Книга - Marshal On A Mission

Marshal On A Mission
Ryshia Kennie


She witnessed a robbery. Now she’s a killer’s target. Hiding from a ruthless gang in Mexico, Tara Munroe thinks she’s safe. She is not! Thankfully, U. S. Marshal Trent Nielsen vows to help her…whatever it takes. But soon Trent realises he’ll have to stay one step ahead of these criminals if he's got any chance of keeping Tara alive.







She witnessed a robbery.

Now she’s a killer’s target.

Tara Munroe thinks she’s safe. Then a ruthless gang stalks her from Colorado to Mexico. Thankfully, US Marshal Trent Nielsen isn’t far behind and vows to bring her home...whatever it takes. Before long, Trent realizes this mission is tough for even the most seasoned lawman. And with no shortage of men gunning for them, he’ll have to stay one step ahead if he has any chance of keeping Tara alive.


RYSHIA KENNIE has received a writing award from the City of Regina, Saskatchewan, and was also a semifinalist for the Kindle Book Awards. She finds that there’s never a lack of places to set an edge-of-the-seat suspense, as prairie winters find her dreaming of warmer places for heart-stopping stories. They are places where deadly villains threaten intrepid heroes and heroines who battle for their right to live, or even to love. For more, visit ryshiakennie.com (http://www.ryshiakennie.com)


Also by Ryshia Kennie (#u388377d3-3ca0-5b18-b6f8-a1aeabbd1628)

Wanted by the Marshal

Sheik’s Rule

Sheik’s Rescue

Son of the Sheik

Sheik Defence

Suspect Witness

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Marshal on a Mission

Ryshia Kennie






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-09441-2

MARSHAL ON A MISSION

© 2019 Patricia Detta

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




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Contents

Cover (#uc3774735-9254-54a7-ab6b-d046e88e31d9)

Back Cover Text (#u00688795-acc9-5c71-991c-bf14958d2edb)

About the Author (#ua464b6ae-4d9a-5e12-aac0-7f9e10624144)

Booklist (#u19c607ae-e9cc-5030-8e82-d506c9633437)

Title Page (#u1a2ef15e-e036-5a37-b956-a7b9aef5ac94)

Copyright (#u98f45b44-1f0c-5824-832b-bf22c0f908c8)

Note to Readers

Dedication (#u4b671660-056d-5b43-b78a-700dcb133ab3)

Chapter One (#u580f45cb-fcc0-5b4e-af9b-81683def718e)

Chapter Two (#u1542db9d-c8e6-5c1b-9f00-a7ad3f92b97e)

Chapter Three (#u54e1f325-14df-537f-8e9b-1bc716f8e6e0)

Chapter Four (#u08853208-811b-560a-bb73-e67585a00cf3)

Chapter Five (#u67b43a12-c03e-5ca9-aac2-194bdfb7e1e1)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One (#u388377d3-3ca0-5b18-b6f8-a1aeabbd1628)


The icy chill of déjà vu crept down her spine as if it had all happened only yesterday, and as if tragedy were about to happen again. Tara Munroe pushed the uneasy feeling away.

“It was a long time ago,” she assured herself. But today, for some reason, it felt like yesterday that her father had been murdered. She knew that some things you never recovered from. Painful experience had taught her that. Some things left a mark no matter how long ago they had happened. She took a breath, trying to go back to enjoying the beautiful spring day. But something seemed to hang over her like a shadow.

“Forget it,” she said to herself. She was being ridiculous, dreaming up trouble where there was none. Though it was the anniversary of that dreadful day. She took a deep breath. It wasn’t an anniversary to remember. Instead she had to think of it as what it was, a beautiful day, midmorning, midspring.

It was already comfortably warm, touched with the lazy humidity left by last night’s gentle rain. The sweet scent of petunias wafted from a planter on the city sidewalk. The flowers were early, grown in the local city greenhouse and just recently planted here. In the midst of downtown Pueblo, Colorado, the natural beauty of the flowers stood out against the brick and stone. The historic buildings that populated the downtown provided a touch of Old World to the city’s core. But it was the sweet, earthy scent of the flowers that made her fingers itch to pick up a paintbrush and transfer the vibrant colors onto canvas or cardstock for greeting cards or...

But she had other things on her mind today, less artsy things—like getting some cash to pay her rent.

The last thought dropped as she was shoved, the arm of a man ramming into her shoulder and throwing her off balance. She had to catch herself from falling as she fought for balance, the clasp on her purse releasing. The hand-painted bag flew open, spilling some of its contents on the sidewalk.

“Hey!” she said as she bent down to pick up her things.

The man was already ahead of her. But he glanced back. His eyes briefly met hers, and in that moment, she noticed dark hair that was thick, short and wild, and the tawny color of his skin that accentuated a thick scar. The scar ran crookedly across the top half of his cheek. There was anger in his dark brown eyes and a wildness that made her heart race in fear.

A few feet away, he squatted down to pick up a rectangle of off-white paper with an elastic at one end. It looked like a medical mask. But that seemed a weird thing to carry around, she thought as she watched him shove it in his pocket and walk away without giving her a second look.

Jerk.

His lack of manners had her fuming. She kept watching him. She wasn’t sure why, except that something about him felt a bit off. She watched as he crossed the street. Then he turned toward a familiar building, the same place she was headed: Pueblo First National Bank.

“Great,” she muttered. Sitting on her haunches, she picked up the remainder of her things from the sidewalk and put them back into her purse.

A few minutes later, she opened the door to the bank and was met by a rush of air-conditioned chill that made her feel like winter had returned. She shivered and stopped. The silence was heavy, different from the usual buzz of business. And when she looked toward the tellers, she forgot to breathe.

The tellers seemed frozen in place as two men stood with handguns aimed at them. A third man was in her peripheral vision, but it was a movement to her left, a fourth man, that got her attention. She recognized that lanky build, the faded jeans and the gray T-shirt. He turned, and their eyes met. Like the others, he wore a mask—the surgical mask she’d seen earlier, the one he’d dropped.

Shock raced through her. She knew those eyes. She’d seen that face. It seemed like forever as she stared into hard, wild eyes she’d never forget, and saw again the edge of that vicious scar...and something else. He was armed, and he was aiming that gun at her.

She turned, took two steps back to the door, ducked and pushed the door open just as she heard a sound that she’d heard so many times before. She knew that sound. Her heart seemed to stop and then speed up into a wild hammering that screamed at her to get out. It was the sound she’d heard so often as a child during hunting season on the small hobby ranch where she’d grown up. A gunshot.

Glass shattered in front of her. Her heart was pumping loud enough that she was sure everyone could hear it. She bolted through the lobby door, grabbed the outside door and yanked it open. She was desperate to escape. Another bang and more glass rained down around her. And then she burst onto the street.

She ran as hard and as fast as she could. She was in a state of panic for the first block as she almost collided with a woman going the opposite direction.

“Go back! Bank robbery,” she warned and repeated that warning at everyone she passed. Most looked at her oddly.

In the distance, sirens wailed. She waved wildly when the first of the sheriff’s vehicles arrived. The vehicles flew past her followed by the second, a third after that.

“Armed robbery,” she said in a panicked rush to the first deputy to pull over. “Four of them. They shot, they...” She was so freaked out she couldn’t remember exactly what had happened. “I was there. I saw one of them on the street before the robbery.” What else had she seen? Her hands shook so hard that she could barely stand, never mind think of details.

