She cast her attention to the gravel under her boots. “Out of all of the suspects I’ve compiled, Emily is the only one who had the means and opportunity to move that money, aside from Calvin, but I can’t see the connection between her and the US Marshals Service. Maybe there isn’t one. I don’t know.”
He hadn’t gotten a good enough look at the shooter to rule Emily Cline out as a suspect, but having a name was a start. Looked like their only leads were an assistant who possibly knew too much and a missing CEO, but Beckett couldn’t dig any deeper than that without alerting his team to what he and Raleigh were doing out here.
“You obviously trusted her,” he said. “Did she give you any reason to think she might be in debt or in trouble? Taking care of a sick relative, or does she have access to a gun?”
“No. Nothing like that. We were...friends.” Her voice softened, tugging at some invisible string Beckett had used to sew up the gaping holes she’d left behind when she’d been arrested, but that was as far as he’d let it go. This effect she still had on him, this gravitational pull, was nothing more than his body adjusting to being around her again. Temporary. That was it. As soon as they cleared her name of the embezzlement charges, they could each go their separate ways and work out a custody-and-visitation agreement along the way for their daughter. If they couldn’t... Hell, he’d have to cross that bridge when he got to it. Raleigh tucked her hands in her front pockets. “At least, I thought we were friends. Guess it goes to show how little we actually know the people around us, or how blind we can make ourselves when we don’t want to see the truth.”
Was that supposed to be an underhanded accusation directed at him? Because she was right. They might’ve been sleeping together for six months, but they’d each kept the darkest part of themselves from the other. They didn’t know each other at all. A bird called off to their right, then silence. Warning prickled a trail across his shoulders. He automatically drew her in to his side with one hand as he scanned the trees around them. He couldn’t take the risk of another ambush from the shooter. Not with their daughter the perfect target. “Come on. We’ve been out in the open for too long.”
She didn’t respond, a first for her, as he led her along the unofficial path carving through the trees. The pines thinned after another twenty minutes of them walking in silence beside each other, giving way to one of the most exquisite sights Oregon had to offer. Jagged obsidian lava rock spread out along each side of the path they’d been following toward the smooth incline of Newberry volcano. Dark clouds cast shadows over the second lake in the area on the other side of the inactive caldera. From this vantage point, he calculated they’d walked approximately four miles around the southern end of East Lake and were nearing the Big Obsidian Flow Trailhead. Miles of green pines smothered the valley floor below, and a lightness he hadn’t felt in a long time spread through him.
“My brother and I used to hike out here every weekend when we got the chance. Just the two of us.” A wistful smile transformed her features, and for a split second, his heart jerked in his chest at the sight. Her shoulders rose and fell with her heavy breathing, that warm gaze taking it all in. “We’d pack a lunch, bring our swimsuits and make sure the rangers weren’t around when we climbed the volcano. I forgot how beautiful this place can be.”
“You haven’t been back out here?” He wasn’t sure why he’d asked, or why he cared much about the answer. The lines between them had been drawn, but every second she’d been near, he could feel that old part of himself—the part that wanted to believe her—rise to the surface.
“Not since he died. I thought about it. I wanted to see if it’d changed any, but...it’s not the same without him.” Smoothing her hands over her shirt, she shook her head, long tendrils of her hair sticking to the fabric. Raleigh turned toward him, resurrecting the atmospheric hint of rain and her vanilla scent in one move. “Earlier, you said you unsealed my juvenile records, but did you read them?”
“I read enough of the police report to know what happened that day. I was able to piece together the rest.” In reality, there hadn’t been a whole lot to read. He’d had to track down the autopsy report himself. “Your aunt had taken custody of you both at the insistence of your and your brother’s social worker because you kept getting passed from home to home. Reports said you had trouble adjusting. You instigated a handful of fights and were caught stealing from one of your foster parents. Am I right so far?”
The muscles along the column of her throat worked to swallow. “Keep going.”
