Calvin tried to lunge for his wife but came up short as the ropes held him back, and Raleigh pressed her lower back into the wall to counter the fear clawing through her. “Where is my son!”
“Don’t worry, Hank. You’ll be joining him very soon.” Julia’s low-pitched laugh filled the room. Her gaze flickered to Raleigh, her weapon still aimed at her husband. “Both of you will. Just as soon as Raleigh hands over my money.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Beckett parked the SUV about a quarter mile down the road from the ranch he’d grown up on and hit the headlights. Shadows closed in around him, and he shouldered out of the vehicle. Cool air mixed with dirt and the slight spice of trees as he rounded to the cargo area and popped the latch. Righting the storage container every deputy marshal under Remington Barton’s purview was required to carry, he unhinged the lid and took what he needed. He strapped the extra Kevlar vest to his chest, the wound in his shoulder and side lighting up with a renewed edge of pain, and maneuvered the AK-15 strap over his neck. Extra mags and ammunition, a flashlight with fresh batteries and an additional handgun. Armed, he shut the case and secured the hatch.
His father had surprised him by hiring Emily Cline to do his dirty work, but the con man wouldn’t see him coming this time. Neither would anyone who got in his way.
Keeping low, Beckett moved through the trees surrounding the property he hadn’t ever expected to step foot on again. His boots suctioned in the mud with each step, the gear he carried getting heavier by the second, but he only pushed himself harder. Whoever’d opened fire on him and Raleigh had left the scene of the accident more than an hour ago. Hank had obviously needed Raleigh for something—maybe to access the secondary account she’d uncovered during her own investigation—but that didn’t leave much time.
Twigs snapped under his weight as he circled closer to the fenced property line and crouched behind one of the largest pines to the west to get his bearings. He’d memorized every foot of this place and the surrounding woods when he’d been a kid, but a lot had changed since then. The stable roof had started caving in the middle, the wooden fence posts sagged toward one another and nature had overgrown the family cemetery less than fifty feet off to his left. The top of one tombstone—his mother’s—stood out against the backdrop of night. Nobody had been here to take care of the land after he’d joined the Marshals, and for that he was sorry. He’d held the deed and paid the taxes all these years, but the thought of coming back here, of reliving that fearful night… It’d been too much.
Until now.
Beckett surveyed the shadows, focused on the slightest hint of movement near the main house.
There. At the southeast corner. His finger slipped alongside the trigger of the rifle he carried close to his chest as a single armed operative tossed a cigarette at his feet and ground out the ashes. Movement pulled Beckett’s attention to the other side of the house. Another gunman, not quite as large as the first, but Beckett would assume just as deadly. Both his shoulder and thigh wounds burned in remembrance of the kind of violence Emily Cline had been capable of—of the type of people Hank had hired to keep his hands clean—and Beckett double-checked that the sonogram of his and Raleigh’s baby was still in his pocket. He’d been trained in criminal apprehension for the past fifteen years, and nothing would stop him from getting to his fugitive. Raleigh was all he had left.
He hauled himself between the backer rails of the fence and took cover behind the west side of the stable. The second operative disappeared behind the house. Twenty feet separated him and his target. He had to move. Now. Back to the stable wall, he gripped the rifle between both hands and approached the far side. The odor of cigarette smoke and sweat burned the back of his throat, and Beckett pulled up short of rounding into the gunman’s sights and raised his weapon. Hesitation pulsed through him. He couldn’t take the shot. Not without tipping off the second operative and whoever Hank had inside with Raleigh. He couldn’t force her abductors to panic and do something brash. Damn it. Beckett repositioned the rifle at his back. His hands curled into fists.
He rushed forward. Beckett closed the distance between them fast, rocketing his fist into the side of the gunman’s face. Bone crunched under his knuckles, but one shot didn’t take the hired gun down. Clamping on to the operative’s shoulder, he hiked his knee into the man’s gut. The gunman blocked the hit with a groan, fisted Beckett’s vest and threw him to the ground. The air crushed from his lungs a split second before a fist landed a hard right hook to his jaw.
