Without Fear

by Reese Knightley

“US Marshal Axel Bain,” the big, wild looking man said. “Don’t shoot.” The guy pointed a thumb over his shoulder to someone standing behind him. Another guy stepped out wearing a Marshals badge hanging from a chain around his neck.

  “Hey Flint,” Stanton said and Macy relaxed. They all seemed to know each other.

  “This is US Marshal Flint Ashbridge,” Whip introduced the guy.

  Flint grunted, ran his eyes over him, and a very slight sneer curled the man’s lip. From the look of distaste on Ashbridge’s face, Macy realized that the new guy apparently found the short pink top he’d worn to match his sweats offensive.

  Great, just fucking great. He stared stonily at Whip. “Why the extra muscle?”

  “Axel and I need to head to Oregon and pick up a witness. I’m leaving Flint in my place.” Whip hefted a duffle bag over one shoulder and Axel opened the door.

  Macy followed Whip to the door and stepped out into the hallway. He heard Stanton and Flint talking.

  “Why him?”

  “What?” Whip frowned.

  “He’d doesn’t seem…tolerant,” he said for want of a better word, and then added, “of me.”

  Whip smiled. “He’s like that with everyone. He’s been with the marshals for fifteen years. He’ll help Stanton to keep you safe.”

  “If you say so,” he scowled.

  Whip gently pushed him back through the open door. “I do. Don’t give him a hard time.”

  Whip shut the door and Macy was left gazing at the wood.

  He turned back to the room and the sneer had turned into a more derisive look. Screw this. He retreated to his room. He wouldn’t be subjected to a marshal that appeared to be at the least an asshole and the most a homophobe. Okay, he didn’t know that for a fact, but he wasn’t stupid. It was apparent as all hell that the guy had a bug up his ass about him.

  Carefully, he lowered to the edge of his bed. He could hear Flint’s deep voice bitching about the lack of food, and Stanton’s a moment later ordering pizza.

  Plopping back on the bed, he gazed up at the ceiling and wished he was anywhere but this miserable run-down place. Easing to his side, he tugged off his shirt and studied the Icy Hot covered fading bruise on his arm. Limping into the bathroom, he shucked his pants and carefully peeled away the bandage over the wound on his leg. He turned away from the mirror and turned on the shower.

  Lastly, he unwrapped the two sprained fingers on his left hand. The digits were red and the knuckles were swollen and throbbed beneath his touch. Who would have thought that broken fingers took so long to get better? The doc had said two to eight weeks before they healed and even longer for full mobility.

  Stepping beneath the hot water, he let the spray pulse against a few tender spots from his spar with Stanton. Several minutes after washing, he cleaned the wound on his leg, rinsed, and dried off. After wrapping his fingers back up, he changed into a pair of black sweats and a heavy, hooded sweatshirt of the same color and tucked his bright pink outfit away.

  Finally stopping at the mirror, he touched his lips with a baby pink lip gloss and outlined his eyes lightly with charcoal. There, he felt a bit better with makeup since he’d chosen to forgo wearing bright colors.

  It took several long minutes to work the spray-in conditioner into his long hair with one hand and even more challenging to tie it back, but he managed it. He gave his reflection a satisfied look. Flipping off the light, he returned to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed.

  Even though his hand hurt like hell, shoes and socks were a must. WITSEC did that to a guy. Hyperawareness of people and be prepared to take off at the drop of a hat.

  He tucked toiletries, his wallet, and extra clothing into the backpack and placed it near the door. His cell phone he tucked into one of the pockets of his sweats.

  The sound of the doorbell signaled the pizza was there, but for some reason, he stayed in his room.

  He missed Frank. He missed Jett and Nathan and their camaraderie. They’d been only a few, but they’d been a team for the short time they’d been in Crumpet. And hell, did he ever miss Justin. But most of all, he missed Logan. His warm, green eyes, the surprise in them when he pulled one over on the sexy man, and those muscled arms holding him tight, giving killer hugs. Logan was the person he pictured his happily ever after with. The same person he’d walked away from. Macy hoped Logan remembered their conversation the day before and not just the handcuffs at the cemetery. He’d told Logan to save the words of love for later. He didn’t know how, but he knew that someday, he was going to return to Logan and they’d work this shit out. He had to believe that in order to function.

