Wanted By The Marshal (American Armor Book 1) Page 3

  The other. She shuddered for it was the thought of that—of the one on the loose that terrified her most.

  The one they hadn’t caught, the one they didn’t believe in, that one had been the leader. At least, that’s what she sensed. She also sensed that nothing would stop them. They’d go on, find a new partner, maybe work alone. But the end result would be that someone else would die. She shuddered. Someone had to stop the killing and to do that someone had to believe her.

  At five minutes after five o’clock in the morning, the phone rang again. There was no point hesitating. That wouldn’t make any of this go away. She answered.

  The deep breathing started. As it had before, it went on for a minute. This time she said nothing after the first hello, not for thirty seconds. Then she demanded that this end. She demanded an identity. She got neither of her demands. The phone call ended exactly thirty seconds after that.

  She tossed the phone to the other end of the couch as if distance would make a statement, end the harassment. Prank calls were what she had thought yesterday. But now she sensed something else was at play, as a sense of déjà vu almost choked her.

  * * *

  THE SUN HAD only begun to rise when Travis turned the corner onto the quiet residential street. The assignment was low-key. That’s what he’d thought going in. He’d also learned a long time ago that situations like this could turn on a dime. And a second read of the file gave him a feeling that something was off. It was because of that, because he trusted his instincts, that he was here this early. His shift didn’t start for another three hours. Something told him that he needed to be more proactive than normal.

  He wanted to get a clear handle on things. He wanted an uninterrupted look at what he was dealing with. That included not only the witness but her environment as it was now—undisturbed. Less than a minute later, he pulled up to the three-story off-white condo building in the middle of the block. The ground-floor unit was the one that the witness, Kiera Connell, resided in. She’d purchased it a year ago. He knew that because he’d already run a check on the property. It was built five years ago, and she was the second owner. They were trivial facts but even in a low-threat case like this, it was his habit to research such things. Even though there was a driveway, he parked the SUV in the parking lot a group of similar buildings shared. It was too early in the morning to knock on her door and introduce himself. The entire building, including her condo, was still in darkness. He could see the darker shadows of flowers in the flower bed. Everything seemed to be in place—neat and organized.

  He wondered what the inside of her place was like and he wondered what the occupant was like. He didn’t know what she’d been like before the incident. But he could only guess that now she would be in need of support and counseling for many months, or even years, to come. She’d survived a vicious attack by a serial killer who had left a trail of women dead. The women had all been raped and then murdered, all except the first two. They’d been murdered without any evidence of sexual assault. That wasn’t odd but rather an indicator that the perpetrator had evolved. An attack like that could leave the victim broken and unable to return to their former life. He hoped that wasn’t the case. But the law of averages wasn’t in her favor. It was too bad. According to the file, she’d been a determined young woman. She had carved a career for herself despite adversity. But a file never told the whole story, nor did the authorities who led the investigation. To keep her safe, he needed to know who she was as a person. That was for later; for now he’d scout out the area. The advantage of this early hour was that he could do so without any distractions. He was lead on the team of marshals who would protect Kiera Connell. The danger to the witness was minimal. Despite the low risk of danger, he was working the case like he did any other.

  On this assignment, he’d had shorter notice than most. It was up to him and his team to keep her safe and make sure she kept it together until the trial was over. The feds had pinned their case not only on the evidence they’d collected but on the testimony of the only witness.

  He’d learned as much as he could about the woman who was his latest assignment. It fascinated him that she was the only victim who had escaped. That a twenty-five-year-old nurse, with little life experience, had been the one to do it—that, to him, was mind-blowing. Although, he couldn’t imagine how messed up she must be from the experience at the madman’s hands. He felt for her. But he still would rather bow out of this assignment. For, he saw little challenge. The perp was behind bars and he and his team were effectively babysitters to a witness who was too important for authorities to take any chances on. She was the key to ending a killing spree that had lasted far too long. For they suspected it had gone on long before they’d become aware of it. All that aside, bowing out was, unfortunately, not an option.

  He looked at his watch. It was twenty to six. He’d been up since four after only five hours of sleep. It wasn’t a big sleep loss, only an hour less than he usually got. He shrugged the thought away. It wasn’t a factor. The amount of time that had passed since he’d arrived was. He’d learned a long time ago that time could slip away if not tracked and organized. Time was critical for it could mean life or death. That was why he always kept a tight schedule and a close eye on the time.

  A window at the front of her property was open a crack. It was the swing-out kind that, if one was into such things, could open from the outside. He frowned at that. No matter that the killer was behind bars—open windows low to the ground were begging for a crime to happen. He stood at the corner of the condo. The sun was rising. Streaks of sunlight were making it easy to see without the aid of a flashlight. He took a step forward meaning to scout the entire perimeter of the unit.

