“Then we’ll start there.” His gaze dipped to her arms, the weight of those hypnotic blue eyes hiking her heart rate into overdrive. Before she had a chance to take her next breath, he reached for her. Rough calluses caught against her skin as he unfolded her arms away from her midsection and smoothed his thumb across the small, angry lacerations. “We’re going to have to clean those before they get infected.”
“I’m fine.” She tugged at her wrist as the hollowness in her chest flared, but he only tightened his hold on her. Blood rushed to the oversensitized skin along her arms.
“I’m not going to risk you getting sick on my watch.” Keeping her arm in his grip, he dug into her go bag with his free hand and pulled the small first-aid kit from the depths. In seconds, the antiseptic burn spread across her skin as Beckett brushed the alcohol pad down along the tendons of her forearms and left a relieving coolness in its wake. Dirt lined the edges of his fingernails, that signature scent of wood and earth filling her senses, and a glimpse of the man she’d fallen for all those months ago surfaced. The one who’d put himself at risk to fight off a mugger on her behalf, however unnecessary it’d been at the time. Who’d ensured she’d gotten home safely and bandaged the wound in her palm when she’d cut her hand on the sidewalk after the attack. 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 gauze and tape over the wounds, but there was an invisible sting in her chest. She’d been fine on her own, taken care of herself for as long as she remembered. Losing her mother right after childbirth, never knowing her father. Then having her brother taken from her right in front of her eyes when she’d been fifteen. Losing Beckett had just been 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 now, a nervous tremor shook through 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.”
CHAPTER THREE
He could still feel her, feel the softness of her skin against the calluses on his fingers. What the hell had he been thinking, playing nurse like that? As far as he was concerned, Raleigh Wilde was exactly what the prosecuting attorney believed, the very thing he’d battled to stop his entire career. A fugitive. Here he was, cleaning her wounds like what she’d done didn’t matter.
Her head rested against his arm, the slow rise and fall of her chest telling him she’d finally fallen asleep, but he couldn’t move. He could hardly breathe, and he definitely couldn’t think. Long, damp hair plastered to the angles of her familiar jawline, and his fingers tingled to sweep it back behind her ear. Rain lightened against the tarp above them. That, along with their combined body heat, had chased back the numbness in his fingers and toes, but it’d take a lot more than her word to break through the caution he’d relied on to keep himself alive. Beckett curled his hands into fists. One minute, she’d been everything to him, and in cuffs the next.
Now a shooter had tried to kill her, one he highly doubted she’d hired herself. Hell, he could admit it’d been one of his weakest moments considering the idea, because despite the proof stacked against her, Raleigh had gotten one thing right. He hadn’t been willing to see evidence she might be innocent. Not after she’d run from him.
The past rushed to meet the present, and Beckett squeezed his eyes shut. His mother’s scream echoed in his head. Over and over. There’d been a gun, blood. Fear. He hadn’t been able to stop any of it. His father had stolen millions of dollars from hardworking Americans, and one of those Americans had broken into their family home to make him pay. Only the gunman hadn’t found his father that night. The bastard had taken off a few months before. No warning. No note. Just up and left Beckett and his mother to fend for themselves on the ranch passed down from his maternal grandparents. Instead of finding revenge, with a single pull of a trigger, the man who’d lost everything to Hank Foster had taken away the only parent Beckett had left when he’d been sixteen. It’d all been his father’s fault.
“Hey.” That sweet voice, the one that’d haunted him the last four months, broke through his defenses as her hand slid across his chest. Stinging heat exploded through his system as his heart rate tried to keep up with his shallow breathing. Raleigh rubbed soothing circles over the left side of his chest, her voice soft as reality bled into focus. “Are you okay?”
Red and oranges crept across the sky and damp earth of the clearing they’d camped in for the night. Damn it, he must’ve fallen asleep. Beckett scrubbed his face and beard with one hand, his defenses growing stronger second by slow, agonizing second. “I’m fine.”
“You still have nightmares.” Not a question, but he couldn’t help but tense all the same. There’d been times when he’d woken in a cold sweat from the memories of that night, but having her pressed against him, her rubbing his back in soothing circles the same way she was doing now, had made the transition back to sleep easier. He’d spent years training to become a lawman, ready to balance out the hurt and pain Hank Foster had caused by bringing criminals like his father to justice, but in those moments with her, Beckett had felt safe. Supported. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time.
“It’s nothing.” He brushed her hand from his chest and shoved to his feet. He ripped the tarp out of his way. The smell of cleansing rain, earth and wet wood penetrated his senses, but none of it was strong enough to dislodge her vanilla scent from his lungs. Beckett forced himself to clear his head, to focus. She had a federal warrant out for her arrest and a gunman on her trail. They’d wasted enough time. Because the sooner he proved Raleigh was exactly what he thought her to be, the sooner he could move on with his life—for good. “We need to keep moving.”
