Jaeger

by Evelise Archer

  Jaeger strode to the back of the vehicle and popped the hatch. When he opened the cooler, he was happy to find the bottles of water were more than semicold—they’d been frozen and thawed slowly. Shards of ice still floated in them. He also noticed some wrapped sandwiches that would appease his growling stomach better than a granola bar, so he grabbed two of each item, closed the cooler, and secured the trunk.

  As he made his way back to the driver’s side of the SUV, Wren approached from the bathroom. Water droplets rested on his cheeks, and Jaeger was tempted to swipe the offending liquid away. He held himself in check and instead tossed the edibles through the open door and onto his seat and motioned for Wren to get back in the car. Then Jaeger walked around the front to the passenger side, leaned across his witness, and grabbed the cuffs from the center console. Dangling them in front of Wren’s face, Jaeger spoke. “Just a precaution, of course. Keep your hands on your lap and don’t draw attention to yourself.” Jaeger clicked the cuffs onto Wren’s wrists.

  “I’ll be back.” Jaeger removed his gloves as he walked away from the vehicle and to the restroom. He had no desire to linger in a roadside men’s room that smelled as though it hadn’t seen a disinfectant in many weeks, so he quickly used the urinal and washed his hands. The smell alone was almost enough to deter him from eating his sandwich. But not quite. His growling stomach would win over.

  By the time Jaeger made it to the Pathfinder’s door, his gloves were already secure and he was ready to head out. Jaeger removed the key fob from his pocket, reached for the sandwiches and water, and climbed into the driver’s seat. The gray interior was pristine and the leather seats soft and conforming to his body mass. If nothing else the Marshal Service kept their fleet of vehicles in top condition and always chose the elite models. He opened Wren’s water bottle, replaced the cap, and handed him the ham and cheese. Then he placed both water bottles in the cup holders.

  “Thank you.” Wren took the proffered food and unwrapped it. Jaeger watched him as he took a bite and began to chew. The young man’s Adam’s apple quivered up and down with each swallow. Jaeger imagined the same motion with his cock down O’Riley’s throat as he milked and massaged him. Fuck. He had no time for those thoughts.

  “You’re welcome. This will hold us over until we get to our final destination.”

  “Am I allowed to ask where we are going, Marshal?”

  “Better that you don’t. Makes my life a little easier. Trying to protect you and all.” Jaeger gritted his teeth at the thought of who he protected.

  “I know that you’re not wild about this assignment, Marshal, but I didn’t ask for this. I hope you understand that I only want to see justice done for the wrong my family has committed, and I hope I live long enough to testify.”

  Wren sounded so sincere that Jaeger almost believed him. Almost.

  “Well, I suppose that’s where I come in—to keep you safe until your testimony. One month’s time, and then you’ll get a new lease on life.”

  “Yes, Marshal. One month, and I’ll be out of your hair. Maybe you could curb the sarcasm a little too. Since we’ll be stuck together for the month, that is.”

  Jaeger nodded his head curtly and threw the vehicle into reverse. His actions spoke louder than any words.

  THE HANDCUFFS rubbed against his wrists, and Wren couldn’t wait to get to their destination so they could be permanently removed. Damn his family. He knew they were not the most aboveboard people, but Wren stayed away from most of what they did and kept to himself with his computers. He kept the books and believed that he was doing good for the family businesses. Slowly, though, he began to uncover criminal activities—laundering money, skimming off the top—but it was nothing that would truly hurt anyone, so he kept quiet for his mother’s sake. But what he witnessed was smack dab in his face. Wrong place, wrong time, as the saying goes, and he happened to have a bird’s-eye view of the altercation between his uncle and Señor Chino.

  The confidential file the marshal had would divulge many of the facts of the case, but it wouldn’t reveal the true reason Jesus Chino was murdered in cold blood. The sounds of screams still haunted Wren. The man was the epitome of evil, but did he deserve to die in such a fashion? And for such a reason?

