“Get your hands up,” Nat repeated. “Now.”
Marsh gave Dancer an imperceptible nod. Dancer raised his hands. The sheriff followed suit reluctantly.
“What do you want?” Nat asked Marsh.
“He’s a freaking federal agent, Nat. Doesn’t matter what he wants.” Sheriff Talbot’s voice cracked. “Put the goddamned gun down.”
“I don’t care if he’s the President of the United States, Sheriff.” His voice was hard as steel. “What the hell is he doing sneaking around my property with a drawn gun?”
Silence hung in the air. Marsh felt the weight of it as the others watched him, waiting for answers.
“He’s looking for me.”
Marsh glanced behind him and felt a flood of relief so strong his knees nearly buckled. Elizabeth moved from behind the stable doors, pushed her black Glock into her shoulder holster. She wore jeans and a faded shirt, draped over a faded University of Montana T-shirt.
She looked tired and thin. Dark hair was scraped back into a ponytail and hidden under a ball cap. Cheekbones stark above hollow cheeks and her lips, normally smiling, were bloodless and grim.
It had been a long time since he’d seen her as anything except the highly fashionable Juliette Morgan, but Eliza Reed was a different woman.
“Elizabeth.” Marsh grimaced as Dancer bolted over the rail and ran to her. The guy picked her up and twirled her around. Marsh held motionless as Dancer crushed her in a fierce hug and kissed her full on the mouth. Tension radiated from Nat Sullivan in solid waves. He held the rifle pointed straight at Marsh’s heart.
Great. Way to go.
“I’d forgotten how butt-ugly you really were.” Dancer pulled off Elizabeth’s cap and ruffled her brown locks.
Some of the tension eased from her stance and her lips curved into a smile Marsh remembered.
“Jeez, Dance, get your hands off me.” Elizabeth laughed and shoved him away. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “When was the last time you shaved?”
“I thought you liked the rough and ready type.” Dancer threw his arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders. Raised his eyebrows as he stared at the tall, angry cowboy who still held the rifle trained on Marsh.
****
“Not as rough as you, idiot.” Elizabeth followed his gaze and her smile slipped.
“Nat,” she said, his name a whisper on her lips.
He looked shockingly handsome in faded denim that brought out the blue of his eyes. She blinked away an image of him covered in blood.
“Let me introduce Special Agent in Charge, Marshall Hayes,” she put a hand on Dancer’s shoulder, “and this fool is Special Agent Steve Dancer. Both work for the Fine Art and Forgeries Division of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
There was a second’s pause as Elizabeth stared into Nat’s steady eyes.
“Marsh is my old boss.” Elizabeth ignored the gapes from Ryan and Sheriff Talbot, concentrated instead on the man in front of her. The man cared enough to aim his rifle at a top government official.
Both men were important to her. Both wanted to protect her. Nat was as blond as Marsh was dark, the planes of his face harder and leaner compared to the square-jawed Bostonian. Both men were tall and fit, Nat having the extra bulk across the shoulders from the hard manual labor he did every day of his life. Marsh’s suit contrasted vividly with Nat’s old denims, but both men held themselves with the natural grace of born leaders.
Storm clouds had begun to gather in the distance. They grazed the jagged tips of mountaintops with ominous portent.
“You can put the rifle down, Nat, he’s one of the good guys,” she said gently. Sweat gathered on her brow, beaded and slid down the side of her face.
“Sure of that, Eliza?” Nat asked.
Elizabeth shrugged away from Dancer and walked over to Nat, laying her hand on his arm. His pulse beat warm and vital and alive. She wanted to keep him that way. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
Nat searched her eyes for doubt and finding none finally raised the rifle. He reached out a hand to cup her chin, rubbed her bottom lip with his thumb. Elizabeth leaned into the touch, wanted to throw herself into his arms, but held back. Nothing had changed. She still had to leave. Nat dropped his hand. He seemed to sense her withdrawal and she watched as he hauled his gaze back to Marsh.
Walking over Nat picked up the SIG that lay on the ground near the sheriff’s Blazer. He balanced it in his free hand, blew off some of the dust and hesitated.
“Here.” He held it out for Marsh to take.
