She faced him, that mesmerizing gaze meeting his in the dim beam from his flashlight, and right then, he could only kick himself for underestimating her in the first place. He should’ve known better than to fall for the victim play all those months ago, but if there was one thing he hated more than the criminals who thought they were above the law, it was finding out about the people they hurt along the way. He wouldn’t let her or any one of them get away with breaking the law. No matter how much the hollowness in his chest wanted her claims to be true, wanted what they’d had to be true, she wasn’t who he’d believed. Raleigh took a step toward him, then another.
He’d cuffed her wrists in front of her, but that didn’t detract from the gut-wrenching sway of her hips as she closed the distance between them. Mere inches separated them when she stopped, every cell in his body in tune to her slightest movement, the smallest change in her expression. Just as he’d always been. “Left back pocket.”
“Your confession in there? Because that’s the only thing I’m interested in.” Annoyance deepened the distinct lines between her brows, and he couldn’t help but revel in the fact he’d managed to break through that curated exterior.
“Yeah. I carry it around in case you were the one assigned to arrest me and drag me back to the feds.” The cuffs rattled as Raleigh rubbed her thumb beneath the metal. Crystallized puffs of air formed in front of that perfect mouth of hers as the temperature dropped, but he wouldn’t feel the least bit sorry she hadn’t thought to grab a coat when she’d tried to outrun him. She stepped into him. “You want to know what I think?”
Four months should’ve been enough to shut down the automatic spike in his blood pressure when she got this close, and that reaction left him more unbalanced than he wanted to admit. “Not really.”
“I think you’re so set on making me the enemy, Beckett, you’ve blinded yourself to anything that might prove I’m innocent.” She maneuvered her wrists to one side and dug deep into the back left pocket of her jeans. Her flannel shirt contoured to the shape of her body in the dim light, and for a second, he could’ve sworn there was a slight curve around the front of her hips that hadn’t been there before. She pulled a piece of folded paper free, setting it against his chest with both hands before shoving away from him. “Is that the kind of marshal you really want to be?”
The accusation hit exactly where she’d intended and threatened to knock him back on his heels. He slid his hand over the thin, glossy paper as she turned away from him and hiked back up the small rise. Deviating course to a large tree off to the right, she collapsed to her knees and used both hands to start digging at the base, but Beckett couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.
After everything she’d done, she had the guts to question his integrity? He’d spent the past decade chasing down the worst this country had to offer, fugitives exactly like her, in an effort to prove the tree he’d fallen from hadn’t corrupted his core. Suspects lied to him on a daily basis, ran to keep him from uncovering their secrets and played mind games any chance they got to convince him he had the wrong guy. He wasn’t blind. He saw them for exactly what they were, and no amount of manipulation from Raleigh or anyone else would change his outlook as long as he wore this badge. One way or another, he was bringing her in to answer for her crimes. Just as Beckett’s father would answer for his when he caught up with him.
Gravity seemed to increase its effect on his shoulders as he unfolded the black-and-white photo. Air stuck halfway up his throat. He studied the gray blurred shape against the dark background under the flashlight beam, could almost count the individual fingers on one hand of the fetus lying horizontally across the sonogram. No. This wasn’t… Couldn’t be.
His heart beat hard at the base of his throat as she sauntered back toward him. A dark backpack hung from her grip in his peripheral vision, but he couldn’t take his attention off the delicate paper photo in his hand. Raleigh’s name, the date and time were stamped in the upper right-hand corner, below that the name of the OB-GYN practice that’d provided the ultrasound. Twenty weeks, a little over five months. She might not have known she was pregnant when she’d been arrested, but now the truth was clearer than ever. Along with the arrow pointing directly at three small white lines between the baby’s legs. His gut jerked. “You’re having a girl.”
“We’re having a girl.” She slid dirt-stained fingers over his wrist.
