U.S. Marshals: Hunted (U.S. Marshals Book 1)

by Laura Marie Altom

  “Stop crying,” he said. “This isn’t what you think. He’s the bad guy. Got anywhere I could lock him up while you call the police?”

  Hand trembling, she pointed toward a walk-in cooler. On the outside of a huge stainless steel door hung an open padlock. Perfect.

  Teeth gritted, Joe dragged Kavorski inside.

  The space was cold, but not a true “nut shrinker.” Should suit Kavorski just fine. Joe didn’t bother turning on the overhead light. Just shut the door, then rammed home the lock.

  Leaning against cool metal, hands braced on his knees, he felt relief shimmer through him. Hot and cold all at once, Exhilarated, yet like he might throw up.

  “P-please don’t kill me,” the woman with the mop said again.

  “You call the cops yet?”

  She shook her head.

  “You might want to. When this guy wakes, he’s not going to be happy.”

  “W-what s-should I say?”

  “Got a pen and paper?”

  * * *

  Gillian’s flight to L.A. left in an hour, time she was passing reading the newspaper while downing a tasteless rubber cheeseburger she’d bought at an airport restaurant.

  She squeezed more ketchup on it, trying to taste something, feel something—even if it was revulsion.

  Ever since saying goodbye to Joe, since beginning the first minutes of her life without him, she’d felt numb.

  Maybe she should’ve at least stayed with her job until Joe was safely back in L.A.? The odds were slim, but what if Kavorski was dirty, too? Who had been that other guy with Wesson? It hadn’t been Finch. From a distance, she’d heard the guy talk, but his voice hadn’t seemed familiar. She’d been on the radio with Kavorski all week. Surely she’d have recognized his tone if that had indeed been him? Or had the usually static-filled radio distorted his voice to an unrecognizable degree?

  Even if she had broken her code of honor, she should’ve insisted on staying with Joe. She could’ve protected him with an even higher code—a code of love.

  She nearly choked on her latest bite.

  This was stupid. The what-ifs. The worrying. It wouldn’t help anything. Even if Joe was in trouble, she was hardly the one he’d want to turn to for—

  Her cell rang.

  Her heart lurched.

  Joe? In her dreams. He didn’t even have the number.

  “Hello?”

  “Gillian?” Her boss. Will Benton. “We’ve got trouble.”

  * * *

  Where could he be?

  Gillian had been driving the I-5 for hours, careening in a rental car up and down the interstate where Joe and Kavorski had last been seen.

  She’d returned to Bayside, spoken to Carl and his wife. Neither of them had seen Joe. From the worry on their faces, she never once thought they were lying.

  Would he have rented a boat to get back out to the island? But why? It wasn’t as if he had a cabin to return to.

  Carl’s wife had insisted Gillian looked tired, then plied her with coffee and lemon Bundt cake. Bud had licked her to within an inch of her life.

  It’d felt good knowing at least one of the Morgan men missed her.

  She called her boss again, but he still had no news other than that Kavorski had been taken into police custody pending further investigation into what’d gone down on the island.

  One point Gillian had been relieved about—Kavorski had lied about ballistics proving her gun had shot Wesson. Actually, it’d been his. Brimmer and Finch were still officially missing, though Gillian feared the worst for the two young men.

  Poor Rachel, Finch’s new bride. She must be crazed with worry.

  Tsun-Chung’s trial was due to start in the morning. Without their star witness, the prosecution was pushing for a continuance. The defense was pushing for full speed ahead. Or better yet, a dismissal.

  Back in her car, driving aimlessly up the coast, Gillian pulled into the lot of an abandoned warehouse, turned off her car, then thumped her forehead against the wheel.

  Could she have possibly messed this up any worse?

  At least Joe was alive, but what if the bad guys found him again? What if he went and did something crazy, like instead of driving to the nearest police station and turning himself in, he pulled another disappearing act? She’d be solely to blame. For coming on to him. For being just like her brothers and father had said—not strong enough, not capable enough to do her job.

