Книга - Bodyguard

Bodyguard
Shirlee McCoy


SAFEGUARDING THE WITNESSClose to bringing the Dupree crime family that murdered his parents to justice, FBI agent Ian Slade wants to track the leader—not protect the man’s niece. But with Esme Dupree’s uncle determined to silence her before she can testify against her brother, Ian and his K-9 partner are duty-bound to guard her. Even if her family ties make him doubt her innocence. But as he and Esme fight to survive the chase through the Florida Everglades, it becomes clear to Ian that she’s nothing like her family. And soon, Ian must choose between the vengeance he’s craved for so long and a future rich in forgiveness and hope.Classified K-9 Unit: These lawmen solve the toughest cases with the help of their brave canine partners







SAFEGUARDING THE WITNESS

Close to bringing the Dupree crime family that murdered his parents to justice, FBI agent Ian Slade wants to track the leader—not protect the man’s niece. But with Esme Dupree’s uncle determined to silence her before she can testify against her brother, Ian and his K-9 partner are duty-bound to guard her. Even if her family ties make him doubt her innocence. But as he and Esme fight to survive the chase through the Florida Everglades, it becomes clear to Ian that she’s nothing like her family. And soon, Ian must choose between the vengeance he’s craved for so long and a future rich in forgiveness and hope.


“Do you have any other weapons?”

“If I did, I’d have used them already,” Esme said.

“Mind if I check? Just to be sure?”

“Yes. I do.”

“I’m going to have to do it anyway. You could make it easier by not struggling.”

“You could make it easier by letting me go.”

“That would defeat the purpose of me and King spending the last three days hanging around Long Pine Key Campground searching for you.”

“Is that Cujo’s name? King?”

“Yeah. Why?” Ian patted her down one-handed, refusing to release his hold. No matter how small she seemed, no matter how harmless, she was part of the crime family that had killed his parents.

* * *


Dear Reader (#ufaf699b6-4849-5797-ab70-95846e6afa5b),

When I first began writing for Love Inspired, my children were young. I worked late at night because it was the only time when I didn’t have a toddler in my lap or “Mom!” ringing in my ears. I was so excited to be an author and to share my stories with others. I sat down to write my first reader letter, and I froze. I had no idea what to say! All these years later, that still happens.

Nevertheless, I’ve found that my words reach the people they are intended for. Perhaps this letter is yours. Perhaps these words are meant for your heart. Because you matter. You do. You are not just a tiny dot on a small planet floating in the darkness of a vast universe. You are a bright light in the life of the people who love you. You are infinitely valuable to your creator, immensely loved by a God who sees your faults and still calls you His. Wherever your road has taken you, I hope that you find comfort in knowing He is there. And if you have lost your way, I pray He leads you safely home.

As always, I would love to hear from you! You can reach me at shirlee@shirleemccoy.com or find me on Facebook, Twitter or Instagram.

Blessings,







Aside from her faith and her family, there’s not much SHIRLEE McCOY enjoys more than a good book! When she’s not teaching or chauffeuring her five kids, she can usually be found plotting her next Love Inspired Suspense story or wandering around the beautiful Inland Northwest in search of inspiration. Shirlee loves to hear from readers. If you have time, drop her a line at shirlee@shirleemccoy.com.


Bodyguard

Shirlee McCoy






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


Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid, do not be discouraged. For the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.

—Joshua 1:9


To my beautiful and brave niece, Aaliyah Parker. The strongest young lady I know. I am so proud of you and so blessed to call you family! Keep smiling, sweetie. And, I will keep praying! I love you dearly!


Contents

Cover (#uc29820b3-e62a-52a8-9ff6-005514018c10)

Back Cover Text (#u1cac57c4-27dd-5823-b821-fa303b75dce4)

Introduction (#ud1889cad-033f-5073-9740-d3584bce74f9)

Dear Reader (#udf8eafd8-34a3-5651-95e6-f13ead7028b2)

About the Author (#u321b0c3c-8151-5e72-8ed9-acd3ba49fe34)

Title Page (#u0907519f-a714-5f55-bb39-352deb6117bb)

Bible Verse (#u5a822e07-41ec-586c-b528-3f8e06416223)

Dedication (#u4d5ae473-6d6d-5589-bf61-fd37f3f56b0a)

ONE (#ufbd3e509-eaec-5cc2-b5af-51169416b99d)

TWO (#ude7b8759-27ef-5512-9f0e-e2b6eb311110)

THREE (#ue4932302-e8bd-516e-a139-5e2624490d34)

FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


ONE (#ufaf699b6-4849-5797-ab70-95846e6afa5b)

If the Everglades didn’t kill her, her uncle would.

Either way, Esme Dupree was going to die.

The thought of that—of all the things she’d leave behind, all the dreams she’d never fulfill—had kept her moving through the Florida wetland for three days, but she was tiring. Even the most determined person in the world couldn’t keep running forever. And she’d been running for what seemed like nearly that long. First, she’d fled witness protection, crisscrossing states to try to stay a step ahead of her uncle’s henchmen. She’d finally found her way to Florida, to the thick vegetation and quiet waterways that her parents had loved.

Esme wasn’t as keen. Her family had spent every summer of her childhood here, exploring the wetland, documenting flora and fauna as part of Esme’s homeschool experience. She preferred open fields and prairie grass, but her parents had loved the shallow green water of the Everglades. She’d never had the heart to tell them that she didn’t. By that time, her older siblings were grown and gone, and it was just the three of them, exploring the world together.

Funny that she’d come back here when her life was falling apart; when everything she’d worked for had been shot to smithereens by her brother’s and uncle’s crimes, Esme had returned to a place filled with fond memories.

It was also filled with lots of things that could kill a person. Alligators. Crocodiles. Snakes. Panthers. She wasn’t as worried about those as she was about human predators.

Her uncle and the people he’d hired.

The FBI, too. If they tracked her down, they wouldn’t kill her, but she’d put her hope in them before, trusted them for her safety. She’d almost died because of it.

She wiped sweat from her brow and sipped water from her canteen. Better to go it alone than to count on people who couldn’t be depended on. She’d been learning that the hard way these past few months.

Bugs dive-bombed every inch of her exposed flesh, the insect repellant sweating off almost as quickly as she could spray it on. Things hadn’t been so bad when she’d been renting a little trailer at the edge of the national park. She’d had shelter from the bugs and the critters. But Uncle Angus had tracked her down and nearly killed her. He would have killed her if she hadn’t smashed his head with a snow globe and called the police. They’d come quickly.

Of course they had.

They were as eager to get their hands on her as Uncle Angus had been. It seemed like every law enforcement office in the United States was keeping its eyes out for her.

Thanks to the feds, the organization that had sworn to protect her. Witness protection was supposed to be her ticket out of the mess she’d found herself in. She’d hoped it would be. She’d probably even believed it would. She’d entered the program because she’d seen her brother murder a man in cold blood. She’d seen the look in his eyes, and she’d known that he was capable of anything. Even killing her to keep her quiet. What she’d learned since then was that there was no panacea to her trouble. No easy way out. No certain solution. Her best hope was in herself and her ability to keep a step ahead of her uncle until the trial.

“That might have been easier if you’d stayed with the police,” she muttered, using a long wooden pole to move the canoe through shallow water.

There was no sense beating herself up over the decision to run again. Uncle Angus’s hired guns had firebombed the tiny police station she’d been taken to after she’d been attacked. During the chaos that had followed, she’d seen the opportunity and she’d run.

It had seemed like the right decision at the time.

Now she wasn’t so sure. The sun had nearly set, its golden glow still lingering on the horizon. Mosquitoes buzzed around her head. She didn’t bother slapping at them. Her arms ached. Her head throbbed. Her body felt leaden. All she wanted was to get out of the Glades and back to civilization. She’d make different decisions this time. Head for a place she’d never been before. She’d buy colored contacts to change the bright green eyes she’d inherited from her mother. The reading glasses she’d bought and worn hadn’t hidden them well enough, and Uncle Angus had told her that was how she’d been found.

“Those eyes, kid,” he’d growled. “You can’t hide them.”

He was wrong. She could, and she would.