“You’ve been having them for years, and that’s all you say when I ask. That it’s nothing.” She got to her feet, those all-too-familiar green eyes searching his expression, but she wouldn’t get anything. Not from him. Had they stayed together, there might’ve been a point where he’d trusted her with the truth, but that day was long past. She’d made sure of that. “I was there, Beckett. In the middle of the night, when you were screaming and shaking. I was the one who helped you get back to sleep, who reminded you that you were safe.”
This conversation wasn’t happening. “I never asked you to do that.”
“You didn’t have to,” she said. “That’s what couples are supposed to do—”
“You’re not my therapist, and we’re not a couple.” He closed the short space between them, internal fire neutralizing the low temperatures. The closer he inched, the more her personal gravitational pull on him intensified, to the point he knew if he wasn’t careful, he might never back off. “You can cut the manipulative interest in my mental health. I’m here for one thing—to give that baby of yours a fighting chance.” He pointed to her stomach. “If that means proving you’re guilty, so be it. At least she’ll grow up not knowing what kind of monster her mother really is.”
“Our baby.” Her gaze held his as she smoothed her hands over where her baby belly had started to appear. Raleigh stepped into him, pulling back her shoulders as though she were preparing for war. Hell, in a way, loving her had been war. They’d both brought out a competitiveness in each other and dedicated themselves to their work over their relationship. They might’ve been living together, but Raleigh had been dedicated to the foundation at the time, and he’d been on the road most days chasing bad guys. When it’d ended, neither of them had recognized the other anymore. It’d just taken seeing her arrest on the news that he’d realized how lonely they’d truly been together. How desperate for contact she’d ma
de him. “You keep saying my baby, but she’s ours, Beckett, and it took two of us to make her. That means you have as much responsibility here to protect her as I do, and that’s what I’m trying to do. Protect her. With or without your help.”
He froze, narrowing his gaze on her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I could’ve run, Beckett. Even with the cuffs on. I’ve got bags buried all over these woods that would get me out of Oregon.” Her voice faltered. “You were asleep, and it would’ve been easy to run, but I didn’t.”
“Why not?” Criminals like her—like his father—did anything to keep from answering for what they’d done. Wasn’t that why she’d escaped federal custody in the first place? Why he hadn’t heard from Hank Foster in over twenty years? Hell, he didn’t even know if the old man was still alive. Didn’t care. Raleigh was right. She could’ve run, but here she stood, going toe-to-toe with the man tasked to bring her in. “You had the chance. Why didn’t you take it?”
Raleigh swept her tongue across her bottom lip as the last few drops of rain fell from her chin. “I don’t want my daughter growing up without her parents. I don’t want her to have the same kind of life I did. I didn’t want her not knowing the people who are supposed to love her more than anything in this world or being passed around by anyone willing to take her on the off chance they might get a paycheck for their trouble. Do you have any idea what that’s like, Beckett? To feel unwanted like that, to feel so worthless not even your own family wants to take you in?”
He’d known about her parents. Her mother had died a few days after giving birth to Raleigh and her twin brother, and no one in the state of Oregon seemed to know who had donated his fatherly genes to their creation. Their birth certificates had been left blank at the hospital, but Beckett hadn’t known about the rest. The apparent hurt deepening the color of her eyes, so contrary to the fiery woman who’d pointed that shotgun at his chest back in her aunt’s cabin, ripped at the edges of the hole she’d left behind in her wake. “Raleigh, I…”
He’d wanted her. More than anything—or anyone—else he could remember since he’d lost his mother. Hadn’t she realized that? How desperate he’d been to keep her for himself? Constantly checking in with her while he’d been on the road, celebrating one-month, three-month and then six-month anniversaries. He’d been a regular romantic, and the drafted letter of resignation he’d stashed in his inner coat pocket revealed exactly how far he’d committed to go down with the ship. Just for a chance of hanging on to her a bit longer.
Beckett took a step back, his heel sinking in the mud, but no amount of distance from her could hide the truth. For as much as he’d blamed her for what’d happened between them, he’d never told her how much she’d meant to him, how afraid he’d been of losing her.
He’d lost everyone he’d cared about and been left to fend for himself from the time he’d been sixteen. He’d worked the ranch as best he could on his own for two years, graduated high school at the top of his class and started taking criminal justice courses before applying to the Marshals Service. No one had helped or been there for him after the shooting. Until Raleigh. She’d blazed into his life and set up residence beneath his skin. She’d shouldered the responsibility to take care of him when the nightmares came for him and never demanded answers. She’d been fearless, driven and everything he’d needed to leave the past behind. She’d been a constant he was willing to defend, and while she’d ripped his heart practically out of his chest when she’d been arrested, the tiny life they’d created together deserved what he’d lost, what they’d both lost: a family.
“I’m innocent, Beckett,” she said. “But all I need from you is to believe me.”
Believe her. As if that would change anything.