  If Joe vanished again, not only would the drug lord go free, but what about Meggie? She’d never again know what it was like having a dad.

  Tears started and they didn’t show signs of letting up.

  Gillian cried for the little girl she’d never even met. For the man she hadn’t even begun to know as well as she’d like.

  What should she do? There had to be something she hadn’t thought of. Something she wouldn’t ordinarily do.

  There were lots of things.

  Playing in traffic. Chewing with her mouth open. Talking to strangers. Shoot, for the most part, she was a pretty safe girl. Not that her brothers and father ever thought so. They’d just as soon lock her in an injury-proof dollhouse, where she’d never again do anything by herself.

  By herself…

  That was it! The one thing she’d never do was ask for help, but in this case, she’d run out of options. As much as it would personally destroy her, when it came to finding Joe, she’d do anything—even if that meant going back to her childhood home to admit the one thing she’d never thought she would. As her dad and brothers had always said, she didn’t have what it took to be a U.S. Marshal.

  * * *

  “That’s my girl,” Vince Logue said, shaking his head and smiling. “I always knew she’d make me proud.”

  “Refill?” Adam Logue, Gillian’s youngest brother held a coffeepot over Joe’s mug.

  “No, thanks,” Joe said. “I’m about to float away as it is.” He’d been in the Logues’ kitchen for over two hours, having driven straight there after knocking out Kavorski. He might be a lot of things—stubborn, pig-headed and proud—but he wasn’t stupid. He knew when he was in over his head.

  Minutes after leaving the convenience store, he’d formed a mental short list of the people in his life he could trust. Gillian topped the list, followed by the men who’d raised her in the small town of Desolation Point. Sure, she’d gone on about how she’d lived her whole life trying to get away from them, but Joe saw her situation from a different perspective. He saw her for the smart, funny, accomplished miracle she was. He could only hope one day she’d see herself the same way he did.

  “Pops,” Gillian’s oldest brother, Caleb, said. “Want me and Beau to go out looking for her?”

  Vince finished off his latest coffee, took a long look at Joe, then shook his head. “She’ll show.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Have you ever known your stubborn-streaked sister to quit a job midway through?”

  * * *

  Exhausted, and terrified for Joe’s safety, Gillian reached her family home just before dark. The two-story, ragtag house was nestled at the base of a fern-choked ravine, the walls of which were covered in fir with trunks as big around as her dad’s recliner. At the other end of the ravine raged the Pacific, cranky after the day’s storms.

  As a kid, she’d alternated between finding the place haunted and enchanting. Town was only a couple of miles away, yet out here, it felt as if civilization didn’t exist.

  Oddly enough, as much as she’d been dreading this moment, now that she’d finally accepted defeat, she looked forward to a few big hugs. To having someone else do the thinking, leaving her free to carry on with worrying.

  The metallic slam of her car door echoed through the trees.

  She took a deep breath. Told herself everything would be okay. The men in her family would find Joe. Once the trial was over, she’d pour out her heart to him. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. She owed it to herself to at least tell him how she felt.
If he decided he still wasn’t ready to pursue another relationship, that was fine. Either she’d wait or move on. At least she’d have tried.

  The front porch door screeched open, and a lanky guy in need of a haircut stepped out. “You look like hell.”

  “Thanks,” she said to Adam. “Good seeing you, too.”

  Handsome and self-assured as always—not to mention tall—he loped off the porch, then grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off her feet for the first of those hugs she’d been craving. “Pops said you’d come.”

  “He did?” Great. Was she that predictable?

  “Let me get that,” he said after setting her down, grabbing her briefcase and overnight bag. The rest of her belongings were back on the island. Presumably gone up in smoke.

  As she trailed after Adam onto the porch, twenty years slipped away and she was once again a little girl, frowning because her brother didn’t think she could carry her own science fair project home from school.

  “Coming, squirt?” Holding the door open for her, he grinned.