“You, your brother and your aunt were down at the shoreline of the lake. Police found a couple easy chairs, a picnic and an umbrella. The scene looked like it was supposed to be a fun day, but there was a fight. Something your aunt did made you snap.” He set his hands on his hips, the bottom of the pack she’d dug up brushing against the space between his index finger and thumb. “You caved her skull in with a rock you found in the water.”
She flinched, obviously not ready to hear just how much he’d uncovered about her past, but she couldn’t hide from it anymore. Couldn’t hide the truth from him. She’d kept her secrets to herself when they’d been together, but Beckett knew her better than anyone else in her life, was the only one who knew exactly what she was capable of. Innocent people didn’t run, didn’t go into hiding. They didn’t hurt the people who cared about them. Directing her attention back out across the valley as the wind rustled in the trees on either side of them, she ran one hand through her hair. “That’s all the files say? The police report, the court documents?”
“It’s enough, isn’t it?” he asked. “Proves you have a history of violence and theft, which, I might add, is what you’re up against now, and that you’re willing to do whatever it takes to get what you want, even when it hurts the people who care about you.”
“You’re right. My brother and I were eating lunch together like we always did on the weekends. I wasn’t feeling too good that day. I think I was coming down with the flu or something, so he said we should set up down on the beach instead of taking our normal hike, and I agreed. I didn’t care where we went. I just wanted to spend time with him. For as long as I remember, we were all we had. Then...” She blinked against the sunlight reflecting off the water of Paulina Lake about a mile northeast of their location. “Then my aunt came charging down to the lake, accusing my brother of getting into her gun safe. I’d never seen her so angry before, and no matter what I said, she didn’t believe me.”
“Because it was you.” Memory of the cabin, of the open armored safe tucked into the room off the main living space, flashed across his mind. Dread curled in his gut. Hell. “You were the one who’d gotten into the safe, weren’t you?”
“I’d learned to break into it a few weeks before by listening for the click of the combination cams, and I was so damn proud of myself, I wanted to see if I could do it again.” She stared out over the expanse of trees and water. “My brother was everything to me, the only person I’d always been able to count on growing up in all those homes, the only one I had left, and suddenly she was choking the life right out of him in front of my eyes.” Nodding, she rolled her lips between her teeth and bit down, as though to keep herself under control, but he could see the pain in her eyes, the crack of emotions bleeding through her expression. Raleigh wiped at her face with one hand. “I tried to pull her off, but she hit me in the face, and I fell back into the water. I wasn’t strong enough to pry her loose, so I grabbed a rock I’d landed on, and I swung it as hard as I could.” Green eyes focused on him. “But it was too late. She’d already killed him.”
He cleared his throat, completely void of a response other than an apology for what she’d been through at such a young age. Guess they both had that in common. Her losing her brother, him losing his mom.
“All those accusations you have of me starting fights and stealing? I was making sure my brother and I stayed together every time we got tran
sferred to a new home. We only had each other, but none of it mattered in the end. I lost him anyway, and now I have no one.” Loose gravel slipped down the rocky incline as she stepped into him. “Everything I’ve done hasn’t been to hurt the people I care about, Beckett. It’s been to protect them, and I’d do it all over again.”
He stared after her as she made her way down the steep hill dropping them onto the main trail carved through the trees, his voice low. “You had me.”
* * *
THE HUMIDITY OF another imminent downpour stuck to the exposed skin under her collar as they followed the Big Obsidian Flow Trailhead around the southern end of Paulina Lake. This time of year didn’t bring a lot of tourists to the area, and she’d never been more grateful for that than now. The idea of pasting another smile on her face, of pretending everything was okay, even for a stranger, intensified the headache at the base of her skull. Sweat built along her hairline and slid down her spine, but she only pushed herself harder.
Those records had been sealed. She’d moved on with the intention of never letting those two adrenaline-charged minutes of her life define her. She’d given everything she’d had left after the incident with her aunt from that time forward to save lives. Not take them, but now Beckett knew the truth. The one person she’d tried to shield from her past knew she was everything he’d accused her of being: a killer. The fist around her heart squeezed tighter. There was nothing she could say, nothing she could do, to redeem herself in his eyes.