No more living in her delusions, telling herself that everything was going to be okay because she was a good person with a good heart who wanted only what was best for the people she loved.

A fool.

Because she really wanted to believe that good begat good and that the happily-ever-after she’d planned for so many clients would happen for her one day.

She might be a fool, but she wasn’t stupid.

If she was found again, she would die.

But she wasn’t going to be found. She’d sleep in the canoe again. Just like she had the past three nights, covered by mosquito netting, listening to things slither in and out of the water. By tomorrow afternoon, she should reach her destination—Long Pine Key Campground. She eyed the compass she’d bought before she’d left Wyoming, using a small Mag light to study the map she’d grabbed from the Everglades National Park information center.

She’d had a feeling she was going to need both.

As a matter of fact, she’d put together a survival pack, and she’d hidden it in the crumbling loft of one of the boat sheds that dotted the trailer park where she’d been staying.

She’d been able to grab it after she’d escaped the police.

Maybe she wasn’t as much of a fool as her ex-fiancé, Brent, had said she was when she’d told him she was going to testify against her brother. She was tired, though. Tired people made mistakes. Like coming to the Everglades instead of heading for Texas or California or somewhere else where no one would think to look for her.

Death.

It had been stalking her for months, but now...

Now she could feel it breathing down her neck.

She shuddered, watching the edges of the murky water for a place to pull onto the shore. She needed a spot clear of vegetation. One that would allow her to drag the canoe far away from the edge of the water.

Tomorrow she’d be away from the slithering, slapping, plopping sounds of things moving through the water. She’d leave the canoe behind and make her way out of Florida. She still had money. Not much, but enough to get her to another state. She’d start fresh, build a new business. Nothing to do with weddings or brides. Nothing that anyone she knew would connect her with.

Not even Violetta.

Her eyes burned at the thought of never seeing her older sister again, her heart heavy with what that would mean—no family, no connections, no one who shared all her childhood memories.

If she could have, she’d have contacted her sister. But she didn’t dare. Their brother, Reginald, would use Violetta’s knowledge about Esme to his advantage. He’d probably been doing it all along. As much as she loved her sister, she also knew Violetta’s weakness—greed. She liked the good things in life, and she was happy to let their brother, Reginald, give them to her. Even if his means to those ends was murder.

Esme winced at the thought, pushing aside the memory that was always at the back of her mind. She’d witnessed a murder. Her brother had been the murderer. She’d watched the victim die, and she’d known that she couldn’t keep quiet.

She’d turned on her family, betraying the deepest of all bonds.

That was what Uncle Angus had said when he’d broken into the trailer.

Turned on family, and that makes you the lowest of low. You have to die, Esme. Because family is everything.

It was a lot, but there was more to life. There was integrity, there was honor, there was faith. The last was what had enabled her to offer herself as a witness to her brother’s crimes. She had what no one else in her family did—a certainty that God was in control, that He’d work everything out for His good.

She just hoped His good didn’t involve her dying in the middle of the Florida wetland.

Esme flashed her light along the edges of the water, ready to stop for the night, to try to shut off her thoughts and get some sleep. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, the sound both alarming and comforting. She had to be on the right track, moving closer to civilization. The map and the compass hadn’t steered her wrong, but civilization meant people, and that meant more danger.

Her light shone on marshy land. Eyes peered out from thick foliage, and she tried not to let herself think about what was watching her. She didn’t mind the mammals. Mice, marsh rats, deer. Even thinking about panthers and bears didn’t bother her. It was the reptiles that made her skin crawl—alligators, crocodiles, snakes.

“Cut it out!” she whispered, her voice filled with the fear she’d been working hard not to acknowledge. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to be back in her cute little Chicago apartment, making dinner after a long day planning weddings.

Esme sighed. She did not want to be in a place where predators were waiting to do what they did best.

The dog barked again—a quick sharp sound that made her wonder if she were even closer to civilization than she’d originally thought. She’d already planned her escape route and knew—in theory—how to get from the dock at the trailer park to the closest Everglade car-accessible campground. If cars could get in, she could walk out. And that was what she planned to do.

Her light glanced off what looked like a tiny boathouse, the old wood structure gray against the lush vegetation. She checked her map, circling the camping area she thought she’d arrived at. The glades were dotted with little places like this—areas where a couple of campers could bed down for the night. This time of year, though, the water was high and the risk was greater. There weren’t as many campers. Just die-hard naturalists and explorers who wanted adventure.

Esme was neither of those things.

She liked home and books and routine.

She hated scary movies, danger, intrigue.

All she’d wanted was to plan weddings, marry her college sweetheart, have the nice life she’d been dreaming of for years.

But here she was.

Ready to bed down for another night in a place that she’d rather not be.

She steered toward the wood structure, saw the clearing beyond it. There were lights in the distance—unexpected signs that she really was closer to civilization than she thought.

Esme dragged the canoe out of the water, her waders sucked in by the muddy ground. Behind her, something splashed, and she imagined a crocodile or giant snapping turtle moving toward her.

There were no other boats, no campers, nothing human that she could see. Whatever the light had been, it was gone now. Twilight turned the world deep purple, casting long shadows across the wet ground.

She climbed into the boat, traced the route she’d highlighted on the map, double-and triple-checking her coordinates. Two more camping spots before she reached her destination. Unless she’d missed a couple on the journey.

That was a possibility.

If she had, she might be at the last stop before the road-accessible campground. Something rustled in the brush, and she jumped, scanning the area, looking for whatever had made the noise. Not a mouse or rat. This had sounded large. A panther? A bear? Her heart thudded in her chest as she pulled the bowie knife from the sheath she’d strapped to her thigh. It glinted in the last rays of the setting sun, the blade new and wicked-looking. A great weapon for fighting something close-up, but she’d prefer to keep far from whatever was lurking in the shadows. In hindsight, a gun would have been a better idea. Purchasing a firearm would have been a problem, but she could have gotten her hands on one if she’d tried hard enough.

It wasn’t like she didn’t know how to use one. Her parents had taught her, and Reginald had reiterated the importance of knowing how to defend herself. Probably because he’d been afraid that his crimes would catch up to him, that the people he’d hurt would come back to hurt his family.

Family was everything, but he hadn’t loved his enough to keep them out of harm’s way. The irony of that wasn’t lost on her.

The bushes rustled again—closer this time. Whatever it was, it was stalking her. She could feel it coming closer, see leaves shifting and plants shivering as something moved past.

“Please, God,” she whispered, her fingers so tight around the knife hilt they ached. “Please.”

And then it was on her, springing out from the brush in a flash of dark fur and dark eyes, her light following the movement as she scrambled back. Her knife hand moving as her brain screamed the truth—

A dog!

The thing was a dog, bounding across the open ground and stopping beside her. Sniffing at the air, at the boat, its nose so close she could have touched it.

“Hello,” she said, her voice shaking, but the dog was already bounding away, barking wildly, the bright orange vest it was wearing glowing in the beam of Esme’s light.

It took a second for that to register.

The vest.

The dog.

A search team. Either her uncle’s henchmen or the police.

Looking for her.

She jumped out of the canoe, dragged it back toward the water, her heart slamming against her ribs as she tried desperately to escape whoever was on her trail.

* * *

The lady was back in the water, tugging the canoe out of the shallows. She probably thought she could escape again, but Esme Dupree was about to be disappointed.

Ian Slade sprinted the last few yards that separated him from his quarry, his K-9 partner, King, barking ferociously beside him. Esme had to know they were coming, but she didn’t glance back, didn’t stop, she just kept dragging the canoe, splashing through the green water, alerting every predator in the area that prey was moving through.

He grabbed her arm, was surprised when she swung around, a bowie knife clutched in her free hand.

King growled low in his throat, a warning that Esme would be wise to heed. The Belgian Malinois was trained in protection. Smart, agile and strong, King had a bite as vicious as his bark.

“My partner,” Ian warned, “doesn’t like when people threaten me.”

“Is that what I’m doing?” She tried to pull away, but after three days of tracking her, there was no way Ian planned to let her go.

“What would you call it?” he replied, dragging her back a few steps.

“Defending myself.”

