Saving Joe (U.S. Marshals, Born And Bred Book 1)

by Laura Marie Altom

  “Hello? Earth to Joe.” She waved her slender, bloodstained hand in front of his face. “Just because we’ve got the dog doesn’t mean we’re out of trouble. Have you seen the rising tide?”

  He glanced over his shoulder.

  Dark, churning sea choked the cave’s mouth. There was no telling if the inky black was inches or feet deep. With the strong currents and frigid water temperature, it’d be crazy to attempt to make it out that night.

  “Come on,” he said, gently scooping Bud from Gillian’s cradled arms. Gillian. At the very least, he owed her the simple courtesy of calling her by name.

  In the flashlight’s dimming glow, fear came alive in her eyes. “We’re not going to swim through that, are we?”

  “No,” he said, already on the move. Leading more by memory than actual sight, he stepped onto the nearest boulder, praying he wouldn’t slip on the slick seaweed. He landed with a jolt, and the dog in his arms whimpered. “Sorry, boy. We’ll be there soon.”

  “Be where?” she inquired from behind him, shining the light over his shoulder.

  He shouted above the crack of waves against rock. “We’re going back to where you found Bud. You can push Bud through the hole he fell through, then climb up yourself.” He paused to gauge her reaction to his plan, but she’d stopped.

  “What about you?” she asked.

  “What about me?”

  “You’ll never fit through that hole. How are you getting out?”

  “I’m not.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Joe…” She held out her hands, a feeble attempt to show him the danger of their surroundings. Her one word said it all.

  To stay in the cave would be deadly.

  He knew it.

  She knew it.

  “Go on,” he said. “I know what I’m doing. I’ll be all right.”

  “The hell you will.”

  A cold wave slapped Joe’s right foot and the numbing water seeped through his boot, wetting his thick wool sock, slithering like an icy vine around his ankle.

  “Gillian,” Joe said. “You saved my dog and I’m grateful, but if you don’t get the both of you out of here soon, you’ll be trapped. By getting myself mixed up in that whole drug case thing, I’ve already taken more lives than I care to admit, and I damn sure won’t be held accountable for yours now, as well.”

  “Your testimony saved lives. Hundreds. Maybe thousands.” Dammit if she didn’t raise her chin. “I won’t leave you.”

  He looked away from her determined stare. Sighed.

  “Up there,” she said, in a voice tinged with panic and cold, waving the ever-weakening flashlight toward the rear of the cave. “That looks like a waterline against the rock. I don’t think the waves break beyond that point.”

  Bud whimpered.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” Joe said. “If you take the dog back to the cabin and get him all bandaged and warmed by the fire, then I promise to spend the night in that hole.”

  She narrowed her eyes.

  “You don’t believe me? Geez, lady, what gives you the impression I’d want to end it all in a crappy place like this?”

  “The truth?” she said, water now swirling about her knees.

  “Is there anything else?”

  She aimed the light directly into his eyes. “Back there, just a minute ago, when you first told me to leave you here, you were smiling. Sure, it was a faint smile, but a smile nonetheless.” She made a leap of faith, jumping across a swirling froth of water and onto the same rock he shared with the dog. “Just a minute ago, Joe Morgan, you offered to save my life. All I’m trying to do is return the favor.”

  He laughed. “You ever think to ask why I was smiling, instead of jumping to your own wrong conclusions?”

  “Okay,” she asked. “Why?”

  “Because just like I already told you, I feel directly responsible for my wife’s death, and though I couldn’t save her, I will, by God, save you.”

  “But I’m already saving you.”

  Bud whined.

  “Great,” Joe said, taking the lead. “Now that we’ve got that sorted out, how about we launch a joint mission in saving each other?”

  Chapter Four

  Gillian’s only reply was a grunt as she steadied herself against Joe’s right shoulder before stepping past him and onto the next rock.

  “Hurry,” she said a few seconds later, already a good ten feet deeper into the cave.

  Shooting her an actual grin, he shook his head. “I’d forgotten how bossy women can be.”