“We’re here.” His words punctured through the sweaty haze that’d taken over for the past hour, and Raleigh pulled up short too fast. Her boots slid along a loose patch of gravel on the incline leading down into a valley nestled between the mountains, and she fell back, arms thrown out for balance. Strong hands caught her under her rib cage. “I’ve got you.”
A warmth that hadn’t been there before blossomed inside as she tried to get her bearings. “Thanks.”
Setting her upright, Beckett let his hand linger at her waist as she pressed into his chest for balance. Her heart thumped wildly at the base of her throat as his gaze journeyed a trail down along her neck. His outdoors scent dived deep into her lungs, making her lips tingle to close that short distance between them. She could still remember what he tasted like, how safe she’d felt in his arms.
Thunder clapped overhead. A drizzle of rain pelted her face from above, bringing her back into reality. He’d cleaned and bandaged the small scrapes along her forearms from the tree bark and given her the last of their water when she’d gotten light-headed, but none of that healed the invisible wound left behind by his indifference. He was here to bring her back into federal custody, and he’d offered to help because she happened to be carrying his child. Nothing more. Any promises that fell from that mouth, so close to hers, didn’t mean anything. She couldn’t let them mean anything.
Distancing herself from his comforting weight pressed against her, Raleigh surveyed the seemingly abandoned property fenced out at least a quarter mile back. Two large pines towered over the bright red farmhouse trimmed in white. A few other structures, smaller than the main house, interrupted the smooth expanse of green grass across the flat land. There was a detached garage; maybe even a second, although smaller, house; a large barn and a chicken coop. She followed the outline of white vinyl fencing that disappeared into the tree line off to the right. No visible vehicles. No animals. Nothing within a few miles. She was used to isolation, good at keeping to herself, but if the shooter who’d followed Beckett really did have some kind of connection inside the Marshals Service, there was a chance that isolation could be used against them. “You’re sure this place can’t be traced back to you?”
“I was one of the marshals who seized the property from the previous owner. That’s how I know about this place, but USMS owns the deed. Unless whoever tried to kill us can get into one of the most secure federal databases in the country, there’s no way they’d know this place exists.” He adjusted his hat, then headed down the smooth slope leading to the main house, lean muscle flexing along the length of his hamstrings. “We’ll be safe here while we come up with a plan to get to your assistant. It won’t be easy. The FBI will be watching her, waiting to see if you make contact.”
She followed close on his heels, hyperaware of every move he made, every scan of the property, every change in his expression. Beckett Foster had one of the highest recovery-and-protection rates his branch of law enforcement had ever seen. If there was a threat, he’d be the first to see it coming. She had to believe that. Had to believe that even though her past had wedged this distance between them, he’d do whatever it took to protect their daughter.
The ground leveled out under her as they approached the farmhouse’s front door, and her fingers automatically curled into her palms. Exposed wood pillars added to the country feel lining the wood wraparound porch, large windows peering out over the rest of the property. Glancing in, she searched the first level of the two-story structure but couldn’t see anything more than a few pieces of furniture, crisply painted white walls and the floor-to-ceiling windows at the back of the home. No movement inside. Nothing to suggest he was walking her into a federal ambush made up of marshals and FBI agents, but she wouldn’t discount the possibility.
Beckett keyed in a code on the electronic keypad where a dead bolt usually fit, and the sound of a lock disengaging reached her ears. He swung the door inward, motioning her inside past him and the raw wood door at his back. The weight of his attention pressurized the air in her lungs as she stepped over the threshold. “You can get settled in the larger of the two bedrooms on the main floor while I check the perimeter. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”
“Okay.” She nodded, not knowing what else to say as she took in the large expanse of the main living space. Dark wood flooring stretched the length of the house all the way back to the windows she’d spotted before, with bright white couches and a modern wood-and-metal coffee table set between them. Blue chairs caught her eye from the dining room table beside two more support columns welcoming guests into the modern kitchen. Hard to believe a drug smuggler had run his business for the cartel through a home this beautiful. It looked too...welcoming. Homey.