  “Freeze! Take one more step and I’ll shoot.”

  The woman’s voice came out of nowhere. He’d been broadsided. Damn it, he thought. He’d been caught with his pants figuratively down. He turned and saw out of the corner of his eye the barrel of a handgun. He didn’t dare turn right around, even though he wanted to. But he didn’t plan to die today, or any day in the immediate future.

  “Drop your weapon!”

  There was no way in hell that was happening. His mind ticked through the options. He could take her down, but he had to get closer. He hoped her attention was on his weapon as he dropped it to his side, still holding it in his left hand. At the same time, he took a step backward, toward her.

  “Do it!” she snapped. “And don’t take another step.”

  “I’m a US—”

  “I don’t care who you are,” she interrupted. “Put your hands where I can see them and drop your gun.”

  He slid his gun into his holster and lifted both hands in the air. He had his badge in one hand, having pulled it out from the side of his holster as he’d holstered the gun. “I’m going to toss my badge—”

  “No!” she interrupted. “You’ll throw nothing.”

  Damn it, he thought again. He was furious with himself. She’d snuck up on him. But she hadn’t come out of nowhere. He should have sensed that he wasn’t alone. He should have known. Hell, he thought. He should have expected it, been prepared for it. It was the basic tenet of any scout pack—Be Prepared—never mind a US marshal. He’d missed the signs that she was near. And because of that, he was at the wrong end of a gun. Was he getting old? His friends had teased him about that only a week earlier over a couple of beers. They’d been celebrating his thirtieth birthday. He discounted that thought. He worked hard to be at the top of his game. Still, that didn’t change the fact that he’d screwed up—big time.

  “Who are you?” he asked. If nothing else, he deserved to know who was threatening him. More important, he needed to put himself back where he belonged, in charge of this situation.

  She fired a shot that kicked up dirt two feet to his right.

  “What the hell!” he roared and almost spun around, stopping himself with sheer willpo
wer.

  “Another word and you’re a dead man,” she retorted.

  A thought came to him that was as outrageous as it was possible. After all, it was her condo that he was standing outside. The more he thought it, the more the idea gained plausibility. Was it possible that this was the witness he’d come to protect?

  “I’m here to—”

  “Do you not understand English? Shut up,” she said.

  The words were angry and spoken with no hesitation, no hysteria and no tears. That wasn’t what he expected if she was the witness. But if it wasn’t her, who was she?

  “Turn around,” she ordered. “And do it slowly.”

  There was something about her voice. A silken edge that in another time and another place might have been erotic. He couldn’t help the thought. It was a voice that could do things to a man in the darkness of the night.

  He found it interesting that her voice vibrated a bit as if she was nervous or traumatized. Had she never held a gun before? It was a possibility. And a possibility where he’d been lucky that she hadn’t hit him.

  He pivoted on a heel. He wanted to give her the impression of how little he cared about her demands, or the fact that she had the advantage. She needed to know that he didn’t fear her.

  But when he faced her, he could only stare. For the woman holding a gun on him with a grim but determined expression was the face on the witness’s file. He was facing the very woman he was to protect, and the file picture had done her no justice. In the picture she’d been pretty; in real life she was so much more than that. The rising sun highlighted her dark hair, giving it a glossy sheen that framed her beautiful face. She was petite, no more than a few inches over five feet. She was slim and yet voluptuous in a way that made him fight to keep his eyes up and on her face. It was an attraction that he hadn’t felt in a very long time, if ever. She mesmerized him with a look.

  He was pinned by green eyes. They were eyes that would have held him forever if it weren’t for the gun that she had yet to lower. The moment shifted everything he knew about this case. A simple, uncomplicated assignment had just become difficult. Difficult in ways he’d never imagined.

  Chapter Three

  “Kiera Connell?”

  “How do you know me?” Kiera’s voice cracked as it had off and on since her ordeal. She hoped that it wasn’t on the edge of breaking or of her losing it like she had for an hour only yesterday. She couldn’t afford to lose her voice when a strange man was roaming her property. After everything she’d been through this was beyond disconcerting. She wanted to ask who he was, why he was here but she feared that her voice wouldn’t hold out. That he knew her name was interesting but not startling. There was a list of owners in the common area. The question that was more troubling was—had he been casing the place?

  “I don’t.”

  The easy way he spoke combined with his soulful brown eyes seemed to say that none of this bothered him. That this was just an everyday occurrence. Who was he?

  He took a step forward.

  “Take another step and you die.”