  “Macy, pizza’s here,” Stanton called through the door, breaking into his thoughts.

  “Yeah, I’ll be right out.”

  Macy

  The pizza tasted fantastic.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. Was it yesterday? No, he’d had oatmeal for breakfast. Bleh.

  Stanton finished his fourth slice and stood to rinse his plate at the sink. Macy ignored Flint, but he didn’t miss the way the man’s cold eyes ran over his face, taking note of his colored lips and outlined eyes.

  Macy scowled back. It had been a long damned time since he’d let anyone make him feel like a freak for being who he was and he was damned sure not going to let this asshole do it now.

  Flint huffed and took a huge bite of food.

  “Got a problem?” Macy narrowed his gaze at the fucker.

  “Girls wear makeup,” the guy said around a bite of food.

  “I’d argue with you if I thought you had an articulate thought in your tiny little brain.”

  Stanton barked with laughter.

  Flint turned purple with anger.

  Macy snorted and shoved back from the table while stuffing the last bite of his pizza into his mouth. Tossing the plate into the sink, he sashayed from the kitchen.

  “I’m going to put on a movie,” Stanton said.

  “Cool.” He gave Stanton a small smile, but didn’t stop on his way to his room. “I’m crashing out.”

  He’d rather sit alone in his room than be around Flint. Heading through the living room, he shut his bedroom door and leaned against it.

  He lifted the backpack from the floor and moved to sit on the bed before digging out the burner phone in his sweatpants’ pocket.

  He was so badly tempted to call Justin, but no way in hell did he want Justin involved.

  He could call Logan. No, couldn’t do that either. He had to stay away, but he could dream.

  Macy smiled remembering the very first time Logan had come back to Crumpet and tracked him down. Macy had taken his lunch to the park to eat, just to get away from the café crowd, and Logan had found him. He’d never forget the surprise, pleasure, and trepidation he’d felt seeing Logan’s tall frame striding toward him.

  Of course, Logan had brought Echo. And each time Logan came to Crumpet in the following months, the large dog was always able to track him down. In fact, once Macy had switched parks just for fun and Echo had happily found him a few blocks over.

  “Trying to be tricky?” Logan had quirked one eyebrow.

  The hunk’s t-shirt stretched around corded, muscled forearms and blue jeans fit snugly on an ass to die for. The man’s thick brown hair was threaded with gray and his green eyes were piercing.

  Macy wanted to brush the hair from Logan’s forehead. Instead, he’d huffed and flipped his long hair over one shoulder and snickered.

  Logan had sat across from him at the picnic table and started in on about his choice of healthy foods.

  “What is it today?” The man had eyed the brown paper bag.

  “Peanut butter and jelly,” he’d sniped back and held up a hand that stopped Logan’s words before they could emerge. It was comical, really, and Macy had found himself laughing.

  “Don’t hate on the PB&J.”

  Logan had snorted and crossed his arms, trying to look all badass. He’d succeeded, but Macy had
suspected Logan had a soft heart.

  Digging into the bag, Macy had produced a ham and cheese sandwich piled high between two huge pieces of homemade bread and held it out. The man’s eyes had widened as he took the food.

  “Is this homemade?”

  “Courtesy of Bailey’s Café.” His smile grew when Logan’s thanks had been muffled around a huge bite of food.

  Echo had nuzzled his nose beneath his arm and Macy had laughed. Digging into the bag, he’d unwrapped a beef bone with some trimmings still attached and held it out. The large dog had gingerly taken the bone from his fingers and laid next to them on the grass to gnaw on it.

  “How’d you know we were going to be in town?” Logan eyed the bone before taking another big bite.

  Macy had dug into his small ice cooler and produced one root beer for himself and a Dr. Pepper for Logan.

