by Aimée Thurlo
“I know all about priorities and how important timing is in life,” she said softly. “This job is never easy on relationships or families.”
“True, but I loved the work. The first few months after I left the marshals service, I didn’t know what to do with myself. It took me a while to find a new direction.”
“And now?”
“I like working for myself and calling my own shots,” he said. “My only regret is that I wasn’t allowed to officially continue investigating the case that took my partner’s life.”
“If Chris Miller’s here in this community, I’ll have my collar, and you’ll have your closure. I won’t back off till my work’s done.”
“So let’s get busy,” he said.
“Before we do anything else I need to find out if the local P.D. has software that’ll reconstruct the angle and trajectory of the bullets the gunman fired at you. I’ve got this nagging feeling that we’re missing something important.”
“It’s a small department, so even if they did, it’s likely to be an old version, but not to worry. I know where we can get access to a computer with state-of-the art everything.” He switched on the ignition and put the truck in gear.
* * *
THEY RODE IN silence until Kendra apparently ran out of patience. “Is this a covert op or are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
“My brother Dan’s place,” he said, laughing. “It’s like a fortress there, so the added benefit is that we’ll be safe while we work. My gut tells me that Chuck and Miller are the same man, so we have to keep our guard up.”
“Everything I’ve read about Miller tells me that we’re chasing a ghost. He constantly changes his appearance, and he’s good at playing chameleon.”
“That’s why he’s been a high threat/high priority fugitive for such a long time.”
“I’ve got one advantage no one before me has ever had. You’re with me, so if Miller’s really after you, I won’t have to find him, he’ll find us,” she said.
“You’re still not convinced that Miller was the gunman, are you?”
“There’s no way for us to know, not yet, but here’s the thing. If it is Miller, the evidence says he’s playing with you and we’ve got to figure out why.”
Paul said nothing for several long moments. “You remind me of Judy in some ways. When things didn’t line up just right, she’d keep digging until something turned up. I never saw her back off a case.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said.
“It was meant as one.”
She took a deep breath, then let it out in a long sigh. “It’s hard, isn’t it, when someone you care about is taken from you so abruptly. One minute they’re there, the next they’re gone.”
“It sounds like you lost someone, too,” he said.
Kendra nodded and swallowed hard. “My mother died of an aneurism when I was a senior in high school. I left one morning for school, and when I came home in the afternoon, I found her on the kitchen floor, dead,” she said. “None of us were ever the same after that. She was the heart of our family.”
He heard the sorrow in her voice and instinctively reached out for her hand. It was small and soft, and as he looked directly at her, he felt an unexpected warmth touch the cold emptiness inside him.
He brought Kendra’s hand up to his lips and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. In their profession, survival meant being tough. Yet even the strong weren’t above feeling pain.
When she drew her hand back at last, he gazed at her for a second longer. “When I wore the marshal’s badge I rarely did anything that wasn’t connected to work, one way or another, but I loved it. Is that the way it has been for you?” He had a feeling that there was a side of Kendra he’d yet to see. When he saw the shadow that crossed her eyes, he knew that he’d hit a nerve—one she didn’t want exposed.
“I am what I am, a Deputy U.S. Marshal who’s very good at her job.”
He nodded, noting that she hadn’t really answered his question. But he was patient. In the days ahead, he’d learn more about her. Something told him that Kendra was worth the wait.
Chapter Eight
“Are we going to your brother Daniel’s office or his home?” Kendra asked as Paul drove down an industrial area at the western end of Hartley.
“Both, actually. His home is at the rear of the building, with a view of the mesas to the south,” he said. “His wife has been insisting that they buy a house, but I just don’t get it. They’ve got plenty of room. The place is just inside the city limits and used to be a farm equipment business.” He wanted to get to know Kendra, and figured her response to his comment might tell him something more about her.
“Maybe Dan’s wife wants a place that’s exclusively her home—a place completely separate from her husband’s work,” she said, then added, “And who wants their kitchen to be a converted tractor showroom?”
Paul shrugged. “It sounds like you agree with my sister-in-law.”
“I do. When I put away my gun at night, I want to relax in a setting that reminds me that I’m more than my work. My place is peaceful, filled with things that reflect the other side of me—the woman without the badge.”
“When I was with the service, the work was my life,” Paul said.
“And you still sleep in what’s basically your office, so you haven’t changed much,” she said, flashing him a quick smile. “But I need the separation. Of course, there are times when work doesn’t allow you any down time.”
“Tell me about it,” he said, laughing.
They arrived at Daniel’s complex ten minutes later. Paul stopped, twenty feet from the metal gate that stood at the end of a driveway dividing two dark expanses he knew to be alfalfa fields.
“The lock looks like its impossible to tamper with, embedded in that big concrete post. What do you do, punch in a code?” she asked.
“Yeah, Dan’s setup defeats bolt cutters or torches. Take a look.”
As Paul looked past the gate toward Daniel’s place, he felt the lynx fetish around his neck grow heavier. He pulled it out, thinking it had become caught in his sweater, but when he did, he saw the lynx’s eyes glimmer.
