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

by Laura Marie Altom

  Her current bouquet had seen better days. The snapdragons looked tired. For this year, the growing season had ended. Would she be around for next year?

  Squelching the macabre line of thought, she forced a smile, saying to her son, “Guess I should’ve asked what you’re making.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I dunno.” Glad she’d worn slacks, she plunked down beside him. “A boat? Upside-down skyscraper?”

  “Mo-om.”

  “What?” she asked, ruffling his short dark hair.

  “Don’t you know anything?” With dusky-green eyes that reminded her of dried sage, he gave her the look. The one that said despite the fact she was one of the state’s youngest federal judges—not to mention, a female—that he was and would always be wa-aa-aay smarter than her.

  “Yep,” she said with a heavy sigh. “You must be right. Guess I don’t know anything. So? Help me out. What are you building?”

  “It’s a gun.” He picked up the monolithic mix of colorful blocks only to pop to his feet, then run to the window and start shooting. “Pow, pow!”

  Allie cringed. “Caleb, get away from the windows.”

  “How come? The cops are right outside. No one can get us up here.”

  If only that were true.

  Allie scrambled to her feet and drew him back, safely out of view, before closing the drapes on the low-hanging clouds and persistent rain. “I, um, appreciate you looking out for us, but why don’t you leave the shooting to the police.”

  “What’re they gonna do? They’ve been protecting us a whole two days and still haven’t caught the bad guys.”

  “I know, baby, but they will. Real soon.”

  “This is boring.” Cal slammed his gun into the plastic Lego tub. His creation shattered. “I wanna go to school. Max is bringing his dad for show and tell. He makes donuts for his job and we were gonna get free ones and everything.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, drawing him into a hug. “But remember how we talked about this? And decided it would be safer if you hung out with me?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  A knock sounded at the door.

  Allie jumped, then felt silly when her elderly secretary poked her head in. Guess being used for target practice set a woman on edge.

  “Allie, hon, there’s a gentleman here to see you from Portland. He’s with the U.S. Marshals. Shall I send him in?”

  “Of course.” Allie released her son to smooth her hair and straighten her aqua silk blouse. At first she’d been opposed to having the big dogs called in, especially on the off chance her and Cal’s father’s paths should cross. But after this morning’s latest attempt on her life, she was relieved help had arrived.

  Usually, federal courthouses had marshals’ offices right inside. Hers was no different, except the marshals were actually local policemen who’d been deputized into service. Not that they didn’t do a fine job—after all, she was still alive. But seeing how their usually peaceful district had never had something this serious happen, they were rusty on evasive maneuvers.

  The members of the white supremacist organization intent on taking her life were not.

  “Baby,” she said to her son. “Could you please make me an airplane while I talk to this man? A great, big one with maybe a swimming pool in first class, and—”

  “Allie.”

  She looked to the door and her pulse went haywire.

  Caleb?

  Of all the luck…

  It’d been eight years since she’d last seen him. For eight years she’d told herself she hated him. Never wanted to see him again. She’d told herself every morning and night that what she’d done, what she’d kept from him, had been for a good reason.

  She made the mistake of meeting his direct stare. The exact shade of dried sage…

  Her gig was up.

  Caleb locked eyes with his son. Took a half step back, as if the air had been kicked from his lungs. But then his initial composure returned. Sort of. If you didn’t count the tightening of his jaw or the way his eyes narrowed with instantaneous rage. He’d just found out the baby she’d told him she’d lost was alive and well and making an airplane out of Legos.

  “This is—no.” The man Allie had loved with a sometimes frightening intensity gave her a hard look, then shook his head. “We’re not going to do this now. Not here. In front of…” Those gorgeous, all-too-familiar eyes of his welled with tears. “How could you, Allie?” He pressed the heel of his right hand against one eye, then the other, and cleared his throat. “Your honor, my name is Caleb Logue. I’ll be heading your security team.”

  “Oh, Caleb…” She fought to speak past her own wall of tears. “I didn’t mean for this to—”

  “As soon as you and your boy are ready to head home, I’ll accompany you.”

  “Please, let me…explain.” Too late. He was already out the door.

  “Who was that?” her son asked.

  Your father.

  Caleb couldn’t breathe.

  “Dang, Logue,” his old pal from the Seattle office, Owen Richards, said with a slap to his back. “You look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man—only whiter.”

  “Thanks.” Caleb brushed past him toward the group of guys still out in the hall, who were feeling up a snack machine.

  “Damned thing stole my quarter,” his younger brother, Adam, complained.

  “Stow it,” Caleb said. “Everyone ready to rock?”

  “Not without my quarter.” Adam gave the machine another thump, then switched tactics by sticking his hand up the lady’s metal skirt. “What bug crawled up your behind?”

  What bug? Caleb snorted.

  The one that came with finding out the woman he’d thought he loved was a lying, conniving wench who’s still as freakin’ gorgeous as ever and had bore him a damned good-looking son she didn’t even have the decency to tell him existed!