  “Elijah told Justin you were coming. And since you make it a habit to seek me out, I made you both lunch,” he’d replied with a smirk. “Since you ate mine last time.”

  “I did not!” Logan had argued.

  “Did so.”

  “Did I?” The man’s eyes had twinkled.

  “You know you did.”

  “I could have sworn you gave me your lunch.” Logan polished off the sandwich.

  “Oh? Is that how you remember it?”

  A door slammed, jogging him back to his darkened bedroom and he drew a foot to the bed and hugged his knee. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he pulled a hand down his face.

  He hissed before stretching out his leg and stroking his injured thigh. It ached through the bandage. Tucking his phone back into his pocket, he eased sideways on the bed.

  The faint sound of arguing came from the living room.

  “Damn it!” Stanton shouted, bringing Macy rolling from the bed, his backpack gripped in one hand. He pulled the Glock from his nightstand and stalked to the door.

  He cracked it open just enough to see what was going on. Stanton and Flint were in the hallway, but there were two other shadowy figures standing beyond. What the hell? What had happened to the lights? While it wasn’t totally dark, it was enough to have his senses on high alert.

  Stanton gripped Flint by the throat and glanced down the hallway.

  “Run, Macy!” Stanton shouted just before one of the men behind Flint lifted a gun with a long silencer attached and shot Stanton in the head. The big man crumpled to the floor.

  Bile clawed at the back of his throat. Macy lifted his Glock and put two in the man who had shot Stanton.

  Flint turned and fired; bullets cleaved into the door. Another man stepped up beside Flint and opened fire. Macy fired off several rounds, causing the pair to dodge back.

  He slammed the door shut and twisted the lock. With the thick door stopper he’d purchased on Amazon, he wedged it tightly beneath the bottom of the door.

  “Get him!”

  “Macy? This is a mistake. Stanton was on the take,” Flint loudly yelled.

  Fuck that!

  He slipped his Glock into his pants and yanked on his backpack before running to the window. He slid it upward and silently slipped out before he shut it. He went up the fire escape instead of down.

  Fuck Flint. No way in hell was Stanton on the take. Stanton had only wanted to protect him and now he was dead. Grief soured his gut, but there was no time for that now. He’d save breaking down for later.

  After he disappeared.

  Racing across the apartment roof to the other side, he took the fire escape down. A pain sliced into his thigh when he dropped to the ground, but adrenaline kept him going. He jogged, limping down the alley and over two blocks to the south, grateful for the dark clothing. Taking another fire escape upward, he hurried through the cool Idaho night.

  Reaching a large air vent, he withdrew his utility knife from his backpack and used the screwdriver to open the vent. He slapped around inside until he found the string of a large duffle bag and pulled it out.

  He dumped the contents. A gun thumped on the ground near his feet and he set that aside. The gun was registered in his new name and he had a license to carry thanks to Stanton, but it was only good for the state of Idaho. He found the small fold of a passport and opened it.

  The name was Mark Gleason along with his picture. He tucked that into his pocket and the thousand dollars in cash. He turned on his new burner phone and powered it up. The only number in it was to a phone number Stanton said to call if he was ever in any trouble.

  Sitting on his ass, he changed out of his sweatpants and struggled into a pair of jeans. He then tugged on a beanie and took several moments to braid his hair. His fingers throbbed when he was done, but at least it was out of the way. He switched out his sneakers for lightweight boots with thick treads before shrugging on a heavy leather jacket.

  He glanced at the phone in the dark. He wasn’t going to call the number displayed on the screen. For all he knew, there could be another person like Flint waiting on the other end. He couldn’t trust anyone.

  I’m on my own.

  What about Logan? He crushed that thought. The shit that just went down confirmed that it had been the right call to keep Logan out of this.

  He clenched his teeth and rose painfully to his feet and tucked the new gun into the back of his jeans. Emptying his old gun, he tucked it along with his sweats into the duffle and shoved it all back into the air vent before reattaching the top.

  Sliding on the backpack, he made his way slowly across the roof to the access door. Inside, he took the stairs to the bottom level and called for a car.