  In no mood for goofing around, she didn’t.

  “Yo, Pops! You’ll never guess who I just found out in the front yard.”

  From the kitchen came a series of scrapes and metallic groans, indicative of the remaining men in her family getting up from the table.

  “Hey, squirt,” Beau said, ambling toward her with a welcoming smile. He snatched her into another off-her-feet hug. Then came her big brother, Caleb.

  “Long time no see,” he said with a faint smile. “You sure seemed in a hurry to get out of the office this morning.”

  She shrugged. “I had things to do. Hey, Dad.” Fighting more tears, she stepped into her father’s strong arms.

  “Hey, princess. Sorry about your lousy day.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Funny though, how things have a way of working out.”

  “Not in this case,” she said, voice muffled against his chest. His red flannel shirt smelled of baked chicken. Her stomach growled.

  “Sure about that?”

  That dear voice…Joe?

  Peeking out from around her father’s right arm, Gillian squealed. By the time she got to the kitchen threshold, she was already in his arms, and he was lifting her. Only unlike her brothers, he urged her legs fully around his waist. She’d already flung her arms around his neck. Would she ever stop crying? “Joe, oh my God, Joe.” She kissed his cheeks and chin and forehead and eyebrows and finally, his lips. Strong, beautiful, delicious lips. “What are you doing here? Never mind, I don’t care why you’re here, just that you are. I love you, I love you, I—”

  “Ditto,” he said, kissing her back and then some.

  She moaned.

  Behind them, her father cleared his throat. “Let’s keep it clean, folks.”

  Reddening, she lowered her legs and Joe eased her down. But she still kept hold of his hand.

  In the living room, Joe relayed the events of his day, finishing with the fact that he was flying out first thing in the morning to attend Tsun-Chung’s trial.

  “Vince,” he said, “if it hadn’t been for your daughter warning me to be careful who I trust, I’d probably be dead. This is one amazing woman you’ve raised.”

  “Tell me about it,” Gillian’s dad said, the smile on his face brighter than any she’d ever seen.

  Joe went on and on, telling her father and brothers how they’d escaped from the island, and how she’d devised the plan to blow up the diesel generator as a diversion.

  “Stop,” she finally said. “I’m not the hero he makes me out to be. Bottom line, Dad, I failed you. Just like you always said, I’d be better off staying at home and raising a family.”

  “What?” Her father scrunched his eyebrows. “When did I ever say that?”

  “I don’t know. You just did. Lots of times.”

  “Boys? You ever recall me once saying that? Your mother would jump up from her grave to beat me over the head. In fact, on her deathbed, she made me promise to always support you in whatever you wanted to do.”

  “Yeah, but what about all those times you said I’d make a good mom?”

  “You would. Lord knows you took care of all of us. But where did you ever get the fool idea that just because you’d make a good mom, that’s the only thing I thought you’d be good at? You were a whiz at math and science. English, too. Fact is, I knew from the start you could do just about anything you set your mind to. If I—shoot, all of us—watched over you a bit too close, sorry. But after saying goodbye to your mom, I don’t think a one of us could’ve lived through losing you, too.”

  Cradling her forehead in her hands, Gillian felt as if her whole adult life had been a joke. What was her father saying? That everything she’d ever believed about him had been wrong?

  Joe settled his arm about her shoulders. “You guys mind if I steal a little alone time with your girl?”

  “I don’t know, Pops.” Caleb grinned. “Think we can trust him?”

  * * *

  “I still can’t believe you’re here,” Gillian said, nestled onto her canopy bed beside Joe. The room was exactly as she’d left it on her eighteenth birthday—pink, pink and more pink. Posters. High school snapshots of her and a few girlfriends she’d lost contact with hamming it up at football games. It even smelled the same—like her old perfume she used to feel so fancy wearing that she’d bought with her allowance at Abercrombie.

  “It does feel weird, doesn’t it?” Joe stated. “I keep thinking your dad’s going to charge up here demanding we open the door.”