  “I’m not bossy, just right. This is no time to dillydally.”

  “Do I seriously look like the type to dilly or dally?”

  “Why, Mr. Morgan,” she teased. “Was that a joke?”

  Passing her, he scowled, then pointed to a deep, high crevice. “Shine the light over there.”

  She did.

  “Think we’ll all fit?”

  “Sure.”

  A few minutes later, Gillian landed with a thunk on soft sand. The rock walls surrounding her felt cool and dry. A good sign, she figured, in light of the fact that everything else she’d touched that night had been slimy.

  Joe knelt to settle the dog beside her, then he, too, found a seat in the sand before shutting off the flashlight.

  Never having been a big fan of the dark, Gillian knew this tight, dank space should’ve thoroughly creeped her out. But somehow, with Joe and Bud beside her, it didn’t seem all that bad. More like an adventure than real danger.

  And while, before she had felt like a big screwup on her first time in the field, down in this cave Joe had probably never been safer from the bad guys!

  She shivered.

  “Cold?” he asked.

  “A little.” But she suspected her tremors had more to do with the fact that she’d come uncomfortably close to blowing her first assignment than anything to do with the cave’s chill. With any luck, her fellow marshals would be so busy playing cards, they wouldn’t notice she hadn’t called in.

  Joe said, “Bud’s probably all right if you want to take my coat from him.”

  “Nah. He needs it more than me. Besides, we’re squeezed in here so tight, it’d be more trouble than it’s worth just trying to get it on.”

  She thought she might’ve felt Joe shrug before settling the dog across their laps. By which point they were wedged so close at their shoulders, hips and legs that damp heat fogged between them. Joe’s warmth came as a stark contrast to the sharp rock digging into Gillian’s other shoulder.

  As the water in the cave rose, its pounding smacks against the rocks lessened into deceptively gentle laps.

  Was it coming for them? Or had their dry patch of sand told the truth about keeping them safe?

  Bud whimpered.

  Gillian instinctively reached down to pet him, only her hand collided with Joe’s.

  He jerked his back.

  Thank God. Had he felt it, too? A sort of split-second biochemical hum passing between them?

  She rubbed Bud’s silky-soft ear, which was much easier than attempting to deal with her sudden uncomfortable awareness of Joe as a man instead of her assignment. Biochemical. That attraction? All science, and nothing else.

  No denying Joe was a bona fide hottie.

  Which only helped make their current situation all the more uncomfortable. What this awkward mess called for was talk. Lots and lots of talk. From the first day she’d opened Joe’s file, she’d found a question burning to be asked. To some, it might seem insensitive, maybe even flip, but to a man who loved his family as much as Joe Morgan, there was something about his recent actions that didn’t add up.

  She cleared her throat, then went for it. “How come you left Meghan with your wife’s parents?”

  “What?” Even in the pitch-black cave, Joe’s fury was plain to see. He’d tensed his entire body. His leg and arm, which moments earlier had been pliant, were now unyielding stone.

>   Ack. The question had been brutal, the answer none of her business. So why couldn’t she now keep from blurting, “Sorry, but it doesn’t make sense. You just leaving her. Seems to me if you wanted to protect her, you’d keep her with you.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business,” he said with a deep sigh. “I see her as often as I think it’s safe. I call a lot, too. Yeah, I’d like to be with her more, but seeing how, thanks to everyone’s favorite drug lord, I’m now your basic danger magnet, in my best parental judgment, the only way she’s safe is if I’m gone.”

  Under the cover of darkness, Gillian rolled her eyes. “That’s a crock. What if Tsun-Chung kidnaps her or your in-laws, using them as bait to get to you?”

  “Drop it, Mary Sunshine. Believe me, the thought’s occurred to me, and it’s not one I like to dwell on.”

  “We could protect all of you.”

  “Like you did my wife?”

  “Odds are, that kind of thing would never happen again.”

  “Promise?”

  Therein lay the problem.

