Harlequin Intrigue January 2021 - Box Set 2 of 2

by Elle James, Nichole Severn

  A loud trill cut through the tension-charged haze in his head, and Beckett reached for the phone in his back pocket. Saved by the bell. He swiped the green button to answer the call as his boss’s name registered and brought the phone to his ear. “Remington, what can I do for you?”

  “Deputy Foster.” Disappointment slid into the chief deputy’s voice and pooled dread at the base of his spine. So much for holding off his team. “I’m surprised you answered the phone. Seems like you’ve hit a snag in your recovery assignment of Raleigh Wilde.”

  Beckett leaned one shoulder into the wall beside him, folding one arm across his chest. The butt of his weapon scraped along his forearm. “Why on earth would you think that?”

  “I’m going to let you figure that one out on your own.” Finnick Reed and Jonah Watson, damn fine marshals he’d worked countless cases with, and they’d just been sent in to take over his. Damn it. “I’ve got an unregistered vehicle that once belonged to Ms. Wilde’s deceased aunt parked next to your SUV at a cabin out at East Lake, bullet casings near the tree line, two sets of footprints heading into the woods, and another leading to a set of tire tracks we haven’t been able to identify.”

  His back teeth ached from the pressure in his jaw, and Beckett straightened. Of all the successful fugitive recoveries he’d worked over the past decade, she’d brought in two other marshals? “You sent them to check up on me.”

  “Wouldn’t you in my position?” Remi asked. “I gave you this assignment because you told me you could handle it, but from the crime-scene photos I’m looking at, that doesn’t seem to be the case at all. Tell me I’m wrong, Beckett. Tell me you’re not on the run with a known fugitive in some last-ditch effort to fix what went wrong between the two of you, and I’ll reassign Watson and Reed another case.”

  Beckett turned toward Raleigh’s door, her earlier question still echoing through his head. Was this just a case to him? Or more? Remington Barton hadn’t gotten to her position as chief deputy of the USMS Oregon district office by avoiding the tough conversations or backing down from the challenges she’d faced as a female in their chosen profession. She was confident, persuasive and one of the best marshals he’d ever had the pleasure of working beside. She wasn’t going to let this go. He tightened his grip around the phone. The second he revealed Raleigh was pregnant with his kid, Remi would order him out of the field and pull in another marshal for the recovery.

  No. This wasn’t just another case to him. Never had been. Not when it came to the woman on the other side of that door. He’d given Raleigh his word to see this through, to protect her and the baby, and that was exactly what he was going to do. But, more than that, that familiar scent of hers woven into his clothes, the feel of her soothing circles on his chest after he’d woken up from another fresh nightmare… She helped settle the agitation and restlessness permanently etched into his bones, and for the first time in longer than he wanted to admit, he felt like he could finally breathe. Who else had been able to do that for him but her?

  “Beckett?” Remi asked. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  Beckett slid his shoulder up the wall and straightened. “You’re wrong.”

  He ended the call.

  * * *

  SEARING HEAT TRAILED along her skin and cleared the dirt and leaves from her scalp, but no amount of hot water could make her forget that kiss. She…hadn’t expected that. And she hadn’t stopped it either. She and Beckett had been together for six months before her arrest, but that kiss had taken her by surprise. Electrically charged, heated, almost starved. She could still feel the bruising indentations of his fingers in her lower back as he’d fought to bring her closer. Almost like he’d been missing a puzzle piece and wanted her to fill the empty space. The difference between the man she’d been with before her arrest and the one who’d kissed her as though he hadn’t been able to breathe unless connected to her mouth still rocked through her. Raleigh brushed the pads of her fingers across her lips, flinching at the immediate sting at one side. No one is taking you from me.

  Taking her from him? Or taking the baby?

  She stepped from the shower, air from the vent above fighting to cool the frantic rush of desire still heating her from head to toe—in vain. Drying off with one of the towels hanging nearby, she wrapped herself in a robe dangling on the back of the bathroom door. The same tile that’d lined the fireplace in the main living room added to the modern farmhouse feel of the bathroom. Her reflection skewed in gold light fixtures and plumbing as she ran her fingers through her freshly washed hair.