“It’s all right,” the deputy said and opened the back door of his vehicle.

She stood there frozen as if the invitation had never been issued, as if the last minutes had never happened.

“Get in, miss,” the deputy said, his silver hair glinting in the sunlight. “You’re safe now.”

She looked at him and reality returned. She saw his badge, his uniform as he repeated his instruction. She crawled into the back seat, feeling only slightly safer.

“We’ve got a witness,” she heard the deputy report seconds later.

A block away, she could see the convoy of flashing lights outside the bank. “Was anyone hurt?”

“No,” he said. “I’ll take your statement at the office.”

She shook her head as panic ran through her. “I can’t remember his face or what happened. I’m sorry. I—” Her voice broke off. “I bumped into him earlier and I saw his face unmasked.”

“Unmasked?” the deputy repeated.

“Yes.” She nodded. “But now it’s just too much. Would it be all right to do this tomorrow? Everything is a blur.”

“No. We’d like to interview you when it’s fresh.”

But an hour later in the sheriff’s office, the deputy looked at her in frustration. She was blanking out on every question. She couldn’t help it. Only once before had she ever been this shaken and not even then. She’d been too young.

“I’m sorry, I’m just...” She paused, not sure what she was. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“Traumatized,” he finished for her. “The morning will have to do.” He looked at his watch. “Let’s say eight o’clock. I’ll bring a sketch artist to your house and we’ll do a complete interview then.”

After that, he drove her home. It all seemed anticlimactic, yet more than a little frightening. Was she safe here? Was she safe anywhere? Her world had blown apart. She wrapped an afghan around herself and collapsed on her couch. She was a wreck. The fact that her usually organized mind couldn’t connect the dots of what had just happened terrified her.

An hour later, she was terrified all over again. She’d calmed down, realized that she was safe exactly as the deputy had said. And then she’d double-checked the contents of her purse and discovered that her artists’ guild card with her picture, name and address was gone.

She’d had it when she’d left home. She’d intended to go to a local art gallery and discuss some of her latest works with them. For that, she needed the card. She usually had it in her wallet but today she’d been in a rush, known she’d be pulling it out shortly and had slipped the card into her purse and not into the wallet. Had it fallen out? Had the man who knocked her to the ground also picked up her artists’ guild card? There’d been nothing on the sidewalk when she left. She’d double-checked. She could think of no other reason for its absence. Fear ran through her as she thought of the information he’d glean from the card.

She thought of calling the sheriff’s office and asking for protection. But she knew what happened to people who witnessed a crime. And the law could only do so much. Now that the men who had robbed the bank knew who she was and where she lived, she wasn’t safe. She couldn’t wait for someone else to give lip service to the fact that they might help her.

Witnesses died. That was a fact. She’d lived her whole life knowing that terrible outcome. She couldn’t wait. She couldn’t depend on anyone else to protect her. She needed to get away until things cooled down.

Within an hour, she had a flight booked and was packing her things for the drive to Denver International Airport.

“I’ll be back, and I’ll give my testimony,” she promised grimly as she locked the door of her house. And, she vowed as she gripped the wheel of her small pickup truck, not only would she live, but she’d make sure the jerk and his gang were put behind bars for the rest of their lives.






“YOU SCREWED THIS UP, you fix it!” snarled the man who liked to be called Evan. “Damn it, Luc, she saw you!”

Lucas Cruz held back the urge to slam his fist into Evan’s taunting mouth. Evan had been the last to join the gang and even before this, he had been the proverbial thorn in Lucas’s side. But there was no getting around it. Evan had seen the entire incident and he’d put the dots together. Because of that, he not only had to resolve a major screwup but he was being judged by the very men he’d led for the last few years.

“Not a problem,” he snarled. “I’ll fix it. Now, get out of my face before I—”

“Yeah, I’ll get out of your face,” Evan bristled. “When—”

“Shut the hell up,” Rico broke in with a look of disdain at them both. “Lucas knows what has to be done. And we all know that the last thing we need is the cops on our tail. We’re good now. But she opens her trap and it’s all done.” He glared at Lucas despite his words of support only seconds earlier. “I hope you have a plan.”

“I’ll deal with her. Meantime, carry on as planned,” Lucas said with steel in his voice. He’d had enough. One more challenge from Rico and he’d take him out. That was what he’d thought only yesterday but now everything had changed and Rico knew it. “Get out of state. Go to Albuquerque and I’ll meet you there. At the usual place. I know it’s not ideal—”

“Hell,” Rico snarled. “We could be caught because of your stupidity. She knows what you look like.”

He was on Rico, his hands around his throat threatening to choke the life out of him. Someone had him from behind and pulled him off.

“It’s over, Lucas, you don’t call the shots on this one,” Rico said with a knife’s edge to his voice. “Take Chen.” He gave the young man a shove.

Lucas had to fight to cool the anger that ran hot and blistering through his veins. He had to fight not to kill Rico here and now. But those feelings would only get in the way of what he needed to do. Rico was right about one thing: he’d screwed up royally. It was him the witness had seen—no one else. This was the first time there’d been a witness who had seen one of their faces. His face.

He couldn’t believe he’d screwed up so royally. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking, or more accurately, not thinking. He’d thought nothing of it when he’d bumped into her on the street. She was a passerby, nothing more. She didn’t know who he was or what he’d done or what he planned to do. Instead of on her, his mind had been on the heist.

The last place he had expected her to go was the same bank he was in the process of robbing. She’d been on the wrong side of the street for that. So was he, but that was part of how he entered any bank, from the opposite side. That upped the chances that anyone who might see him wouldn’t connect him with the bank. He was also superstitious. He considered an approach from the opposite side to be lucky.

Their encounter had been an inconvenience—that was it. They’d bumped into each other and gone their separate ways. And now, she had to die for what she’d seen.

He grimaced. Bad luck had tailed him since the beginning of this robbery. To have the woman who’d gotten a clear view of him enter the bank in the midst of the robbery was the height of bad luck, or so he’d thought. But it got worse. The interruption allowed one of the tellers to set off the alarm. There’d been no time to do anything but get the hell out.

As a result, they’d run down a back alley, jumping into the nondescript SUV that had brought them there. By the time they were in motion, the sirens were shrill. The call had been too close, and it had all been downhill from there. They’d gotten away with a few thousand dollars, and only one step ahead of law enforcement. That was way too narrow of a getaway and too little of a take. The whole thing had been a fiasco from beginning to end.

She had no idea who he was, but she knew what he looked like. The authorities would soon have his face on file. Everything had looked grim until he’d remembered the card he’d picked up when her belongings had scattered on the sidewalk. He wasn’t sure why he had done it—it might have been instinct. What it turned out was to be a bit of good luck. He had the witness’s identity and her address. He’d had to wait until dark and even beyond that. It was around eleven, late enough that if the neighborhood wasn’t asleep, it had mostly settled in for the night.

“Slow,” he hissed in Spanish to the driver of the vehicle as they took the turn into the crescent where she lived.

“Here,” he said a minute later. “Stop.” They were half a block from her house.

He paused on the sidewalk. The few streetlights left the street shadowy and the houses in darkness. Despite that, he knew what the area was—he’d learned that immediately after finding her identity. It consisted of a middle-class group of mixed ethnicities, he thought with disdain. Some day he would buy and sell an area like this. Small cozy houses and neatly kept lawns as if the residents had nothing better to do than to monitor grass.