“You’ve made your point. Neither of us wants this baby born behind bars.” Damn it. He was about to do something stupid. Beckett scrubbed one hand down his face as his entire career flashed before his eyes. Guess that was to be expected when the life you’d built died right in front of you, but sometimes you had to take the law into your own hands. Only problem was, he’d gotten a good look at the prosecution’s case. The state had done a hell of a job showing no one else at the foundation could’ve taken that money. All they needed to close this investigation was the woman they’d pressed charges against on the other side of the courtroom. Whatever evidence Raleigh believed was out there that would prove her innocence had been buried deep enough the FBI hadn’t gotten their hands on it. That was what they had to find. Fast. The US Marshals’ office—more specifically, his chief deputy, Remington “Remi” Barton—wouldn’t sign off on investigating a case he wasn’t assigned, especially at the insistence of a suspect. Which meant he and Raleigh had two days, maybe less, before his team caught up. He wrapped one hand around her bandaged arm and removed the cuffs from her wrists with the other. “I’m going to regret this.”
* * *
THE EVIDENCE BROUGHT UP against her was irrefutable.
Forged transfer documents, offshore accounts with her name listed as the owner, dates that coincided with her travel plans to meet with other nonprofit organizations across the country. It all pointed to her. Whoever had embezzled all that money knew exactly how to make the foundation—make her—hurt. This had been her life’s work, the reason she’d put herself through business school and dedicated herself to changing the course of mortality rates for mothers across the globe. Only now it was all at risk. Everything she’d worked for would be destroyed if they couldn’t clear her name, leaving nothing but death and loss in its wake if the foundation went under.
“Just a bit farther.” Beckett took position up ahead, leading them west through the trees. “You got any more of your go bags around here? We’re running low on water.”
“No. I buried most of them north of the cabin. That was the route I was going to take if the Marshals ever caught up with me.” She framed her near-invisible baby bump with her hands as they trudged through mud, fallen leaves and the occasional patch of twigs. It was silly. The baby wasn’t any bigger than an artichoke right then, but Raleigh found comfort every time her palms pressed against the slightly hardened surface of her stomach. Her boots suctioned at the damper places in the ground, increasing the wear on her muscles when exhaustion had already stripped too much of her energy. Sweat built in her hairline with each step despite the fresh rush of cold in the air. Oregon had always been home, but out here in the middle of nowhere, with no cell coverage, board meetings or the incessant drone of the city, she’d found an invigorating peace she hadn’t felt anywhere else. Well, almost anywhere else.
She lifted her attention from where she’d place her next step to the man who’d bandaged her wounds in the middle of a rainstorm while swearing he’d put her behind bars if she so much as thought about running again.
She’d almost forgotten the feel of his gaze on her, the raw intensity with which he handled himself. Then he’d touched her. One touch from him had ignited a sweeping heat deep inside her body she’d been craving since she’d been arrested. He’d cleaned the scratches on her arms with a care and gentleness nobody else had done for her. No matter what happened between them after the investigation was over, she wouldn’t forget that. He’d always been cautious, defensive, suspicious even, but not with her. All that power, as though he intended to set anyone and anything on fire if it got in the way of justice, built under his cool exterior until it became too much to handle, but he never let it touch her. That was what made him a US marshal. Not the lifetime worth of education and training he’d gone through but the commitment to do the job in the first place, a deep-seated root of dedication he’d accrued long before he’d swept into her life.
“I need to take a break,” she said.
Beckett settled those brilliant blue eyes on her, and her nerves hiked into awareness. The past twelve hours had shown her exactly how much had changed since she saw two blue lines on that drug
store pregnancy test, as well as the five that followed, and he slowed his pace. “We’ve got to keep moving.”
“No, I get it. We’re vulnerable out here in the open. There’s just one problem with that.” She bent at the knees and nearly doubled over as fiery bile worked up her throat. Forcing herself to take deep breaths, she closed her eyes as the leaves under her boots started to sway. And not from the wind. “I have to eat every couple of hours, or your daughter takes it out on me.”
“Damn it.” Calluses caught on the fabric of her shirt as he coursed one palm over her spine, and in an instant, the nausea’s controlling grip eased. “I don’t know how all this…you being pregnant works yet. I think we have some granola left. Let me find it.”
“If it makes you feel any better, neither do I. This is all new for me, too. Every day is a new surprise.” Raleigh reached for the boulder a few feet away and slid down onto it. The coolness bleeding through her jeans helped chase back the knot in her stomach, but it didn’t compare to the savagery Beckett used emptying their pack in order to find her something to eat. In less than thirty seconds, he straightened, the thick muscles in his thighs flexing. She took the water and granola bar he offered, careful not to let her fingers come into contact with his as another wave of heat exploded through her insides. He’d made it perfectly clear things had ended between them when he’d refused to return her dozens of calls and messages after the arrest. She wasn’t supposed to be noticing the way his veins fought to escape the skin along the backs of his hands as he pinched the top of his hat between his fingers and swept his hair back away from his face. Or was this sudden rush of awareness due to the pregnancy hormones? Didn’t matter. Beckett Foster had made his choice, and it hadn’t been her.
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