  Wren had known that he had no choice, and he had contacted the FBI as soon as possible. Up until that moment, his family didn’t know what he’d done. Only with the assurance of his mother’s safety did Wren spill his guts to the feds. They had made an exception, and rather than placing Graciela Rincón in the US, they had her safely ensconced in a Spanish villa north of Madrid, and God willing, she’d be there when he could finally join her. But first he had to stay alive, and that required the protection of one Marshal Jaeger Tripp.

  Wren pretended to be asleep for most of the drive and instead carefully watched the stoic Fed. The warm undertones of his lightly bronzed complexion, dark hair that looked soft to the touch, and his high cheekbones called to Wren’s libido. Even the fact that Jaeger appeared to have had his nose previously broken and sported a slight notch in the center drew him in.

  But Wren needed to remember he was not on a vacation or there for a tryst. He was under the protection of the United States government. The only reason he wasn’t behind bars was that he had valuable information about his family’s dealings and he was a witness to a cold-blooded killing. He could play the dutiful witness for a month in seclusion with the marshal. Then he and his mother could enjoy a serene life away from his family’s business and peacefully live out whatever days God gave them.

  Wren made quick work of his sandwich and water. He hadn’t realized he was so hungry, but it had been hours since breakfast that morning. He paid attention to the road and the sounds of light jazz coming through the speakers. The road became narrower the higher their journey took them into the Adirondacks. Wren noticed that Jaeger handled the vehicle as though it were an extension of his arm—smoothly and efficiently. He soon turned off Route 9 and onto Route 73 and took them deeper into the High Peaks area, according to the last sign Wren saw.

  “Are we staying in High Peaks?” Wren was reluctant to ask, but curiosity won over.

  “Close enough” was all the response Jaeger gave.

  “It’s pretty remote up here, especially the farther we go.” Wren tried to draw Jaeger into conversation.

  “That’s the point, isn’t it? Who the fuck would think to look in the middle of this forsaken neck of the woods for a Mexican cartel henchman?” Wren heard Jaeger’s disdain loud and clear.

  “For the record, Marshal, I am not a henchman for the mafia, and if truth be known, I am Venezuelan, not Mexican. My mother and her family are from Mexico, yes. But I was born in Venezuela, where I was raised for many years until my uncle needed my parents, or I guess more my dad, to return home. My dad ran a company in Caracas, part of the Rincón Family holdings. Whatever. It’s all in the file, and I guess when you’re ready, you’ll ask me more questions.” When Jaeger didn’t respond, Wren continued to watch out the window.

  The foliage grew thicker the farther they drove, and Wren wondered if they would run out of road. The sun was barely visible as it set, and the silence became deafening. Jaeger slowed the vehicle and soon brought it to a halt. Wren wasn’t sure what was happening, but he knew when the marshal wanted him to know something, he’d tell him. The smug bastard. Wren hadn’t seen other homes or indications there were any.

  Wren watched as Jaeger stepped from the vehicle with his phone and plugged away on the device. The headlights allowed him to see what the disgruntled marshal was doing when he stopped in front of the vehicle. Swiftly Jaeger removed two heavy branches from the road and tossed them to the side. A small clearing appeared before them, and he jumped in the driver’s seat and inched the SUV forward until he stopped in a clearing. Wren noted the concentration on Jaeger’s brow as he drove in small increments and then jumped again from the SUV and replaced the large branches. Once he assumed Jaeger deemed everything was as it s
hould be, they started forward again and traveled a narrow dirt road until they came upon a log cabin.

  Home for the next month, Wren surmised.

  CHAPTER THREE

  WREN LOOKED out the dusty front window and admired the view from what would be his home for a while. He wasn’t just thinking about the studly marshal. The log cabin appeared to be modern-rustic—if that was a style. The sturdy log structure had a wide wraparound porch and sported three rockers made of rough wood.

  Wren loved the to-and-fro motion of a rocking chair—something he learned from his mother on the countless days they spent together on the family property in New Mexico, whiling the hours away. He had fond memories of his mother, and even some of his family members during those days—before he started to work for his uncle and realized exactly what the family business was. He longed for those languid days again, and if Jaeger permitted him some respite, he’d take it on the front porch, rocking.