His hand dropped to his gun. It was there and ready. He hated being in this position. The only good thing was that they’d waited until dark. Most people had settled down for the night. No one would get a good look at them and if they did, they’d see Chen. Lucas was sending him in first.

He felt good about none of this. The only thing that was going to make him feel better was a bullet between the witness’s pretty brown eyes. With that thought leading the way, he followed Chen. They’d go in through the back door. The alarm-warning sticker on her door meant nothing. The cheap door frame cracked when Chen shouldered it the first time and broke after the second. Nothing worried Lucas, not even the lights that he flicked recklessly on. They were masked and, as far as the alarm, by the time any monitoring agency reacted, they would be long gone.

But within minutes he knew one thing—she wasn’t there. There was no vehicle in the driveway and the toiletries in her bathroom—the essentials anyway, like toothpaste and toothbrush—were missing.

He spewed a string of curses in Spanish. He always resorted to his native tongue when his emotions got the best of him. Time was running short. He sent his accomplice to check the living area while he moved to the kitchen. There, he saw his first sign of hope, a notepad on her kitchen counter. He went over and couldn’t believe his luck. She’d written down flight information and it told him exactly what he needed to know. Two minutes later they’d left her neighborhood behind. Ten minutes after that, he was on the phone to his brother.

He explained the situation to him. “Are you in?” he asked and knew what the answer would be. His brother would do anything for money. That was why he was involved in one of the smaller Mexican drug cartels. He was counting on Yago’s ties and his greed. He needed someone on her tail immediately. He needed someone in charge of catching her in Mexico and that someone was his brother, Yago.

“She won’t get far. I know people who know people, if you know what I mean.”

He did. He knew how the cartels worked and how they could find anyone. Or at least the bigger ones could. He had his doubts about the men his brother was linked with. They were brutal, but he wasn’t too sure about their intel. What he did know was that right now, his brother and his connections were all he had. One way or another, she’d be found. He rolled the beads he always carried between the fingers of his right hand. They were lucky beads stolen from the hand of a dying woman.

He dropped the beads into his pocket. He hoped she’d savor her freedom, or for that matter, her life. Soon, all that would end.




Chapter Two (#u388377d3-3ca0-5b18-b6f8-a1aeabbd1628)


“What do you mean, you’ve lost her?” United States Marshal Trent Nielsen couldn’t contain his frustration. Despite the fact that there’d been some interesting and complicated cases in his career that spanned a decade, this case was different. He knew the witness. It mattered like no case had mattered before. And he’d admit that to no one, not even to Jackson, a man he called friend. Going in, he’d been anxious to keep her safe—now it appeared she was far from that.

“Damn it, I should have been notified sooner.” His impatience wasn’t so much for the obvious reasons but something far more personal. Something that had had him volunteering for this assignment.

“Or what, this wouldn’t have happened?” asked Jackson Vidal, federal agent. “No one could have predicted this.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or is it something else that has your back up?”

“Having witness protection in place would have stopped her. You know it. This one’s on you,” Trent said. He took a breath. Anger couldn’t change any of what had happened. He needed info and he needed to get on the road after her. What was done couldn’t be undone.

Jackson leaned forward, his look dark, his eyebrows drawn together. “She disappeared before we could get her properly interviewed. At the time of the incident, she was in a state of panic and could remember little. If I’d been asked, I wouldn’t have disagreed with the course of action. In hindsight, you’re right, it was a screwup.”

“More than a screwup. We have a witness who actually saw one of the thieves’ faces unmasked.” Trent shook his head. “What’s the body count now for this gang?”

“Ten,” Jackson said grimly. “Across two states and over as many months as there are bodies. But initially, the witness couldn’t remember squat, she was so scared. That was the reason we put off getting her report until this morning. But when the deputy arrived with the sketch artist, the house had been broken into. Further investigation determined that she’d been gone before the break-in. She literally packed her bag and fled.” He eyed Trent. “But you, you’ve got an inside scoop on the witness.”

“Do I?” Trent asked but he knew exactly what Jackson meant. Still, he didn’t want to reveal his true connection to Tara. He wanted Jackson to know as little as possible. The fact that they’d once been a couple might have him punted from the case as quickly as a slight connection had given him his in. His slight connection to the witness—they’d gone to the same high school. It was enough to give him an edge and be considered advantageous. Any more, and it might be considered trouble. Clearly, the fact that he’d once dated her had not come to light, for if it had, he would never have been assigned the case. And if it came to light, it would be considered detrimental and he could be pulled from the case. He hoped that never happened.

“You can’t put much past me, Nielsen.”

Trent met his dark gaze with one of his own. He wasn’t sure how much Jackson knew.

“You went to high school together in Pueblo. At least for a year. And I’m guessing that’s why you volunteered. You don’t do much witness protection anymore. I was under the impression you dodged it when you could. So why this case over any other?” Jackson frowned and looked closely at Trent. “Is it all because you know her?”

“Partly,” Trent agreed. It was true, he knew Tara or at least he’d known her as a girl. One thing was certain, he’d never forgotten her.

“Is she a friend?” Jackson asked.

“No,” Trent said, knowing that kind of relationship could have him pulled from the case. But they weren’t friends. They hadn’t been in touch for years. “It’s complicated.”

“Uncomplicate me,” Jackson said.

“I took her out a few times and then it fizzled,” he admitted, knowing it was safer to reveal a scaled-down version of their relationship rather than try to get it all past Jackson.

“But you dated her?”

“Like I said, a few dates in high school.” Tara. She’d caught his eye from the beginning. She’d been more mature for her years, at least to his seventeen-year-old self, she’d seemed so. Now he had nothing left but memories. Regrets that never left him.

He needed this assignment. He needed to find her and keep her safe like he hadn’t all those years ago.

He met Jackson’s doubting gaze. He hoped the truth didn’t show in his face. That it had been more than a few dates, that he’d never forgotten her. Not that he held a torch for her; it was nothing like that. He’d gone on with his life, dated other women and was currently solidly single and happy.

But Jackson wouldn’t believe that Trent’s volunteering for this assignment didn’t mean something else. Jackson was cynical that way, which might be why he was still a bachelor. He didn’t understand that you could care for someone without being in a relationship.

Trent pushed the thoughts from his mind. None of that mattered. What mattered was Tara and keeping her safe.

While they hadn’t spoken in the years since she left Pueblo, he knew where she’d been and much of what had happened to her. He knew that she’d returned to Pueblo after taking classes toward a general arts degree with a minor in admin from a state university. He knew, too, that she’d never finished that degree. He knew a lot more than he wanted to admit.

“Unfortunately, none of that is relevant. Due to the fact that she’s on the run, we need a change in protocol. What we need,” Jackson said, staring Trent down, “is someone who can get inside her head. Fortunately, she didn’t cover her tracks well. We were able to learn where she was headed from the note left by her phone. She took a flight from Denver to Mexico City.” He looked at his smartwatch. “She should have landed over six hours ago.”

“I don’t like the sound of any of this. Old-school as a bank robbery is, these people have proved to be vicious. They’ve left a trail of bodies across two states in the last year. And there’s nothing to say they weren’t the ones who broke in looking for her.”

“Exactly. And they’re still on the loose. As far as Tara goes, we’re finalizing the setup of a safe house,” Jackson said. “I will send you the details once it’s complete. Unfortunately, we have no witness to put there.”

“I’ll rectify that,” Trent said with determination. But fear rode in his gut. She was alone and in Mexico with a killer who could be hot on her trail. And if he wasn’t, there could be contacts, people deployed—unknowns. He was in a race to find Tara.