Beckett’s eyes watered as agony ripped through his head, but he managed to dodge the second hit aimed at his face and pushed to his feet. Dirt worked into his lungs as he wrapped the guard in his arms from behind and threw the man to the ground. Keeping hold of one wrist, he threaded the bastard’s arm between his thighs and increased the pressure on the gunman’s shoulder until a pop broke through their heavy breathing. A scream gurgled up the man’s throat, and Beckett hauled the heel of his boot into the guy’s head, knocking him unconscious.
“There goes the element of surprise.” The gunman’s scream had most likely given away his position. He unwound his legs from around the guard and got to his feet, but not fast enough.
The barrel of a pistol scratched the oversensitized skin along his scalp. “Drop the rifle, kick it away. Slowly. Along with any others you’re carrying, Marshal Foster.”
“You know me?” The muscles down his back hardened with battle-ready tension. The second operative. Damn it. Beckett turned his head enough to keep the gunman in his peripheral vision as he raised his palms shoulder height. He had no intention of giving up the rifle or any other weapons.
“I know enough.” The second man tugged Beckett’s backup weapon from his shoulder holster, along with the extra magazines he’d stocked on one side of his vest. A strong hand grasped Beckett’s wounded shoulder and shoved him down before maneuvering the rifle strap over his head. “On your knees.”
“If you say so.” The pain flaring from the gunshot wound stole the oxygen from his chest but kicked his central nervous system into high gear. He’d come here to save Raleigh and his baby, and he wasn’t leaving without them. Loose rocks ground into Beckett’s knee as he turned around and shot both hands into the gunman’s wrist and pushed upward. A gunshot arced wide before he pried the steel from his attacker’s hand and tossed the weapon, but he couldn’t let that slow him down. Straightening the shooter’s arm, Beckett hauled his attacker into the side of his childhood farmhouse face-first.
The shooter wrenched his wrist out of Beckett’s hold and swung a hard left hook. White lights raced across his vision as the hit threw him off-balance. He stumbled back, throwing his hands up to block the next hit, but his assailant was too fast. Another punch knocked his head straight back on his shoulders. Beckett struck out with a solid hit, but the gunman caught his fist and twisted until the muscles in his arm screamed. He shot his injured arm forward, connecting with the side of his attacker’s head, but at the cost of tearing the stitches Reed had sewn in only recently. Undeniable agony tore through him, but he couldn’t stop. Not until he’d found Raleigh.
The last rays of sun reflected off the gun he’d pried from the operative’s grip, and Beckett lunged at the same time as his attacker. He wrapped his hands around the familiar weight of the weapon and shot to his feet before the mercenary had a chance to strike. Blood trickled down his arm beneath his shirt as he widened his stance and brought up the gun. “How many more of you did Hank hire? I need to know so I can be sure I have enough bullets when the time comes to shoot you.”
“You’ve got it all wrong, Marshal.” His attacker swiped at the blood from his mouth, spitting the excess at the ground. A low laugh penetrated through the ringing in his ear from the gun going off so close to his head. “You’re not the one calling the shots here.”
Multiple sets of footsteps echoed off the overhanging porch of the farmhouse. A
nother two operatives materialized on either side of him, two more at his back. He was outmanned and outgunned, and they knew it. Well, hell. He’d walked right into Hank’s trap, just as the bastard had probably intended from the beginning, and he’d been stupid enough—desperate enough—to follow along. Beckett shook his head, a laugh escaping past his mouth as he tossed the pistol in his hand into the dirt. “All right, then. Take me to the shot caller.”
Two operatives flanked him from behind, one shoving him forward. His boots echoed off the old wood porch he’d spent so many summers running up and down as a kid. Hell, he could still see where his mother had recorded his height every year before school started on the front doorframe. The second gunman swung the porch screen wide and motioned him inside. As though Beckett had needed an invitation to walk inside his own damn house.