King growled again, and Esme’s gaze shifted, her attention caught just long enough for Ian to make his move.

He disarmed her with ease, grabbing her knife arm and twisting it until she dropped the weapon. Even then, he didn’t release his hold.

Sure, her record was clean. She made a living planning weddings...pretty aboveboard, from the looks of it. But Esme was a member of the Dupree crime family, cut from the same cloth as her brother—a man who killed first and asked questions later.

Ian knew that more than most.

She yanked against his hold, forcing her arm into an angle that had to be painful. He might not trust her, but he didn’t want to hurt her.

“Calm down,” he said, shifting his grip. “I’m Agent Ian Slade. With the FBI.’”

“And that’s supposed to be comforting?” Esme ground out as she continued to tug against his hold.

“More comforting than staying out in the middle of nowhere with your uncle still on the loose.”

“He wouldn’t be loose if your team would focus on apprehending him rather than me.” She yanked hard, her boots slipping in the muck.

She’d have gone down if he weren’t holding on to her.

She didn’t seem to realize that there was no way she was going to escape. Ian was a well-trained federal officer, part of an elite group of agents. He was also a head taller than she was and seventy pounds heavier. Maybe more. Her bones were small, her wrist tiny, his hand circling it with ease.

As battles went, this wasn’t a fair one, and he almost felt bad for restraining her.

Almost.

He knew what her family was capable of.

Until she proved differently, he had to assume she was capable of the same. Even if he’d been one-hundred-percent certain that she wasn’t, he wouldn’t have let her go. Protecting her was his assignment. Keeping her alive until the case against her brother went to trial was what he’d agreed to do.

Despite the fact that she was a Dupree.

“Do you have any other weapons on you?” he asked, his fingers curved around her wrist. She’d stopped tugging. Maybe she’d finally realized she couldn’t get away.

“If I did, I’d have used them already,” she spat.

“On a federal officer?” he asked.

“I didn’t realize you were a federal officer at first. If I had, I wouldn’t have pulled the knife.”

“Good to know. Mind if I make sure you’re telling the truth about weapons?”

“Yes. I do.”

He could have forced the issue, but there wasn’t any point. She might try to run, but he didn’t think she’d attack him to do it. She had a clean record, no history of violence or trouble.

“All right,” he said, releasing her.

“Thanks.” She started walking to the canoe as if she thought he’d let her leave.

“I’m not checking for a weapon, but I’m not letting you leave, either.”

“It would be easier on both of us if you did.” She turned to face him, the darkening evening wrapping her in shadows. He couldn’t see her expression through the gloom, but he could see the pale oval of her face, the tension in her shoulders.

“That would defeat the purpose of me and King spending the last three days hanging around Long Pine Key Campground waiting for you to show up.”

“I didn’t ask you to come looking for me. As a matter of fact, I would have preferred that you didn’t, Agent Slade,” she responded.

“Ian. We’ll be spending a lot of time together. We might as well be on a first-name basis.”

“I’m not going back into witness protection.”

“That’s fine. We’ll work something else out.”

“I guess I should have been more clear. I’m not going back into any kind of federal protection. I’ve been on my own for a few months now, and I’ve been doing just fine.”

“Until your uncle tracked you down,” he pointed out, and she stiffened.

“I was tracked down long before I came to Florida,” she responded. “Or have you forgotten that poor woman who was murdered because she was in the same state you’d hidden me in?”

He hadn’t forgotten.

None of the members of the team had.

Information about Esme’s location had been leaked to the Dupree crime family, and a woman who’d looked a lot like her had been killed. “I’m sorry that happened. More than I can express, but I’m not part of the witness protection unit. I work for the FBI Tactical K-9 Unit.”

“It doesn’t matter who you work for. I’m not spending any more time with you.”

“I wish that was how things worked, but it isn’t. You agreed to testify against your brother.”

“And I plan to.”

“That will be really difficult to do if you’re dead.”

“If I’d stayed in Wyoming, I probably would be. Then we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

She had a point. A good one. Esme was the sole witness to a murder her brother had committed. Her brother, Reginald, and Angus would do anything to keep her from testifying.

“We had a security breach,” he explained, snagging her backpack from the bottom of the canoe. “It won’t happen again.”

“It won’t happen again because I’m not going back into protective custody.”

“I’m afraid you are.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Have you ever been wrong before?”

“More than I’d like to be.”

“Good,” she retorted. “Then you won’t be upset that you’re wrong this time.” She whirled around and would have walked away, but King blocked her path, pressing in close to her legs.

She shot a look in Ian’s direction, her eyes still flashing with anger. “Call off your dog.”

“Release,” he said, and King pranced back to his side.

“Thanks.” She probably would have walked away, but he held up her pack.

“Forgetting something?”

She reached for it and King growled.

“He doesn’t like people taking things from me.”

“I don’t like people touching my things,” she responded, her focus on King. She looked scared. He didn’t blame her. At home, King was goofy and friendly, funny and entertaining. On the job, he was intimidating, his tan face and dark muzzle giving him a wolflike appearance.

“Sorry. I’ve got to check the contents before we move out.”

“I think I made it clear that—”

“You plan on going it alone. You’ve made it very clear. Unfortunately, my job is to get you to trial safely. I can’t do that if we’re not together.”

“We’re at cross purposes, then, and I don’t see us finding common ground.” She stepped back, and he thought she might be looking for an escape route. One that King wouldn’t be able to follow.

“The common ground is this—we both want to keep you alive. How about you let me do what I’m trained to do?”

“Which is?”

“Protecting people like you.”

King growled, the sound low and mean.

Esme froze, but Ian could have told her the growl wasn’t directed at her. It was a warning. One that sent adrenaline shooting through Ian’s bloodstream. He grabbed Esme’s wrist, dragging her close.

“What—” she began, but Ian held up his hand, silencing her so that he could listen. The evening had gone eerily quiet, King’s rumbling growl the only sound.

He pulled Esme to the thick brush that surrounded the campsite, motioning for her to drop down into the cover it offered. She slipped into the summer-soft leaves silently, folding herself down so that even he could barely see her.

King swiveled, tracking something that Ian could neither see nor hear. He wanted to think that it was a panther, a bear, an alligator, but King was trained to differentiate between human and animal threats. Besides, thanks to former team member Jake Morrow, the Dupree crime family seemed to always be just one step behind the K-9 team. There was every possibility that one or more of Angus’s henchmen was wandering through the Everglades.

He thrust Esme’s backpack into her arms, leaning close to whisper in her ear. “Stay down. Stay quiet. Don’t move.”

She nodded, clutching the backpack to her chest.

King’s growl changed pitch. Whoever was coming was getting closer. It wasn’t local law enforcement, and it wasn’t a member of the K-9 team. They were back at headquarters waiting for word that Ian had finally found Esme’s trail.

That left only one other option.

Angus Dupree or his hired guns.

Ian acted quickly, shoving the canoe into the water with just enough force to keep it moving. He gave King the signal to heel and went with him into the shelter of thick vegetation. Mosquitoes and flies buzzed around King’s head, but the dog didn’t move; his attention was fixed on a spot just beyond the clearing. Ian knew the area. He’d walked it several times the past few days, certain that Esme would arrive there eventually.

She was smart.

There was no doubt about that.

Ian had done his research. He knew as much as there was to know about her childhood, her schooling, her college years. He knew she’d built her business without the help of her older sister, that she’d never taken a dime from her brother. Everything she had, she’d earned on the right side of the law by using the brain God had given her.

The fact that she’d escaped witness protection and had stayed under the radar for months was even more proof of her keen intelligence. Smart people didn’t go into situations without a plan. Ian had visited the trailer she’d been renting at the edge of the Everglades. He’d seen the old boathouse and the dock, and he’d known she’d had an escape route in mind when she’d chosen to rent the place.

All he’d needed was a map and a highlighter. He’d done some calculations, tried to think of how far someone like Esme would be willing to travel in a hostile environment. It hadn’t taken any time at all to figure out that the quickest, most direct route out of the Everglades brought her here.

