felt this good since…

  Well, since maybe never.

  With his girl—soon to be wife—Allie carrying his son or daughter, he felt like he’d won the lottery. Hit the jackpot. His ship had finally come in. Tonight was going to be magic. He not only had the ring, but a single, flawless red rose occupied the seat beside him—along with her other surprise.

  In a perfect world, she’d be getting a huge bouquet. A diamond solitaire the size of a Hershey’s Kiss. As it was, her rock was more like a dust speck, but surely this was one case where it wasn’t the size of the stone that counted, but the depth of his love.

  That might sound corny, but what the hell? It wasn’t like anyone was around to read his mind.

  He loved her.

  Loved her so much it sometimes hurt to think what his life might be like without her.

  Lucky for him that after tonight, once she said yes to his proposal, they’d be together for a good, long while.

  In the driveway of her rented house, he turned off his crotchety Chevy pickup, then popped open the equally cranky door.

  From the seat beside him, he picked up the rose and the nine-week-old German shepherd pup he’d adopted from a shelter to serve as his official proposal ambassador. Though they, of course, didn’t yet know the sex of their baby, Cal had slipped Allie’s engagement ring onto a pale blue ribbon he’d tied in a lopsided bow around the little guy’s neck.

  The puppy groaned in protest at having been woken from his nap. His puppy breath would make the animal-lover in Allie swoon.

  Granted, when Allie first told Cal she was pregnant, he hadn’t taken the news all that well. He didn’t think she fully understood just how much the news had freaked him out, but tonight, he’d make up for his less than enthusiastic first response. Both in their second year at the University of Oregon’s law school, they weren’t exactly in the best financial shape to start a family.

  He cradled the puppy close, checking to make sure Allie’s ring was still around his neck, then whistled all the way to Allie’s front porch.

  He waved at the frat guys next door who’d moved their sofa outside to enjoy the unseasonably warm April weather. Gritty Pearl Jam played on a radio they’d set in the open front window. Their barbecue smelled great. Chicken. Just that morning, at a campus yard sale, Caleb had picked up a hibachi for Allie. Her rusted-out grill had seen better days.

  The frat guys nodded and waved back.

  “Cute puppy!”

  “Thanks!” Caleb’s chest felt near bursting with excitement.

  He’d finally reached Allie’s porch. The balmy breeze flapped the screen on the window over the kitchen sink. He’d fix it for her this weekend.

  He tried walking in as usual, but the door was locked. He had a key, but it was in the truck, so he knocked again.

  When a few minutes passed with still no answer, he retrieved his key. Holding the wriggling puppy in the crook of his left arm, he used his right hand to slip the key into the lock, hoping the worry settling in his gut was unfounded. Allie was always home from class by now. She worked as a waitress down at McGinty’s, but two nights earlier, he’d doubled-checked with her boss that she was off tonight.

  “Al?” he called while pushing open the door. “You all righ—”

  He froze.

  One foot inside, one out.

  The once cheerfully cluttered home, filled with books and newspapers and rumpled old furniture and thriving plants, was empty. The place was no longer a home, but merely a house. Sun that usually slanted through windows, giving the wood floors a honeyed glow, now highlighted dingy walls crying for fresh paint and scuffed floors that could only be helped by hiding them with wall-to-wall carpet.

  “Allie?” His pulse raced.

  What was going on?

  Where could she be?

  He searched everywhere. The bedroom where they made love. The kitchen where they cooked together, laughed together. The bathroom where they’d showered together. All empty.

  So what now? Wait? Sit around hoping she’d come back?

  At first he’d been scared, confused.

  Now, he was pissed.

  She hadn’t been robbed. Aliens hadn’t sucked up all of Allie’s stuff. She’d moved it. Deliberately and coldly and calculatingly moved it.

  To get away from him?

  Obviously. But why? She was carrying his baby. What had he ever done but loved her?

  He locked up, headed for his truck.

  “If you’re lookin’ for Al,” one of the frat guys shouted, “we helped her load the last of her stuff this morning.”

  Hand to his forehead, shading his eyes from the setting sun, Caleb asked, “She say where she was going?”

  “Nah.”

  Caleb muttered a quick thanks, and headed for his apartment—used more as a storage shed than shelter. Allie’s place had basically been his home, but her mom was old-fashioned, Allie had said. She wouldn’t have understood them living together before marriage.

