The Oregon trees started to thin as they left the dense woods of Manning’s property. Mac decided the next town he found, they were stopping and grabbing something to eat. He was starving and knew that Noah had to be.
About to suggest stopping, Mac caught sight of a large vehicle barreling up behind them.
“Hang on,” he ordered tightly.
Noah
When Mac punched the gas, Noah chanced a look out the back window. A dark pickup truck was on their tail. He whipped around and hung on when their own vehicle careened around a corner. The highway loomed ahead and the SUV’s tires spun on the gravel and then squealed on the pavement, costing them precious seconds. Mac floored it. Trees flew past Noah’s window as the speedometer reached ninety-five on the quiet country highway.
He was scared. The kind of scared that wouldn’t be going away anytime soon. The fear that had started when he was little came slamming back into him. Fear that Manning and Stevenson were going to catch him and take him back. He couldn’t shake the cold that seeped into his bones nor rip his gaze from the man driving. The man who held his life in his hands. Mac was calm at the wheel, but his knuckles were white where they gripped the wheel. They were flying at top speed, but the guy was a fucking rock under pressure. Noah struggled to breathe, trying to get a grip on his emotions, not wanting Mac to think he was a baby.
“There’s a town ahead,” Noah said, throwing a quick look behind them. The people chasing them had taken the turn too quickly, and the lack of weight in the truck’s empty bed had sent the vehicle sliding sideways. It took the driver a few moments to straighten out before it came barreling back after them.
Mac lifted the radio on the dash and clipped out their location to someone on the other end.
A man’s voice came back over the line. “Roger that.”
“Where are we?” Mac asked him.
“Coming up just outside of Bend. There’s a stop light at the first street, and then it’s thirty-five miles per hour through town.”
Mac repeated everything Noah had said into the radio. The light was red when they reached town and Mac flew through it with the truck not far behind. A police car pulled in after the truck and all three vehicles plunged through the town’s deserted early morning streets.
Noah reached for the handle over the door and hung on. They passed another street and Mac barked orders into the mic on the radio.
Just as Mac and Noah flew past Third St. and Main, a big, black Hummer swiftly pulled out. The following pickup truck swerved to avoid the Hummer, but the driver wasn’t quick enough. The truck clipped the grill of the massive Hummer, and the front end of the pickup folded in on itself. The driver overcorrected and sent the pickup fishtailing before it flipped. Dirt, glass, and rocks flew as the truck rolled three times before it landed right side up on all four wheels.
Noah watched in amazement when several men jumped out of the Hummer and converged on the pickup before the whole thing was lost from view. Mac still had his foot on the gas, flooring the SUV as they flew out of town.
Heart hammering in his chest, Noah slipped back down into his seat, not taking his eyes from Mac’s grim profile.
After another few minutes, Mac reached for the radio.
“Thanks, Roscoe,” the marshal’s strong, calm voice said into the mic.
“Roger, Mac. Watch your back.”
“Will do. Let me know who was in the pickup when you find out.” Mac clipped the radio back on the dash.
“Who’s Roscoe?”
“A friend of mine,” Mac answered, but didn’t elaborate.
Noah rubbed his palms on his jeans and gazed out the window. Manning was going to kill him; the only question was when. He closed his eyes for a brief moment when the world spun. What the hell was he going to do? How was he going to survive? He could try and support himself by tutoring language students. He’d been doing that in school, but would that really bring in enough money to pay rent and buy food? He’d have to learn to live in the outside world, and he wasn’t quite sure how to do that.
Some time passed before Mac pulled the truck into a gas station. “Stay here,” the man ordered.
Noah watched wide-eyed as the marshal locked the door and pumped the gas. After filling up, the man went into the gas station. Mac returned with two cups of coffee and some snacks before sliding into the SUV.
He pressed the cup of hot coffee into Noah’s hand, and Noah gratefully closed his cold fingers around the cup.
“You okay?” Mac’s deep voice sounded reassuring in the enclosed space.
Noah shivered and the man reached over to crank up the heater. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, coughed slightly, and then tried again. “Yeah,” Noah said.
“Eat something.” Mac pointed to the snacks, but Noah’s stomach rebelled.
“I’m not hungry,” he replied, taking a tentative sip from the small opening of the coffee cup.
“Try,” was all the man said before he punched a number into his cell phone and put it on speaker.
“Quintana,” a man said from the other end.
“Kane, we ran into a little trouble,” Mac told the man.
“Yeah, I heard. Hold on.” Kane shouted something to someone and then came back on the line. “It wasn’t Manning or Stevenson in the truck. It was three of their men. We’re questioning them now.”
“They must have been watching the estate from a vantage point.”
“Find a spot and we’ll pick you up,” Kane said.
“No, I’m not doing that. I’m road tripping to the safe house.”
“Mac…”
“Don’t argue,” Mac said, and then added, “Relax, Kane, this is what I’m trained for.”
Kane grunted but didn’t argue, and Mac ended the conversation.