“Let’s get you on a flight out. Your history may make it easier to establish trust with her,” Jackson said. “That is, once you locate her.”

“I’ll find her,” Trent said as if to reinforce the confidence Jackson had in him.

“I’m counting on it. I’ve a moratorium on body bags. This gang has to be shut down—fast. This has been a bad year for murders. I don’t need these yahoos carrying on and making it worse than it already is.”

Trent nodded but he was buried in his thoughts about how effective he was going to be. The wild card was Tara. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been in tears. Then he’d considered it unnecessary drama. He’d acted like a typical teenage boy—without empathy, without much feeling of any kind. He’d turned his back on her tears but not before telling her that she was acting like a baby.

Despite his youth at the time, the memory still disturbed him. It was his one regret in life. Her tears were ones that he had caused. On hearing that her family was moving, instead of comforting her and offering ways that they could remain in touch, he’d broken up with her. It had been a completely defensive reaction. Walking away, acting macho had somehow cloaked his own hurt.

He wished he could go back and tell that self that he needed to grow up. He wished that he could have prevented the whole scene. Prevented everything that happened to her immediately after.

But at the time, he had been too busy hiding his feelings when he’d heard that she was moving. Too busy trying to be tough to realize the pain he had caused her. He hadn’t understood what he was losing when he’d thought it wise to break up rather than go long-distance. And then it had all gotten worse when her father had been shot by someone assumed to be criminally involved with the very suspect he was to testify against.

But that was the past. He could see why Tara had run. She had a bad history with authorities. She was walking proof that the law couldn’t always do what it promised. Her father was promised protection, and he’d believed. Now he was dead.

She’d not be happy to see Trent. The last thing she’d said to him was that she’d never forgive him. They’d been young then but the words haunted him even now. They were words that told him she’d have none of his presence shadowing her and that she wouldn’t be apt to take his counsel.

What she’d need to know was that there was no choice. He was her shadow until this was over. He’d keep her safe. He could only hope to hell that she stayed safe until he found her.

His thoughts flipped to the threat. This group was as yesteryear as it was violent. Bank robberies were passé. It was only the number and violence associated with their crimes that was taking them up the ladder of Most Wanted. The fact that there’d not only been a witness in their latest robbery, but they’d gone after her changed everything. The break-in at her house, combined with the fact that the witness had disappeared, had turned the case on its head.

He thought of how gutsy she was, returning to live alone in Pueblo, forging ahead with her life. Not only that, but she’d come face-to-face with a bank robber. Now she was alone and confronting a danger no civilian should have to. He had to find her and quickly.

“By the way, if you hadn’t volunteered, I would have asked for you,” Jackson said. “You might not like witness protection, but you haven’t failed once. We’ve lost no witnesses under your watch. And this—I admit, I hesitated because of the personal connection. I’d hate to see—”

“Like you said,” Trent interrupted. “I haven’t lost a witness yet and I won’t start now.”

“The file is fairly concise right up until she boarded that damn plane,” Jackson said.

Trent nodded. He’d read it. She’d driven to Denver, and from there she’d boarded a flight to Mexico City. That was where her trail dead-ended.

“You had her in the palm of your hand. Now she could be anywhere,” he said, annoyed that she hadn’t been stopped, that this hadn’t been foreseen. “Why wasn’t she offered witness protection immediately?”

“There was no indication that she would run. She was in her own community, her own house. The thought was that she was safe, that we had time—if needed—to get witness protection in place. The perps were believed to have left town, as they always do. And there’s no evidence that didn’t happen.”

“Except in the case where they hunted down two witnesses before ever leaving the area.” He referenced a robbery that had occurred recently in Fort Collins, Colorado.

“That was within minutes of the robbery and just outside the bank.”

“But it happened,” Trent said darkly, not liking any part of what he was hearing. “And this time, they were after her. Damn it!”

“There’s no proof of that,” Jackson said.

“That was what frightened her.”

“That was our initial thought but that wasn’t the case. She was gone long before the break-in. Her flight reservation was made in the early hours of the afternoon. Unfortunately, that information was on her kitchen counter. It was fair game for anyone in her house.”

“Unbelievable,” Trent said.

“We’ve got what little we could gather from the neighbors,” Jackson continued. “A dog was barking around eleven o’clock last night. A neighbor looked out and saw a strange car cruising the area. She thought she saw two men but no description.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t enough to put in an emergency call and she let the incident go unreported.”

“You’re thinking the guy Tara can identify came after her?”

“Possibly, but that’s only speculation.” Jackson pushed the file aside. “Something else. Years ago, her father was killed while in witness protection. He witnessed a notorious drug dealer shoot a rival gang member. We had him in witness protection. It was to no avail. Two months later he was shot crossing a street and pronounced dead at the scene.”

“Doesn’t give her much trust that the system will be there for her,” Trent said.

“No, it doesn’t. But I don’t know why I’m repeating this. You knew all that,” Jackson said and shrugged as if that didn’t matter. “Add to that the fact that no one spoke to her about protection of any kind.” He smacked the desk. “By the time we sent a man to interview her, it was clear that someone else had been there first. The back door had been broken in. And the porch door was open. Interesting thing was that there was nothing taken. At least that’s what we assume, as everything was in place.”

“I can see why she might have run but son of a—” Trent bit off the expletive. “This makes things difficult.”

“Between us, we’ll get her back,” Jackson said.

“Us?” Trent repeated with just a hint of sarcasm.

“You,” Jackson stated with finality.

Ten hours later

IT HAD ALL sounded so easy then. But it was early morning the next day before Trent was on the last leg of his journey to Mexico City. An hour before the plane landed, he called Enrique Gonzales. Despite the time, the second in command of the Mexican Federal Police was already up and on his second cup of coffee. An hour after the plane landed, Trent was in a cab and heading for the coffee bar Enrique had suggested for them to meet at.

“I’ve found nothing,” Enrique said with a grim look. “We know she landed here. We know that it was a late-afternoon flight. She didn’t rent a car at the airport. We interviewed everyone in the vicinity. Only the man at the concession stand had any information. He got the impression that she wasn’t planning to stay long, at least not in Mexico City.” He shook his head. “Don’t forget the guy’s grasp of English is poor to say the least. He could have misunderstood. So, other than that, there’s nothing. But you know how it is. That’s the downfall of a city this large. There’s too many people, even the tourists disappear into the chaos.” He shrugged. “That doesn’t mean that I’ve given up. That’s the status for now.”

Trent nodded. Everything that Enrique was saying made sense. Coming down here was a long shot. Now he wondered if he’d been overly optimistic in thinking that finding her might be that easy.

“Anyway, I did a little more digging based on what you told me,” Enrique said. “The fact that she’s an artist got my interest and also got me thinking. Now, this is only a guess. But I wondered, would she go to San Miguel de Allende?”

Trent wasn’t surprised to hear the name. It was a popular haunt for many in the arts community. “She’s been there before. Twice. I saw it on her Facebook feed from a few years ago.” In fact, he’d done a search on the city on the flight here, thinking that it might be a possibility. She’d been a gifted artist as a girl. But it was a clue that might have struck gold.

“The arts community is tight. Someone there may know something. I’d say it’s worth a shot.”

“I planned to search here first,” Trent said. “There’s no guarantee that she’s left Mexico City.”

