EPILOGUE
“I’ve been thinking,” Trace said as he sat on the porch swing, looking out over the barn and the pastures beyond.
“That’s a dangerous pastime for a former Delta Force soldier.” Matt leaned against a porch post, chewing on a strand of hay.
“No kidding,” Irish said. “Every time Trace started thinking, we ended up knee-deep in enemy territory.”
“Seriously, I think Matt was right. Adjusting to civilian life might be harder than we think,” Trace said.
Lily frowned beside Trace. “Does that mean you’re going to sell and go back on active duty?”
Trace squeezed her hand. “No. But I think we can manage the ranch, keep our combat skills current and help others.”
“How do you figure we can do all that?” Irish asked.
“I’d like to form a security service to help people who can’t get the justice they deserve for whatever reason.”
Matt crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you talking about a vigilante group?” He shook his head. “If you are, count me out.”
“No. I’m talking about people the law or the government aren’t helping because they don’t have the resources or time. Folks who need a private investigator, bodyguard or security detail.”
“And you want the three of us to manage that while managing a ranch?” Irish raised his eyebrows. “Sounds like a lot.”
Trace grinned. “No. I think this concept can be a lot bigger than the three of us. I want to bring on others like us, men and women who have special fighting skills. It will help others while helping our military personnel who have separated from service for one reason or another.”
Irish leaned forward. “People like me who are good with a gun and not much else?”
Trace laughed. “Mom says you’re a budding chef.”
“I can cook a pot of chili,” Irish said. “I’m not a chef. But I could really get into being a private investigator or bodyguard.”
“Same here,” Matt said. “The auto repair business doesn’t keep me nearly busy enough to maintain my sanity.”
Trace clapped his hands together. “Then we’re all in?”
Irish and Matt nodded.
“Now all we need is a name for this organization.”
“How about Outriders?” Irish said.
Trace shook his head. “We’re not all cowboys or mounted heroes, but I like the ring to it.”
Rosalynn stepped out on the porch, carrying a tray full of glasses and a pitcher of iced tea. “I like it.” She set the tray on the table, poured tea into a glass and handed it to Trace.
He stared at his mother as he took the cup from her hand.
“What?” she said.
“I like it,” Trace said. “It doesn’t matter that you’re not all cowboys. You’re ex-soldiers who want to help and protect those in need.”
Lily smiled beside him. “I think it’s perfect. You might not all be cowboys, but if you hire all former military, they’re all heroes. For serving this country.”
Trace raised his eyebrows and looked around at Matt and Irish. “Agreed on the name?”
They nodded.
“Done,” Trace said. “Now all we need is to hire more resources and get started with our first case.”
Matt took the glass Rosalynn handed him. “I think I have the first case, if you want to test our facilities and communication skills.”
“What is it?” Trace asked.
Matt stared across at him, their gazes locking. “I want to investigate the murder of Heather Hennessey.”
“A relative?” Trace asked.
“My mother,” Matt said.
For a long moment, the people sitting or standing on the front porch paused in silence.
Trace nodded. “So be it. We’ll start by finding Heather Hennessey’s murderer.” He stood and held out his hand to Matt. “Welcome to the Outriders.”
Matt pushed away from the post and took Trace’s hand in a firm grip. “I don’t know about cowboys on horseback, but as long as I can ride my motorcycle, I’m in.”
“You got it.” Trace pulled him close for a quick hug. “I’m still getting used to the fact I have a brother.”
“Half,” Matt corrected and hugged him back.
Trace turned to Irish. “And my other brother in arms…” He held out a hand.
Irish took it and pulled him straight into a bone-crushing hug. “I’ve got your back.”
With a grin, Trace turned to Lily and held out a hand.
Lily chuckled. “Are you inviting me into this little bromance you’re having?”
“Looks like it. Hell, with you by my side, we’ll be unstoppable.” He drew her to her feet and slipped an arm around her waist.
Lily tipped her head back and raised her eyebrows. “Will you be accepting applications from cowgirls?”
“You know it,” Trace answered. “I know I like you.”
“About time you realized it,” she murmured.
Trace brushed a strand of her hair back from her forehead. “I’ve always known it.”
“You two should get a room,” Irish said.
“Trust Irish to say what’s on my mind.” Trace bent and pressed a kiss to Lily’s lips. “Now, if the rest of you will excuse us…we have eleven years of catching up to do.”