He’d staked out the area, walking a grid pattern every day, waiting for her to show.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who’d been haunting this place looking for her. She was smart, but she’d have been better off leaving the area. She hadn’t had the backpack with her while she was in protective custody with the local police, and she hadn’t visited any of the local outdoor supply stores, either. He had to assume that she’d returned to the rental to retrieve the pack. Which meant there was something she needed in it. Money seemed more likely than anything.

King’s growl had become a deep rumble of unease. Scruff standing on end, muscles taut, he waited for the signal to go in. Ian waited, too. He didn’t know how many people were approaching or what kind of firepower they’d brought. Backup was already on the way. He’d called in to headquarters as soon as he’d seen Esme paddling toward the campsite.

A shadow appeared a hundred yards out, and King crouched, ready to bound toward it. Ian gave him the signal to hold, watching as two more people stepped into view. A posse of three hunting a lone woman. If Esme had been bedded down for the night, they’d have been on her before she’d realized what was happening.

An unfair fight, but that was the way the Duprees did things.

One of the men turned on a flashlight, the beam bouncing across the camping area and flashing on the water. Twenty feet from the shore, the canoe floated languidly.

“There!” the man hollered, pulling a gun, the world exploding in a hail of gunfire.


TWO (#ufaf699b6-4849-5797-ab70-95846e6afa5b)

If she’d been in the campground, she’d be dead.

Every bullet fired, every ping of metal against metal, reminded Esme that her family—the one she had loved and admired and been so proud of—wanted her dead.

Traitor. Benedict Arnold. Turn-tail. Judas.

Uncle Angus had whispered all those names as he tried to choke the life out of her four nights ago. The words were still ringing in her head and in her heart, mixing with the echoing sound of the automatic weapon Angus’s hit men were using.

She wasn’t sure what had happened to Ian and King. Either they’d run or they were biding their time, waiting for an opportunity to strike. One man against three didn’t seem like good odds, and it was possible Ian was waiting for backup.

He could wait until the cows came home.

Esme was leaving.

She slithered through muddy grass and damp leaves, praying the sound of her retreat was covered by gunfire. Eventually, they’d stop shooting. When they did, her chance of escaping undetected would go from slim to none.

Who was she kidding?

It was already that. She might get out of the Everglades. She might get out of Florida. Eventually, though, Uncle Angus would find her. He had money backing him, and he had a lot riding on his ability to silence her. If she testified against Reginald, everything the two men had built—the entire crime family they’d grown—would collapse. He’d been chasing her for months, and he wouldn’t give up now. Not with the trial date approaching. A few weeks, and she’d be in the courtroom, looking at her brother as she told the jury and judge what she’d seen him do.

She shuddered, sliding deeper into the foliage.

She wasn’t going to give up on life, and she couldn’t give up on saving the one remaining bright spot in her very dark family tree.

Violetta.

They hadn’t seen or spoken to each other since Esme had gone into witness protection, but they were sisters, bound by blood and by genuine affection for each other. As far as Esme knew, Violetta hadn’t been involved in any of Reginald’s and Angus’s crimes. Whether or not she’d known about them, however, was a question Esme needed to ask.

After she testified and shut her brother’s operations down for good.

The gunfire stopped, and she froze, her belly pressed into damp earth, her heart thundering. They’d check the canoe, find it empty, realize she’d escaped.

She had to get farther away before that happened.

Taking a deep breath, she slithered forward, her pack slung over her shoulder, the soft rustle of leaves making her heart beat harder. A man called out, and someone splashed into the water, cursing loudly as he went.

She used the commotion as cover, moving quickly, trying to put as much distance between herself and the campsite as possible.

“FBI, K-9 unit. Put your weapons down or I’ll release my dog,” a man called, his voice carrying above the chaos.

She froze again. Ian was still there. She hadn’t intended on spending much time with him. The entire time they’d been talking, she’d been planning her escape, trying to work out a solution to the newest problem. Just like she did when she’d planned a wedding and there was a hiccup on the big day.

“I said, drop your weapons,” he repeated sharply.

A single shot rang out, and someone shouted. A dog growled, and Esme could picture the dark-eyed, dark-faced K-9 racing into danger.

Two against three.

One weapon against many.

She couldn’t leave.

No matter how much she wanted to.

She couldn’t abandon a man to almost certain death.

Esme didn’t have a gun, but she had surprise on her side. She scooted back the way she’d come, the dog growling and barking, men shouting, chaos filling the darkness. She was heading right toward it, because she didn’t know when to quit. Another thing Brent had said to her.

He’d been right.

She never quit.

Not even when the odds were stacked against her. Hopefully, this time, it wouldn’t get her killed.

She crawled closer to the edge of the campsite, dropping her pack and grabbing a fist-sized rock from the mud. Reginald had taught her to play ball when they were kids. He’d shown her how to throw a mean right hook, to take a man down with a well-placed kick. She’d loved him as much as she’d loved Violetta, and she’d soaked up everything he’d had to offer. Until she’d realized that the road he’d chosen was one she had no intention of traveling. Then she’d distanced herself from her brother and, to a lesser extent, Violetta. That had been eight years ago. Even after all that time and all the years away from Reginald’s coaching, she still knew how to fight.

She stopped at the edge of the clearing, her heart pounding as she waited. The campsite had gone silent. No gunfire. No barking dog. Sirens were blaring in the distance, the sound muted by the thick foliage.

Somewhere nearby, a branch snapped, the sound breaking the eerie quiet. King barked again, and someone crashed through the brush just steps from where Esme lay.

She levered up, would have lobbed the rock at the fleeing man, but King was there, a shadowy blur, so close she could feel his fur as he raced past.

Surprised, she jerked back, her knees slipping in the layer of wet earth, her elbows sliding out from under her. She would have face-planted, but someone grabbed the back of her shirt, yanking her up.

“Hey!” She turned, the rock still in her hand.

“I told you to stay where you were,” Ian growled.

“I was trying to help.”

“Since when is getting in the way helping?” he retorted, King’s wild barking nearly covering his words.

Esme didn’t think he expected a response, and she didn’t bother giving one. He was already moving again, sprinting toward his dog.

She followed, keeping a few steps behind him. Despite his sarcastic comment, she had no intention of getting in the way. The more gunmen he could take out, the safer they’d be. Once they were safe, she could go back to her plan. Get out of the Everglades and out of Florida.

Alone.

“Federal agent! Freeze!” Ian shouted, and she froze before she realized he hadn’t shouted the command at her.

“Call off your dog!” a man replied, his voice tinged with a hint of panic.

“You want me to call off the dog, you freeze.”

“This is all a mistake!” the man whined. “I was out here hunting gators and—”

“One command, and his teeth will go straight to the bone,” Ian cut in.

The man must have stopped moving, because Ian stepped forward, gun trained toward something Esme couldn’t see.

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” he commanded, King still growling beside him.

“And you,” he continued, and even though he hadn’t turned to look at her, Esme was certain he was talking to her. “Stay where you are. The guy ditched his gun back at the campsite, but that doesn’t mean he’s not armed.”

“I ditched my gun because your crazy dog was trying to kill me.”

“You can explain it all to the judge.”

“What judge? I was hunting gators. I can’t help it if I got in the middle of your shoot-out.”

“Like I said, you can explain it all to the judge. I’m sure he’ll be really interested in your version. He’ll also be interested in what your friend has to say. If he survives.”

“I didn’t come with a friend. Never seen either of those men before in my life.”

Ian didn’t respond.

Esme could hear the men walking toward her, their feet slapping against wet grass and soggy leaves. They reached her seconds later, Ian taller and broader than the man he’d apprehended. He looked fit and strong. The perfect bodyguard. If she were looking for one. She wasn’t. What she was looking for was some peace. She wouldn’t get that until her uncle was apprehended and he and her brother were convicted of their crimes.

“What now?” she asked, trying to think ahead, to figure out the best way to separate herself from the situation. Once she knew his plans, it would be easier to make hers.

“We’re heading back to the camp. I’ve got one man down and cuffed there. The other ran off.”

“He could return,” she pointed out.

“Local law enforcement is close. Hopefully, one of them will pick him up.”

“I stopped hoping for safety right around the time my uncle tried to murder me,” she muttered.