“Good point, but we can save time if I keep my nose to the ground here and you check out San Miguel. If I find anything, I’ll let you know.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he said. “Thanks, man.”

An hour later, Trent was heading for a car rental agency. Whether Tara was in San Miguel de Allende or whether she was somewhere else in Mexico was anyone’s guess. The only thing he knew for sure was that she hadn’t boarded another plane out of Mexico City.




Chapter Three (#u388377d3-3ca0-5b18-b6f8-a1aeabbd1628)


Tara leaned back on the ornate white metal chair that was already well warmed by the morning sun. She was in a small courtyard that faced the main cobbled street where vendors congregated. The courtyard fronted the arched alcove of the heritage building. It was there where she’d rented a tiny apartment. The landlords—Carlos and his wife, Francesca—specialized in housing artistic types from all over the world. Their rates were good, or in better terms cheap. She’d stayed there before on her last visits. But this time around it seemed empty and worn and more than a little sad. Things seemed a little more run-down, like business hadn’t been so good.

She watched as a stooped and withered woman wheeled a wagon full of red, yellow and blue baskets down the street. The wheel of the barrow bounced on the cobblestones. A young boy ran behind her, dashing to one side and then the other.

Tara smiled as she leaned forward, watching the scene, taking in the details. She held a sketching pencil in one hand, and a strand of blond hair slipped free of the braid that hung down her back. From the first moment she’d discovered San Miguel de Allende, she’d felt at home. Even now, after all that had happened, she felt safe.

The place she rented was in the heart of the city. Here, one historic building after another butted against each other. The city was founded in the early-sixteenth century and much of the architecture from that time still existed.

She glanced over and caught a glimpse of Siobhan O’Riley coming out a side door. Siobhan worked in the small café that was part of the property and run by her landlords. Tara had met her on her first visit to the city and since then, they’d stayed in touch. On that visit, when Tara had left to go home, Siobhan had stayed, putting down roots and swearing that she’d never return to the rains of Ireland.

“Here’s your coffee,” Siobhan said. “With a touch of milk. Toast. Butter and jam on the side.” She set the breakfast down.

“Thanks.” Tara closed her sketchbook and put her pencil down.

“You here for long this time?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, unable to hide the pensive note she knew was in her voice. She was running on cash and she wasn’t sure what she was going to do when that ran out. There was a lot she didn’t know, like the legalities of working here should she need to. But if staying meant finding a job, whether it was legitimate or under-the-table, she’d do it. She’d do whatever it took.

The memories of what she’d witnessed haunted her sleep and potentially threatened her life. Money seemed such a small thing in comparison. She had bigger things to worry about, like not being found, possibly changing her name. Eventually, she knew she’d go home and testify. When it was safe, when she was needed, just not now.

Tara ate her toast as she watched the activity on the street. Sellers’ stalls lined the street for as far as she could see. The smell of cooking food filled the air. She reached down to scratch the ear of her landlords’ small dog. He was a true mutt, so mixed that she wasn’t sure what breed might dominate.

“Ah, Maxx, if only every man were like you. Adoring and patient,” she said with a laugh and another scratch behind his ears. A door opened. The dog turned.

She waved at Francesca, who gave her a smile and waved back. She felt safe here, the older couple who owned the rental units were kind, and it made her feel safe to know that Carlos was a retired police inspector.

“Maxx,” Francesca called. The dog got to his feet and ran toward her.

Tara had to laugh at the speed the dog moved. She guessed that it might be mealtime. Her smile stayed as her attention went back to the bustle of commerce on the street just below her. For the courtyard was raised above the street level by a flight of stone steps. It was a busy and entertaining sight. The colors alone could keep one’s attention. The awnings over the storefronts and the vendors’ stalls were numerous hues, all of them vibrant. They added to the collage that was only enhanced by the merchandise. Color was the theme reflected everywhere.

She loved the market. Each of the vendors had their stories if you had time to listen. The first time she’d been here, she’d celebrated her thirtieth birthday. That had been four years ago. The event had felt huge as if her entire life had shifted. Birthdays were about that, but getting out of her twenties had her considering what it was she was dedicating her life to. It was a strange and too-serious thought for a birthday celebrated on a vacation in Mexico.

Despite the serious thoughts, she’d had fun. It was the youthful fun and her first taste of adventure that had fed her artistic side and made it so easy to bring out a feeling in a painting.

She’d come back again one year later but that trip had been very different. She’d been recovering from the tragic end to a relationship.

She should have broken up with Mark months before but he’d been persistent that they were made for each other. She’d never been too sure. Mark had been steady. He had liked to say he was her rock. But he was also dull and for the last months before the car crash that had killed him, she’d flirted with breaking up with him. When he’d died and the ring had been found, she’d known that he was about to propose and that only made the guilt of her true feelings that much more difficult to bear.

After his death, a trip to San Miguel de Allende had been an escape. In a way it had freed her from the guilt that plagued her. She’d met others like her, some she’d met the year before, all people involved in the arts in some way. It had been the best place to heal and to begin to celebrate life again.

She took a last swallow of coffee and got up, heading down the street to get a closer look at the vendors’ goods. She could almost trick herself into believing that this was a vacation, that she wasn’t here because she was afraid for her life. She wondered when it would be safe to return and how she would ever know if and when that was.

She pushed the thoughts away as she checked out a produce vendor and then a number of vendors with handicrafts. She admired a vividly hand-painted bag from another vendor. The vibrancy of the bag and the fact that it was hand done made it almost impossible to resist. But her money situation put that internal debate to rest. She still had a beautiful bag she’d purchased on that first trip four years ago. She left the vendor with a smile of admiration.

After an hour, she decided to head back to her room, but a block away she sensed something was off. Her intuition had been bang on since she was a child. It was something she’d inherited from her mother, or at least so her mother claimed. She could sense change.

She could only pray that what she was sensing was a change for the better. She wasn’t sure she could handle worse.






TRENT HUMMED A popular song he’d heard half a dozen times since he’d landed. Except for getting out of Mexico City’s chaos, it had been an easy drive to San Miguel de Allende. It was a relief to be on the open road without a lot of traffic. After the insanity of a city the size of Mexico’s capital, this was a balm to his soul. He’d bought a Coke midway at a dusty little store on the edges of a village whose name he’d already forgotten. He’d hit the outskirts of San Miguel de Allende shortly after lunch.

The city was gorgeous even from its outer edges, where the beauty of its historical architecture surpassed everything he could imagine. There wasn’t the usual ugly industrial area or bland box stores fringing the outskirts like one might see in other cities. That didn’t surprise him. He’d done his research on the flight from Denver. But even with a heads-up, the history of the city was amazing, not just preserved in a plethora of century’s old architecture, but vibrant, almost alive.

The red spires of a church seemed to push through the cluster of stone that, from what he could see from the outskirts, made up the center of the town. He passed a more modern inn with a waterslide and, just behind that, another heritage stone church. His plan was to get as close to the city center as possible before parking. That was what Enrique had recommended after stating that the streets were narrow and congested.

Twenty minutes later, Trent learned that Enrique knew what he was talking about. The streets were tight and crowded with an assortment of pedestrians and vendors. He’d already hiked past a half dozen vendors, a man with a donkey and a trio of stray dogs.

He needed to find people who fitted the profile in his head. People who might have spoken to Tara. He needed to ask them questions that would help him find her. But the vendors seemed too caught up in their transactions and he’d have to queue up to get near any of them.

