She’d been running for the past four months, constantly looking over her shoulder, worried she wouldn’t have the chance to clear her name before being taken back into custody. But here, she felt safe, protected, wanted. She wasn’t going anywhere. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Chapter Ten
A baby.
He hadn’t gotten the chance to fully consider what that meant. They’d spent the past two days running for their lives and trying not to get shot, but the news was starting to sink in now. Beckett shot his arm out to flip the eggs in the pan. Fried. Just the way she liked them. The timer of the waffle iron chirped, the entire kitchen a mess of waffle mix, eggshells, milk and cooking oil. Hell, their daughter wasn’t even here yet, and the sinking sensation of doubt had already started creeping in. How were they supposed to do this? Clearing Raleigh’s name of the embezzlement charges would take work, but the fact she’d escaped federal custody and gone on the run could make it so she’d have to serve some jail time. For how long, he didn’t know. Guess it depended on the judge, but she’d broken the law, and while people changed—while he’d changed—the law didn’t.
Right now, he couldn’t fully tell the woman he’d left in that bed was pregnant, her body almost as lean as he remembered. He didn’t know a whole lot about babies, but that baby wouldn’t wait around for her mother to pick a good time to make her debut. Beckett slid two eggs onto a plate and set the pan back on the stovetop. He hadn’t asked to be a father, but he was going to be one anyway. He wasn’t going to avoid his responsibility to that baby’s creation. He had a steady job with the Marshals, an apartment. He could support their daughter while Raleigh got back on her feet. They’d have to work out a custody-and-visitation agreement after she was born, or...
His gaze settled on the stairs leading up to the single bedroom. Or maybe this thing between him and Raleigh could be more. Maybe he could have everything he’d ever wanted. Everything they’d both wanted for themselves but never got the chance. A family without secrets, without lies and resentment or loss. Just the three of them.
The smoke detector pealed from overhead, shocking Beckett back into reality. Within seconds, the rest of the detectors joined in from all over the cabin. His ears rang as he dashed to get the waffle burning in the iron free with a fork and his hands. Smoke dived deep into his lungs. Blistering heat burned his fingertips until he finally got the blackened mess free of the metal and into the kitchen sink. After unplugging the device, he flipped on the water and doused the charred remains of Raleigh’s breakfast until the smoke cleared. He gripped the edge of the glossy black countertop. His throat burned. Yeah, he was definitely ready to be a dad. At least their daughter would be living off milk for those first few months. No need for her to have to suffer with his cooking skills. He tossed a kitchen towel across the room. “Damn it.”
“That’s not exactly what I had in mind when I asked for breakfast, but I appreciate the effort.” The sound of bare feet padding down the stairs and across the hardwood flooring raised the hairs on the back of his neck, and suddenly he couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Dark hair tousled from sleep, Raleigh was a vision unlike any he’d seen before. Long, lean, flawless in nothing but one of Reed’s oversize superhero T-shirts, and his chest constricted. She smoothed her hands over the island countertop, the hints of green in the stone almost a perfect match for her eyes. “Need help? I’ve heard I make a mean glass of orange juice.”
He couldn’t hold back the laugh escaping his chest. Yeah, she did. “I was the one who said that after you started a fire in my apartment trying to soften the chocolate hazelnut spread in the microwave for your toast.”
“Okay, so I accidentally put the jar in the fridge after sneaking some spoonfuls in the middle of the night.” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug, angling her chin to the point she actually looked innocent as he wiped down the waffle iron. “I didn’t think it would turn into a brick, and I was positive I’d gotten all the foil off the edges before I put it in the microwave.”
“That wouldn’t have held up in court if my landlord had moved forward with his lawsuit.” Pouring the rest of the batter into the now decharred iron, he set the timer. “But now that you mention it, orange juice would be great.”
“I’m on it.” She moved around the counter, all grace and beauty as though the past couple of days hadn’t affected her in the least or that they hadn’t nearly died out there, and hell, he admired her for that. He’d spent the entire night envisioning how far he would’ve gone if Emily Cline had finished what she’d started, if he’d lost Raleigh and their baby. She ducked her head into the fridge, her shirt hugging her in all the right places, but Beckett could only zero in on the stain blossoming through the shirt from her side. “Any word from Reed or your office about the mess we left at the ranch? Can’t imagine they’re too happy—”
“You’re bleeding again.” He dropped the fork he’d been holding while waiting to pry the waffle free and closed the distance between them. The tang of metal on granite resonated in his ears as she closed the fridge, and she stared up at him. He threaded his hand between her arm and her rib cage to get a better look.
Arching the bottle of orange juice overhead, she studied the spread of red across her side. “Damn. I have a feeling Reed isn’t going to let me raid his closet anymore after he finds out about this.”