  Of course Gillian couldn’t promise. And though she had faith in herself and in her co-workers to do their very best, she saw Joe’s point. He’d been burned once by the Witness Protection Program. Why would he want to stick his hand back in the fire?

  Unable to argue with Joe’s logic, she tried being quiet, but the darkness was oppressive. Complete. Reminded her of that creepy forest they’d marched through on the way from Joe’s cabin. Even though they were surely safe from any thug types, her internal danger meter sprouted a fresh crop of goose bumps on her arms.

  “You might feel better if you chat,” she said, itchy to calm her sudden nerves.

  “I might feel better? Or you?”

  “Okay,” she laughed. “You got me. Never been a big fan of the dark.”

  “I am. It’s peaceful.”

  “It’s dangerous. Boring.”

  “You ever shut up?”

  Being constantly around men, Joe’s bark didn’t phase her. “You always this much fun?”

  “Fun? You call being crammed into a freezing cave that smells like dead fish, with a half-dead dog, no food or water, and a woman who talks more than she breathes, fun?”

  At that, Gillian shook her head. “Have you ever in your whole life looked on the bright side of a situation?”

  “Yeah. And then my wife died and nothing in my life has ever been bright again.”

  Instantly sobered, Gillian swallowed hard. “Bud’s gonna be okay. That’s bright, isn’t it?”

  “Sure. Thanks to you.” She felt him lean forward, heard him sigh. “Sorry to be such rotten company. I really do owe you for helping my pal, here, but…” Joe stopped talking to rub the scruff on the animal’s neck. She knew, not because she could see him, but because her own hand rested on the dog’s head. Her fingers tingled from Joe’s radiated heat. “…it’s just that this is hard for me.”

  “What?”

  “Small talk. Pretending we have anything even remotely in common.”

  “Oh, I’ll bet between us we could come up with something. What’d you think of the last Brad Pitt movie?”

  “Didn’t see it.”

  “What’s your favorite color?”

  “Black.”

  She made a face. Kind of morose, but she supposed apropos, considering where he’d been emotionally.

  “Used to be green,” he surprisingly volunteered. “So?

  “What?”

  “Your favorite color? It’s been awhile since I had a polite conversation, but isn’t that how it goes? I talk, then you talk?”

  “Yeah. I was just thinking about your green.”

  “What about it?”

  “Which one? There are only about a zillion. Kelly green and bamboo. Forest and teal—which is really more of a blue, but—”

  “Money green. I used to spend a lot of time worrying about making it. Then, once I had more than I could spend in a lifetime, I worried about keeping it.” He rubbed his chin. “I should’ve spent more time on my wife and kid. Maybe then I wouldn’t have been checking out that new warehouse. I would’ve been home with them, playing a game of Candyland or grilling by the pool.”

  “What happened to Willow—it wasn’t your fault.”

  “Yeah, it was.”

  “We’ll agree to disagree on that. As for me worrying about keeping money…” Gillian laughed. “I’ve never had any. Probably wouldn’t know what to do with it if I did.”

  “It’s true, you know. That old saying about money not buying happiness. I always thought it was a lie, but hell, I’ve got millions sitting in an L.A. bank. Fat lot of good it’s doing me.”

  “Ever think about going back? You know, back to L.A. to be with Meghan permanently?”

  “I thought we weren’t going there.”

  “We’re not. Just answer me that one thing.”

  “Why?”

  “Who knows? Because it’s dark, and I’m cold and…” She wanted to believe her reasons for being there went beyond just doing her job. That maybe once all of this was over, he’d go get his little girl. Gillian knew what it felt like to lose her mother. The last thing she wished for Meghan was for her to lose her father, too. Swallowing the sudden lump in her throat, she said, “You’re right. It’s none of my business. Sorry I asked. I won’t again.”

  Intending to keep her word, Gillian turned her attention to food, meaning it was time to wriggle their only snack from her pocket.

  “What’re you doing?” Joe asked.

  “Cooking supper. Hold out your hand.”

  He did, and she placed something cold, hard, and at the same time soft on his palm. “What is it?” he asked.