He began his queries at the first outdoor café where a couple sat sipping coffee. Trent guessed he’d have better luck here, speaking to people like these, people like Tara. People who had more in common with her, as artists and foreigners. That group stuck together here in this town. There was a whole enclave and a new member to that group would be news. They’d be the ones who might be familiar with a beautiful young artist from Colorado.

With that in mind, he saw a woman with a pencil in her hand and a sketching pad in front of her. Her partner’s Hawaiian-themed T-shirt was only a bonus. They were as good a place to start as any.

It was on the sixth try that he hit the jackpot. The woman he asked had not only heard of Tara but she had spoken to her only an hour ago. Within minutes, he was heading toward the sun-faded red stone building where the woman had directed him.

He couldn’t believe it had been this easy. He always felt that easy meant trouble. He walked along the uneven and narrow cobblestone street. It was crowded with merchants, shoppers and even the occasional donkey. As he did, he worried that there was something he had missed.

Five minutes later, he stopped on the edge of a yellow brick building at the junction of two streets. He saw the long blond hair first. It streamed freely down her back. He headed in that direction, going up a short flight of stairs to a small courtyard with a half dozen white metal tables and chairs to where the blond-haired woman was wiping a table.

“Excuse me,” he said.

She turned but it wasn’t Tara and disappointment bit deep.

“I was looking for Tara Munroe,” he began.

“Tara,” the woman said with a bright lilt to her voice. She held out her hand, her eyes alight with an admiration that was impossible to miss. “Siobhan.”

He gave her the briefest of handshakes and didn’t offer his name.

“Is she here?”

The smile she gave him was slightly flirtatious, but her eyes went somewhere over his shoulder.

“Tara,” Siobhan called. “Someone to see you.”

He felt someone else, someone watching from behind. He turned as a door leading away from the common area swung open and another blonde stood there. But this one was familiar.

He knew those high cheekbones. He knew that slightly rounded face. And he knew the dark brown eyes that now held a combination of curiosity and fear. He’d know that face anywhere. He’d looked at it enough times during the flight here, and he’d remembered the girl she’d been, of course. Still, he was stunned by the woman she’d become.

She gave an air of both confidence and fragility. She had matured into a soulful combination of beauty and innocence. If he’d been able to paint at all, he’d paint her, he’d...

She’d been the one who painted, not him.

Siobhan moved around him, standing slightly to his left as she looked from one to the other.

“You know each other?”

He couldn’t take his eyes off Tara.

“Trent,” Tara murmured.

His name on her lips was like a seductive whisper. He felt frozen in time. He stared at her, noticing how her hair moved in the light breeze. She was staring back. She looked shocked, as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. He couldn’t blame her. After all, he’d arrived on her doorstep, a memory of her past, without warning.

She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. “Is it really you?”

“It is,” he said and only wanted to hug her, to touch her. To tell her how sorry he was to have left her the way he had all those years ago. He’d apologized for none of that. Even when her father had died, he hadn’t contacted her. Now he stood and waited for her to decide on what the next move would be. He wondered if the past could be redone whether he would have done any better.

She took a step forward. Her beautiful brown eyes were dark, almost stormy, like she sensed trouble. “What are you doing here? Why—”

He glanced at Siobhan. He didn’t want to admit why he was there. Not in front of the woman who seemed determined to protect her.

“It’s all right, Siobhan,” Tara said. “You can leave us alone to talk. I know him.”

As Siobhan left, he pulled out a chair for Tara.

“I can’t believe you’re here and I can’t imagine why,” she said as she accepted the seat he offered.

“I’m a US marshal,” he said.

Her face became pale beneath her light tan. “Like you always wanted to be,” she whispered.

“I did, didn’t I,” he said with some relief at the temporary diversion.

She laced her fingers and her lips pinched together. She refused to meet his eyes as she asked, “Why are you here, Trent?”

“You witnessed a bank robbery in Pueblo, Colorado.” This time it was his official voice speaking.

She looked at him with eyes that seemed weary and doubtful at the same time. Their sheen only reminded him of all she’d been through. He was grateful that he’d put himself forward for this. Grateful that it was him here and not someone else who didn’t know her as he did. Seeing her like this only told him that she needed him.

“Tara.” He reached over and took one of her hands in both of his. Her palm was clammy. It was as if the very mention of what had happened, what she had run from, threw her into an immediate panic. He hoped that he was wrong, that his assessment was off but...

“I can’t believe they sent you all the way here,” she said in a voice that was tired, drained even.

The act of keeping it together seemed to have slipped, like she was too tired to care. He was glad of that. Playing games would only lengthen the process. He wanted to fast-track this and get her home, where he had more resources.

“There wasn’t a choice,” he said, pushing his thoughts aside.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re the only witness. Which means that you could put a notorious bank robber behind bars.”

“I know but I’m scared. After what happened to my dad.” She took a breath. “He had police security assigned.”

“A marshal,” he corrected.

“And it didn’t matter. He was the witness that could put a drug dealer away and he was shot in public.” Her voice choked off and it was a moment to regain her control.

He waited, knowing that there was nothing he could do or say that would change any of it.

“I just know that I’m safe here.”

“No, Tara, you’re not.”

“I don’t like where this is going,” she said.

“It was a mistake to run, Tara. You’re safer at home, under my protection. Your testimony will be needed should this ever go to trial. And...”

She was shaking her head. He tried not to be mesmerized by those dark soulful eyes that saw everything, or so it seemed. He’d forgotten that about her. As he’d grown up and forged an adult life, there were things he didn’t want to remember. But now with her here, no longer a memory and with her eyes fixed on him, he couldn’t look away. He remembered everything about her, eclipsing what he’d forgotten. He pulled his thoughts back to reality, to the situation and not the girl he’d once thought he’d loved. That girl was now a woman he had to protect.

“I’m flattered that you took on this assignment, Trent, but it wasn’t necessary.”

Her look said that because she knew him, she also knew what he was about. Some of that was true. But if that was what she thought, she had a whole lot wrong—dangerously wrong.

“Flattered?” He bit back a knot of anger. What the hell was she saying? She thought he did this out of kindness or some misguided gesture of goodwill? “There’s men who will kill you for what you saw.”

Her face lost what color it had. “That’s why I’m here, Trent. Where no one can find me. I’ll stay until this all blows over and then I’ll go home and give my testimony.”

“It’s not going to blow over. You need—”

“I don’t need your protection, not here. I’m far enough away. I’ll be safe.”

“Tara...”

“No, Trent.” She looked distraught.

On the nearby street, a guitar began to softly chord a melody that was as strange as it was beautiful. He glanced over and saw a man sitting with his back against the dusty red stone wall of a building, one leg stretched out as he played his guitar. In another situation, it would be romantic.

He turned his attention from the guitarist and to Tara. He needed her cooperation and he needed it quickly. There was no time to mince words. And yet, contradictorily, he didn’t want to frighten her. She’d been through enough but... The thought broke off. She needed to know. He had to tell her to keep her safe.

“You’re in danger. Mexico might be another country, but despite that, you didn’t run far enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“Someone broke into your house after you left, Tara. We can only assume that they saw the same note we did. Your flight information was easy to find, left on the kitchen counter.”

“Someone? What do you mean? What are you implying?”

He brought his hand flat on the table. “Damn it, Tara. Do you have any idea your value dead?”