The two men stood a couple of feet apart, weighing each other.
Elizabeth watched them—amused and a little sad. Alpha males at play. Another time and they might have been friends.
“Is someone going to explain this shit to me?” Sheriff Talbot barked. The slow drawl was gone. An aggravated rumble filled its place.
Elizabeth ignored him and approached Marsh. She felt like a truant schoolgirl finally being called before the principal.
“Hey,” she said.
She didn’t know what else to say after the trouble she’d caused. Not that he’d had to track her down...but she’d known he’d try.
“Hey yourself.” Marsh pulled her into his arms and squeezed her in a fierce hug. She could feel Nat’s gaze rake over her back. Angry and tense. Demanding answers.
“DeLattio’s escaped,” Marsh said into her ear.
Her breath hissed out of her lungs and her stomach clenched as fear scratched her nerves like talons. Moving back slightly she withdrew, her body a solid block of trepidation.
“When?” Her voice was reedy and weak. God, she hated the effect the bastard had on her.
Marsh gripped her by the shoulders. “Night before last.” He let go of her arms, re-holstered his pistol.
Uneasy, her eyes flicked away to the trees. Shit. He could be here already. Terror and hatred warred in her head. Blanked out all other thoughts.
She scanned the woods. Picked out patches of shadow so dark they could have hidden an elephant. She backed away, the desire to flee as powerful as a shove in the back. Her hand crept up to the Glock she’d just holstered. Automatically, she loosened the clasp and pulled the gun free again. Sweat drenched her upper lip. Her heart hammered. She couldn’t sense anything evil from the woods. She couldn’t sense a damned thing, but hell, he could still be there.
“I was just about to leave.” She’d been saying goodbye to the little foal, Red, when the sheriff had rolled up. Stupid to hang around.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
She’d get them all killed.
Nat’s questioning stare drilled her, but she ignored him. She hadn’t meant to be here when he got back from the auction, couldn’t bear to witness his pain.
Marsh glanced from her to Nat, then leaned towards her, his hands on his hips.
“So how about we catch this bastard?” Marsh asked.
Shaking her head, she jerked away from Marsh and rubbed the gooseflesh that crawled across her skin.
“We’ll set a trap. Draw him here.” Marsh regarded her with a small smile, like it was already accomplished. “Who knows? Maybe the bastard will get killed in the crossfire.”
Her gaze wavered under Marsh’s intense scrutiny and she looked away. The urge to put a bullet between DeLattio’s eyes was so strong it was a physical pain in her chest. But the Law demanded judicial process. And she wanted Old Testament reckoning.
“No.” She shook her head, set her jaw, impatient at the delay.
“So you’re just going to run away from this son of a bitch?” Marsh demanded. Elizabeth’s eyes went wide at his tone before logic took over. He was riling her. It was a technique that had worked in the past.
“Him, the mob, just about anybody else who wants to put a bullet in my head.”
Or worse—in somebody else’s head.
Marsh was spoiling for a fight, but she didn’t have time. She started to walk away. Had to get out of there. Marsh grabbed her arm and sw
ung her back to face him, his fingers bruising her flesh.
“Which may include me if you don’t sort out this goddamned mess!” His shout blasted her eardrums about an inch from her face.
Fury seared her, like he had any right to be angry.
Laughter rang out, bounced off the trees and up the valley. Nat was almost bent double with amusement. The rifle rested across his thighs.
“What the hell is so funny?” She raised a brow and glared.
“You are,” Nat said bluntly. “You’re the most mule-headed stubborn female I have ever met.” He was still laughing and Elizabeth didn’t know whether to kick Marsh in the balls or shoot Nat in the head.
Her heart pounded with the adrenaline surging through her system. Fight or flight. Looking at Nat she knew what she was going to do. Narrowing her eyes, she shook off Marsh’s hand and turned back towards the Jeep.
“So that’s it? You’re just gonna leave?” Nat asked. The laughter still lingered, but pain welled.
She froze, but couldn’t turn around. Tears were too close to the surface. She squeezed the grip of the Glock, her knuckles straining against the molded resin. “I’ve never had anything to lose before, Nat. Don’t make this harder for me.”
