Wanted By The Marshal (American Armor Book 1) Read online

  She shuddered and crossed her arms tightly as if that would provide some comfort. She desperately wanted her old life back. She wished that she could hit Restart and go back to the way things used to be. But there was no going back, she’d been through a trauma that had been life changing.

  Her testimony, as the only known survivor of a serial killer, would hopefully seal one killer’s fate. For now, that had to be enough. It was time to concentrate on her own health, at least that’s what the therapist would have her believe. But he was in the same camp as the other authorities. No one believed that there was more than one killer. But she knew that she hadn’t imagined the second voice. She knew in her heart that the man who had tried to kill her and, if she hadn’t escaped that closet, would have succeeded and left her like almost a dozen other women in a shallow unmarked grave—hadn’t been killing alone. But, with no evidence of any of that, her claim was dismissed. Even the therapist had blown it off. He’d stated that she may have suffered an auditory hallucination. He’d come to that conclusion when she had described the second voice as one that she couldn’t peg as either male or female but as something distant and sexless. He had then offered a label for the experience. Apparently, what she’d heard was a normal symptom after a trauma like one which she had experienced.

  Her mind went back to the call, the one that always followed the first. Her hands shook at the thought. She had made Travis a promise. She’d promised she’d get him if she had trouble or if she received a phone call where no one answered, as it had in the last two early mornings. Although he didn’t believe there was a connection between the phone call and her earlier trauma, she knew that he was here to protect her, to help her even and right now, he was all she had.

  She didn’t think to grab her robe from the closet. Instead, she padded to the front door in the light shorts and T-shirt she’d slept in, her bare feet quiet against the cool laminate flooring.

  She hesitated at the door. Doubts rose and made her rethink her decision. Should she get him—should she leave it? In the scope of what she’d endured, the phone call was nothing. More than likely a prank call as he’d suggested. Before she could decide one way or another, an abrupt knock sounded. She jumped back with an involuntary shriek.

  She looked through the peephole.

  Travis.

  She barely knew him and yet it was like seeing a long-lost friend. She fixated on one important fact; he was on her side. She unlocked the door and stood aside to let him pass. But he didn’t. Instead his hands dropped to her shoulders and his eyes were filled with concern.

  “What happened?” he asked with a frown. It was as if he already knew. “What’s wrong?” He added that question on top of the other when she didn’t answer. Without waiting another second, he pulled her into his arms.

  It was a friend’s hug, one meant to comfort. He was warm and solid against her. And while it lasted only seconds, he was exactly what she needed. It was a promise of protection that no words could offer.

  He let her go as he closed the door behind him and stepped farther into the room. She followed. In the space of seconds, everything had changed. And, for the second time in twenty-four hours, she felt protected—safe.

  Chapter Five

  “Someone called and hung up. I’ll be alright,” she said before he could say anything.

  He wasn’t so sure. She’d been pushed to her limits and beyond. No one should have to endure what she had. He wanted to comfort her but there was nothing that he could say that would change what had happened. He could only offer his protection, his words that didn’t change anything and his promise to protect.

  She shivered in her light T-shirt and shorts.

  He glanced to where the afghan hung over the edge of her sofa. She was meticulous about her things. He’d learned that yesterday. The arrangement of her house, the position of her belongings was as familiar as his apartment. Yesterday, he’d made it a point to get to know her environment. Now he knew what might help and what might hinder her, what he needed to know to keep her safe. He went over to the sofa and got the afghan. He brought it back and placed it over her shoulders.

  “Thank you,” she said as she looked at him with a gentle smile.

  “You’re welcome,” he replied. Even though he wasn’t quite sure if she was thanking him for the afghan, for noticing that she was cold—or for being here. Maybe for all three.

  “For noticing.” She finished on a rather lame note, as if she’d been privy to his thoughts.

  He considered asking her to give him her phone, let him take charge. He wasn’t sure if she was ready for that.

  One thought rolled into the other. He was overthinking it all. Still, he hesitated, unsure for one of the few times in his career. He didn’t want to misstep. She was fragile. In a situation like this he knew that, for the victim, control was something that was important, even if it was an illusion. That meant not taking her power away from her. In this case, he decided, she would lead.

  “Was it the same as last time?”

  “Yes. There was just dead air after I said hello and they hung up within seconds. I didn’t say anything more. I don’t know why...”

  “I’m glad you didn’t,” he said. He couldn’t help himself. He put a hand on her shoulder as his other hand lifted the edge of the afghan that trailed on the floor and wrapped it more securely around her. “That’s why I came to your door. I wanted to be here, in case it happened again.”

  “Thank you.”

  He tensed. There was a quiver in her voice and it was hoarse. But when he looked at her, he knew that it wasn’t tears that had changed her voice. She was tougher than that. She’d proved that by surviving her ordeal, and by confronting him yesterday. He wanted to lash out at the perpetrator. He wanted to roar with anger but there was nowhere and no one to vent his ire at.

