Marshal on a Mission

by Ryshia Kennie

  Chickens.

  Damn it to hell, Trent. You’re thinking of chickens when... It was that or succumb.

  Succumb to what, what the hell was he doing? He was a train wreck.

  She was on tiptoe again. Her body touching his was like an erotic caress. Her fingers followed her body and there was no stepping away from this.

  “Tara...” Still he tried to stop it, tried to be in charge of his desire, his body—something. He really did. He knew what needed to be done. He even told himself that he wanted to take a step back.

  Her tongue caressed his bottom lip, her hands behind his head, pulling him down toward the bed. The soft heat of her was too tempting and he struggled with his desire. It had been too long. His memories of her too rich and the reality so much better than the fantasies. Still he resisted that last fall to the bed.

  “Make love to me, Trent.”

  At the words, his throat felt as tight as other parts of his anatomy. Yet some small part of him didn’t want this to happen now, not like this. That he would finally make love to her here in a faded hotel room, in a country that wasn’t their home, didn’t seem right.

  “Tara...” It seemed that was all he was capable of doing, repeating her name. He wanted her like he’d never wanted a woman in his life. He wanted her but, more important, he needed her. And he didn’t know where they stood on either of those things. It didn’t matter, for he was floundering in the heat of passion.

  “Remember when we were kids? Remember the first time we made out?” She chuckled. There was little mirth but something was almost hot in the way her eyes met his.

  He cupped her face in his hands. “I wanted our first time to be special.”

  “It was,” she said as her hands slid under his T-shirt. “This is now.”

  That wasn’t true, not really. Back then, they’d only gone partway. But memories of the past vanished as her fingers danced across his skin and her mouth followed her hands.

  “Tara...”

  She looked at him with a smile that was all woman. She knew what she was about. And she was going to get what she wanted. What they both wanted.

  This was outrageous, he had to take charge. And as he thought that, the zipper of his jeans was down. His jeans slipped over his hips and her hands went to new places, places where she led the show and he could never turn back.

  Her hands were hot. They burned his skin with a heat that he craved. He had to at least slow her if he couldn’t stop her. Neither of them had the willpower for that. But if they didn’t slow down, he’d lose it right now. It would be a quick end to a passionate beginning.

  This was the moment he’d dreamed of all those years ago. He wasn’t going to lose it in a passionate moment that shot off like fireworks at the Fourth of July in a show that lasted under a minute. No, he’d give her better than that.

  He kissed her. Her lips were hot on his. Her body pressed against his like it was made for him. He knew if they did this, if he made love to her, that he couldn’t walk away. For the first time in his life, he could say out loud that he loved her. Except out loud was a commitment. Sex wasn’t. At least it never had been. He wasn’t ready... But with this woman everything was different. Sex was only about pleasure until now. Now sex was a commitment, a promise, and for him the deal was sealed.

  “Trent?”

  There was no denying what they both wanted. He let her lead, let her take them down to the bed. She was half in his lap, half off. He shifted her, moving her a little farther away so that he could more easily slip his hands under her T-shirt. His fingers caressed her smooth skin, skimming it in a teasing manner as he slipped the shirt over her head. Her bra followed.

  His hands and lips were soon offering sensations of their own. The sounds of pleasure she made in the back of her throat, the way she arched toward him as if asking for more, only turned him on more. His lips and his tongue gave her what she wanted as he slipped her jeans and panties off. Soon, the rest of his clothes followed.

  Her hand brushed his jaw. Her breasts were soft and yet firm against his chest and her touch along his upper arm was erotic. He couldn’t have stopped his reaction if he wanted to. He wanted her. When she arched her body into his, it was a promise that lay like a gift between them. She was hot in his arms.

  It was no longer she that needed saving, but him.

  Her hands were on his shoulders, and she was drawing herself as close and tight as she could. Her breath was sweet, the heat of her lips molten against his neck.

  “Trent.” She seemed to breathe his name.

  She was unstoppable. Passion held him captive. Her hands on his skin were a caress that was red-hot with promise. There was magic in her touch.

  She was on top of him. In a way, he liked following her lead. There was something erotic about it. He ran a finger along the satin heat of her skin. He dipped his hand down to her trim waist and past, feeling her wet and ready.

  “Tara.”

  “Now,” she commanded. “It’s been long enough.”

  It was her hand that finally guided him. She who finally ended the erotic torment and gave them both what they craved. They sailed to the heavens and back. And they did it again, as if once would never be enough.

  Later, they lay spooned together. Hunger was what finally separated them. They got up, dressed and went out into the hallway to forage from the vending machines. Then they sat with bags of chips and chocolates around them, laughing like kids as they shared the various packages. They made love again, and it was only sometime after midnight that they got any sleep at all.

  At least, she slept. He lay there looking at her and thinking that this was a night that he’d never forget. This was the woman he’d always loved, and this time he wasn’t going to let her go.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Early the next morning found Trent and Tara walking to a café for an early breakfast. They’d had little sleep. She’d been awake at daybreak and he’d barely slept all night. Holding her in his arms had been so new and he hadn’t wanted to miss a moment. He’d held her as she’d dreamed through the night and kissed her when she’d awoken numerous times. It was in those times when her caresses had teased him that they’d made love twice more. The dawn had come too early. But every moment that he hadn’t slept had been worth it. They’d lain there for a long time, quiet, just enjoying each other. And finally, shortly before seven, they’d gotten up and showered.