Heat exploded through him at the contact. His fingers ached to crumple the sonogram in his hand, but he forced himself to breathe evenly, to think this through. She was pregnant, with his child, but that didn’t mean a damn in the eyes of the law. His stomach soured. Now they were tied together for life. He held up the sonogram between his index and middle fingers. “What exactly was the plan here? Show me this and I’d suddenly want to use my Marshal status to prove you’re not the one who took that money? You keep this on you in case I was the one assigned to your recovery?”
“I don’t… What do you mean?” Shock smoothed her expression, her mouth parting. Hell, she was good. Perfect at playing any role she needed to get under his skin. Those compelling green eyes narrowed on him, and somehow a shiver settled under his skin as though she’d physically touched him. Raleigh snatched the sonogram from him, the pack she carried in her other hand dragging her cuffed wrists in front of her. The tendons between her neck and shoulders flexed as she stepped away. “You think me getting pregnant was planned? That I had an ulterior motive to keep you in my life in case I was charged with fraud and embezzlement?”
“It’s amazing how far criminals will go out of their way to prove they’re innocent,” he said.
The sun had already gone down. Cold worked under his clothing, his fingers aching against the metal of his flashlight. They’d have to camp here tonight. No point in getting themselves lost in the middle of the woods when the shooter was still out there. “We’ll rest here tonight. Give me your hands.”
“I’m not a criminal.” Her tone almost sounded as though she’d convinced herself as she offered her wrists.
Instant sensation of familiarity arched through him. Leading her to the nearest tree small enough to get her arms wrapped around, Beckett unpocketed the handcuff key and released one of the cuffs, then wound her arms around the tree. The cuff clicked back into place. “Tell that to your aunt, Raleigh.”
Her hold on that legendary control slipped. Her eyes widened, her sharp inhalation cutting through the silence around them.
“You didn’t think I’d find out about that, did you? I have to admit, it took me calling in a lot of favors to have those records unsealed, but in the end—” he turned to collect the pack she’d dug out of the ground, then faced her “—I know exactly who you are, Raleigh Wilde. You’re a killer, a thief, and there’s nothing you can do or say to convince me you’re not exactly like the rest of the fugitives I’m assigned to hunt. Guilty.”
“Then I guess there’s nothing left for us to talk about, is there?” she asked.
How he’d been so blinded during the time they’d been together he had to attribute to the fact she’d done everything she could to hide her past from him. And she’d done a damn fine job. She’d fooled him and everyone else around her. He should’ve known the whirlwind romance he’d instantly been sucked into had only been the first step of her plan. Now she’d ensured he wouldn’t be able to walk away after turning her over to the feds. Not with her pregnant with his baby.
Unzipping her pack, he emptied its contents onto the ground and riffled through them. A change of clothes, a tarp, flashlight with additional batteries, matches, packages of food and a couple of water bottles. Enough to last them a day, maybe a day and a half if they rationed their supplies. And a Glock 22, most likely from the collection of weapons he’d found in her aunt’s cabin. He released the magazine and pocketed it, clearing the chamber before wedging it between his jeans and lower back.
“What’s your plan, Mar
shal?” Shifting, she tried to put space between her and the tree bark grating against her oversize shirt. In vain. He wasn’t giving her a chance to run this time. His head still hurt from the last time she’d caught him by surprise. “Hide out here until the gunman who tried to kill us loses interest, then just walk me through the Marshals’ office front doors?”
“If that gets your file off my desk and you serve your time.” Beckett collected a few dead twigs and dry grass from another grouping of trees, arranged a circle of rocks around a small cone shape he’d made with the kindling, then used one of the matches from her pack to light the fire. Snow hadn’t started falling this late in the year yet, but there was a frosty bite in the air Beckett couldn’t chase from his veins. Whether it came from the dropping temperatures or from the woman currently handcuffed to the tree a few feet away, he had no idea. Didn’t want to know. “Win-win.”
“If you take me back, I’ll spend at least the next five years in prison for something I didn’t do.” Her voice shook. “Is that what you want for your daughter? Our daughter?”