“Sit down.” He unplugged the waffle iron, took the bottle of orange juice from her and set it on the counter, then maneuvered her back until her knees hit the edge of one of the kitchen chairs. A combination of her natural scent and Reed’s sank in his chest like a rock as she sat, and a dose of fire burned through him. He trusted the deputy, respected the hell out of him, but Beckett would break the bastard’s nose if he came anywhere near what was his. Dropping to one knee, he suppressed the groan as the stitches in his thigh protested. His. What the hell was wrong with him? Two days ago he’d been fantasizing about handing her over to the feds, and now he was thinking of all the ways they could make a life for their daughter if given the chance. “I need you to...let me see the wound.”
Which meant seeing anything going on under that shirt.
“Right. Not weird at all. Just exposing myself to a man who I used to sleep with so he can see what’s wrong with my stitches. Not a big deal.” The words carried a hint of sarcasm, that specific tone she’d use to neutralize any situation she didn’t want to confront. She rolled her shirt higher, exposing long lines of pale, smooth skin and the pattern of moles he’d memorized that first night they’d been together. Tasteful beige underwear edged with lace skimmed the tops of her thighs, and suddenly he didn’t dare touch her. Not something so perfect, so beautiful. So deserving of better than anything he could offer.
But he’d try. Because he couldn’t let the anger he’d held on to for all these years—the hatred for what his father had done—touch her or their baby. Neither of them deserved to feel that kind of pain or to feel the effects of his past trauma, and for the first time as he stared up at Raleigh, he realized he didn’t either. Every decision Beckett had made over the past twenty years had led him to this moment, led him to becoming a US marshal. His father had led him here. He protected the innocent because he hadn’t been able to protect his mother when he was sixteen. He hunted fugitives because he hadn’t been able to find any kind of evidence of Hank Foster or the money he’d stolen after the son of a bitch had disappeared. He went out of the way for the men and women he worked with because he couldn’t stand the thought of losing anyone else to the people he brought to justice. Everything he did, everything he said, was because of someone else’s actions, and hell, that moment of losing the only family he’d had left had controlled him his entire life.
But it wasn’t just him anymore. He was going to be a father to a baby girl, a coparent with Raleigh, and he couldn’t let the past dictate his future. Not anymore. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forgive his father for what
he’d done, but that single event didn’t have to control him from here on out. Didn’t have to hold him back from being happy. He had the power to choose, to let go, move on.
And he was choosing this.
Right here. Right now. Choosing Raleigh. Choosing their baby.
They were going to be a family.
“Beckett?” His name on her lips raised the temperature of the room by at least ten degrees. Or was it his heart rate that couldn’t keep up with the rest of his body? Bloodied gauze lined with tape crinkled at the edges as she breathed. Raleigh tried to get a better look at the wound. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Is it worse than you thought?”
“No. I... You’ve done everything in your power to protect this baby, even against me, and I can’t wait to see what kind of mom you’ll be when she’s born.” He set his hand against her side, her body heat warming him straight down to his bones. His calluses caught on smooth skin as he peeled back the layer of gauze and tape. Thankfully, the stitches Reed had sewn in hadn’t torn, but he’d need to clean out the area around the wound again and change her dressing. “I know I was another person in the long line of people who’ve hurt you, but if you’ll let me, I’d like to be there for you both. Appointments, parenting classes, the birth. I can help with setting up the nursery or finding you an apartment when this is over, or if you want a custody agreement, I’ll respect that, too. Whatever you’re willing to let me have, I’ll take it. I just don’t want to screw this up. If you give me the chance, I want to be there for you and the baby, to prove I can keep my promises.”
Her mouth parted. Her eyes went wide. “You want to do this together?”
“More than anything,” he said.
“I don’t...” Tension shot across his shoulders as mere seconds slipped past one after the other. Raleigh licked her lips, his attention homing in on the softness of her mouth before she nearly knocked him out cold with that gut-wrenching smile of hers. “I’d like that, but only on one condition. You have to change all of her dirty diapers.”
Beckett laughed as he straightened on his knees and threaded his hand through the hair at the base of her neck. “You got a deal.”
* * *
HE WANTED THEM to have another chance. To be a family.
Raleigh slipped from the bed, the hardwood floor cold under her bare feet as she reached for her discarded clothing a few feet away. They’d spent nearly the entire day talking, debating baby names, imagining what a combination of the two of them would look like, and she stretched all the stiff muscles she’d forgotten existed. Her stitches tugged at the fresh gauze he’d taped over her side, and she stopped short of straining the wound farther. It’d been a long time since she’d felt much of anything, but she felt this. Whatever this was between her and Beckett. The tightness in her chest had lightened. It was easier to breathe. They’d been together for six months before the FBI had arrested her, but the connection they’d shared over the past few days somehow seemed different. Stronger. Changed.
What that meant for the future—if they had one as anything more than coparents—she didn’t know, but after everything that’d happened, she was willing to find out. As much pain and hurt she and Beckett had caused one another, they’d agreed on one thing from the beginning: giving their daughter the life she deserved. Most of all she deserved two parents who would always be there for her, always love her, no matter what. Hypothetically, if those parents lived together in the same home, even loved each other, their baby could have a better shot at happiness.
Studying him from over her shoulder, she couldn’t help but smile at the idea of waking up to this sight every morning, just as she’d imagined back at the ranch. The only thing missing was the crib that would be positioned nearby in a short few months. Everything else she needed was right in front of her. The smile weakened.