  “Aching for that first cup of coffee?” he asked.

  She looked up at him with a smile. “Amazingly, no. I’m more hungry than anything.”

  “Really? I’m not sure if I believe that,” he teased. That was something he’d learned about Tara. She wasn’t shy about food or her appetite. That was different from the girl he had known and something he’d quickly learned about the woman she’d become.

  “Believe it,” she said and smiled at him. Her stomach grumbled. “See? All that junk food only kind of took the edge off.”

  He smiled at her and took her hand.

  “I can’t believe how quiet it is,” she said. “I know now that if you want a seat in a restaurant, seven in the morning will do it. Provided they’re open,” she said with a grin. “Everyone must be still getting their beauty rest.”

  He squeezed her hand, leaned over and gave her a kiss.

  “Look at this, Trent,” Tara said as she leaned away from him to look at a shop window.

  It was the last moment of peace before chaos erupted.

  It was barely a crack of air, there and then gone. But the shot that was fired at them sent him spinning around as the bullet lodged in his right arm. The force of it drove him against Tara, and he wrapped his left arm around her, taking her to the cement sidewalk. He took the brunt of the fall with a grunt.

  “Trent!” she screamed. She rolled off him instantly, as if realizing that he’d been hit.


  He stood up immediately. He knew there was no time to determine injuries. His right arm burned with a heat that he’d only felt once before. That time, it had been a knife that had slashed across his back. But this time, the pain wasn’t that bad. Not yet. He couldn’t think about that, about pain. He only knew they had to get the hell out of here.

  “There.” He pointed to a space between buildings. “Go now,” he demanded. He could smell blood. His blood.

  “Trent!” There were tears and panic in her voice.

  “Damn it, Tara. Take cover.” He gave her a little push. “Go!”

  She looked with shock at the blood that ran between his fingers. And then she turned with a nod and ran between the two buildings. He blew out a sigh of relief, even as pain hit and rocketed through him.

  He turned and scanned the street for their attacker, but there was no one. It was like the shooter had disappeared or never been there at all. The silence was almost unnerving.

  “Son of a...” He bit off the expletive. He vowed that the scuzball wasn’t going to get away with this.

  He glanced back. Tara was just behind him, still between the buildings. Her head was peeking around the corner, watching. The look on her face said that she was poised to help.

  He waved at her to stay.

  She nodded.

  He made his way up the street, keeping close to the buildings. He paused twice, clenching his teeth against the pain. But there was no sign of the gunman. A minute passed, then two. Then he saw him. The back of a thin, dark-haired man running, heading for a parking lot, a gun in his hand.

  “Damn it!”

  He was getting away.

  Trent ran after him, keeping to the inside of the sidewalk, as if keeping close to the buildings would keep him hidden from view. The man turned around, saw him and shot. This time he missed. But Trent dropped to the ground, giving the illusion of being hit. The sudden movement almost killed him, the pain sharp and brutally intense as it ripped down his arm.

  The man turned and walked away at a fast clip, as if he thought Trent was no longer a threat.

  Trent followed. He was at the corner of the last building on the block and across from him was the parking lot. The shooter was only twenty-five feet away. The piece of slime thought Trent was down and he’d turned away, intent on his own escape.

  Trent gritted his teeth, got to his feet and powered into a run, pushing himself to hit top speed. The man turned but already it was too late.

  Trent tackled him one-armed, throwing him face-first to the pavement. The gun flew out of the man’s hands and clattered across the parking lot.

  He couldn’t hold him. His left arm wasn’t enough. And his right arm had pain knifing through him like someone had taken a lighter and set it on fire.

  The man yanked himself from his hold. He leaped up and ran, heading across the parking lot.

  A shot rang out from behind and the man stumbled and fell.

  “What the...” Trent rose up in a sitting position using his good arm and turned to see what had happened.

  Tara was standing there holding a gun.

  “Where did you get that?” he asked as he stood up.

  “You mean thank you for saving your life?” she asked. But her hand shook even as she said the words.

  “Where did you get that?” he repeated. All his yearnings to have a weapon in his hand, to be able to carry again ran through the question. And there she was with a gun, calmly standing there as if she did this every day. The irony didn’t escape him.

  “It’s his,” she said. “When you tackled him, the Ruger went flying.”

  He noticed she called the gun by its make. And remembered her grandfather’s formidable collection.

  “I never liked guns,” she said. “Now I’m grateful I have one in my hand.”

  “You and me both,” he said. Movement caught his eye. A police car. It was a block away and had just turned onto a street that intersected the parking lot and then turned again, away from them. For now.

  A new urgency ran through him. She couldn’t be seen with a weapon. As a foreigner, a gun in her possession would have her thrown in jail indefinitely.

  “Give it to me,” he said.