  “Home for the next month.” Wren’s daydreaming was interrupted by the deep soulful voice of his watcher.

  “There’s no place for you to go, so I’ll have those handcuffs now. You’re up shit creek if you have the balls to wander in the High Peaks on your own.” Wren lifted his cuffed hands from his lap and allowed Jaeger to remove the restraints.

  “I’ll get our bags.” Wren rubbed his wrists as he extricated himself from the front passenger seat. The lock mechanism on the hatch of the SUV released, and Wren opened the door and pulled out the two suitcases. He also noticed the cooler and a few other bags. Provisions.

  Dragging their luggage across the gravel and dirt clearing proved more difficult than expected. His arms were a little numb from being in cuffs for so long. Wren made it to the bottom of the steps and maneuvered each bag up onto the porch and then waited for Jaeger to unlock the door.

  Jaeger grabbed his small bag from the backseat of the driver’s side and strode to the door as Wren carefully scrutinized him. The marshal definitely had a chip on his shoulder.

  “Is there a problem with the accommodations, Mr. O’Riley?” Wren couldn’t miss the disdain in Jaeger’s voice.

  “No, there isn’t. Actually I was thinking how beautiful it is here and how this would make a nice vacation home,” Wren replied.

  “Well, don’t get too comfortable. We’re not here for a fucking vacation.”

  Wren nodded and accepted Jaeger’s attitude and waited patiently as he punched a code into the panel and unlocked the door. Jaeger brusquely entered before him and offered no help with the bags.

  Wren plopped them on the ceramic-tiled floor at the entrance and then did a three-sixty of the large, open room. The cabin truly was beautiful. Under other circumstances Wren could picture himself being fucked by the marshal in front of the large stone fireplace. Jaeger Tripp was just his type—bad-boy attitude, soulful voice, and a strong chiseled jaw. His legs went on forever, and Wren imagined himself wrapped around Jaeger’s tapered waist. They might be the same height, but Marshal Jaeger Tripp had a good fifty pounds on Wren’s slenderer body. He looked as if he could lift a small car.

  “Marshal, should I put the bags someplace specific or leave them here on the floor?” Wren moved farther into the room where the ceramic tile turned to dark, notched-wood floors. Besides the large fireplace, the living space had two striped sofas in reds, blues, and tans, with accenting pillows and a large braided rug. The kitchen, although it appeared slightly older, was clean and contained a small table and two wooden chairs. The one thing Wren noticed right away was the coffee pot on the counter. What he wouldn’t do for a cup of coffee, but he dared not ask.

  “There’s two bedrooms down the hall, last two doors. Toss my bag in the last room and yours in the second.” Jaeger motioned with his head as he made for the front door. “I need to get the cooler and rest of the bags. I’ll be right back.”

  With that, Jaeger walked out the front door into the dusk. Wren strode down the hall, passed a bathroom on the left and a closed door on the right, and then came to what would be his room. He left his bag in front of the door and proceeded to move to the last door, open it, and enter with the marshal’s bag. The room was decorated in a country motif, and the focal point was a large, heavy wooden bed. Wren wondered if the marshal slept in the buff. A man could dream. The door to a separate bathroom was open, and Wren could see a large claw-foot tub. Nice.

  Wren wondered if the government bought the cabin already made or if they had it built to suit their needs—secluded enough to attract no attention, yet within some distance of civilization.

  Wren opened the door to what would be his new sleeping quarters and placed his bag on the quilt-covered bed. The room looked very much like the other bedroom, just a tad smaller and minus its own bathroom. He’d have to use the one in the hall.

  He made quick work of unpacking his meager belongings, placed them in the chest of drawers, and stowed the bag in the closet. He heard movement outside his door but tried to keep his mind off the marshal. He grabbed his toiletries, stored them in the extra bathroom, and stopped in front of the third door in the hall, which was open—the door closest to the living space.