  Didn’t matter what he’d meant before, or why he’d kissed her. No matter how much she wanted his presence and intentions to be for her, he’d made it clear that wasn’t the case. He was here to do a job, and she couldn’t let their past—however short it’d been—cloud her judgment now. She’d worked too hard to distance herself from falling back into old patterns, especially when it came to relying on others. She’d fight to clear her name of the fraud and embezzlement charges, with or without his help, move on with her life, and give this baby the life and love she deserved. She’d gotten by this far on her own. She’d learned to be strong, resilient, driven. Having Beckett here didn’t change that.

  Raleigh stepped into the large walk-in closet attached to the bathroom, running her fingers through the clothes that’d been left behind by who she assumed were the previous owners of the house before the marshals had seized the property. Dark suit jackets, white shirts and an array of colorful ties hung on one side, the other filled with silk scarves, brand labels, heels and lingerie. Checking back over her shoulder, she skimmed her fingers across the soft fabrics and lace. Her arrest had forced her to leave her possessions behind, including all of her clothing, just as this couple had been forced. She’d worn the dirt-caked jeans, flannel shirt and cotton underwear from her aunt’s cabin in desperation. She’d discarded them on the unique tile a few feet away, but she couldn’t stand the thought of putting them back on. Not after reliving the gut-wrenching memory of her brother’s last moments.

  She wasn’t desperate anymore. She didn’t have to rely on the pain, anger and resources from the past to carry her through the present. Because she wasn’t alone this time. Her heart jerked in her chest as footsteps echoed down the hallway toward the bedroom door.

  Three quick knocks accompanied that deep, all-too-familiar voice. “Raleigh, you okay?”

  She pulled back her shoulders to counteract the instant warmth pooling at the base of her spine. She wasn’t physically alone anymore, but emotionally? She couldn’t depend on anyone but herself. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Okay,” Beckett said. “I found us something to eat when you’re ready.”

  His boots echoed off the dark hardwood flooring installed throughout the house at his retreat, but the flood of heat refused to drain from her system. He’d always had that effect on her. One word, one touch, and an internal explosion destroyed her all over again without warning. But she’d meant what she’d said. She appreciated his help, but she couldn’t afford the distraction getting involved with him offered. Not with their baby’s life at stake.

  Checking the label of the chunky dark green cable sweater in front of her, she tugged it from its position on top of a row of shelving. The sweater cost more than three months’ salary at the foundation, but it fit, and she wasn’t about to turn down clean clothes. A fresh start. She pulled a pair of black leggings, a white T-shirt and a set of nude lace lingerie from the drawers stacked against one wall and dressed quickly. The bra-and-panty set wasn’t practical for surviving a gunman in the middle of the Oregon wilderness, but it’d been the least sexy item compared to the rest of the options in those drawers. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone was going to see it but her. Least of all Beckett Foster.

  Facing the mirror, she ran her fingers through her hair once again, but there seemed to be a lightness—a glow—to her skin now. Whether i
t was from the rush of heat from Beckett’s kiss, or something…deeper, she didn’t know. Didn’t care. Scooping her dirty clothes from the floor, she deposited them into the garbage can under the vanity and shut the cabinet door. Mentally and physically. She had to move on, had to give this baby a real shot of happiness.

  She had to leave the past behind.

  Raleigh followed the maze of hallways back into the custom chef’s kitchen. White cabinets adorned with gold fixtures surrounded a large steel fridge. The island became the focus of the entire space with navy blue shiplap and cascading white marble down each side as Beckett set two plates on the surface. For an instant, she was back in the bedroom, wondering what it’d be like to wake up to this sight every morning, live here, raise a family here.

  Beckett half turned toward her. “You want cheese and crackers with deli turkey or a grilled cheese sandwich? I wasn’t sure what you or the baby would be in the mood for, so I made both.”