He eyed her through the evening gloom, his expression unreadable. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t respond. When he did, his tone was gruff. “I hope you’re not living in the delusion that your uncle is the one responsible for all of this.”

“Who else would it be?”

“Your uncle might have tracked you to Florida, but your brother is calling the shots from prison.”

“Maybe.” Probably.

She didn’t want to admit that.

Not even to herself.

She and her uncle had never been close. She could almost pretend they weren’t family.

She and Reginald, though...

They were siblings. Sure, he was much older, but they’d been raised by the same parents with the same values.

Somehow they’d taken completely different paths, found value in completely different things.

She’d watched him kill a man.

She would never forget that. She would testify against him.

But this was by far the most difficult thing she’d ever done.

It was the right thing, but that didn’t make her feel good about it. It sure didn’t make her safe. Her family would do anything to keep her from testifying. She still couldn’t wrap her mind around that.

The proof was here, though—the cuffed man walking beside a federal agent who had come to track her down. Both of them wanted Esme for different purposes. One wanted her dead. The other wanted her to stay alive. At least until her brother’s trial.

The sirens had grown louder, and she could see flashing lights through the mangroves. Help had arrived. It didn’t seem like Ian needed it. He motioned for his prisoner to sit on the raised sleeping platform.

“Guard,” he commanded, and King snapped to attention, his eyes trained on the cuffed man.

“He’s guarding you, too,” Ian said, meeting Esme’s eyes.

“It’s not like I have anywhere to go,” she responded. She could see the canoe, a dozen yards out, listing heavily to the right. Enough bullets had been fired to cause it to sink. If she’d been in it, she’d be dead. She shivered, suddenly chilled despite the warmth and humidity.

“There are plenty of places to go. You’ve proved that several times.” He turned and walked away, moving across the clearing and crouching next to a man who lay near the water.

She thought he was checking the guy’s pulse and rendering first aid, but it was hard to see through the deepening gloom. This would have been her third night out in the Glades. She should be used to how quickly darkness descended After so many months running from people who wanted her dead, she should also be used to skin-crawling, heart-stopping fear.

The cuffed gunman shifted position, and King growled, flashing teeth that looked as deadly as any gun or knife Esme had ever seen. He was focused on the prisoner. If she were going to try to escape, now would be the time to do it. She could see the emergency vehicles, hear people moving through the mangroves. She scanned the clearing and spotted her backpack abandoned near the edge of the campsite.

It would take seconds to grab it and just a little bit longer than that to disappear. She’d done it before. She could do it again.

But she was exhausted from endless running, tired from months of being on guard. She didn’t trust the police or the FBI to keep her safe, but she wasn’t sure she had the stamina to keep trying to do the job herself. Not that she had any choice.

The trial was just a month away. That seemed like forever, but it was nothing in comparison to the amount of time that had already passed. Once she testified, she’d disappear again. This time, she had no intention of being found. New name. New job. New beginning. Not the life she’d planned, but she knew she could make it a good one.

All she had to do was survive long enough to get there.

Just do it. Grab the bag and run! her mind shouted, and she was just tired enough and just scared enough to listen.

She darted forward, snagging the straps and lifting the bag in one quick motion. The rest was easy. Or should have been. The mangroves provided perfect cover, and she ducked behind one of the scrub-like trees, water lapping at her ankles as she moved.

She would have kept running, but something grabbed onto the bag, yanking her backward. She released the pack, but she was already falling, her ankle twisting as she tried to pivot and run.

She went down hard, splashing into a puddle of muck, the dog suddenly in her face, teeth bared, dark eyes staring straight into hers.

“I told you,” Ian said calmly, his voice carrying through the mangroves, “he was guarding you.”

She couldn’t see him, and that made her almost as nervous as looking in the dog’s snarling face did.

“He’d have been better off guarding the guy who tried to kill me,” she responded, not even trying to get to her feet. Not with the beast of a dog staring her down, his teeth still bared. In any other circumstance, she’d have admired him for what he was—a handsome, fit working dog. Right now, she just wanted him gone.

“The perpetrator is in police custody. I guess you were too busy planning your escape to notice them moving in.”

“I noticed.”

“And did you think I wouldn’t notice you leaving?” Branches rustled, and he stepped into view, his head and shoulders bowed as he walked through the trees.

“What I thought was that I wanted to live, and that being alone seemed like the safest way to make sure that happened.”

“Esme, you really need to stop fighting me,” he said, crouching a few feet away and looking straight into her eyes. There was something about his face—the angle of his jaw, the sharp cut of his cheekbones—that made her think of the old Westerns she used to watch with her dad, the hero cowboy riding to the rescue on his trusty steed. Only, this hero didn’t have a horse; he had a dog.

“I’m not. I’m making your job easier. Go back to your office and tell anyone who cares that I refused federal help. I want to do this alone.”

“What? Get yourself killed?”

“Call off your dog, okay? I want to get out of the mud.” And the Everglades and the mess her family had created.

To her surprise, he complied.

“Release!” he said, and the dog backed off, sitting on his haunches, still watching her. Only this time, she was sure he was grinning.

* * *

King had had a great night. He’d found his mark twice and brought in an armed man. He was obviously pleased with himself, his tail splashing in a puddle of water, his dark eyes turned up to Ian.

“Good boy,” Ian said, scratching behind King’s ears and offering the praise he’d been waiting for.

“That’s a matter of opinion,” Esme muttered.

Ian flashed his light in her direction. She’d fallen hard but didn’t seem to be much worse for the wear. “He did what I asked him to. That’s always a win.”

“That depends on what side of his teeth you’re sitting on.”

“He wasn’t going to bite you.”

“Right,” she scoffed, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. She hadn’t colored it. That had surprised him. It would have been the first thing he’d have done if he’d been in her position.

“He bites when he has to, but it’s not in his nature to snap. Unless I give him the command.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, a hint of weariness in her voice. She looked as exhausted as she sounded—her skin paper white in the twilight, dark circles beneath her eyes. He’d seen photos of her taken just a few months before she’d watched her brother execute a man. Her cheeks hadn’t been as hollow, her shoulders as narrow.

He didn’t want to feel sorry for her. She was, after all, part of the family that had taken his. Years ago, Reginald Dupree had called the hit on Ian’s father. He’d been just starting out, sticking his toes in the water of his new family business. Ian’s father had been a Chicago police officer, determined to undermine Dupree’s efforts. He’d arrested two of Reginald’s lower-level operatives. In retaliation, Reginald had paid a couple of street thugs to shoot him when he left the house for work. They’d opened fire as he’d stepped outside. The first bullet had killed him instantly. The second had killed Ian’s mother, who’d been standing in the doorway saying goodbye.

Yeah. He didn’t want to feel sorry for anyone in the family, but his father had raised him to be compassionate, to look out for those who couldn’t look out for themselves. More than that, he’d raised him to do what was right. Even when it was difficult. The right thing to do was to protect Esme. Despite her last name and her family, she’d committed no crime.

“How about you keep something else in mind, too?” He offered a hand, and she allowed him to pull her to her feet.

“What?”

“Next time I tell you to stay somewhere, you should do it. It’s a waste of King’s energy to chase after you when he’s supposed to be keeping you safe.”

“You told him to guard me,” she pointed out.

“Because the closer you are, the easier it is for me to make sure your brother doesn’t get what he wants.”

“Me dead, you mean?”

“I wasn’t going to put it so bluntly, but yes.”

“My uncle is the one who wants me dead, Ian. It’s his hands that were around my throat the other night.” Her tone was hard, her voice raspy, and the compassion he didn’t want to feel welled up again.

“Does it make you feel better to keep telling yourself that?” he asked gently.

“It will make me feel better to be done with this. It will make me feel better to do what I promised and to get on with my life. So how about you leave me alone and let me go back to the business of staying safe until the trial?”

“Do you think this will all end if we have your uncle in custody?” he asked, calling King to heel and leading Esme back the way they’d come.

“I hope it will,” she murmured, limping as she tried to keep pace with him. She must have hurt her leg or foot. He shouldn’t have cared. She was a means to an end. Despite the clean criminal record, the supposedly upright business, she was who she was—a Dupree.