  “Shh,” she said with a grin. “Don’t put ideas in his head. Believe me, you’re the first guy who ever made it past the stairs, let alone to my bedroom.”

  “I feel honored.”

  She felt utterly content, sinking farther into his arms. After an eternity of more kisses, she said, “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but before tomorrow, there are a couple things I have to know.”

  Rolling away from her, he came close to falling off the narrow bed, but with a few more kisses and a whole lot of laughing, Gillian managed to wrangle him back to safety. “I’ve heard of guys getting cold feet at the serious questions,” she teased, “but that was ridiculous.”

  His expression clouded. “That what this is, Gil? Our ‘serious’ talk? The one where you tell me it’s been fun, but…”

  “No. Oh, a thousand times no.” She flattened her palm against his chest, where his heart beat strong and steady—both qualities that at the moment she feared she lacked. “I—I just want to know,” she said softly, not meeting his gaze, trying her damnedest not to cry. “Why you told my dad and brother all those lies.”

  “Excuse me?” All kidding aside, he sat up straight in the bed, leaning against the headboard.

  “You know, about me saving you, when the whole time we’ve been together, you’ve been either saving yourself or the both of us?”

  “That really how you see it?” he asked, cradling her cheek, brushing it with the pad of his thumb.

  She nodded.

  “Wow…” He shook his head. “I always suspected you were a little off, but…”

  When he broke into a slow, sexy smile, she gave him a swat. “Joe, please. I’m serious.”

  “You think I’m not?” After pulling her onto his lap, he said, “You don’t get it, do you? Far more important than saving me from a few gun-toting thugs, Gillian, you saved me from living out the rest of my life alone. Mired in grief and guilt and regret.” With his hand at the back of her head, he kissed her softly. “I love you. And that doesn’t mean I love the memory of Willow any less, it just means I’ve opened my heart to love even more.”

  Though her own heart still trilled from the notion that this amazing man actually seemed to care for her as much as she did him, she couldn’t help but ask, “How can you love me when I’ve been such a failure at my career?”

  “Whoa,” he said. “If we’re going to get married—which we are—you’v
e gotta start cutting yourself some slack. The only person in this house who sees you as a failure is you. The whole time I was sitting here, waiting for you, I got this parade of Gillian Logue show and tell. Soccer trophies, ballet pictures, science fair medals, college diploma, medals of achievement.” He rolled his eyes. “I mean, after about an hour, I was glazing over from your glory, but they kept on and on. I’m telling you, they were relentless. If you hadn’t shown up, saving me yet again, I might’ve croaked from boredom.”

  “Do me a favor,” she said, laughing through happy tears.

  “What’s that?”

  “Shut up and kiss me.”

  “Is that a yes to my proposal?”

  “What proposal?”

  “Weren’t you listening? I said you’re going to marry me.”

  Eyebrows raised, she said, “That was a proposal? Sounded more like a command.”

  Looking around, Joe eyed a few hair bows tacked to a nearby bulletin board. He yanked down a big red one. “Okay, woman, prepared to be dazzled.”

  She raised that stubborn chin of hers. Stuck out her left hand. “I’m waiting.”

  Fumbling with doubling over the black elastic part that was supposed to stick in her hair, he said, “Gee, thanks for the help.”

  “You’re welcome.” She winked.

  Taking her hand in his, he made a mess of trying to slide the grosgrain bow onto her ring finger. “I can’t believe you actually wore this monstrosity in public.”

  “Hey, it was the style—in third grade.”

  “Still…”

  “Are you going to propose?”

  “Well, I was thinking of asking that bathing suit model poster down the hall in Adam’s old room, but I guess you’ll do.”

  That earned him a slug.

  But then he turned serious, kissing her big red bow and the slim finger beneath it. “When we get to L.A., I’m going to buy you a rock so big you can hardly lift it, but in the meantime…Gillian Logue, will you—”