  Caleb mechanically got through the weekend.

  Monday morning, after covering his kitchen floor in puppy pads for the dog he’d named Milo, he somehow made it to class.

  Caleb’s dad was a retired U.S. Marshal. Now, sheriff of their small, coastal Oregon hometown. Vince Logue had made a few inquiries on behalf of his son, but for all practical purposes, Allie had vanished. Caleb finally resorted to calling the mom who hadn’t approved of him. Her words of wisdom were to leave her daughter alone.

  Monday afternoon, Caleb snatched the mail from his box.

  Nestled amongst bills and credit card applications was a letter.

  Dear Caleb—

  Sorry for taking off like I did, but I didn’t know what else to do. I lost the baby, but before that, I could already tell I’d lost you. The look in your eyes after I’d told you my news, it told me the last thing you wanted to be was a father. I don’t blame you. My being pregnant was a shock to me, too.

  But what also came as a shock was your apparent lack of feeling for me. I always assumed we’d end up together, but guess I was wrong. And that’s okay. I mean, I’m hurt, but I understand, and willingly grant you your freedom. Maybe my losing the baby was somehow a blessing. Maybe if I hadn’t, you might’ve felt forced into “making it right,” like you said you would do. But what you have to understand is that I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with a man who makes my life “right,” but magical. I want the fairy tale, Caleb. I want love.

  Please don’t try to find me. I think it’s for the best that we both go our separate ways. Good luck in your future. I wish you well in all you do.

  —Allie

  Caleb read the letter four times, then wadded it into a ball he deep-sixed into the trash.

  He went out for a couple beers.

  Came home.

  But the apartment had never been his home. He fell onto the sofa and cried. And when he’d finished, he snatched her letter from the trash, smoothed it against his chest and then sat back down on the sofa to wonder where the hell things had gone wrong.

  He laughed.

  His first mistake? Hooking up with a woman whose heart was made of ice.

  On the floor, Milo stopped gnawing Caleb’s pricey running shoe long enough to cock his head in an adorable pose. He yipped.

  “You feel abandoned, too?”

  The puppy yipped again.

  1

  * * *

  “Sorry, sir, but no can do.” Portland-based Deputy U.S. Marshal Caleb Logue returned the memo with
his next assignment to his boss. Granted, Franks knew his job and was the presidentially appointed U.S. Marshal for all of Oregon, but surely even he’d understand that this—

  “’Scuse me?” Franks’s wooly-worm eyebrows raised and his thick neck turned red. Even at fifty, the guy still bench-pressed two-eighty.

  “Sir…” Caleb gulped, but held his ground. “I know this judge. We went out for a while in college. I really think it’d be best if someone else was assigned to—”

  “Ordinarily,” his boss said, “I’d agree. But with Mason and Wolcheck in Texas, Villetti in Michigan, and Smith in New Orleans, I got no one else to give this to. As is, you’re going to have to pull in a whole new team from other offices. Feel free to appoint someone else as our lady judge’s primary sidekick, but make no mistake, you will be a key player. Capiche?”

  Elbows on his cluttered desk, Caleb cradled his forehead in his hands.

  No way this was happening.

  No freakin’ way.

  “Glad you’re on board, Logue. Get together a fourteen-man team—I want six on her and four on her son at all times, four off—then haul ass down to Calumet City. This has to be in place by the end of the day. And I’m talking end of the business day—not midnight.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Allie Hayworth looked up from her organized desk, wishing her life could be as tidy. “Watcha’ doin’?” she asked her seven-year-old son, Cal.

  “Playin’ Legos.”

  “I can see that,” she said, rising to cross to the far side of her office where he sat on the floor. By U.S. District Court Judge standards, the space wasn’t all that attractive. The burgundy leather sofa had a tear she’d duct-taped, then covered with a throw pillow. The white drapes, carpet and ceiling had a faint yellow hue and smoky smell from the judge who’d served before her—an avid cigar smoker. In a dream world where she had plenty of free time, she’d love to paint the space some vibrant, exciting color. Cobalt-blue or jungle-green. Still, floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves added warmth to the overall feel, as did the fresh flowers she collected from her cutting garden at least once a week in the spring through early fall.