“No.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“The stakes are high, Tara. These thieves have a lot to lose. If they take you out, they keep the money, their freedom and carry on with their crime spree. Essentially, they profit from your death.” He paused, hating the brutal truth to his words. “We won’t let that happen. That’s why I’m here.”

“They found me?” her voice was soft.

“There’s no indication of that,” he said.

“What if they do?”

“Then I do my job. I keep you alive.”




Chapter Four (#u388377d3-3ca0-5b18-b6f8-a1aeabbd1628)


“I thought running was enough,” Tara said and her voice trembled. Her fingers were interlaced in front of her as if that would keep her steady.

“I’m sorry, Tara. I know that was harsh. And no, it wasn’t that you didn’t run far enough, it was that you tried to do it alone. The truth is that you’re a witness who could threaten a man’s freedom. You can’t put a price on that.”

Trent regretted laying the facts out so bluntly. But he desperately needed to get her to see how grave the situation was and how much she needed him.

“At home it’s different—I can protect you more easily. I have more resources and I can carry a gun.”

“Back to Pueblo?”

“Not necessarily. Definitely the States,” he said. “Witness protection is being set up. I came after you before getting the details on where you’d be located. You’ll be in witness protection until the trial is over.”

She shook her head as a tremor seemed to run through her.

“Think about it, about going home to the States.” He paused. “With me,” he finished. “I know you just got here but this was a mistake. Running was a mistake.”

“Just like my dad,” she said. Sadness was like a heavy film running through her voice.

“Not like him at all, Tara.” Her father had been killed, shot while under witness protection. He cringed at the thought of how that had all come down. His killer had never seen justice.

“I’m sorry, Tara. I can’t change the past but I guarantee you this, you’ll be safe. I’ll keep you safe.” He took her hands. “I promise.” And he knew that he’d keep that promise or die trying.

She pulled her hands free. “No one can make that kind of promise. Not even you, Trent.”

He skipped over her doubt. “Like I said, I can offer you more protection at home. These men are violent criminals and they’ll do everything they can to prevent being caught.” He looked her in the eye. “You’re the one thing standing between them and their freedom and they may know you’re in Mexico.”

He didn’t know how often he had to repeat it. But their window of time was unknown. He wanted her home where he could ensure her safety. Not here, in a country that he wasn’t unfamiliar with but one where he couldn’t even carry arms. The sooner he got her home the better.

“I’m far enough away. And I’m only a concern to one of them.”

“Maybe. But your testimony could put the one we suspect to be the leader behind bars. Just one of them standing trial will jeopardize the others. You’re the key to ending one of the most successful gangs of armed robbers in recent years. There’s also the possibility of a domino effect. Them turning on each other. In that case, you could put them all behind bars. They’ve killed for money, I don’t think killing for their freedom would be a stretch.” He was going for the shock factor now. He needed her to get on board with going home and he needed her to do it quickly.

He’d give her a day, two at the outside. She’d see things his way soon enough. For now, it wasn’t a bad decision to spend a couple more days than he planned. Inconvenient for him but it was something that could have her more solid in her decision than if he rushed her back. He’d roll with it, but he had one more tool in his arsenal.

Before he could say anything more, however, Siobhan brought out a coffee for each of them.

Trent had to fight to hide his impatience. He’d made an impact on Tara and an interruption was the last thing he needed. Besides that, he’d been going in fast-forward since he’d been assigned the case.

But as he glanced at Tara, he realized how selfish his thoughts were. He was thinking in terms of the end result, not in terms of how this was affecting her. She was safe enough for now. They had time—not a lot, but more than he’d initially allowed for. His being here was shock enough. He reminded himself that as usual, he was coming on too strong. But it was like a clock was ticking in his head. He needed to take a step back. It was clear in the fact that she had run in the first place that she more than realized the danger she was in. His immediate task was to convince her that she couldn’t do it on her own. He had found her and that only made it clear to him that the scuzbag who might be coming after her could find her, too. She needed not just him but the resources that backed him.

“Thanks, Siobhan. I can never get enough. There’s nothing better than a good cup of coffee in the moring.”

“Thanks,” Trent said only because it was expected. In reality he had no desire for coffee. Caffeine was something he didn’t want. But he took the cup. He might not drink it, but he could not ignore the gesture.

“How’s it going?” Siobhan asked.

“Fine,” Tara said. “Trent is an old friend. From high school,” she said with a grimace. “We’ve kept in touch. Although, I sure didn’t expect to find him here but—”

“But here he is,” Trent added, impressed with her bit of improv. Maybe this would work out better than he thought. “We follow each other on social media.”

He could feel Tara’s gaze on him.

He glanced over at her and an understanding seemed to pass between them. For what he’d said was a flat-out lie.

Siobhan looked doubtful, but she didn’t ask any questions.

“How’s it with you?” Tara asked. “Any better?”

Sioban shrugged. “No. Like I said the other day, the place is near empty much of the time. I’m not sure why they keep me on. Not only that, but I saw Carlos turn down potential renters more than once. I’ve heard him and Francesca fight about it and I have absolutely no idea what’s going on but it’s not making this job look too secure.”

Tara turned to Trent. “That’s sure changed since the last time I was here. In fact, I wasn’t sure that I wouldn’t be turned away, they were so busy.”

“No chance of that now,” Siobhan said before returning to work.

“Have a drink with us this evening,” Tara said to her.

Trent had to bite back his surprise and disappointment. She was putting a buffer in place. It was the oldest trick in the book.

“Sure,” Siobhan said with an appreciative look at Trent.

“Okay,” Tara said. “Gloria’s Vino and Tacos at seven.”

A minute later a phone rang and Siobhan headed inside.

Shortly after that, a man who Trent pegged to be approximately sixty came out of the main house. His taller-than-average height and heavier build half hid the thin woman behind him until she moved slightly ahead of him. The woman’s high-heeled sandals and sundress, and his pale blue cotton pants and golf shirt completed a put-together look that made it clear they were going out.

The man’s dark eyes seemed to rake over Trent. But it wasn’t just a look, it was an assessment, an analyzing of who he was or who he might be.

“Carlos, Francesca, this is my friend Trent. Trent, my landlords.” Tara paused as they shook hands and exchanged a few pleasantries.

“He’s here for a few days.”

“Where are you staying?” Francesca asked.

Trent didn’t look at Tara for he didn’t know what her reaction would be to what he was about to say. But now that he was here, there was no way he was not going to do his job and protect her. That meant being nearby. “I thought I’d bunk on Tara’s couch. A night or two,” he clarified.

He could almost feel her outrage. But to her credit, she said nothing.

He didn’t look at her but instead addressed the one thing that he was sure would be uppermost in her landlords’ minds—rent.

“I’ll pay...”

“No,” Carlos said. “I’m not charging for a few days on a hard couch. If you stay longer than that, we’ll work a deal.”

Carlos’s words seemed casual but despite that, Trent felt like he was under a spotlight in the way Carlos looked at him. He seemed to see through him as if he knew a secret about him, as if... The thought trailed off but not his suspicions about Carlos. He wasn’t a regular civilian despite his looks, dress and current profession. There was a look of assurance about him combined with cynicism that Trent had seen before and that piqued his interest.

“You’re sure you’ll be comfortable on her couch?” Francesca asked.

“We have rooms available,” Carlos said.

“I...” He squeezed Tara’s hand as she began to speak. He guessed that finally, she was about to contradict him. He leaned over and kissed her full on the lips. He didn’t have time to think about what he did or how it impacted her. He was just trying to swing things his way.