  It was a stupid thing to say and she knew it. She’d already threatened him with death once and despite her threats, she doubted if she could kill him. Pull the trigger, yes, she’d already done that. But that had all been for show. If she was going to threaten to kill, she should be able to make good on that threat. She’d only shot the gun at the shooting range and then here, when she’d dusted the top of a dandelion to prove her point. She didn’t like the feeling of aiming a killing weapon at another human being, at any being.

  “Who are you and what are you doing slinking around my place in the dark?”

  Except it wasn’t dark anymore. The sun had cleared the night shadows and the neighborhood was coming to life. Soon one of her neighbors would be wondering what was going on. On the upside, she was sure that if someone were to see their little tableau, they would be quick to call the police. This wasn’t the kind of neighborhood where guns and violence were common. In fact, she’d never seen or heard of an incident in the time she’d been here.

  “Travis Johnson...” He broke off as if reconsidering saying anything else but instead took a step forward.

  “Stop!” Her throat hurt at the effort, but it didn’t break. She clenched the gun so tight that her palm was beginning to sweat.

  She frowned. He hadn’t ditched his gun as she’d demanded, only holstered it. She wasn’t sure how she’d let that get past her. She guessed that she would have had to shoot him for him to relinquish the weapon as she’d demanded. Except for the weapon which he was careful to keep his hand away from, he was complying. Not once had he tried to overpower her, to take the gun from her. Considering how fit he looked, she guessed he could have easily been able to overpower her. Instead, he’d let her remain in control, let the situation play out. Except for the gun, none of his mannerisms indicated that he was the trespasser or thief that she’d first thought. His voice was low and calm as if having a gun held to him was a normal way to begin his day. His stance was relaxed, as if she were no threat. That annoyed her.

  Despite the discomfort, she held the gun tighter. It was as if by doing that she was safe—protected even more than before. Her eyes met his. His brown eyes were steady and in an odd way honest. Yet something ran under his calm surface. She speculated that he hid a harder, darker side. The thought of that made her hold back a shiver. She needed no more darker sides. She’d faced more darkness than she ever wanted to see in this lifetime. And yet it wasn’t over. There was still the trial. And there was still... She pulled her thoughts back from another terrifying reality. One that was hers alone, for no one else believed her.

  “Okay, Travis Johnson. Why are you on my property?”

  “I’m a US marshal,” he said quickly, as if afraid that she was going to cut him off again.

  She couldn’t hide the look of disbelief on her face. Despite her earlier analysis, there was something about him that made her think of the bad boy in high school and not of someone in law enforcement. Except, this was no boy. He was tall and broad shouldered, with a rough but good-looking face and a tough-as-nails attitude. With the early morning shadows lifted, it was clear that he likely wasn’t a common thief. Besides, she doubted if one would be this confident after being caught red-handed trespassing.

  “Identification?”

  He held out something that glinted in the early morning sun. “My badge.”

  It looked official enough. And she had been told there would be protection.

  “You can call—”

  “I don’t need you to tell me who I can call,” she said and couldn’t keep the bite from her words. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. She had too many men look at her like that and the last thing she needed was another. Except if she were honest, there was no lust in his eyes, only an intense determination. She didn’t like that either.

  Despite that, she lowered the gun. She held it stiff and inches away from her hip. “So, you’re the protection I was promised.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Along with two other US marshals. We are your security team from now through the trial.” He shifted as if contemplating moving a step closer.

  “Don’t move,” she demanded.

  “I have to say I’ve never had a witness react like this before,” he said looking down at the lowered gun.

  “I’m betting that you’ve never met someone who escaped a serial killer either,” she said. She couldn’t help herself. Even in this situation she wasn’t about to take guff from anyone. She told it like it was; she always had.

  “No.” He shook his head. “You’re right. You’re the first.” He took a step forward, his hand out. She held out her hand and noticed that he had to reach and take a step forward to accept it. She hated her small size in a situation like this for it made her feel at a disadvantage. He took her hand and it seeme
d to be swallowed in his as he gave it a firm shake and let go.

  “Marshal Travis Johnson. Here to protect you and make sure that your testimony is given, and that piece of trash is put away for good.”

  There was something in the tone of his voice that held a doubt she couldn’t identify, as if he questioned his assignment.

  “You think there might be a problem?” she asked.

  “No problem,” he said. “Look, let’s go inside and talk there before you have your neighbors wondering what’s going on.” He eyed the gun. “You might want to put that away.”

  “This way,” she said and ignored his suggestion as she brushed past him. Their eyes met as she passed. His seemed to see beyond what she’d left unsaid, as if he knew her very thoughts. She looked away. He might be here to protect her, but he had no idea what he was up against. For there was another threat. The fact that it was faceless didn’t make it any less deadly.