Peeling paint, splintered wood, rusted hinges. He ran his hand down along the corner of the doorframe. When this was over, when Hank was behind bars where he belonged and Beckett had cleared Raleigh’s name of embezzling the money from the foundation, he’d come back here. He’d make this place the home his daughter deserved, somewhere Raleigh would feel safe. If she gave him the chance.
He crossed the threshold, the heaviness of mold and dust thick in his lungs. The outline of the brick fireplace demanded attention as they herded him through the main room toward the kitchen. Four operatives at his back, two outside. Not counting however many Hank had with him at all times. A man like that, who destroyed people’s lives, was bound to have a few enemies. However, Beckett only had focus for the woman who’d had the guts to put a gun to Raleigh’s head as he rounded into the small kitchen he used to know so well. The mother of his baby had been tied to an exposed length of plumbing. He shot forward, those captivating green eyes wide as the men behind him pulled him back. “Raleigh.”
Pain exploded across the back of his head as one of the mercenaries at his back hit him from behind, and Beckett collapsed onto his knees. Raleigh’s scream barely registered through the gag in her mouth, and the rage he’d become so familiar with over the years surged. Darkness closed in around the edges of his vision, but he had enough sense to make out the person holding the gun wasn’t his father after all. That mistake went to Julia Dailey, Calvin Dailey’s wife.
“I’ve never looked forward to family reunions, Marshal Foster,” Julia said. “But I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting to meet you.”
* * *
HE WAS BLEEDING.
Raleigh pulled at her restraints as one of the gunmen used the butt of his weapon to keep Beckett in line. He dropped to his knees, and her heart dropped with him. Her protest faded behind the piece of fabric Julia had shoved into her mouth when it became clear her men were under attack, and now the cause of that disruption was outnumbered and outgunned. One gunman pulled Beckett upright by the wound in his shoulder. Pain contorted his expression, and every cell in her body caught fire. She couldn’t get to him, but one way or another, she’d make sure he got out of this alive.
“Perfect timing, Marshal. Ms. Wilde was about to transfer the money I’ve worked so hard to keep for myself back into my account.” Julia increased the space between her and Raleigh, then swept the gun up. And took aim directly at Beckett. “That makes you the perfect motivation she needs to follow through.”
“Glad I’m good for something other than a punching bag.” Beckett swiped at his bloodied mouth, every bit the defensive, reliable marshal she’d fallen in love with over the past few days, and her insides clenched. “But you took something that belongs to me, so forgive me if I’m not in the family-reunion mood, ma’am.”
Belonged to him? Did that mean…? Her heart shot into her throat.
He’d come here for her, to save her.
Her pulse throbbed at the base of her neck. Scouring the debris around her and Hank, Raleigh forced herself to focus on finding something—anything—that could cut through the ropes around her wrists. Desperation flooded into the tips of her fingers as she clawed at the thousands of threads making up her restraints. The second Julia forced her to log in to that account, Beckett would be out of time. They all would. She shifted her legs a few inches wider, and a soft scraping registered over the low drone of voices. A single piece of broken tile. Her mouth parted slightly. It must’ve broken off from the old countertop a few feet away. If she could somehow get it into her hands, she could cut through the ropes.
One look at Hank and she realized he’d made the same connection. He nodded. Blue eyes, not nearly as bright as his son’s, shifted to Julia.
“Damn it, Julia, this is between you and me, and you’ve made your point.” Hank struggled against the ropes, but it was no use. At least not without something to cut through them. “You were right. I never committed to you, even after we were married, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never gave you a fair chance. I’m sorry I never got over my wife. I’ll blame myself for what happened to her every day for the rest of my life, and that guilt didn’t leave much for anything else, especially you.” Rough exhalations controlled the rise and fall of Hank’s shoulders. “But you know as well as I do Raleigh and my son have nothing to do with this. They don’t deserve to pay for the mistake I made. Please, let them go. I can get you the money. You and I can work this out. Together. We can start over.”