The kiss was short and his attention was just as quickly turned to the couple, who were now officially his landlords.

“Empty rooms because you refuse to advertise.” Francesca looked at Carlos with a frown.

Carlos laid a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “We’ve already talked about this, Frannie,” he said with a tone of gentle resignation. He turned his attention back to Trent and Tara.

“We’d visit with you,” Carlos said. “But Frannie and I will be late for the show.”

“What do you mean you’re staying on my couch?” Tara asked a minute later when the couple were gone. “You’re kidding me. We’re long over, Trent.”

“It’s not about that,” he said patiently. “I don’t think you understand the seriousness of this. Your life could be in danger, even here. What you saw... These men could come after you. We can’t take the chance that whoever broke into your house isn’t tied to that robbery. If it was, they have your travel information, Tara. They know where you are.”

Her hand stopped in midair with the cup in her hand. She’d admitted an addiction to coffee only a few hours ago. He remembered her comment that had tailed the admission.






THERE’S NOTHING BETTER than a good cup of coffee in the morning.

Now she set the cup down with a bang. Coffee sloshed over the edge of the cup, but her eyes remained on him. “You think they’d find me here?” Panic etched her words.

“It’s a possibility, Tara. We can’t discount it.” He covered her hand with his. “I don’t mean to frighten you but whether that’s the case or not, you’re a major threat. You saw one of their faces. That could put him in jail for a long time. Of course, they would have to know where you lived.”

“Oh no.” Her hand gripped his wrist as if the very touch would give her strength. “When my things dropped out of my purse that day, I lost my artists’ guild card.”

“What!”

“My things scattered onto the sidewalk and I lost my guild card. It had my picture, my address—everything he’d need to find me. And he was right there when I dropped it.” She looked at him with terror in her eyes. “That’s why I couldn’t stay. There was no way it was safe. They know who I am and you’re suggesting that there’s a chance they know where I am?”

Her hand flung sideways. The coffee cup fell over, sending the remains of her coffee across the table. Both of them ignored the trail of liquid that dripped off the edge. Their eyes were locked on each other.

He didn’t know what to say, not at first. What she’d said shocked him. It could bring the worst-case scenario to fruition. Her lips were pinched and her whole demeanor was troubled and yet there was something in the way she looked at him, in the way she no longer looked ready to bolt, that he hoped hinted at trust.

But the reality was that she also looked like she might be sick. “I was in such a rush.” She looked at him with a mixture of sorrow and fear. “I played the odds and unfortunately, I was right. They found my home.” Her lips trembled.

He nodded. Not that he agreed with her action, but he could understand why she’d run. He wasn’t so sure that in the same circumstance, without a law enforcement background, that he might not have done the same, or at least considered it. It didn’t matter whether he agreed or not. Now he had to ensure her safety and to do that he needed her to be in complete agreement that she needed his protection.

“It was bad timing,” he said. “Fortunately, nothing was taken and the house wasn’t trashed. That leads to the conclusion that they were looking for something specific, or someone. That they were looking for you.”

Her hands were clenched in front of her and she looked more frightened now than anything else.

“I plan to bring you home, to a safe house, without delay.”

He knew his mistake as soon as he saw her look of panic. She wasn’t ready to be pushed this hard. It didn’t matter what she now knew—it wasn’t enough. She needed what little time he could give her to let reality set in. He’d seen witnesses react like this before, like the truth was overwhelming when provided all at once. Sometimes it had to be fed to them in small pieces, bit by bit, and then they needed what little time could be offered to digest their situation.

“No, Trent. No, I won’t go. Not yet.” She shook her head. “You’re wrong.”

Cripes, he thought. What did she need? Her denial was too adamant. He needed her buy-in, or at least the start of a buy-in. “They saw your travel itinerary. If it was anyone associated with the robbery, they’d know you’re in Mexico. It would be that easy.”

She folded her arms and there was a set to her chin that wasn’t there before.

“They’ll find you, Tara. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but if they want you bad enough—”

“But they don’t know I’m here in San Miguel de Allende. Mexico is a big country.”

“Don’t they? A mention of San Miguel de Allende being an artist mecca was all it took for me to remember that you’d been here before—twice. I saw that on your social media feed posted three and four years ago. I found both references to San Miguel. That’s wiped now but anyone else could have seen it. They could guess that in Mexico you might return to a place that was familiar.”

“I never thought of that. I—”

“And now if they have your flight itinerary...” He let the sentence drop, let her reach her own conclusions.

“If...” But there was little resistance in the word.

“Mexico City was easy. You gave that one away. It’s clear you don’t know what you’re doing and that is going to spell trouble. They’ll find you.”

He paused, locking into those brown eyes that even in this situation seemed to do something to him. They made him more aware of her as a woman and not the girl he had long left behind. He took her hands, squeezing them between his.

“There are two options here.”

“Don’t give me an ultimatum.” There was anger in her eyes and a shake to her voice. “This is all just speculation. Besides, like I said, Mexico is a big country.”

He remembered that about her. How she’d use anger as a shield. “Not big enough,” he said.

Her eyes were huge in her pale face.

He knew that despite her bravado she was very afraid. He felt bad. He didn’t want her afraid, but he needed her to know that eventually, home was exactly where he’d take her. He also knew this was a lot thrown at her all at once. He needed to give her time. Still, he kept pushing.

“You come home with me now or, like I said and I’ve already got your landlords’ approval, I sleep on your couch until I convince you otherwise. Your choice.”

“Damn you, Nielsen,” she said as she got up and turned to walk away. “The couch is all yours. Have at her because I’m sure as hell not going home.”

“Not yet,” he said in an undertone to her retreating back. “But soon.”

He chuckled as she turned around and gave him a bright smile and a sign that told him exactly where he could go. For a second, he felt like he’d hit Rewind and they were back in Pueblo so many years ago.

If only he could go there. Back to the past would be the safest place of all. Before this, before the tragedy, before any of it. A time when life had been innocent kisses and promises of forever love.

It was a time that would never return and one that he would never forget.




Chapter Five (#u388377d3-3ca0-5b18-b6f8-a1aeabbd1628)


The next morning, Tara woke up earlier than usual. What little sleep she’d gotten had been broken by troubling dreams. She’d finally drifted off in the early hours. She was troubled at Trent’s presence as much as she was by the nightmare that he’d so recently resurrected. Him being here, him finding her, had completely thrown her. What he’d told her had terrified her. As a result, she’d had one horrifying dream after another.

Thoughts of him had kept her awake the majority of the night. He still made her heart race, but in a different way than he had all those years ago. She’d had to stop herself from staring at his confident stance as he stood taking in the activity in the street, or noticing how his hair curled dark and rich over his collar.

This was not the boy she had left behind when her family had moved all those years ago. She hadn’t seen him since he was seventeen and there was no comparison. His physique was that of a man who worked out. His manner was poised. He was a man used to winning and that both frightened and attracted her. And still she stumbled on memories of the past.

She remembered it all. She’d never forgotten. Six months out of their life—she’d been fifteen and he’d been seventeen. He’d been her first love, part of the magic of Pueblo. It was what made Pueblo different, and because of that, the city had lured her back.

She smiled as details of their relationship flooded back to her. They’d been so young, so naive. She remembered talking with him for hours, lying on their backs in the park, sharing their dreams and aspirations. He’d wanted to be in law enforcement. She’d never doubted him. But she’d never thought that one day he would not only succeed but become the United States marshal she needed.





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