Beckett closed the door behind him, leaving her alone for the first time since he’d broken into her aunt’s cabin, and an instant hollowness fisted in her gut. Which didn’t make any sense. He’d ripped through her life as quickly as a hurricane, leaving her decimated, ruined and empty. The pain—the longing—she’d felt after he’d walked away shouldn’t have dug its claws in this deep. She was supposed to be an ocean, able to survive anything, supposed to withstand the strength of the storm, but then she’d heard him yelling in his sleep. And everything inside her had broken. The walls she’d built, the anger she’d held on to... They’d evaporated as fast as clouds shifted in the sky. In that moment, with her hand over his heart soothing small circles into his chest, the past had sped up to meet the present.
Raleigh folded her arms across her midsection.
Modern black-and-white tile adorned the fireplace off to her left. Her fingers and toes tingled with the need for warmth, but that was nothing compared to the heat still burning through her from when Beckett had placed his hands on her hips after she’d slipped. It was one thing to ask for his help, but to hole up under the same roof again while a shooter hunted them down trailed goose bumps across her chest. She trod deeper into the house, passing the kitchen and a small home office until she came to the first bedroom in the long stretch of hallway. She ached at the sight of the bed, but she couldn’t let down her guard yet. They were out of food, out of water, and their only lead had already been questioned and investigated by the FBI before Raleigh had been arrested. If her assistant was responsible for framing Raleigh for taking that money, the feds would’ve uncovered the evidence.
She ran her hands through her snarled hair, the ends frizzing with the added humidi
ty outside. Light gray wallpaper and navy bedcovers urged her to close her eyes. She slipped onto the edge of a pale padded bench at the end of the bed, skimming her palms down her jeans. The same flooring in the main part of the house ran lengthwise through this room, same color of white upholstery giving a serene, peaceful feeling to the entire house.
Peace. When was the last time she’d felt something even remotely close to peace?
She wanted to sink into it. Wanted to believe nothing outside this room existed, that she hadn’t been falsely charged with fraud and embezzlement, that there wasn’t a killer targeting her. Raleigh studied the streaks of water trailing down the large windows. What would it be like to live here? Raise her daughter here? What would it be like to wake up next to Beckett in this very bed? Raleigh moved to smooth the wrinkles from the deep-colored comforter but hesitated at the sight of the dirt still caking her hands and fingernails. No. This wasn’t her bed. This wasn’t her house. This wouldn’t ever be her life. Not as long as she was a fugitive.
Not as long as Beckett only saw her as a criminal.
“The perimeter’s secure.” Footsteps echoed down the hallway before mesmerizing blue eyes settled on her, and her heart gave a small jerk in her chest. The traitor. “And we now have running water and power after a small, but very serious, electric shock I wasn’t prepared for.”
“Beckett, I...” She pushed up off the bed. The life they’d had together, their relationship, had been equally ripped right out from under them, and there was nothing they could do to get it back. Beckett would never let himself see her as anything more than the enemy he’d dedicated his career—his life—to hunting, and she was so tired of watching the people who’d claimed they cared walk away. She’d given everything to hang on to him after her arrest until it’d felt as though her heart had dried up. Too much had changed between them. She’d changed, but neither of them would be able to walk away from this unharmed. For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t willing to sacrifice what was left of herself to hold on to that hope she could fix this. Gravity increased its grip on her at the realization, the desertlike cracks left over from heartbreak filling. “I’m sorry. For all of this. You had every right to distance yourself from me after my arrest. You were protecting yourself, and I understand that now. It was wrong of me to put you in that position in the first place, but I need you to believe I wasn’t reaching out to you to use your job with the Marshals to my advantage. I just needed...you. You were all I had left.”
The Fugitive Page 5