  Wren’s pants tightened when he saw Jaeger’s taut, jean-clad ass. Jaeger was leaning over a chair, banging away on a keyboard. The temporary distraction gave Wren pause. He shouldn’t be lusting after the man who was assigned to protect him, especially when he held Wren in such disdain.

  Once Wren brought himself out of his lustful haze, he noticed the spare room was a sort of command center. He must have made a sound, because he was immediately met with a stern glare and harsh words from the marshal.

  “What the fuck are you doing in here?”

  “Sorry.” Wren stammered. “I unpacked my stuff and heard some commotion. I didn’t know what this—”

  Jaeger wrapped his strong, callused hands around Wren’s neck and bicep, preventing him from further entering the space. “This room is none of your fucking business unless I invite you in. It’s my job to protect you, whether I agree with it or not, and this is none of your concern.”

  Wren’s breath left his body, and he wasn’t sure if the zing was fear or lust. He stared at Jaeger, and his thoughts jumbled. He should be scared of the brash marshal who held Wren’s life in his hands. Yet he wasn’t. Marshal Jaeger Tripp intrigued him.

  PER PROTOCOL, Jaeger needed to report to SAC Chase within four hours of arriving at their destination. Chase would be the only one—and maybe Chase’s boss—who’d know where they were. When it came to protecting witnesses, especially one of O’Riley’s caliber, the Marshal Service was very strict. Too many hands in the pot ruined the stew.

  Although Jaeger’s back was to the door, he immediately sensed Wren’s presence in the entrance of the communication room. O’Riley may have a fuckable look, but Jaeger knew he’d be bad news. Lusting after a witness never ended well—particularly one who was part of a cartel.

  Jaeger’s first impulse was to shoot him, but that would not sit well with his superiors. Instead he grabbed him by the throat and made the parameters of their temporary stay very clear. Keep the fuck out.

  Jaeger cut Wren’s air supply, preventing him from completing his sentence. He held Wren’s life in his hands, and Wren struggled for breath. Jaeger finally released him when Wren acquiesced and nodded his understanding.

  Bent over and coughing, Wren responded. “Yes… I just…. Sorry.” Brought out of his contemplations, Jaeger rubbed his wrist where the scar both burned and itched. It felt like a festering wound that was connected to his soul and made him desire blood and death. The more the scar vibrated, the more Jaeger hungered to maim or kill. Maybe it was time to change the leather band and purchase a new one. He’d had the current one for years, and the well-worn material might be rubbing him raw and throwing him off kilter.

  While Wren got himself together, Jaeger drew his attention back to the computers and reset all the electronic barriers on the immediate property and the surrounding woods. He turne
d on all the cameras, and the numerous screens lit up with various views of the house, woods, and road. He’d be aware of any movement from anything bigger than a squirrel. The infrared cameras would pick up breathing creatures, and the displays would show the illuminated forms of intruders, thus allowing him to tell the difference between man and beast. Although man could sometimes be the beast.

  Wren sat at the small table with his hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. Jaeger saw him peer through dark lashes, and his large green eyes held a hint of trepidation and despair.

  “Look,” Jaeger began. “Like it or not, it’s my job to protect you for the next month, until you testify. We don’t have to like each other, but I need―no, I expect—you to follow my orders at all times. Is this understood?” Jaeger rubbed his wrist. The leather both soothed and irritated.

  “I understand, Marshal. Can we just call a temporary truce? I don’t think I can stay here, hemmed in for the next month with someone who hates me just because of my family. I swear I’m not the monster you may think I am. If you give me a chance, I can explain.”

  Jaeger nodded and poured himself a cup of coffee. “I can live with that stipulation. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  “No, Marshal, I bet it doesn’t.”

  Wren’s attempt at a smile tugged at Jaeger, just a little. His reaction caught Jaeger off guard, and he didn’t like it one bit. His need to hate the tall, slender Wren rode him hard, yet a sliver of something―Jaeger wasn’t sure what—also fluttered in the recesses of his mind.