He tensed and looked back toward the highway, where there was a lot of ground cover. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Kendra’s attention was focused elsewhere, and she’d wandered over close to the gate.
“It’s so dark I can’t even see my shoes.” She reached for the penlight in her pocket, but her cell phone came out too and fell to the ground. “Crap. Where’d it go?”
He glanced over at her. “Need my help?”
“No, think I found it.” As she bent over to pick up her phone, Paul caught a flash of movement in the brush to his left, then a faint beam of red light illuminated by road dust. Turning, he discovered the bright ruby dot of a laser sight on the gate just above Kendra’s back.
“Gun!” he yelled, racing toward her. Faint pops came from the field to their left, and they both dove to the ground.
Paul rolled onto his side, grabbed his Glock, then returned fire, aiming low to avoid reaching the highway beyond. Kendra also fired her weapon, twice.
The attack stopped as abruptly as it had begun. They held fire, then remained motionless, listening and searching the night for a target. About twenty seconds later, they heard a car motor revving up in the distance.
“Cover me!” Paul yelled, jumping to his feet. He ran in a zigzag pattern down the road, searching across the field for the vehicle. When he finally reached the cattle guard, it was too late to get off a shot. All he could see was the red taillights and rear end of a green car—no plate—screeching down the highway.
He cursed, then turned to look at Kendra, who’d run with him and stopped a dozen feet behind him. “You okay?” he asked, stepping closer.
She returned her pistol to the holster at her hip, then reached up to touch her cheek. “Gravel and a scrape, but no gushing blood, so I guess I’m in one piec
e,” she said thinly. As she turned up the collar of her jacket, shielding herself from the wind, she inhaled sharply.
“What’s wrong?” he asked instantly.
“I’m not sure...maybe I’m wrong.” She slipped off Paul’s jacket and held it up in the moonlight for a closer inspection. There was a small hole at the back of the collar. “I wasn’t wrong. That buzzing that grazed my face—it was a bullet.”
Paul placed his hands on her shoulders, looking her over carefully. “Good thing you dropped your phone.”
“By yelling at me when you did, you probably saved my life,” she said, trying not to shake. “I’m a deputy marshal and I’ve had people shoot at me before, but no one’s ever come this close.”
The gate swung open with a loud squeak and they turned to find Daniel rushing forward in a crouch, assault rifle in one hand. “Get inside quickly.”
“He’s long gone, bro,” Paul said, shifting his shoulder and biting back a groan at a spasm of pain.
“Come on,” he said. “Hurry up anyway.”
Less than two minutes later they were inside the big metal building, standing well away from the windows.
Daniel glanced over at his brother. “What is it with you, bro? You’re a real bullet magnet these days.”
“Thank you, I’m fine,” Paul shot back.
“Hey, am I wrong?”
“This time, I wasn’t the target,” he said, then glanced at Kendra.
She brushed the gravel from her cell phone with an unsteady hand. “We need to call the Hartley P.D.”
“Already done,” Daniel said. “I’m also calling in some family help.”
Kendra sat on the leather couch and opened her phone, verifying it still worked. “If Paul hadn’t pushed me to one side when he did, the sniper would have locked in on me for sure.”
“Fate always has the last word,” Daniel said.
“This...incident,” she said slowly and swallowed hard. “It’s given me an idea, and a new angle we can pursue.”
Paul knew she was using police speak to help her push back her fear and bring herself back under control. He’d had to do the same thing countless times when he’d worn the badge.
“So fill me in,” he said.
“I will, but first I have to report what’s happened to my supervisor in Denver.”
* * *
KENDRA STOOD IN an adjacent office. Alone, she took several deep breaths before making the call. Once she was ready, she dialed and spoke to her supervisory inspector, Evan Thomas.
Kendra paid particular attention to the details, keeping any hint of emotion out of her voice. It was part of her training, and she knew what was expected of her.
“If you’re really up against Miller, then I’m guessing he was aiming for Grayhorse, but you got in the way,” Thomas said in a flat, no-nonsense tone. “Of course, if Miller found out that a marshal had been sent there to bring him in, it’s also possible he targeted you first. You’re the bigger threat.”
“Well, Paul was closer, yet the rounds seemed directed at me, not him. This was the work of a professional, at least in my experience. I think he was after me.”
* * *
“DON’T RELY on just your gut. You said there was a breeze, and the perp used a silencer. Wind and the low velocity of a suppressed round make for inaccuracy, and it was dark. Work with the Hartley crime scene people, check out the evidence, and see what you can come up with, then we’ll talk again.”
Kendra hung up, her thoughts racing. She’d been scared before, but now she was angry. She did trust her gut, and whoever had come after her was going down. After that initial burst of fear, only adrenaline remained.
She was pumped and ready for action. As a Deputy U.S. Marshal, she’d put some really dangerous men behind bars and made the world a little safer for everyone else. It was time for her to do what she did best.
Feeling more confident, she took a few moments for herself.
No matter how bad things got, she loved her work. What she did every day made a difference, and that’s what kept her going.
