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. Another 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 ab
out? 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 case 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?”
A predatorial growl registered a split second before Beckett shoved to his feet. He disarmed the gunman to his right and pulled the trigger. Once. Twice. Both men collapsed to the floor, and her marshal twisted around, putting Julia in his sights.
The nearest gunman cut the rope around Raleigh’s wrists and wrenched her into his chest by her hair. In a matter of seconds, he pressed a long, cold blade against her throat. Hints of body odor rolled off his leather jacket, and Raleigh swallowed to counter the fear clawing through her. Two more guns for hire took position beside the door Beckett had come through, weapons trained on him. One wrong move, and she’d lose everything. “Beckett, no.”
His gaze flickered to hers—cold, detached—and she lost feeling beneath her rib cage. She’d been wrong before. He’d tracked her back to his childhood ranch not because he’d realized he’d made a mistake accusing her of conspiracy or to prove he hadn’t meant what he’d said. But because he was a US marshal assigned to recover his fugitive. Just as he’d always claimed.
“I’ve worked too hard for this. I deserve that money after what your father put me through,” Julia said. “Shoot me, and you won’t only lose him, Beckett. You’ll lose your entire family.”
“No, he won’t.” Fire simmered beneath the surface of Raleigh’s skin. She closed her grip around the broken piece of tile she’d grabbed as the hit man with the knife had hauled her off the floor. Sharp stone cut into her palm, but the pain kept her grounded, focused, and Raleigh shot her elbow back into the gunman’s gut. Following through with a knee to his face when he doubled over, she didn’t bother watching him hit the floor as she turned on Julia. “Because we’re not going any—”
Pain burned through her as Julia’s gun discharged, and Raleigh froze. One second. Two. She followed the spread of blood across her shirt, so much closer to her navel than the piece of shrapnel from the car explosion. She stumbled back and touched the entry wound. Tears burned in her eyes before she tripped over one of Hank’s feet and fell backward. She hit the floor, out of breath.
“No!” Beckett’s yell reverberated through her, followed by three more gunshots.
She couldn’t see him, couldn’t move. She’d been shot. Then silence. Strained breathing echoed around her after a few seconds, but she didn’t have the strength to get up. “Beckett.”
Chapter Fifteen
The rhythmic pulse of the machines recording her body’s stats grated against the headache at the base of his skull. Three days. Raleigh should’ve come around from the anesthesia by now, but there wasn’t any sign she intended to open her eyes and her doctors couldn’t tell him anything more than he’d have to be patient. Things like this happened after experiencing the kind of trauma she’d been through.
Beckett leaned forward in the chair he’d set up beside her hospital bed. The surgeons had pulled the slug from her without any complications. He just needed her to wake up, and when she did, he’d be here. He wasn’t going anywhere. Ever again.
He’d been such an idiot—for so many reasons, but more recently about the money she’d stolen from Julia Dailey, about conspiring with his father to steal from her own foundation. Raleigh hadn’t taken those funds for her personal gain, as he’d feared. She could have. She could have run and never looked back, taken his daughter with her, and hell, he wouldn’t have blamed her after what he’d done. But she hadn’t. Instead, she’d proved once again to be a better person than he’d ever be, and she’d put them right back where they belonged.
In the foundation’s accounts.
With Julia Dailey in federal custody, the FBI had had no other choice than to drop the accusations against Raleigh and close their investigation into the foundation. Beckett pressed his elbows against his knees and swiped his hand down his face. She was free, but at this rate, there was a chance he’d lose his fugitive all over again. The worst part was he’d brought it on himself.
Time had slowed when Julia had pulled that trigger. He’d watched the bullet leave the gun and race toward Raleigh. Only he hadn’t been fast enough to stop it. With his entire future at risk, Beckett had turned his weapon on the two operatives behind him and left Julia Dailey to stand on her own. He’d secured his father’s wife to the same pipe she’d tied Raleigh to as he’d waited for backup and the medical chopper, but every minute had felt like an hour.
A knock registered softly from behind, and Beckett swiped his hand down his face before standing to face the visitor. She hadn’t had many over the past few days. Apart from him, the list mostly consisted of nurses, doctors and his team to update him on the investigation, but the last person he’d expected to set foot near the mother of his child darkened Raleigh’s doorway.
Hank Foster.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Beckett stepped into the bastard responsible for this entire mess. If it hadn’t been for his SOB father, for all the people he’d hurt, Raleigh wouldn’t have been shot in the first place. She wouldn’t have been targeted by Emily Cline or framed for stealing from the foundation. She wouldn’t have been arrested and forced to go on the run
to avoid their daughter growing up without her parents.
“I was discharged a couple hours ago, and one of the other marshals you work with told me you haven’t left this room since Raleigh got out of surgery after he was done questioning me.” Hank offered him a white foam box, eyes downcast. The man Beckett had spent twenty years of this life hating with every fiber of his being had the guts to look ashamed, apologetic. “I thought we could both use some real food, and I remembered you liked waffles, so I ordered some from that old diner we used to visit when you were a kid.”
“Don’t you dare say her name, Hank.” The frustration, the anger, the desperation he’d been holding back since Beckett had stepped off the Life Flight chopper three days ago broke through the invisible dam he’d built in preparation for this moment. “You’re the reason she’s here. You’re the reason your wife framed Raleigh and hired a hit woman to kill the best thing that’s ever happened to me. No matter how far I’ve distanced myself from you, from what you’ve done, I’m the one who’s still paying the price for your mistakes. First with Mom, now Raleigh. You put her in danger. You put my baby in danger, and I’m not going to let you anywhere near either of them. Ever. Do you understand? I’m done with the past controlling my life, dictating every decision I make, and I’m done with you.”
Hank retracted the box into his chest, the outline of bandages clear between the unbuttoned section of his shirt. “I’m sorry, Beckett. For everything. Your mother was killed because of me. Because of my selfishness. I was never arrested for what I did, but I’ve spent the past twenty years working to make that right, to be the father you deserve instead of the one you got. I don’t know if it’s possible given what’s happened over the past few days, but I’ll spend another twenty years trying, if that’s what it takes. I’ll keep the foundation going. I’ll help as many people as I can, and if you decide to change your mind about where we go from here, I’ll be waiting.” Hank nodded, and in that moment, he suddenly looked older than a few minutes ago. Setting the box of waffles on a nearby table, he adjusted the suit jacket draped over his arm. “I’m proud of you, son. You’re going to be a great father to that little girl, the kind she deserves.”
The Fugitive Page 17