Beckett raised his gaze to hers over the fire he’d lit between them, then stood. No. It wasn’t. There were plenty of kids who turned out just fine after learning the people who were supposed to care about them were monsters, but he hadn’t been one of them. He’d spent his entire life trying to make up for what his father had done, and there was no way in hell he’d put any kid of his through that same pain. Rounding the perimeter of rocks he’d used to create a barrier around the campfire, he checked the cuffs at her wrists. The sonogram was still clutched in her fist, and his gut clenched. “All right, Raleigh. You say you’re innocent? I’ll give you one chance to prove it before I drag you back to the feds.” He leveled his voice to convince himself he didn’t feel anything for her or their situation, anything at all. “But if you’re lying to me, I’ll make sure you never see that baby again.”
* * *
RAIN PATTERED LIGHTLY on her shoulder, cut through her hair straight to her scalp. A tremor rocked through her, then another. The fire held on, warming her boots and toes, but even with the exhaustion pulling at her muscles, Raleigh couldn’t sleep. Beckett had given his word he’d let her prove she hadn’t stolen the funds from Mothers Come First—her foundation—but he’d made promises before.
And broken every single one.
She’d watched countless mothers across the globe receive the help they needed and deserved because of the foundation. Prenatal care, postpartum services, sex education, ambulance services to rural areas. The work she’d dedicated her entire adult life to achieving made a difference. It’d saved lives. If there’d been an organization like hers when she and her brother had been born, maybe their mother would’ve survived the blood clot that’d killed her two days after childbirth. Maybe their lives would’ve turned out differently. Maybe her brother would still be alive.
Who would want to destroy that by stealing millions of dollars in donations? Who would try to have her killed to keep her from uncovering the truth? And how could Beckett think she’d had anything to do with it?
Raleigh shifted against the tree he’d cuffed her to, rubbing at the rawness between the metal and skin. She’d gotten into the habit of sliding her hands over her growing belly when she needed assurance, but with the cuffs, she was resigned to studying the man who’d put them on in the first place. The man who saw her as nothing more than a fugitive.
Beckett hadn’t changed much over the past few months. Thick dark beard around his jaw, matching hair she’d run her fingers through a hundred times. Rain contoured thick cords of muscle along his chest and thighs as his clothing suctioned to his body, and an answering heat to all his contained power ignited deep inside. The lines around the blue eyes she hadn’t been able to get out of her head had gotten deeper. There was a hardness in his expression that hadn’t been there before, but under all the bitterness and the invisible wall he’d built between them, he was still the same man who’d come to her aid in the middle of that Portland street less than a year ago. Still committed, defensive and cautious as ever.
“Stop staring at me.” That all-too-familiar voice warmed areas where dropping temperatures left her defenseless, and her throat dried. Which didn’t make sense. He’d hurt her, more than anyone had before, but her heart hadn’t gotten the damn idea. She’d trusted him to keep his word, to always be there when she needed him. Then he’d disappeared the moment news of her arrest went public. Beckett Foster didn’t deserve anything from her, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of coming quietly.
Keeping the brim of his hat low over his eyes, he shifted against the tree where he’d taken up guard duty, the butt of his weapon visible from here. He intertwined his fingers below his sternum and crossed his boots at the ankles, perfectly at ease out here in the wild. “If you’re waiting for me to fall asleep so you can make another run for it, don’t bother.”
“You’re a light sleeper. I remember.” He’d taken the supplies from the pack she’d buried in case she’d needed a quick escape and stripped down her weapon. While she had more packs buried out here, he held on to her only weapon. But she wasn’t going anywhere. For now. The last of the fire smoked out as the storm thundered overhead. Her clothes had soaked through in a matter of minutes. A shiver chased down her spine, the major muscles in her legs tightening against the cold. They couldn’t go back to the cabin. Not with a gunman hunting them through these woods, but there was a chance she’d freeze to death out here before Beckett could turn her over to the feds.