But he did care, because she was a person who’d found herself in an untenable position and had chosen to do the right thing. She’d witnessed a horrible crime, and despite the fact that her brother had committed it, she’d gone to the police and offered to testify.

“What’d you do to your leg?” he asked, and she shrugged.

“Twisted my ankle. It’s fine.”

“Then why are you limping?”

“Because I’m tired, okay? Because I want to get out of this stupid swamp and into clean clothes. I want to take a shower and wash three days’ worth of bug repellent off my skin. Mostly, I just want to close my eyes, open them and find out that this has all been some horrible nightmare.”

“I’m sorry,” he said and meant it.

“For what? Being the one they chose for this assignment?”

“For the fact that all of this isn’t just a bad dream. Your family has deep pockets, Esme. They can afford to pay people to do their dirty work. Which means you won’t be safe until we shut down the crime ring your brother and uncle control.”

“You’re a wellspring of joyful tidings, Ian.”

“I’m honest.”

“And, like I said, I’m tired. So how about we discuss this another time?”

“You want to survive, right?” He stopped short and looked straight into her pale face.

“Would I have spent three days in the Everglades if I didn’t?”

“Some people love it here.”

“I’m not one of them,” she huffed.

“And yet, this is where you ran when you left witness protection.”

“My parents and I spent every summer here when I was a kid. They’re—”

“Buried twenty miles from here. I know. I’m sure your uncle knew. Your brother. Your sister.”

“I feel like you’re trying to make a point, so how about you just get to it?” Her hands were on her hips, her chin raised. Of the three Dupree siblings, she was the one Ian understood the least. Reginald was all about power and money. He’d go to any length to get it. Violetta wanted the same, but she wasn’t willing to break the law to get it. On the other hand, she wasn’t willing to cooperate with law enforcement to make her brother pay for his crimes.

But Esme...

Ian couldn’t wrap her in a tidy package and put a label on her. That bothered him. He’d spent most of his adult life studying people, figuring them out, deciding whether they were telling the truth, were dangerous or could be trusted. He’d missed the mark with Jake Morrow. A member of the Tactical K-9 team, Jake had put on a good show. He’d pretended to be everything the team believed in—a man of honesty, integrity, honor. That hadn’t meant Ian had liked him. There’d always been something a little cocky about Jake, something a little off. Still, he’d trusted him.

That trust had been misplaced.

Jake had been on the Dupree payroll. He’d betrayed the team, and he was still on the loose, still causing trouble.

“Here’s my point,” he said, King panting quietly beside him. “You came to a place where anyone who knew anything about you would look for you. You would have been better off sticking with witness protection.”

“One innocent person already lost her life because I was in the program. I’m not going to risk someone else dying for the same reason.”

“We had a leak. We’ve sealed it. No one else is going to be hurt,” he responded, keeping his tone neutral. He’d thought she was worried about her own safety, that she’d run from the program because she thought she’d be safer away from it. The fact that she’d been worried about others put a twist on things. A twist he didn’t like. He wanted to lump her in with the rest of the family, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to do it.

“You don’t seem to understand.” She swung around, her auburn ponytail flying in an arc as she moved. “One person being hurt is too many. I think about it every day. About how that woman died because someone mistook her for me.”

“It wasn’t because of you. It was because of your uncle and your brother. It was because they thought they were above the law, because they hadn’t expected to ever be stopped. They like their money and their power, and neither of them want to give it up.”

“Yeah. I know.” She sighed, walking away, heading toward the distant emergency lights, her stride hitched but brisk, her shoulders straight.

“Esme,” he said, not sure what he wanted to add, what he could possibly say to make things better or easier or right.

“I think we’ve both said everything we need to, Ian. How about you just let me do what I need to? I’m sure the police would like to talk to you, and I’ve got a long way to go before I reach civilization.”

He could have stopped her.

He had the authority to do it. He had the strength. He had King.

But he let her go, because he thought she needed some space. It was five miles to the main road, and there were emergency vehicles everywhere. She’d be safe enough.

“All right,” he said, and she met his eyes.

He thought he saw tears before she looked away again.

Then she was moving, putting distance between them, her backpack lying a yard away, abandoned on the muddy ground. He snagged it, figuring she’d want it later. He needed to check in with the local police, and then he’d get in his SUV and pick her up on the way out.

“King,” he said, and the dog looked at him, eager for the next command. “Guard!”

The Malinois took off, racing across the clearing, his light brown fur visible in the darkness as he followed Esme through the trees and out into the main campground.


THREE (#ufaf699b6-4849-5797-ab70-95846e6afa5b)

Long Pine Key Campground was not difficult to find. Esme simply followed the flashing emergency lights through a copse of mangroves and out into a field of vegetation. The vehicles were probably a quarter mile away, but the darkness made them easy enough to see. She picked her way across the field, the ground growing soggier with every step. If it got any wetter, she’d have to find another route. She didn’t mind getting wet, but she didn’t like the idea of being knee-deep in water that was filled with slimy, slithery, scaly creatures.

Esme was almost ready to turn back when she spotted a wooden walkway that stretched the remainder of the way across the area. She stepped onto it, the wood giving a little as she moved.

She was halfway over when she heard quiet panting and the soft pad of paws. Her heart in her throat, she spun around, her sore ankle nearly giving out. The dog was there. Of course. King. And he was so close she could have reached out and touched his nose, so close she could feel his panting breath on her hand, see his goofy smile through the darkness.

Because he was smiling again.

Why wouldn’t he be?

She kept running. He kept finding her. A fun game for a dog. Not so much fun for Esme.

“Go home,” she commanded.

The dog didn’t even blink.

“Where’s your partner?” She glanced back the way she’d come, saw nothing but the empty field and shadowy mangroves. “Did he tell you to follow me?”

The dog settled on his haunches, his dark eyes looking straight into hers.

“Release!” she commanded, pointing in the direction she wanted him to go.

Nothing.

“Go! Cease!”

Still nothing.

“Fine. Do what you want. I’ve got more important things to do than argue with a dog.” She limped the rest of the way across the boardwalk, stepping onto wet grass, King close behind her.

The Long Pine Key parking area was straight ahead, the dark figures of emergency personnel visible in the flashing strobe lights of their vehicles. She’d seen way too many emergency vehicles the past few months. Beginning with the one that had been sent to the scene of her brother’s crime.

She’d still been in shock—the memory of Reginald pointing the gun and firing it, of a man falling to the ground, blood spurting from his chest, taking up so much room in her mind, there hadn’t been space to create memories of conversations she’d had, of people she’d spoken to. All she could remember were the emergency lights and the questions, barked one right after another—a series of words that had had no meaning.

Esme sighed.

She knew Ian meant well. She knew the FBI meant well. Law enforcement, witness protection, they meant well, too. But meaning well couldn’t keep her alive.

Better to not take a chance of being waylaid by another well-meaning entity. She’d steer clear of law enforcement. She turned to the right, heading through a grove of cypress trees, aiming for the road that led into the parking lot. It should be straight ahead. She didn’t have her map, but she’d memorized the topography and knew what landmarks to look for to ascertain how far she was from civilization. It would be a long walk to anyplace where she could make a phone call. Five miles on the back road, then out onto a main road that would eventually lead her to town. Once there, she’d borrow a phone and call...

Who?

Not Violetta. She loved her sister, but she couldn’t count on her. Not the way she’d thought she could. Violetta’s loyalties were torn. She wanted to support Reginald and see him freed from prison. Esme knew that, and she knew why. It wasn’t all about love and family. At least not according to the FBI, it wasn’t. Violetta had been happy to take whatever gifts Reginald offered—money for a new car, financial backing to support her business, new windows for her house. Esme had been shown a list of all the things her sister had accepted from Reginald.

At first, she’d argued that Violetta hadn’t known where Reginald was getting the money. But, of course, the FBI had been prepared for that. They’d proved her wrong. Violetta had known...she just hadn’t cared. She’d kept her hands clean, but she sure hadn’t been willing to jeopardize Reginald’s career. After all, she was benefiting too much from it.