  He looked at his watch.

  “The next call should be in five minutes,” she said as she watched him.

  A frown marred her beautiful creamy skin. The lines in her forehead only drew his attention further, to the bruise on her cheek. The bruise was only beginning to yellow. He wanted to reach out and run a thumb along it, to somehow emphasize that it would never happen again, not on his watch. Her kidnapper had backhanded her more than once according to what was reported. Reading that in the file enraged him. Hearing James mention it and now seeing the evidence again only made him want retribution, vigilante justice. None of that would happen.

  “You think it will follow the same pattern as the previous nights?” He asked the unnecessary question in an attempt to divert his thoughts.

  “Yes,” she said, “I don’t have any doubt. It’s already begun.”

  He wished there was something he could do to stop the idiot who was doing this. This was a coward at work. A coward who was further scaring a woman who had been terrorized beyond what any human should have to endure. He wanted to get his hands on the piece of crap who was doing this.

  The fact that there was nothing he could do only made him feel awkward, and too big for the small living space. The driveway surveillance had been long and monotonous and despite his orders to the other two marshals who would take turns relieving him, that there was no need to remain every minute on location, he’d remained for every hour of his shift and beyond.

  His thoughts went back to the possibility of another call, minutes away. Was the caller just picking a random number? Had the caller heard a woman’s voice and that had prompted him to continue his rather sick game? Or was this something deadlier, as Kiera had alluded to?

  “Have a seat,” she said and pointed to the couch that sat angled in a way that offered a view of both the front and back yards.

  The condo was small and yet its size was inviting and reflected her personality. They’d talked yesterday beyond the parameters of the case and she’d told him that she loved to sit on the couch and read. T
he butter-yellow couch was completely her. In a way it seemed to reflect her warm personality. He remembered times through the day when they’d talked about something other than the case. He could see her sitting there in the lazy hours of the evening reading on that same couch. He sat on the left side. She’d already told him that the right-hand side was where she sat. She’d said that with a laugh. They both knew that with her living alone, the whole darn couch was hers, she could sit anywhere, not just on the side she said she claimed. A side she also said she preferred for it allowed her to watch the birds and squirrels come in for the seeds and peanuts that she left out for them.

  “It will be okay. I promise, Kiera. The killer is locked up. He can’t get to you. The calls are nothing but some jerk with nothing better to do.”

  “Maybe,” she said. But the word held neither sureness nor fear. “But how did they get my number?”

  Random chance, the explanation he’d offered when he’d first heard of the calls, hadn’t sounded plausible even to his own ears. It hadn’t yesterday either. He wasn’t sure what the connection could possibly be. The serial killer was behind bars unable to perpetrate such calls. Possibly, someone with an evil bent. He was at a loss.

  Two minutes to go.

  “When you answer, put your phone on Speaker,” he said as he handed the phone to her.

  “I will,” she agreed.

  Another minute ticked by. She looked at him but didn’t say anything. He’d protected other witnesses, especially in his early days as a US marshal, but none who had gone through what she had. It enraged him to think about what had been done, what she’d escaped.

  She looked at him with fear in her eyes and a tense, determined look to her lips.

  It was four minutes after five o’clock.

  “I’m here, Kiera. It will be alright. We’ll put an end to this, I promise.” He squeezed her hand and she held on tight as if she never wanted to let go.

  Chapter Six

  At exactly five minutes after five o’clock in the morning, the phone rang just as Kiera had said that it would, just as she said it had every early morning since she’d left the hospital.

  She held the phone and looked at him. “Answer?” she asked and the hand holding the phone trembled.

  “Answer,” Travis said without hesitation and only assurance in his voice.

  But she seemed frozen, her face pale. The phone rang again.

  “I’m right here,” he reminded her. “Answer.”

  She hit Answer with a trembling finger. Despite her earlier reaction, her hello was impressive in its control. He reached over and hit Speaker.

  Heavy breathing, steady, rhythmic. There was a hoarse edge to the breathing like someone with a respiratory problem.

  Her face was stiff, masklike. She held the phone away from her and touched it only with her fingertips, as though it was poisonous.

  He reached over and took it from her. The heavy breathing was slow and drawn out and carried on for another few seconds. Then silence.

  One second, two.

  Travis let it play out, let the caller lead. Finally, the silence ended with a raspy inhale and exhale. And then the words that he knew neither of them would ever forget.

  “You die.”

  The voice was oddly sexless.

  Kiera gasped and put a hand over her mouth. But it was too late.

  Travis had no doubt that the caller had heard. He imagined their satisfaction at the fact that their victim was frightened. He was glad that for good measure his own phone was recording the call.