His mother grinned as they passed her, headed for the door. “That’s right. I want grandchildren before I’m too old to appreciate them.”
Trace threw a thumbs-up over his shoulder as he stepped across the threshold. “Working on it.”
* * * * *
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ISBN-13: 9781488067105
Homicide at Whiskey Gulch
Copyright © 2021 by Mary Jernigan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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www.Harlequin.com
“I’m not going to risk you getting sick on my watch.”
A glimpse of the man she’d fallen for all those months ago surfaced. Her nerve endings buzzed with familiarity as Beckett moved on to the next arm and cleaned the rest of the scratches. “There. Less likely you’ll die of infection before your next
court date.”
The physical pain along her forearms ebbed as he secured the gauze and tape over the wounds, but there was an invisible sting behind her sternum. When she’d lost him, Beckett had been just another in the long line of people she couldn’t count on sticking around. She’d never known how strong she was until being strong was the only choice she’d had, but right then, a nervous tremor shook her. “Thank you.”
“Get some sleep.” His voice deepened as though he’d been affected by his action as much as she had, and that, combined with his proximity, hooked into her senses. “Your one chance to prove your innocence starts at dawn.”
The Fugitive
Nichole Severn
Nichole Severn writes explosive romantic suspense with strong heroines, heroes who dare challenge them and a hell of a lot of guns. She resides with her very supportive and patient husband, as well as her demon spawn, in Utah. When she’s not writing, she’s constantly injuring herself running, rock climbing, practicing yoga and snowboarding. She loves hearing from readers through her website, www.nicholesevern.com, and on Twitter, @nicholesevern.
Books by Nichole Severn
Harlequin Intrigue
A Marshal Law Novel
The Fugitive
Blackhawk Security
Rules in Blackmail
Rules in Rescue
Rules in Deceit
Rules in Defiance
Caught in the Crossfire
The Line of Duty
Midnight Abduction
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Beckett Foster—This deputy US marshal lives by three words. Justice. Integrity. Service. But when his former lover, now a fugitive, charges back into his life, Beckett has to choose between the oath he took to uphold the law and helping the woman with a killer on her trail.
Raleigh Wilde—Falsely charged with fraud and embezzlement, Raleigh is determined more than ever to clear her name for the sake of her unborn baby. Trusting the man who turned his back on her after promising to always be there is a lifeline she can’t turn down, but partnering with Beckett is sure to put her life—and her heart—in more danger than ever before.
Hank Foster—Beckett’s father was suspected—but never convicted—of stealing thousands of dollars from hardworking Americans as a con man. He’s the reason Beckett became a US marshal—and the reason he isn’t willing to trust a fugitive.
Finnick Reed—Fellow deputy US marshal assigned out of Beckett’s district office. As a former combat medic for the army, Reed is more than capable of having his partner’s back.
Remington “Remi” Barton—Chief deputy US marshal and Beckett’s superior. She assigned Beckett to recover his fugitive on the promise her marshal wasn’t too close to the case, but every step in the investigation has confirmed she shouldn’t have taken his word for it.
This one goes to Becca Syme and her book Dear Writer, You Need to Quit for convincing me to quit everything that wouldn’t help finish this damn book.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
CHAPTER ONE
Raleigh Wilde.
Hell, it’d been a while since deputy United States marshal Beckett Foster had set sights on her, and every cell in his body responded in awareness. Four months, one week and four days, to be exact. Those soul-searching light green eyes, her soft brown hair and sharp cheekbones. But all that beauty didn’t take away from the sawed-off shotgun currently pointed at his chest. His hand hovered just above his firearm as the Mothers Come First foundation’s former chief financial officer—now fugitive—widened her stance.
“Don’t you know breaking into someone’s home is illegal, Marshal?” That voice. A man could get lost in a voice like that. Sweet and rough all in the same package. Raleigh smoothed her fingers over the gun in her hand. It hadn’t taken her but a few seconds after she’d come through the door to realize he’d been waiting for her at the other end of the wide room.
It hadn’t taken him but a couple of hours to figure out where she’d been hiding for the past four months once her file crossed his desk. What she didn’t know was how long he’d been waiting, and that he’d already relieved that gun of its rounds, as well as any other weapons he’d found during his search of her aunt’s cabin.