The last time Esme had seen her sister had been six months ago. Violetta had looked just as cool and reserved as ever, her beautiful face not showing even a hint of stress or anxiety. Esme, on the other hand, had been a mess. But, then, she was the one who’d watched a man die. She was the one who’d had to make a choice between family and justice. She was the one who was swimming against the tide and doing exactly what her family didn’t want her to.

And she was the one who’d pay with her life if her uncle got his hands on her again.

Esme shuddered, her skin clammy from the humid air, her body leaden from too many restless nights. She had to believe that she was going to get through this. She had to trust that God would keep her safe, that doing the right thing would always be best even when it felt so horribly wrong.

Betrayer. Traitor. Turncoat.

Her uncle’s words were still in her head, the feel of his fingers around her throat enough to make her want to gag. She stumbled, tripping over a root and going down hard, her hands and knees sliding across damp earth, her shoulder bumping into a tree trunk.

She lay where she was for a few minutes too long, the muted sound of voices carrying on the still night air. Maybe she should go to the parking lot, turn herself in to the authorities and hope and pray that they could keep her safe. That seemed so much easier than going it alone.

It also seemed more dangerous.

A woman had died, and she’d almost been killed because of an information leak. Ian had told her the leak had been plugged, but she couldn’t count on that. She couldn’t really count on anything.

“Your pity party is getting you nowhere,” she muttered, pushing up onto her hands and knees.

A cool wet nose pressed against her cheek, and King huffed quietly. She jerked back, looking into his dark face. He was a handsome dog when he wasn’t snarling and showing teeth. Right now, he looked like he was smiling again, his tongue lolling out to the side.

“I think I told you to find your partner,” she scolded, forcing herself up. Lying around feeling sorry for herself would accomplish absolutely nothing. Going back into the situation that had almost gotten her killed would do the same.

She had to stay the course—find a place to go to ground until trial, then contact the authorities and arrange to be escorted to court. Armed guards would be great. Six or seven dogs like King would be a nice bonus.

Right now, though...

Right now, she just had to find a safe place to hide.

She started walking again, trudging through saw grass and heading away from the emergency vehicles. There were no streetlights on the road, no beacons to lead her in the right direction. She went by instinct, the rising moon giving her at least some idea of what direction she was heading.

Northeast would bring her to the road.

The road would bring her to civilization.

She’d figure out everything else once she got there.

The grass opened up, the earth dried out and she could see the road winding snakelike through the Everglades. She stepped onto it, her ankle throbbing, her stomach churning. After three days and nights in the Everglades, it felt strange to be out in the open. No water surrounding her. No foliage to shelter in. She could see emergency lights to the left, so she turned right, trudging along the road as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

Five miles wasn’t much.

She loved hiking, biking and running. Before she’d entered witness protection, she’d been training for a half marathon. Walking a few miles should have been a piece of cake, but she felt like she was slogging through mud, her legs heavy with fatigue.

King pressed close to her leg, his shoulder brushing her thigh as they walked. He didn’t look nervous, and she took that as a good sign. It wasn’t good that he was sticking to her like glue, however, because eventually his handler would come looking for him. When he did, he’d find Esme, too.

Unless Esme could ditch the dog.

She patted the pockets of her cargo pants, found the package of peanut butter crackers she’d planned to eat for dinner. She opened it, the rustling paper not even garnering a glance from King.

She slipped a cracker from the sleeve, held it out to the dog. “Hungry?” she asked.

He ignored her and the cracker.

“King?” She nudged the cracker close to his mouth.

He didn’t break his stride, didn’t look at the food.

“It’s peanut butter. Peanut butter is good. Fetch!” She waved it closer to his face, then threw it back in the direction they’d come.

It hit the pavement, and King just kept walking.

Esme blew out a frustrated breath. Great...just great. Now she’d end up in town with a dog that didn’t belong to her. Probably a very expensive dog. The FBI wouldn’t be happy if she left the state with one of their dogs in tow.

For all she knew, she’d be charged with kidnapping.

Dognapping?

“King!” she said, trying to put an edge of command in her voice. “Sit!”

He didn’t.

“Fetch!” She tried another cracker. “Retrieve!”

“Do you not speak English?” she asked, stopping short and eyeing the dog. He was still wearing his vest, a logo on the side announcing that he was a law enforcement dog. Esme wasn’t sure about much lately, but she knew this—she did not look like a law enforcement officer. At least not one that was on duty. She didn’t have a uniform, a gun or a holster. And no badge. If she made it to town, people would wonder what she was doing with a dog who was obviously supposed to be working.

“This is a problem,” she said, crouching a few feet from the dog and watching him. He was watching her just as steadily.

“Listen, buddy, I’m sure your handler told you to follow me, but I’d prefer you go back to what you were doing before you got sent on this wild-goose chase.”

He cocked his head to the side, then glanced back the way they’d come. He’d gone from alert to stiff with tension. She wasn’t sure what that meant, but it couldn’t be anything good.

“What is it?” she whispered, as if the dog could answer.

He barked once—a quick high-pitched sound that made her hair stand on end.

Someone or something was coming.

That was the only explanation.

She ran to the side of the road, plunging into the thick shrubs that lined it. She didn’t know if King had followed. She was too focused on finding a place to hide. She crouched low, her heart throbbing hollowly in her ears. Lights splashed across the road and filtered through the leaves.

A car was coming. First the headlights, then the soft chug of an engine. She shrank deeper into the shadows, King’s lean body suddenly beside her, pressing in so close his fur rubbed against her arm. Mosquitoes buzzed, dive-bombing the exposed areas of Esme’s skin. She didn’t dare swat them away. The car was closing in, the engine growing louder. She wanted to grab King’s collar and make sure he didn’t lunge out from their hiding place, but she couldn’t get the image of him barking at the gunmen out of her head. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop seeing his sharp teeth and snarling mouth. Sure, he currently looked like a sweet goofy pet, but she knew he could be vicious if he needed to be. She’d keep her hands to herself and hope for the best rather than risk losing one of her fingers to his sharp teeth.

“Don’t move,” she whispered, and the dog shifted closer, his shoulder leaning into hers.

The car slowed as it approached, the tires rolling over dry pavement.

Keep going, she silently commanded. Please, keep going.

The car stopped, the engine idling, the soft chug making her blood run cold. Could the driver see her? Did he know she was there?

A door opened, and she stiffened. She had no weapon. Her only option was to run. In a place as inhospitable as the Everglades, that could get a person killed.

Staying could get her killed, too.

She waited another minute, praying that whoever was on the road had stopped to look at a snake or save a turtle or do some completely normal thing that didn’t involve hunting a woman through the swamp.

King barked, the sound so loud and startling, Esme jumped.

She didn’t scream, but she came close.

And then she ran, darting away from the road as fast as her twisted ankle could carry her.

* * *

Two strides and Ian caught up, catching Esme’s arm before she could run any farther.

She swung around, throwing a punch that nearly hit its mark.

“Hey! Cool it,” he growled, dragging her arm down to her side the same way he had before. This time there was no knife, and she looked even more scared, her eyes wild with fear.

“Let me go!” she demanded, and he did, releasing his hold and stepping back.

“Calm down, Esme. It’s just me.”

She met his eyes, seemed to finally realize who he was and frowned. “You just scared six years off my life.”

“Sorry about that.”

“You don’t sound sorry,” she accused.

“Maybe because I’m tired of following you all over Florida,” he replied, and she cracked a half smile.

“I’m not going to apologize, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

“I’m hoping we can get out of this area before we run into more trouble.” He took her hand again, and this time, she didn’t resist as he led her back to the road and his SUV.

He opened the back hatch and called for King, and she didn’t say a word, didn’t try to leave.

The Malinois jumped in, settling into his kennel and heaving a sigh that would have made Ian smile if he hadn’t been standing next to Esme.

She was a problem.

Up until he’d tracked her down, he’d been resentful of the time and resources they were putting into finding her. The prosecutor had a good case against Reginald Dupree—even without his sister’s testimony. She was the witness who would put him away for good, though. First-degree murder. Planned and executed with cunning and without remorse.

Esme was the only witness, and without her testimony, evidence was circumstantial at best. At worst, it was unconvincing. A good defense lawyer might get Reginald off. That wasn’t something Ian was going to allow.