  “Is it embarrassing to admit I want to eat all of it?” A laugh bubbled past her lips, something foreign since… She couldn’t remember how long.

  “Oh. Guess you’re technically eating for two, right?” He focused his attention on the fridge, his hands flat on the marbled island. “Okay. I can eat the pickles Reed left in the fridge. He’s the only one who likes the damn things.”

  “I’m joking.” She threw one hand out, palm first, as another laugh escaped her chest. “Partly. I could eat it all, but I’ll take the sandwich. Deli meat is frowned upon when pregnant.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. When was the last time someone had made her something to eat? While she wasn’t sure what Beckett had put together would last long between the two of them, he’d obviously put thought into it, having cut the sandwich down the middle to make it easier to eat. Her stomach clenched at the sight of gooey yellow cheese running over the edges of toasted, buttery bread, but she couldn’t drown the thought that none of this was for her. Not really.

  He’d cleaned her wounds, given up the last of his water, offered his protection. All of it because of the baby. Not out of any kind of loyalty or feelings for her. So then why had he kissed her? “You happened to have cheese, bread and cold cuts here?”

  “Two marshals from my office were here a couple days ago installing new dead bolts and sensors.” He handed her the plate with the grilled cheese sandwich and turned back toward the fridge. “When we seize a property, we like to make sure the previous owners can’t get back in.”

  “I don’t suppose they’ll mind I borrowed some of their clothes, then.” She took a seat on one of the distressed-metal bar stools as silence settled between them.

  Beckett turned his head partially toward her.

  “I’m sorry about your brother. I didn’t realize how many details were missing from the police reports, and I made assumptions about you I shouldn’t have.” Setting two water bottles onto the countertop, he skidded one toward her. He leveraged both hands wide against the cold surface of the island, gaze down, and her skin prickled. “My father stole millions of dollars from hardworking Americans when I was a kid by getting them to invest in his Ponzi scheme.” He twisted the cap off the bottled water and swallowed several mouthfuls. Strong muscles along his throat flexed and released. He set the bottle down carefully, then dented the plastic in a strong grip, knuckles fighting for release through the back of his hand. “They didn’t have any clue he’d been stealing from them for years until the feds caught wind. They trusted him with their hard-earned money, depended on him to ensure they had a future, then lost everything in the blink of an eye. That’s why I became a marshal. I’ve been hunting him ever since, but I lost his trail soon after he dropped off the radar.”

  The muscles down her spine hardened vertebra by vertebra. Her mouth dried as the nail he’d driven into her heart when he’d disappeared after her arrest settled deeper. She sat a bit straighter, not sure how to respond, what to say. “You’ve never talked to me about your family. Before…”

  “I don’t have a family.” His voice graveled. “Hank Foster made sure of that when one of the people he swindled came looking for him and shot and killed my mother instead.”

  What? A forgotten sensation spread through her with a deep inhalation. Something she hadn’t felt since that first time she’d realized he was never going to return her messages or her calls after she’d been arrested. That he was never going to live up to his promise to stay by her side, no matter what happened. Breathlessness overwhelmed her control. His mother had been murdered? Why hadn’t he told her? She could’ve done something—anything—to help him through that pain, to support him, to comfort him, but he’d kept it all to himself. Why? With her next breath, the answer slipped to the tip of her tongue. He hadn’t revealed that part of his past for the same reason she hadn’t told him about her brother up front: to bury the darkness deep, to hide from it. But there was no hiding for either of them. Not anymore. “Beckett, I’m so sorry. How old—”

  “Sixteen.” He let go of the bottle, the plastic making a cracking sound with the sudden release of pressure. “After I found out about your arrest, I was right back there. I was that sixteen-year-old kid witnessing the damage a single act could inflict on so many lives firsthand, and done by someone I trusted, no less. Someone I thought cared about me.”