Julia closed her eyes and lowered the weapon to her side, and Raleigh used the backs of her thighs to shift the piece of broken tile between her and Hank. The woman’s expression smoothed as the fight seemingly left her shoulders. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear those words, Hank.” She opened her eyes, and the muscles in Raleigh’s legs seized. “But your apology is fifteen years too late.”
Julia raised the gun and fired.
The bullet ripped into Hank’s chest, and Raleigh couldn’t hold back her muffled scream as blood splattered against one side of her face. Beckett cringed in his handlers’ hold. The stain rapidly spread across Hank’s white shirt, every second she couldn’t stop the bleeding slipping through her fingers. Hank stared down at the wound as air hissed through his teeth, and he set his head back against the wall. “I just had this shirt cleaned.”
“I underestimated you, Raleigh.” Julia unpocketed a phone from her jumpsuit, the screen a bright beacon in the overcrowded kitchen, and handed it off to one of the men at her side. “You uncovered an account the FBI had no idea existed—my account—and drained everything I’d stolen from the foundation without me noticing, but you’ve always been impressive.” She didn’t so much as look at her husband as he bled out beside Raleigh, and a coldness worked through Raleigh’s veins. Who was this woman? How hadn’t Raleigh seen her for what she was until now? “Do you know how long it’s taken me to plan this? I accounted for every step, every setback, for years before I put anything in motion, but I never expected you to run with my money.”
The sun had gone down, intensifying the shadows along Beckett’s jaw, the bruising and crusted blood darker than before. Confusion swirled through the crystal-blue eyes she hadn’t been able to get out of her head for the past four months. “What the hell is she talking about? What did you do?”
“Go on, Raleigh. Tell him you’re innocent, that he had you all wrong, and you fully intended to give the money you’ve taken from me back to the foundation where it belongs,” Julia said. “Do you think he’ll believe you this time, or does he already know the truth? That you’re the one thing he hates most in this world. That you’re exactly like his father.”
Raleigh slid her attention to Beckett. He’d accused her of lying to him before, and he’d been partly right. Not about conspiring to steal all that money from the foundation with his father—or Julia—but because she’d stolen it back. Every dime. Emily Cline had set up the secondary account to funnel small increments without the FBI’s notice at Julia’s instruction, but she’d done it in Raleigh’s name, with her personal information, to make the cas
e against Raleigh stronger in case the feds caught on. Only that’d also given Raleigh access to the funds. Over one million dollars the FBI had no idea had been taken, a small percentage compared to the original fifty million that’d been stolen right out from under her nose. Her mouth dried as Beckett’s expression hardened.
Julia reached out, soft skin sliding against Raleigh’s cheek as she pulled the gag low. Hank struggled to breathe beside her but didn’t warrant a single consideration from the woman who’d been married to him for fifteen years.
“I don’t care where you moved it. I only want it back. Once I confirm the funds have been returned, you’ll walk out of here alive. We can all move on with our lives and be happy in the knowledge that, after tonight, Hank and Beckett Foster won’t ever be able to hurt us again.” Julia stood. Centering the gun used to shoot her husband back on Beckett, she leveled her gaze on Raleigh. “Don’t do as I ask, and I’ll make it look like you killed the next man in the Foster lineup before his father bleeds out, which, from the looks of it, shouldn’t be much longer. Is that what you want me to tell your daughter when she grows up, Raleigh? That her mother killed her father, a US marshal, and will spend the rest of her life behind bars?”
Nausea curdled in her stomach as Raleigh looked up at Julia. “What?”
“You didn’t think I knew about the baby? I told you, Raleigh. I’ve planned for every setback of this plan. I’ll be the only family she has left when this is all over, so getting custody won’t be difficult when you’re back in the FBI’s possession.” Julia had framed her for embezzling from the foundation she and Hank had built from the ground up. She’d hired mercenaries to keep her hands clean, shot her husband, who couldn’t forgive himself for his past mistakes, and now the woman was threatening to kill the man Raleigh had stupidly fallen in love with and take her daughter from her. There was no way Julia would let them walk out of here alive. “Or you can put the money back where you found it and start your life over. Just you and your baby. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? What you deserve?”
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