Yeah. He’d wanted to keep her safe for purely mercenary purposes. With her testimony, the Dupree crime family could be stopped. Without it, Reginald might go free.

Now...

He was beginning to feel sorry for her, beginning to see her as something other than the family she’d been born into. She’d given up her entire life to make sure her brother went to jail for his crime. She’d left her job, her friends, her fiancé. She’d done it all without complaining. Everyone who’d met her or worked with her had had only good things to say.

He’d told himself it was because she was a good actress and consummate manipulator. After hearing her talk about the woman who’d died, hearing the regret in her voice, seeing the tears in her eyes, he doubted that was the case.

Unless he was misreading her, she was who everyone else on the team seemed to think she was—a woman who’d been pulled into something she hadn’t expected or wanted. A woman who’d been running from her family because she valued doing what was right more than she valued loyalty to her family.

A tough place to be standing.

A tough decision to make.

She’d made it. She’d continued to say that she would testify despite the obvious threats against her.

He admired that.

A lot.

He frowned, closing the back hatch and turning to face Esme. “Did you really think you were going to walk out of here?”

“I sure didn’t think I wasn’t going to,” she replied, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. A few strands of hair had escaped and were clinging to her throat and neck, the dark red strands gleaming in the SUV’s parking lights.

“The nearest town is twenty miles away,” he pointed out.

“I’ve walked farther.”

“Did you do it when you had a price on your head?”

She pressed her lips together and didn’t say a word.

“I’ll take that as a no.” He led her to the passenger side of the vehicle. “You keep walking on this road, and someone else is going to find you. If it happens to be one of your uncle’s hired guns, you don’t have a chance of surviving.”

“I’m not sure my chances are any higher with you,” she responded, but she didn’t walk away.

Maybe she was too tired.

Maybe the injury to her ankle was worse than she’d been letting on.

Whatever the case, she stayed right where she was as he opened the door.

“How about we discuss it on the way to the local police department?”

“Ian...” She shook her head. “I believed your organization when I was told I’d be safe. They were wrong, and I can’t see any reason to believe you again.”

“And yet you’re still standing here.”

“Because I’m tired. I’ve been running for months, and I have at least another month to go before the trial. It’s hard to sleep when you’re worried someone is going to break in and kill you. Without sleep, it’s really difficult to make good decisions.”

Her honesty surprised him, and he touched her arm, urging her to the open door. “I’ve had plenty of sleep. How about you let me make the decisions for a while?”

She laughed without humor. “You’re very convincing, but I think I’ll pass.”

“Then how about you sit in the SUV while I drive, and spend a little time thinking about what you want to do? It’ll be easier doing it in a safe place than it will while you’re out in the open.”

“Like I said,” she responded, finally stepping away. “You’re convincing, but I’m going to have to pass.”

“You’re a long way from the state line, Esme.”

“I was a long way from Florida a couple of months ago. Now I’m here, and eventually I’ll be somewhere else.”

“You agreed to testify,” he said, trying a different tactic. She was coming with him. There could be no other outcome, but he’d like her to think she’d been the one to make the decision.

“I will testify.”

“That’s going to be difficult to do if you’re off the grid and have no contact with us.”

“Just because you can’t find me, doesn’t mean I won’t be able to find you. I’ll be at the trial.” A note of weary resignation laced her tone. “I’ll provide testimony that will put my brother in jail for the rest of his life.”

“If you don’t—”

“I know what will happen if I don’t. I’ll die. I may die anyway, but that’s okay, right? A member of the Dupree crime family dies, and no one in a uniform is going to mourn.” She started walking again, the limp more pronounced.

“You’re not going to get very far with an injured leg.”

“Ankle,” she responded. “And I’ll get wherever I want to go. Just let me, okay? Tell your boss and your team and the prosecuting attorney that I refused your help.”

“I can’t.” That was the truth. He’d sworn to uphold the law. Just like his father and grandfather and great-grandfather, he’d always known he was going to be a cop. He’d worked the beat in Chicago, just like three generations of Slades had. And then he’d reached further, applying to the FBI, passing the physicals, the tests, the interviews.

His father would have been proud of him.

If he’d lived long enough to see it.

“Why? Because I signed some papers that said I agreed to witness protection?” Esme asked.

“Because you’re more vulnerable than you want to think you are,” he told her. “Because you’re injured and you need to see a doctor. Because your backpack is in my vehicle, and without it, you’ve got nothing.”

She hesitated, her gaze darting to the Suburban.

“It would be a lot easier for you to get where you’re going with that pack, right?” he continued, certain he’d finally found the key to getting her to cooperate.

“Right,” she agreed. “So how about you give it to me, and we can both be on our way?”

“How about I get you checked out at the hospital, and then I give it to you?”

“Are you bribing me to get me to cooperate?” she demanded.

“Yes,” he responded, turning back to the SUV, and to his surprise, she followed. He helped her into the passenger seat and closed the door.

She was probably hoping to grab the pack and run, but he’d tucked it in next to King’s crate. She’d have to reach over the backseat to do it.

That would take time, and he didn’t plan to give her that.

He jogged around to the driver’s side and climbed in. She was already on her knees, reaching into the back.

“Don’t,” he said, locking the doors and putting the vehicle into Drive.

“What?”

“Keep trying to run. It almost got you killed twice. The third time, you might not survive.”

Pursing her lips, she settled into the seat, yanked her seat belt across her lap and didn’t say another word. Her silence shouldn’t have bothered him. As a matter of fact, he should have preferred it over conversation. She was an assignment, a job he’d been asked to take and that he’d accepted. No matter how much he hadn’t wanted to.

He’d been after the Duprees since his parents’ murders.

He and his team were this close to shutting them down.

Esme was a means to an end, but she was also a human being. One who’d been through a lot. One who deserved as much peace and security as he could offer her.

She shivered, pulling her hands up into the cuffs of her jacket. It had been hot the past few days, but she’d dressed to keep the bugs away—long pants, jacket, boots.

“Cold?” he asked, and she shook her head.

He turned on the heat anyway, blasting it into the already warm vehicle, wishing he could do more for her. Wanting to break the silence and tell her everything was going to be okay.

She wouldn’t believe him if he did, so he stayed silent.

He wanted to think Esme had resigned herself to staying in protective custody. However, based on the fact that she’d spent the past few months on the run, he couldn’t.

He dialed his boss, waiting impatiently for Max West to pick up. They’d spoken a few weeks ago, and Max had made it clear that he trusted Ian to do the job he’d been assigned.

Ian hadn’t been pleased with the conversation. His past was his business, and he liked to keep it that way. The fact that Max knew about his parents’ murders didn’t surprise him. The fact that he’d brought it up had. The fact that he’d flat-out told Ian that he needed to focus on justice and forget about revenge?

That still stung.

Sure, Ian wanted to put an end to the crime family.

Sure, he wanted to avenge his parents’ murders.

Justice always came first, though. That was the goal. The joy of seeing his parents’ murderer sent to jail forever would simply be the bonus shot.

“West here.” The team captain’s voice cut through the silence. “You have her?”

“Word travels fast,” Ian mused, his attention on the dark road that stretched out in front of him.

“It does when it involves one of the Duprees.”

Esme tensed.

“You’re on speakerphone, and she’s in the vehicle,” Ian cautioned.

“How are you doing, Ms. Dupree?” Max asked.

“I’d be better if your organization would leave me alone.”

“I’m sure you know that’s not possible until after the trial.”

“You’re assuming I’ll make it to trial, but at the rate things are going, that doesn’t seem likely.”

“There’s nothing to worry about. We’ve got things under control.”

She laughed, the sound harsh and tight. “Like you did a few months ago when I agreed to enter the program?”

“Ms. Dupree—”

“How about we hash this out once I have her in a safe location?” Ian cut in.

“You’re going to try to bring her to headquarters, right?” Max asked. “She’ll be safer here than anywhere else.”

“You think that’s wise? Jake knows the setup there. He knows the security strengths and weaknesses.” Jake Morrow had disappeared months ago. At first the team had assumed he’d been killed or abducted by the Duprees. The truth was a lot harder to swallow. He’d gone rogue and was feeding information to the crime family.





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