“Come on now. You and I both know you haven’t forgotten my name that easily.” He studied her from head to toe, memorizing the fit of her oversize plaid flannel shirt, the slight loss of color in her face and the dark circles under her eyes. Yeah, living on the run did that to a person. Beckett unbuttoned his holster. He wouldn’t pull. Of all the criminals the United States Marshals Service had assigned him to recover over the years, she was the only one he’d hesitated chasing down. Then again, if he hadn’t accepted the assignment, another marshal would have. And there was no way Beckett would let anyone else bring her in.
Beckett ran his free hand along the exposed brick of the fireplace. “Gotta be honest, didn’t think you’d ever come back here. Lot of memories tied up in this place.”
“What do you want, Beckett?” The creases around her eyes deepened as she shifted her weight between both feet. She crouched slightly, searching through the single window facing East Lake, then refocused on him.
Looking for a way out? Or to see if he’d come with backup? Dried grass, changing leaves, mountains and an empty dock were all that were out there. The cabin she’d been raised in as a kid sat on the west side of the lake, away from tourists, away from the main road. Even if he gave her a head start, she wouldn’t get far. There was nowhere for her to run. Not from him.
“You know that, too.” He took a single step forward, the aged wood floor protesting under his weight as he closed in on her. “You skipped out on your trial, and I’m here to bring you in.”
“What was I supposed to do?” Countering his approach, she moved backward toward the front door she’d dead-bolted right after coming inside but kept the gun aimed at him. Her boot hit the go bag she stored on the kitchen counter beside the door. “I didn’t steal that money. Someone at the charity did and faked the evidence so I’d take the fall.”
“That’s the best you got? A frame job?” Fifty and a half million dollars. Gone. The only one with continuous access to the funds stood right in front of him. Not to mention the brand-new offshore bank account, the thousands of wire transfers to that account in increments small enough they wouldn’t register for the feds, and Raleigh’s signatures on every single one of them. “You had a choice, Raleigh. You just chose wrong.”
“Beckett…” She slowed her escape. Her fingers flitted over the gun as her expression softened. “You know me. You know I didn’t do this. Find Calvin Dailey, the foundation’s CEO. I told him everything when I discovered the funds were being sent offshore. I’ve been trying to contact him for weeks. He must’ve gone into hiding when the news about my arrest hit the media, but he can clear my name.”
“I’m afraid Calvin Dailey can’t help you right now. Seems your boss left his house without about a half a gallon of his own blood. Local police haven’t found the body yet, but I don’t think that’s a coincidence, considering you just revealed he’s the only other person you told about the missing money.” He locked his jaw against the fire burning through his veins, the easygoing marshal gone. Beckett lowered his hand from above his holster and took another step. “You think you know a person. Then one day y
ou wake up and see them on the morning news getting arrested for embezzlement.”
“Calvin’s…dead?” Shock dropped her bottom lip. Real dangerous. Either Raleigh Wilde was one hell of an actress, or she honestly hadn’t known her former colleague had most likely been murdered. Shock bled to resolution and wiped the confusion from her gaze. She secured the butt of the rifle against her shoulder. Just as he’d taught her. “I didn’t kill him, and I didn’t embezzle that money. I’m not going to prison. I can’t. Not now.”
There was the woman he’d let into his life, the one with vengeance in her eyes and her middle fingers raised high. The one who’d stood up to the mugger who’d tried stealing her purse on a Portland street until it’d gotten to the point Beckett had to intervene before she punctured one of the bastard’s lungs with her high heel. The one who’d thanked him for his help by intertwining her fingers with his and showing him what real desire looked like. He’d never forget that woman. Too bad she’d never existed in the first place. Instead, he’d gotten involved with a criminal, but she wasn’t going to manipulate him again. “That’s up to the judge, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me that.” The words left her mouth between gritted teeth. “You lost the right to call me ‘sweetheart’ when you disappeared after my arrest.”
“And here I was thinking you’re the one who broke us up.” He pulled a set of cuffs from the back of his holster, shards of reflected sunlight bouncing across her face. “I’m bringing you in.”
“I’ll give you one chance to walk away, Beckett.” She racked the shotgun, her expression softening slightly. “Please. For both our sakes, don’t make me pull this trigger. Turn around and pretend you never found me. It’s better for everyone if I stay lost.”
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