She climbed into the Jeep as tears blinded her. She slammed the door and started the engine.
A blast rocked the SUV, jerked her against the window so hard she banged her head. Her jaw dropped as she watched Marsh point his SIG at the back tire and pull the trigger again.
He blew out the second tire.
Son of a bitch.
He started to walk around the front of the Jeep as Eliza pushed the door open and climbed out.
“You sonofa— Stop!”
Marsh pointed the gun at the third tire and grinned at her, eyes flat as flint.
“You staying?”
Fear warred with anger and anger won. She glared at Marsh, wishing she’d never met him. Stuffing her Glock back in its holster, she turned and stalked back to the ranch house, careful not to look at Nat. The foundation shook as she slammed the door behind her.
Chapter Nineteen
“So what do we call you, Slick?” Ryan asked. Evidence of grief and a hangover hovered around his eyes and roughened his handsome edge. He sat at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee clutched between his palms as if that would stop them shaking.
“Eliza, Elizabeth, whatever, it’s all the same to me.” Elizabeth shrugged and glanced toward Nat, who leaned against the far wall—expressionless, unreadable. “My parents called me Eliza.”
Methodically, Nat began checking his rifle.
The kitchen was crowded, but she had nowhere to go. Too many people and not enough air. She sat down heavily in the chair next to Ryan, her anger spent, took a sip of hot sweetened tea.
“Special Agent Elizabeth Claire Paden Ward,” Marsh interrupted. “Aka Juliette Morgan, aka Eliza Reed.” He’d filled them in on most of the details, but she didn’t like being the floorshow.
Elizabeth resented Marsh trying to remind her who she’d been and what she’d done with her life. She wasn’t proud of it anymore; the price had been too high.
“Former Special Agent. I resigned.” She looked up, gave Marsh a bitter smile. “Look, I don’t have time to discuss ancient history with you, Marsh. We both know I have to get out of here.”
Marsh was checking his laptop, but she couldn’t see what he was looking at. Whatever it was made him smile and that irritated the hell out of her. Nothing about this situation was funny. Dancer was supposed to be changing her tires. If she knew him he’d be setting up gadgets first.
Damn.
She scowled at the sheriff who leaned against the sink with a mug of coffee in hand. “So what did you do, Sheriff? Broadcast my address on the national news?” The lawman had ‘borrowed’ her cup the day he’d interviewed her and run a search on her fingerprints.
Talbot glowered at her, his golden eyes narrowed along a pudgy nose. “I never gave out your address to anyone, ma’am, not even my deputies. The Feds jumped all over me the second I put in a request for the fingerprint ID.” He gave a short disappointed laugh. “Thought I’d caught another Unabomber.”
Nat loaded four rounds into his rifle, sliding each one in smoothly. He held the rounds down with his thumb and slipped in a fifth, closed the bolt.
Eliza gripped her mug harder, looked away before he caught her staring. “What now, Marsh? If I don’t get out of here soon, innocent people could get hurt.”
Nat straightened away from the wall, placed the rifle on a rack above the door. “You’re not going anywhere.”
His gaze pinned her where she sat and for a second her heart stopped. Why didn’t he understand that he was one person she would never risk? She forced her face to remain impassive. Cold.
“You don’t understand—” she began.
“Don’t patronize me,” Nat said, his tone inflexible and clipped, “and don’t fucking lie to me.” He raised himself to his full height and rested his hands on his leather belt.
Warm and tender Nat was gone. Big and pissed Nat was in his place. “I understand just fine. You’ve got some bastard after you and you’re too stubborn to let anybody help.”
Unable to remain still, she sprang up from her chair, had to maintain the perpetual motion that kept the demons at bay. “The mob doesn’t just give up and forget, you know. They’ll kill anyone who gets in their way.”
She paced the kitchen floor, needing more space, unable to breathe properly or think quickly enough. Too many people...why the hell didn’t they understand? Danger detonated through her mind like a blast. “What about Sarah? Tabitha? You for Christ’s sake!”
“They can go away for a little while.” Nat replied. His gaze was calm as if the decision had already been made.