  “Thanks for the grub,” Adam said.

  “You’re welcome.” Allie stood at her black granite kitchen counter, wiping grease splatters from the burgers she’d fried for dinner.

  Burgers, boxed macaroni and cheese, and frozen peas.

  Her mother would report her to some government agency for cooking such a lackluster meal. But then her mother had been a stay-at-home mom. She also had never received death threats. She had, however, had a policeman husband killed in the line of duty. Meaning that though she wished Allie had told Caleb about his son, she’d always been sympathetic to her daughter’s rationale for keeping Cal’s paternity a closely guarded secret.

  Allie’s dad had been shot when she was just twelve. For years, she’d bitterly wished she’d never even known him, rather than to have loved him so fiercely only to lose him in such a useless, tragic way. Wanting to protect her son from suffering the same kind of loss, she’d done Cal a favor by never letting him get attached to his adrenaline-junkie father.

  Adam asked, “Got any idea what Caleb’s so PO’d about?”

  “None at all.” Allie scrubbed harder, thankful for the fact that while she’d always liked Adam, he’d never been that big on personal observations.

  “Got any ice cream?”

  “Cookie dough and cotton candy.”

  He winced. “Guess those’ll do.”

  She shot him a look. “You always this professional?”

  “Give me a break. It’s not like I don’t know you. And anyway, Caleb’s loaded for bear. Trust me, ain’t no one gettin’ through him.”

  “So he’s out there, then?” she asked, grabbing a bowl and the ice-cream spade on her way to the freezer.

  “Yup. Right outside. Along with four other marshals.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Nice?” He laughed. “Between them, they’ve got the firepower of a small country. Ain’t nothin’ nice about ’em.”

  “Sorry,” she said, licking a sweet smudge of ice cream from her pinkie. “Didn’t mean to insult your arms supply.”

  “S’okay.”
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  She handed him the bowl and a spoon. “So, is um, Caleb going to be inside at all?”

  “Outlook doubtful—mmm, this is better than I’d expected. Thanks.”

  “Sure. So, is there any time I might talk with him?”

  “I guess.”

  Was Adam really this dense? Couldn’t he see how much she needed to speak with his brother? While she didn’t for a minute believe she’d done the wrong thing in shielding her son from the certain disaster that was part of Caleb’s job description, she’d always felt wretched about her decision.

  If only she could explain. To Caleb. To herself.

  “Okay,” she said, hands on her hips, taking a deep breath. Time for a more direct approach. “Might it be possible for you to ask Caleb to come inside right now?”

  “I’m eating my ice cream.”

  Apparently, yes, Adam was that dense.

  “My brother said you wanted to see me.” Caleb found Allie curled in an overstuffed lounge chair, reading court documents by the light of an artsy-fartsy lamp. In a swanky marble, brass and glass fireplace, a gas flame scorched politically correct concrete logs. Call him environmentally challenged, but he’d always been partial to wood. But then wood was a good, honest material. The woman seated before him could be called lots of things. Honest wasn’t one of them.

  “Oh,” she said, her voice as flat as her eyes. “Hi.”

  Not in the mood for forced pleasantries, he asked, “Our son in bed?”

  She swallowed hard, then nodded. “Please, have a seat.”

  “I’d rather stand.”

  “You off duty?” she politely asked.

  “Cut the chitchat, Al. You not only lied about losing my son, you didn’t even have the decency to lie to my face. You took the coward’s way out by doing it in a Dear John.”

  “Caleb, if you’d just let me explain.”

  “Explain?” He laughed. “Oh, I’ve spent the past eight years of my life mourning the loss of your—our—child and you’re going to explain?” He thumped the red fireplace wall in anger.

  “I’m sorry,” Allie’s eyes stung with tears. “You were so focused. All you ever talked about was getting your silver star. It was an obsession. As if, along with your fascination for those awful spaghetti westerns, you were going to become part of some modern-day posse. I knew if I told you I wanted to keep the baby, you’d do the honorable thing and marry me. You’d probably even have given up your dreams. Taken some boring desk job. You’d have been miserable.”

  “Don’t give me that. Seriously, Allie, you’re a highly intelligent woman. Surely you can come up with a better excuse for keeping a father from his son. A son from his father. You think every marshal spends every day shootin’ up the hills? You think my own father ordered me and my two brothers and sister from the back of the Sears catalog?”

  “I—I said I was sorry.” Allie rose, went to him, tried to give him a hug, but he backed away. Just out of reach.

  “Yeah,” he said, jaw hard, eyes harder. “I’ll just bet.”

  Allie winced from the obvious disgust behind his words, winced harder at the slam of the door as he left the room.

  Sure, he’d had a right to know about his son, but she had rights, too. Intrinsic rights to security and well-being and happiness and love. How convenient Caleb had managed to block out how many of her hopes and dreams he’d squashed. Did he even remember what’d really happened eight years ago on the night she’d told him she was pregnant?