She’d envisioned it so many times after her arrest, but that deep-seated part of her still clung to the fear Beckett would be there for all the appointments and everything that came with preparing to give birth, not for her but for their daughter. Which, honestly, she should be grateful for. There were so many children orphaned by mothers who hadn’t made it through the birthing process because the fathers weren’t around to take responsibility. So many babies growing up in foster care as she and her brother had. She’d believed him when he’d promised to always be there for them. Because this was his baby, too. He was the kind of man to do whatever it took to ensure their daughter was loved, but he’d promised her the same thing before she’d been arrested. Now she was on the run.
Raleigh clung to her side as she stood, midafternoon sunlight gliding across her skin. Soon, they’d clear her name of the embezzlement charges. She’d have to appear in court for fleeing federal custody, even though she’d been wrongly accused in the first place, but afterward they’d get the chance to move on with their lives. A deeper part of her, one she hadn’t dared investigate over these past three days, hoped that he’d meant together. Not as coparents, but as something more.
Her mouth watered as the craving for fresh fruit that’d woken her from her nap consumed her focus.
Padding down the stairs leading to the main floor, Raleigh ignored the colder temperatures on this level and headed for the fridge. Over the past few weeks her body temperature had been slowly climbing higher to the point she’d had to put the air conditioner in her aunt’s cabin at risk of freezing up. Cool air cascaded across her exposed skin as she focused on the container of fresh grapes on one shelf. “Your dad makes a mean waffle, but we’ve got the good stuff now, baby girl.”
An electronic ping registered from the small living room, which really only consisted of a modern-looking gray couch, a coffee table and barely any leg room. Popping the plastic grape container, Raleigh carried her snack toward the phone she’d taken from the shooter’s vehicle on the coffee table. She wrapped her fingers around the thin frame. The screen lit up again as she raised the phone. It vibrated in her hand. An incoming call, but not from Beckett’s contact list off his SIM card. The number wasn’t stored in his contacts, but Raleigh knew that number. She’d dialed it over a hundred times over the years. “Calvin?”
She dropped the container of grapes. Both the local police department and the US Marshals had reports from the EMTs at the scene that he’d lost too much blood in his house for him to survive. Or was this whoever’d attacked him? Whoever’d framed her for stealing all that money? The phone stopped vibrating. A notification for one missed call slid across the screen. A different-pitched ping reached her ears as a new message arrived. She couldn’t read it without entering Beckett’s password. Raleigh glanced up the stairs, listened for any kind of movement before swiping her thumb across the screen. She had to know.
The screen bled from black to a white background with five words highlighted in a blue bubble.
“Pick up the phone, Raleigh.” The thin metal frame vibrated again, startling her. Another incoming call from the same number. Her mouth dried. Hand shaking, she hit the green answer button on the screen and brought the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
“Raleigh, thank goodness you’re okay.” A graveled exhalation filtered through the phone as her former business partner’s familiar voice nearly forced her to collapse in relief. “They haven’t gotten to you yet.”
“Calvin? I thought... They told me you were...” She turned toward the windows, looking out over the expanse of the trees and mountains. The cabin sat higher up the mountain, and she was afraid their connection wouldn’t last long. He’d been declared missing less than two days after his wife, Julia, had called the authorities when she’d found the blood in their home, and the local police hadn’t recovered a body. Calvin had to know the Marshals and the FBI were keeping up-to-date on his personal phone through phone records. They’d notice the call to this phone. They’d run the number and pinpoint where she was, who she was with. They couldn’t waste time. “Tell me you
’re okay. All that blood at the scene—”
“I’m alive, but I barely made it out of my house. Your assistant, Emily, she was torturing me for information about another account, one the feds haven’t linked to the investigation, but I didn’t know anything. I only had what you’d shown me before the FBI showed up at the office.” His unsteady breathing pierced through the slight ringing in her ears. He was out of breath. Possibly injured. “After I escaped, I ran. I got rid of my credit cards and tried to stay off the radar. I’ve been staying at a motel outside of Portland, but I think I might’ve been followed. What the hell is going on? Are you safe?”
“I’m safe.” She’d done this. She’d brought him into this. Pressing one hand against the cool window, she forced herself to breathe through the heat climbing her neck. Cold worked down her arm and into the center of her chest. She’d ruined an innocent man’s life trying to uncover the truth to save her own. “Calvin, this is all my fault. They came after you because I showed you the evidence I’d uncovered concerning the missing donations. They couldn’t get to me while I was in federal custody, so they targeted you, and I’m so sorry. I’m going to fix it. I promise. I’m going to find the people who are doing this.”
“Raleigh, listen to me. This isn’t your fault. Just be sure to watch your back. Don’t trust anyone. Understand? Especially the feds. Who knows how far this reaches?” Static preceded a loud thump on his side of the line. Calvin lowered his voice to a whisper. “I think they found me. Take care of yourself and remember what I said. Don’t trust anyone.”
The Fugitive Page 12