  “Taste.”

  He closed his eyes and all but moaned at the incredible sensation of chocolate melting on his tongue. The Snickers she’d brought him. She must’ve taken it from the side table after he’d gone. “Thanks,” he said. “But back at the cabin, I was a jerk about it. You eat it all.”

  “No way.”

  After they’d taken a few minutes to eat, Joe steeled himself for Gillian to once again bring up the topic of Meghan, but she surprised him by staying quiet.

  Odd. He hadn’t expected her to gracefully drop the subject of Meggie any more than he expected the flash of disappointment he felt—almost as if he’d wanted to talk about his daughter. Needed to, only he never gave himself permission. But here, in the dark, beside this slip of a woman…

  Never had he been closer to a confessional. Never had he wanted more to confess.

  Everything.

  His pain. Grief. Anger. Most of all, guilt.

  Somewhere along the line, after Willow’s death, after the trial, after saying goodbye to his little girl, he’d stopped believing in the whole concept of good. For him, the word didn’t exist.

  Life sucked.

  Period.

  What else was there to consider?

  But that had been before this whole mess with Bud. That had been before he’d almost lost his only tangible link with his wife and child. Now that Gillian had mentioned it, Bud’s still being not only alive, but in reasonably good shape, was a wonderful thing, and dammit, Joe wanted to talk about it.

  He looked her way, but found only inky shadows and the warmth of soft feminine curves. Since he couldn’t see her, he imagined her, curled on her side in a comfortable position. Cheek resting on her forearm. All that whiskey-blond hair spilling onto the sand. She’d look inviting. Approachable. Like someone he’d be able to talk to. Not at all like the all-business marshal he knew her to be.

  Not even in his single days had he met a woman quite like her. In whatever relationship he’d ever been part of, he’d held the indisputable position of power. It wasn’t that he’d had to have it that way, it was just how it’d been. Willow had sometimes teased him about being king of his castle, and he was, or at least used to be. Yet with just a few carefully worded sentences, this Gillian had knocked him on his ass—figurativ
ely speaking, seeing how he’d already been there.

  This morning, if someone had told him he’d actually be sorry a woman no longer wanted to hear his sad story, he’d have laughed them off the island. But then his relationship with Gillian had been odd from the start—if what they shared could even be called a relationship.

  Bud groaned. He lifted his head from Joe’s knee, and Joe took the opportunity to stretch.

  The dog stood, then circled, landing his butt on Joe and his head on Gillian. For a second, jealousy pricked Joe’s gut. The dog was his, so why was he lounging all over this woman? Worse yet, why did Joe care? Come first light, he’d see about getting her off his island and out of his life.

  Sure about that?

  For the first time since her arrival, no, Joe wasn’t sure. In the darkness, his sense of smell was heightened. Rising above the scents of the sea was her fruity shampoo. He used whatever generic brand the guy he’d hired to stock the place upon his arrival had provided. It smelled like lye. It was a bad smell. One he didn’t mind because now that Willow was dead, he wasn’t supposed to enjoy any part of his life. Yet even recognizing all of that, he couldn’t stop himself from taking another whiff.

  Without knowing it, he’d craved human companionship. Maybe if he could explain to someone about his guilt, it’d somehow make it easier to bear. Unfortunately, judging by her slow, metered breaths, he was too late for any more talk tonight. Little Miss Chit-Chat had drifted off to sleep.

  “MORNIN’, SKIPPER.” The kid looked up from the gloppy mess he was making of the last jar of peanut butter.

  Kavorski grunted.

  “Have a good night’s sleep?”

  “I’ve had better rest on a horse than on this boat.” Kavorski eased himself into the dinette’s too narrow booth. Damn sharp table edge made him feel like a gutted fish.

  “Want a sandwich?”

  “Thanks. Make it a double.”

  While the kid took two pieces of white bread from a plastic sack, he asked, “Was Team Two scheduled to be out of range anytime today?”

  “Not that I know of. Why?”