Of course someday she’d have to make a choice—her work as a marshal or becoming a single mom. The crazy hours and the danger were all part of what had drawn her to the job, but her child would need security and deserved a parent who’d be home more often than not. That was one of the holdbacks she’d yet to figure out.
Sooner or later she’d have to find a new career, hopefully one that wouldn’t make her feel she was just punching a time clock somewhere. She’d never be able to open an electronic security firm like Paul’s. The work was too routine. Watching monitors or doing background checks all day would make her crazy. She was made for more active work, and if she didn’t remain true to herself, what kind of mom could she hope to be?
She shook her head. All that could wait. Right now she had work to do.
As she stepped back into the hall, Paul was there to meet her. “My brother Preston is here now to help out. What’s the news from Denver?”
“Evan Thomas, mysupervisory inspector, thinks you were probably the primary target, but I got in the way and needed to be taken out.”
Paul said nothing for a moment, his gaze so steady it was unnerving. He seemed to be looking right into her soul.
“Yeah, and I know Thomas and where he’s coming from. But you know he’s wrong, and you’ve got solid reasons for believing that.”
Paul was right on target. He could read her thoughts with amazing accuracy, and it was a bit unnerving. “You were a Deputy U.S. Marshal once, Paul. You know there are details I can’t discuss, not even with you.”
“You still need help, Kendra, and you’re going to have to start thinking outside the box. My record’s spotless. You can trust me. Talk to me.”
“Not here.”
“Yes, here. My brothers are the most reliable backup you can possibly hope to have, but we can’t work with you effectively if you’re going to keep information from us.” He paused and took a long breath. “I know you’ve read my brothers’ files. They’re men of honor. If we’re going to stand in the line of fire, we deserve to know what’s going on.”
It took her several beats, but at length, she nodded. He had a point.
As they entered the room where two of Paul’s brothers—Daniel and Preston—were waiting, she’d already decided that trusting them was the only way to go.
Kendra sat down at the big conference table and looked at the men already seated there, coffee mugs in hand. As Paul suspected, she’d read all their files. She knew about each of Paul’s foster brothers.
Besides Preston, the city cop, and Daniel, the business security expert, there was Kyle, who was with the NCIS at Diego Garcia. Rick was with the FBI, but his current overseas work—location not listed—had been redacted in the one paragraph summary she’d been able to access. Reading between the lines, she assumed Rick was working undercover. All of the men, raised in a foster home by a tribal medicine man, were connected to law enforcement in some way. All except for Gene, who was a truck driver turned rancher in southwestern Colorado. From the documents she’d seen, they were a tight-knit group, and she could certainly use trained, trustworthy manpower.
“I’m going to need some help, guys, but what I say here today can’t leave this room.” She took the offered mug of hot coffee.
Paul looked at her and nodded.
Daniel did the same.
Only Preston hesitated. “I can’t withhold information from my P.D., not if it’s something that affects them directly.”
“I understand, but this has more to do with the marshals service than it does with your department.”
“Come on, Preston. I need you in on this,” Paul said.
She saw the look that passed between both men and knew that nothing would ever trump their loyalty to each other.
“All right,” Preston said at last. “I’m in.”
Kendra nodded, and with a steady voice began. “The shooter who came after me tonight
may be linked to a case I was working before coming here. He and Miller may even be working together.”
It took her a moment to gather her thoughts, but no one interrupted the silence. Grateful, she considered her words carefully. The colonel and the marshals service had taught her to present facts as clearly and as succinctly as possible, leaving emotion—in this case her fears and sense of betrayal—out of the narrative.
“Before I was sent here to search for Chris Miller, I was working a different fugitive retrieval case. The felon I was after, John Lester, is a convicted gunrunner and a suspected member of the Hawthorn cartel. He served six months, then broke out of a Texas lockup. Since then he’s always remained a step ahead of us. Last time we got a lead, I prepared for the takedown by restricting information to our office only. I also held off filing any reports that would give away the salient details. There was no way Lester could have guessed our next move, yet somehow he was tipped off. By the time we got to where he’d been staying, the only things left were his fingerprints.”
Paul, Daniel and Preston exchanged glances again, but remained silent.
Kendra continued. “That’s when I began to suspect we had an informant in our offices, someone inside the service,” she said. “In view of what’s happened, I think it’s possible I was taken off that case because someone wanted me out of the way. Miller is the Hawthorn cartel’s wet-work specialist, and Lester is a gunrunner for them. That connection may explain why I’m now a target.”
“But what you’ve said also leads back to me,” Paul said. “The judge my partner and I were protecting was presiding over Mark Hawthorn’s trial. He’s Garrett Hawthorn’s brother, the leader of the Hawthorn cartel. I’m in the crosshairs because I prevented the death of the judge, and Mark was eventually convicted of murder.”
“Do you have any evidence that proves the Hawthorn cartel has an informant inside the marshals service?” Preston asked.
Kendra shook her head. “All I’ve got is this. Right before I was sent here, while I was still hot on Lester’s trail, I spotted someone tailing me after hours. I tried to double back more than once to catch the guy, but he was good, and I never did get a look at him—or her. I finally fell back on procedure and reported it.”