Pressure built behind her breastbone, and she raised her gaze to meet his. Instant awareness charged every nerve she owned, as though she’d laid eyes on him for the first time. His lips parted on a strong exhalation as he sat up and reached for the tarp beside him. In a matter of erratic heartbeats, he stood over her. Water clung to the sharp angles of his face as he arranged the edges of the tarp overhead so she was protected from the downpour. “You should’ve brought a coat. Won’t do either of us any good if you drop into hypothermia.”
“I was more concerned about outrunning you than fashion at the time.” She licked the water from her mouth, and his gaze homed in on the action, sending a rush of lightness straight through her. The lack of rain sliding down her scalp and into her collar was already helping her warm up, but her hands still shook. The cuffs rattled around the tree, her jaw aching against the chattering of her teeth. She couldn’t feel her fingers, and her toes had started going numb without the warmth of the fire.
He maneuvered under the tarp, taking the handcuff keys from his back pocket in the same move. Strong fingers slid around her arm as Beckett twisted the key and pried the cuffs from around her wrists.
She pulled both hands in to her chest. Red-and-pink scratches puckered down the length of the thin skin of her forearms from the tree bark, but while the physical pain hurt, the bruising in her heart ached more. Crossing her arms over her midsection, she leaned into the tops of her thighs. “Thanks.”
“It’s one thing not to trust you—it’s another to watch you freeze to death on my watch.” He sat beside her, muscled arms brushing against her side.
Right. Because this was just another fugitive-recovery assignment for him. When—if—they were able to prove she’d been framed for taking all that money, he still had to bring her in for skipping out on her trial. Best-case scenario, the truth would come out, the charges would be dropped and they’d each move on with their lives. That was the job, and the knot in her stomach constricted as loss tore through her.
The neutrality smoothing his expression didn’t show any evidence of the thoughts running through his head. He’d cut her off from the man she’d known, cut her out of his life faster than most people took to rip off a Band-Aid, and there wasn’t a single moment out here on the run when she’d forgotten that choice. She’d known the risk of letting someone close again, known the people she’d ca
red for the most would have the power to cause the most damage, but she’d been willing to take that risk. For him. Raleigh hugged her knees, the waistband of her jeans fitting tighter than a few weeks ago. Only now she wasn’t the only one who’d end up paying the price. “Beckett, I know this situation isn’t ideal—”
“Let’s get one thing straight. I’m giving you one chance to prove your innocence solely because you claim that baby you’ve got in there is mine. Anything else is off the table, understand?” He dug his heels into the mud, rain echoing off the tarp overhead, and she bit back the apology at the tip of her tongue. He kept his gaze ahead, on some distant point instead of her, and she nodded. She understood. He was doing this for their unborn child, not her, and if he could have it his way, he would’ve chosen someone—anyone—else to take on that calling. “You’re the CFO of the foundation. There can’t be that many people aside from you with access to the donations account. If you’re not the one who embezzled it, as you say, then tell me who else could get their hands on that money without raising any red flags.”
Raleigh forced herself to take a deep breath as the sickening twist in her stomach intensified. She’d helped found Mothers Come First, had vetted nearly every employee herself. Even after all these months, it was still hard to imagine any of them had stolen from the charity, but she’d mapped out her own suspect list soon after escaping federal custody. “The foundation employs thirteen accountants in Finance and Fund Services. There’s Calvin Dailey, the CEO, but…” Bile worked up her throat. But according to Beckett, her founding partner had been killed in his own home. She felt light-headed as reality hit. Calvin would’ve been the only one who could’ve cleared her name. She cleared her throat, focusing her attention on the scratches carved into her forearms from the tree bark. Her shirt should’ve been enough to protect her from the bark while she’d been cuffed, but it’d ridden up when she’d tried picking the lock. At the time, the pain had been worth it. Now, not so much. “Then we have two fund services accountants who oversee the daily donations coming in and the money going out. Plus, my assistant, Emily.”
Harlequin Intrigue January 2021 - Box Set 2 of 2 Page 23