  She did. Remembered it like it was yesterday…

  It had been rainy, yet hot, making the air heavy.

  “Damn, this is quite a spread,” he’d said.

  “Thanks.” She’d been warmed by Caleb having noticed she’d gone to extra trouble. Wildflowers picked in the empty lot behind her rented house graced an antique Ball canning jar he’d bought for her at a flea market. He was always doing that. Finding her little odds and ends to fill her home—their home. They’d met their junior year in college. And now, their second year of law school, she’d supposed it was time for what she was about to tell him.

  True, there could have been a better time for this to happen—say, after graduation when they’d both found great jobs. But you couldn’t always plan a pregnancy, and there wasn’t much they could do about it, other than fast forward the marriage plans they’d each hinted at.

  “What’s the occasion?” he’d asked, stepping up behind her at the stove, wrapping his arms around her waist, kissing the sensitive spot on the nape of her neck.

  “Patience, counselor.”

  He’d laughed. “Right. Trial lawyer I will never be. You know why I’m going after the fancy degree.”

  Her heart had plummeted. So much for her wish for a lovely surprise from him. Something like a spontaneous proposal, then a heartfelt vow to not go into the marshals’ service.

  “You just watch.” With his chest puffed out the way it always was when he talked about his career plans, he’d said, “Once I get this law degree behind me, then combine it with a stellar field service record, no mere Deputy Marshal status for me, darlin’. I’ll be the youngest presidentially appointed U.S. Marshal ever in the state. You can be the youngest U.S. District Court Judge.”

  “Great.”

  “Doesn’t sound good to you?” He’d swept aside her long hair, kissing a partial ring around her throat.

  “Caleb, hon, I was going to wait until after dinner to tell you, but—”

  Hands still around her waist, he’d turned her to face him. “Wait a minute. I know this pouty look. You bomb Valerio’s midterm?”

  “No,” she’d said, suddenly overcome with emotion. Tears had started and wouldn’t stop.

  “Damn, sweetie. What’s wrong?” He’d held her close, protecting her from the world. Trouble was, the thing hurting her worst was him.

  “I—I’m pregnant,” she’d blurted. Hoping, praying, he’d propose on the spot.

  Instead, he’d gripped her tighter, like she’d fallen overboard and he was dragging her back to an already sinking ship. “This shouldn’t be scary,” he’d said. “But it is. I mean, I want to be a dad. A lot. But right now?” He’d shaken his head. “We’ve both got full plates.”

  “Sure.” Nodding against his chest, she’d felt his frantic heartbeat.

  “We’ll make it right though, okay?” He’d tucked his fingers under her chin, raising it so that her gaze met his. “We’ll make it right.”

  Make it right?

  What did that even mean?

  That hadn’t been the way her fairy tale was supposed to have gone. Caleb was supposed to have proposed. Tell her he loved her and their baby more than life. And he could have told her that minute, because he loved her, he’d give up his dangerous career in favor of something nice and safe. Maybe tax law. He, better than anyone, from their many late-night talks, knew what had happened to her father. And how fearful she was of tragedy striking another man she loved. Because Caleb knew, he should understand her actions, but didn’t. In the end, the only thing he’d given up was her—them.

  So she’d formed a plan.

  One that had allowed her to keep her precious child, and Caleb to keep his apparently equally precious unfettered bachelor life and crazy-dangerous career.

  Read the exciting conclusion to Allie and Caleb’s story in CHASED!

  Dear Reader

  * * *

  Joe and Gillian’s story evolved from a magical trip my husband and I took to the West Coast. Earlier that year, I’d gone through some tough personal stuff—long story. My husband had discount flight privileges through the company he worked for, so when vacation time rolled around, he suggested leaving our twins with his family, then heading to Oregon. (After visiting the state’s coast years earlier on business, he’d always wanted to go back.)

  Anyway, we had no reservations except for our rental car and arrived in Portland in the middle of the night. The next morning we woke to fog so thick it was hard to see your hand in front of
your face, let alone drive. Still, we slowly wound our way through thick forests to the Pacific. As in a dream, the fog lifted, and there it was, sparkling and gorgeous.

  The tide was low and we walked across a beach strewn with beautiful black stones—many perfectly round like marbles. Next we came to tidal pools. Like the ones on Joe’s island, each pool housed an amazing array of life—starfish and anemones and so many fish I couldn’t begin to name them.

  Farther down the road were giant sea caves, and then quaint little restaurants where we’d split a bowl of chowder. Like Joe, I found the Oregon coast to be an incredible place of healing. From forests thick with ferns and trees taller than many of the buildings we had back home in Oklahoma, to miles of deserted beaches, nature put on such a dazzling show I didn’t have time to think of anything but how lucky I was to be alive.

  Wish you a lifetime of healing journeys,

  Laura Marie Altom

  U.S. Marshals: Hunted Copyright © 2019 by Laura Marie Altom.

  Saving Joe First Edition Copyright © 2005 by Laura Marie Altom.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Fulton Court Press.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.