  Air stalled in her throat. He’d really believed she’d stolen that money. Not because of the prosecution’s case pristinely wrapped in shiny paper but because he’d already learned the people who were supposed to care about him could turn on him at the drop of a hat. The same lesson she’d learned when her aunt had taken the single most important person in her life away. Twenty-four hours ago, they’d stood on the opposite sides of the law, but it seemed they weren’t that different after all. Her fingers tingled as Raleigh reached across the cold marble and wrapped her hand in his. Blue eyes blazed at the contact, but she wouldn’t pull away. Not this time. “I cared about you—”

  A bullet exploded through the window above the kitchen sink.

  And found its mark.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Beckett!”

  Raleigh’s voice pierced through the sudden rush of pain, and he held on to that invisible anchor as tight as he could while reaching for his service weapon. A flash of movement registered through the darkness closing in around the edges of his vision. Raleigh. He had to get her out of here, had to get her somewhere safe.

  Long fingers pried him from off the cold marble island, the surface no longer white. She pulled him into her and forced him to sit against the oven’s stainless-steel surface. Hell. The shooter who’d ambushed them at the cabin had caught up with them. Beckett locked his back teeth as another wave of agony rolled through his shoulder. The bullet hadn’t gone straight through. If it had, he wouldn’t have been the only one bleeding out. “You have to go. Get out of here. I’ll hold them off as long as I can.”

  “That better be the blood loss talking. I’m not leaving you here to fight a gunman alone.” She pressed her hands on either side of his shoulder, trying to apply pressure to the wound, but it wouldn’t do him any good right now. They had to keep moving. He had to keep her and the baby safe. Raleigh glanced up over the countertop, toward the window the bullet had shattered on the way into his shoulder. “You’ve been shot. Tell me what to do.”

  “Find something in this kitchen I can use to stop the bleeding.” He set his head back against the cool steel behind him, and a bit of the pain ebbed. He nodded toward four drawers stacked one over the other on one side of the island. “That should help long enough for us to get out of here. Try those drawers.”

  Keeping low to the ground, she crawled on her hands and knees and opened one drawer after the other. Her hands left bloody prints on the pale hardwood, and his insides jerked. She was wasting time she didn’t have. The shooter had taken the shot that would leave Raleigh the most unprotected, and it was only a
matter of time before their attacker tried to force their way inside to get to her.

  “I don’t want to think about why they have this in the kitchen, but it’s the best we’ve got.” She faced him, sliding back toward him on both knees, and held out a length of clear plastic tubing. With quick, sure movements, she wrapped the tubing around the space between his shoulder and neck and below his armpit, then lifted her gaze to his. Waiting. At his nod, she tightened the makeshift tourniquet as hard as she could, and white streaks shot across his vision.

  A scream escaped up his throat. Latching on to her hand, he leveraged his heels into the floor and pressed his back against the oven as hard as he could to compensate for the pain. He couldn’t afford to pass out. Not as long as there was an active shooter out there targeting the woman at his side. She adjusted her grip in his hand, the pain draining the longer she held on to him, but he didn’t have time to wonder how that was possible. Neither of them did. He knocked his head back into the oven. “Damn it all to hell. The next time that bastard shoots at me, he better put me down.”

  “You said the other marshals on your team installed new locks and alarm sensors on all the doors and windows.” Placing her hands alongside his rib cage, she helped pull him to his feet, and his heart rate hiked into overdrive. Hints of the shampoo she’d used in the shower dived into his lungs, something sweet. Like lavender and honey. “Tell me that will be enough to keep the shooter out.”

  Beckett clamped a hand to his shoulder, the gun heavy in his grip. “As long as the power is on—”

  An audible electrical surge reached his ears.

  Turning toward the now blank LED light over the burners on the stovetop, he pulled his phone from his jeans with his injured hand and tapped the screen. No service. Maneuvering Raleigh behind him, Beckett stepped around the wall blocking his view from the front door. The alarm panel installed beside the door had gone dark, which meant no contacting his team, local police, the feds. Nobody. They were on their own. “They cut the power from the backup generator. Whole system’s down.”