  “You’ll die before you’ll ever testify. Die,” the voice repeated.

  The connection broke and the phone went dead.

  “Damn it,” Travis said and looked at Kiera.

  She wasn’t looking at him.

  “Someone else is out there,” she said in a whisper. “Someone else knows who I am, where I am. They never spoke before—the other calls, I mean. And that voice, it gave me chills.”

  He took her hands. They were limp, her palms damp. He looked into her eyes.

  “They’re words, Kiera. Nothing more. You’re safe and I’ll make sure you remain safe.” Meanwhile, his mind was going through the options. Who this might be, what the level of threat might be. He needed to speak to James. They needed to discuss this development and analyze what he’d recorded.

  “How do they have my number? How do they know I was a witness? Who squealed?”

  She was hitting valid points. Points that had him concerned. There’d been leaks in the emergency system before—rare, but it had happened. While most were dedicated to their jobs and usually closemouthed, there had been a few over the years who had revealed information that was never meant to go public. Had it happened again? And then, of course, there was the wild card. The bus driver who had initially rescued her had sworn no oath of secrecy. The chances that the time of her rescue had been leaked were high. That would explain these calls and justify the possibility that this was just a prankster who had also discovered her identity.

  “There was someone else—the man in jail wasn’t acting alone.”

  “Kiera,” he began.

  She stood up.

  “It doesn’t matter what I say, does it?” she said angrily. “You’re not going to believe me. Despite the fact that I was there.” The last words sounded defeated.

  “I’m not saying that.” He quelled the frustration from showing in his voice. She didn’t need that. These phone calls on top of everything else were too much. He took a calming breath. “I’m not discounting what you’re saying, Kiera. I can’t deny that there’s someone out there threatening your life. I heard them. It definitely needs to be looked into. But I don’t want you worrying about your safety. No matter what the intent of these calls, no matter who it is, you’re safe here. I’m going to ensure that.”

  She moved away from him and turned her back. She was looking out to the front lawn where the rising sun was dispersing the shadows. “I heard that voice before. The night when I was taken.” Her voice dropped off.

  He turned to stare at her. She was determined that she’d been the victim of two kidnappers. Maybe it was time to give the theory more consideration than anyone had up to this point. He knew that it didn’t fit the profile that had been built in the year-long investigation and that was why the idea was getting pushback. But profiles were not written in stone.

  There was a pensive and rather frightened look on her face. “One of my kidnappers had a very unusual voice. It sounded exactly like that,” she said. “But I’ve already told you that. I don’t know why I’m bothering to do it again.”

  She was speaking so softly that he had to strain to hear her.

  “Don’t stop, Kiera,” he encouraged.

  “That was the voice of the second killer. I know it.”

  He looked at her with more than a little interest. He nodded, urging her to continue.

  “It was dark,” she said in a low voice that was close to a whisper. “But it was clear that there were two voices. One voice was different from the other, as different as their touch. It wasn’t the one who was arrested. There were two people there—two kidnappers.”

  “You’re sure?” he asked.

  “Yes, damn it!” she said, anger flaring in her voice. “But no one believes me. They might believe me—maybe,” she said with drawled-out sarcasm. “When it’s too late.”

  “It will never be too late,” he said. “That’s why I’m here and I’ve never failed in a case. I won’t fail you now.”

  “You promise?” she asked with a touch of hope replacing the anger.

  “I promise,” he said.

  “These calls will end tonight,” he assured her. It was easier to take the emotion out of the equation by defaulting to work and business. It was the only way to dodge what was stirring in the room, or more aptl
y, within him. It was an attraction he couldn’t seem to stop.

  “Can I keep this?” he asked as he held her phone up. “I’ll get you another, a prepaid,” he said as he saw the look of doubt in her face. He wanted her cooperation but with or without it she wouldn’t be handling these kinds of calls. From now on, he or someone else on the team would be accepting any further prank calls. She had enough to deal with.

  Slowly she nodded. And he felt humble at the fact that in that one gesture she’d offered the last of her doubt, that she’d given him her trust.

  She was pale and quiet. He worried for her, for her well-being. She’d survived a lot, more than most people ever survived in a lifetime. Had the call been too much, compounded with all the trauma she’d so recently escaped?

  “I need to make a call. Will you be alright for a few minutes?”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said.

  He paused.

  “Really,” she assured him. “I’m fine.”

  Outside, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and hit one of the numbers in memory, the FBI’s security team. Two minutes later he’d spoken with Serene Deveraux, their security expert. She was the head of that unit and had been for as long as he had been a marshal. He quickly had her assurance that she’d do everything possible to trace the call. Around him, the surrounding homes were beginning to come to life as they prepared to begin a day that, for them, was no different from any other.

  His phone buzzed. It was Serene returning his call with news that only confirmed what he already knew.