“No.” Elizabeth dragged her hands through her hair, clasped her skull with rigid fingers. “I will not screw up other people’s lives like this. I will not put people at risk from that monster.”
“But you’ll screw up your own? Mine?” Nat spoke softly, so Elizabeth had to stop pacing to hear him. Reluctantly she turned to face him, hypnotized as he stepped towards her. “Ours?”
Tears made it hard to see him properly.
Did he really think they had a future together? She was as good as dead. If she didn’t get out of there soon, he could be too.
Nat stood quietly, patiently, waiting for her answer.
“Don’t you understand?” The tears brimmed over, ran down her cheeks and dripped onto her shirt. “I don’t want you to die.”
Nat took the remaining step to touch her, cupped her face with his hands and wiped at the tears with his thumbs. His hands were warm and comforting. She gazed up at him, knew her vulnerabilities and fears were exposed like raw nerves.
“I’ve never had anything to lose before.” Her voice was as soft as a whisper.
“Leave now and he’s won. Hurt you—again. Scared you—again. Beaten you—again.” Eyes darkened to midnight, a smile curved his lips, but his expression was lost. “Look around. You have people here who want to help you, who care about you. Don’t throw it all away just because he made you think you weren’t good enough.”
She pressed her hand against his heart, cherished the solid beat beneath her palm. Stalling for time she traced the edge of a mother-of-pearl button and moved up to touch the ‘v’ of skin that was just visible. She tried to block out his words. Tried to distract him with her touch.
He grabbed her hand and held it still. “You can’t control everything—no matter how much it hurts.”
Startled, she jerked her hand away as her eyes flew to his. He was thinking about his mother, she realized. His pain was still sharp and fresh. It wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t have to deal with this now, shouldn’t have to deal with her problems.
Nat stared into her eyes and read her thoughts. “I will not let you go.” He glanced up, caught Ryan’s eye. “Take Tabitha and Sarah into town. Cal and Ezra too.”
Cal straightened from his position against the wall. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You don’t have to stay—” Eliza said.
“I owe you.” Cal never took his eyes off the sheriff. “I pay my debts.”
Talbot stiffened. “You can’t use no gun.”
Cal gave a dark laugh and stared the sheriff down. “I don’t need a gun.”
Ryan argued too, despite his red-rimmed eyes and weary as hell expression. “I could take them to Atty Willard’s,” he said. “Come back here and help.”
“No.” Nat’s tone was flat and firm. “I need to know they’re safe, really safe.”
“What about the funeral?” Ryan asked. He didn’t look fit to drive a car, let alone use a gun.
“It can wait a couple of days.” Nat must have thought it through. “Rose would have wanted us to help Eliza.”
“I’m staying.” Sarah stood in the doorway. “I want to help too.” Tabitha clutched at Sarah’s knee, watched the adults with wide blue eyes.
“No,” Nat and Elizabeth said together.
“You might need a doctor...”
“No.” Elizabeth was fierce. She didn’t want to put anyone else at risk. Marsh shook his head, stood.
Sarah crossed her hands over her chest, ignored the Feds and concentrated on her brother. “This is my home.”
Elizabeth was quiet. Sarah was right and Eliza should leave. The pressure of Nat’s fingers on her shoulder stopped her from moving, before he hunkered down and held out his arms for Tabitha. The little girl eyed the strangers warily, then let go of her aunt’s trouser leg and ran to her uncle.
Nat swung the child high up into the air and gave her a kiss. “Hey Tiger. Wanna go get a treat from the toy store?”
Tabitha smiled, and grabbed his ear with a small hand. Nat caught her fist, held it gently within his own and kissed the delicate dimpled fingers.
“She needs you,” Nat told his sister. He turned to where his brother peered resolutely into his coffee mug. “You might not think so, but she needs you too.”
For a moment, Elizabeth thought Ryan was going to refuse. He sat immobile, his shoulders stiff and his mouth twisted. Then he took a mouthful of coffee, swallowed and nodded. Finally, he pushed his mug away and walked over to where his daughter hung from Nat’s shoulder. Ryan’s hands shook as he took hold of his little girl. Whether from the DTs or some other unnamed emotion, Elizabeth couldn’t tell.
Her Sanctuary Page 25