  She handed it over. “Gladly.” Her hand shook. He guessed it was a result of the aftermath. Her shot had been too accurate for anything but a steady hand.

  He wiped the gun with his T-shirt and then quickly pitched it into a garbage bin on the street. He reached in and yanked out newspapers, burying the weapon.

  “Thank you,” he said to her, taking her hand with his left. “But don’t ever do that again.”

  “I hope I never have to,” she said with a tremble in her voice. “But I won’t ever be afraid to pick one up in a pinch. That was both frightening and exhilarating.”

  The police car had returned and was moving slowly down the street as if they suspected something.

  “Let’s go,” he said with an attempt at a smile. “And get out of here.” He glanced over at where the police had stopped. He let go of her hand and pushed her forward with one hand. They needed to move quickly but not quickly enough to garner attention.

  He glanced behind them and saw the shooter struggling to run the last few feet that would have gotten him out of the parking lot. But Tara had wounded him. He heard the shout of an order from the police. Then a shot rang out and the man fell again.

  They needed to get out of here before the police realized their involvement in the situation.

  “Oh my.” Tara clenched her fists. Her fingers were shaking.

  “Thank you,” he whispered against her hair.

  She looked up at him and he saw in her eyes all that he had loved and all that he had missed. The kiss he gave her was hot with the promise of passion. If he could, he’d claim her here and now. He’d almost died but she’d saved his life. She was sensitive, outrageous and brave, and despite the clawing pain in his arm, he wanted her like he’d never wanted her before.

  “Trent.” Her eyes shimmered. “He might be dead.”

  “C’mon.” He turned his mind to the immediate—keeping her safe. “We’ve been compromised.”

  Despite her tears, she didn’t hesitate, didn’t flinch, just followed, and more important, she didn’t ask questions.

  They were two blocks away when she stopped him.

  “Trent, you’re hurt. Let me take care of it,” Tara said. “I’ve had some experience, two levels of first aid anyway.” They stopped at a little farmacia on the same block as the hotel. He waited outside and she went in. She was out in less than five minutes with gauze, ointment and antiseptic.

  Back in their room, she laid out her supplies. “Take off your shirt,” she ordered. “You were lucky, Trent.” She cleaned the area around his upper arm and applied ointment.

  He tried not to flinch as the pain rocketed down his arm and through his shoulder.

  “This is my fault,” she said and there was a tremor in her voice.

  “No, Tara.”

  “You could have been killed,” she said in a shaky voice. “You’re lucky it only grazed your arm.” She wrapped the wound with gauze. “You should really see a doctor, make sure—”

  “No!”

  She stopped, the gauze in hand.

  “I’m sorry. I mean, no, we have to get moving. I don’t think it will be a problem, you did a fine job.”

  “I know,” she said. “I know. We need to get out of here. I don’t know what I was thinking.” She looked at him with concern and fear in her eyes. “What do we do next?”

  He took the disposable phone out of his pocket. He’d kept it overnight and already that had proved to be a mistake. But as long as he had it, he might as well make the defining call.

  “I was waiting for your call,” Jackson said. “We had a break in the case. There’s be
en a string of armed robberies since the incident in Pueblo. It’s like they’re on steroids. The last one was here in Denver. One of the thieves is dead, along with a teller. But the good news is that we’ve finally got solid evidence linking Lucas Cruz to the bank robberies. We’ve also confirmed that the cartel his brother, Yago, belongs to has been recently active in Jalisco State. Yago Cruz is not a man you want to meet in a dark alley. His cartel is responsible for numerous murders.”

  “This only gets worse,” Trent said. For Jalisco State was the one they’d just fled.

  “I’m only speculating. But my thinking is that not only did Cruz hire his brother to take the witness out, Yago asked for more money. To get it, Cruz had to plan more robberies. There’s been one a day over the last week in the Denver area. Sorry I don’t have better news but at least now you know what you’re up against. No more guesswork. The good news is that you’ll be out of there soon.”

  “Can’t be soon enough,” Trent said. “I was just shot.”

  Jackson muttered an expletive and added a darker curse as if it was an afterthought. “Yago’s cartel has found you, but how? You haven’t touched base with Carlos since you left Guadalajara?”

  “No. Only you and Enrique.”

  There was silence at the other end. “Crap. We can’t take any chances. Enrique was the only one you spoke to other than me. That’s too coincidental. I don’t want to point fingers but how else were you found?”

  “You’re suggesting—”

  Jackson cut him off. “You need to cash out now and hit the road. Forget Enrique’s plan to fly from there. It may be compromised. We’ll fly you out from there straight up to El Paso.”

  Trent waited. He knew Enrique was now a suspect and out of the loop. He knew, too, that Jackson was thinking on the fly as his position often forced him to do. “I don’t like where this is going. Just to be safe, we move to plan B. I’ll get the details together and be in touch. It’ll be a bit of a hop-skip at that distance. The guy I have in mind flies a helicopter and he’ll have to refuel to get you to the border. But he should be available immediately and time is critical. From El Paso, we’ll get you to Denver. Can you hold your position?”