  The whole thing had taken him less than five minutes. That had been Stanton thinking ahead. He’d never be able to thank the man. His eyes burned as he slipped into the back of the waiting Uber.

  “Catching a train?” The driver looked quizzically at him over his shoulder.

  “Yes,” was all he said before turning to gaze out the window.

  He’d catch a train out of the city and from there?

  Well, he wasn’t sure.

  Logan

  “I’m on my way.”

  He ended the call and strode over to where Elijah and Justin stood in the lobby of his San Francisco hotel. The place was built like Fort Knox and continued offering protection to people in life threatening situations. He’d been there for the past month trying to get a bead on Siegel.

  That was until FBI Assistant Director Forest Taylor had called him. That call had been a game changer.

  Logan did feel better knowing that Elijah, Justin, Ashley, and Tinley were going to stay put here for a while, but he needed to head back to Colorado. He did his best work at his own facility.

  “I will,” Logan answered his brother and gripped Elijah tightly and then turned to hug Justin. He had to bend down to do it because Justin was so petite. The blond curled his arms around his neck and whispered against his ear.

  “Find him. I know he can take care of himself, but please find him,” Justin’s voice trembled.

  “I will,” he promised. Stepping back, he released the smaller man.

  Justin turned into Elijah’s protective arms and his brother brushed his fingers through the blond locks. He held Elijah’s gaze for a long moment before turning away.

  “Come,” he said to Echo.

  By the time the hotel’s van took him to the small, private section of the airport, the Cobalt jet had landed.

  Echo trotted next to him and up the ramp without any hesitation.

  It was rare that Logan used Cobalt Industries’ company jet for personal business, but he needed it to get to Colorado quickly. Settling into one of the luxurious seats, Echo sprawled out on the couch across the aisle. Logan placed his cell phone and Glock on the table.

  “Would you like something to drink, Mr. Cobalt?”

  He smiled tiredly up at Janice. The woman was smartly dressed in a dark blue suit, her brown hair pulled back with a bun, and a friendly smile. She’d worked for his family for the past fifteen years.
She placed a small drink napkin on the table.

  “Just coffee for me, thanks. I think Echo could use some water.”

  “I’ve already placed a bowl down.” She tossed a smile at Echo, but Logan saw the wariness in her eyes.

  His dogs weren’t known for being friendly. In fact, Echo wasn’t friendly to anyone other than his team and Macy.

  Macy was missing. He’d vanished from the US Marshals’ custody without a fucking trace.

  Fear still clung to the back of his throat from FBI Taylor’s phone call the previous night.

  The Marshals’ safe house had been attacked.

  Taylor was sending down Assistant Special Agent-in-Charge Alexander Channing to help with the search. Logan didn’t know Channing, but he’d met Forest several times over the past few years. Forest was a close personal friend of Roscoe Burns. Burns was the Lieutenant with Phoenix. Phoenix was an elite unit of expert operatives that stepped in when law enforcement’s hands were tied. The point being that if Forest was sending ASAC Alexander Channing, then Channing was more than likely the best in his field.

  After the phone call, Logan put his whole team on finding Macy. He didn’t own one of the world’s top security and bodyguard companies for nothing, and he’d utilize every means at his disposal. That included putting a call into one of his personal friends, the head of Phoenix, Giovanni Rossi.

  “Anything you need, Logan,” Rossi had said.

  “Forest is sending assistance.” He ran a hand through his hair, worry gnawing at him.

  “I’ll send you one of my best.”

  “Thanks, Gio.”

  With half of his people attempting to locate Siegel, he put the other half on searching for Macy. Sooner or later, something had to give. If or when someone located Macy, Logan would be there.

  He’d had a talking to himself over the past several weeks, taken a good hard look at his own actions, and he discovered he’d fucked up. He’d get down on his knees and promise to do better when he found Macy.

  If you find him.

  Fuck that, he was finding Macy if he had to tear apart the world.

  The Cobalt personal jet landed in Colorado two and a half hours later. A large, black jeep tore across the tarmac and pulled up next to the stairs, and Jaxon stepped out from behind the wheel.