“Trained for?” Noah couldn’t help his curiosity.
“Witness protection,” Mac answered.
He took a moment to digest the words that changed his life forever. He was now a witness against Manning’s organized crime. His life would never be the same, and he couldn’t help but be fiercely glad.
“So we’re not flying out of Portland?” Noah asked just to make sure.
“No.”
Mac
He drove for several more hours, taking freeways, highways, and even side streets on occasion. Once they passed the Entering California sign, Mac felt some relief. They reached the pre-arranged San Jose safe house by three p.m. that day. Pulling into the quiet, gated community, he drove through the housing track until he pulled into the driveway of a sand-colored house. Pulling out his gun, he checked the clip and loaded the chamber, ignoring Noah’s wide eyes.
“Stay here,” he ordered, leaving the truck and approaching the house. The door opened, and Mac had never been so glad to see his partner standing there. Jake’s hair was sticking on end as if he’d been pulling at it. The phone he had to his ear was flipped closed and stuck in his jeans.
The man shook his head. “You fucking worried me, man,” Jake said, and Mac stepped through the door, gladly returning the brief but strong hug.
“Yeah, some shit happened. Did Kane call you?” Mac asked, pulling back.
“No, Roscoe did,” Jake admitted.
“Hang on, let me get Noah.” Mac turned and hurried back to the SUV. He pulled Noah from the vehicle and ushered him quickly into the house. Throwing the locks, Mac set the alarm.
Noah stood, swaying. The young man had held up and not complained once. Mac was proud of Noah for keeping it together for so long, but he also knew by the look on the man’s tired face that exhaustion had finally caught up.
“Noah?” A soft voice came from the living room and Noah spun around and hurried toward the young girl. They fell into each other, wrapping arms around each other, holding on tightly. The girl cried against Noah’s chest, and the boy dropped his face into her hair, murmuring soft words.
“She’s been asking about him,” Jake said.
“Yeah, him too,” M
ac said, watching the pair settle on the brown-colored sofa and wrap around each other like a pair of kittens. Everything about the safe house was neutral colors of mauve, stone, and browns, giving off a bland, dull vibe. The only bright spot in the place was the light reflecting through Noah’s bright hair.
“Why don’t you head up and get a shower, Noah,” Jake suggested.
Noah blinked up at Jake and then looked past the man to gaze at Mac. Noah’s expression was blank, as if he wasn’t sure what the question had been. That dull gaze was what drew Mac forward, holding out a hand. The boy’s earlier anger and fight seemed to have left him, at least for now. Perhaps the boy realized he didn’t need to fight any longer.
“Come on, I’ll show you to your room. You can clean up before we eat,” Mac said gently.
“Why are we here?” Noah asked, taking Mac’s hand.
“To keep you safe.” Mac closed his hand around the young man’s. The curve of Noah’s mouth trembled at his words. Mac ached for the boy. He could see the damage years of abuse had done to Noah from the way he cautiously moved and the wariness in his gaze and distrust when someone offered him kindness.
Mac suddenly wanted to give Noah a chance to live a somewhat normal life. And he silently vowed to do just that as he led Noah up the stairs and into a bedroom.
The room was nice, with thick, cream-colored carpet. The bed sported a white bedspread with a few bright pillows. A lamp sat on a wooden desk and a small bookshelf held a few books. The house was okay as far as safe houses went. More importantly, it had four bedrooms. Not that Mac was opposed to sleeping on a couch, but it would be nice to crash in a bed.
“These look like they should fit you,” Mac said, pulling clothes from the closet. “The shower is through there.” When he turned, he found Noah standing in the middle of the room where he’d left him.
“Hey,” he called out softly, slowly approaching the boy. “It’s going to be okay.” He gently settled his hand on Noah’s shoulder and the young man shivered. “Change and meet me downstairs.” Mac waited until Noah took the clothes and disappeared through the bathroom door, closing it behind him.
Mac rubbed at the back of his neck and headed into one of the spare rooms to shower. Half an hour later, he found Jake in the kitchen cooking a pot of chili. The girl was curled up on the couch with a book. A few minutes later, Noah slipped into the room as if he’d been waiting for Mac to appear, and cleared his throat.
He smiled at Noah. “Good, you’re here. Grab some drinks from the fridge.” He ran his gaze over the younger man. The clothes were too big for him, but at least they were clean and the sweatshirt and pants would be warm.
Noah hesitantly glanced from him to Jake, then got a few soda pops from the fridge. He brought them to the table. Mac kept the boy busy. In Mac’s experience, being busy helped people cope with change.
“Who is he?” Noah tipped his chin, glancing warily at Jake, and Mac hid a smile.
“This is US Marshal Jake Coleman, my partner.”
“Um… hi,” Noah said, warming a bit toward Jake. “Thanks for getting Jenny out.”
“It was my pleasure,” Jake said with a smile.
“That smells good,” Jenny said from the doorway.
“It’s my specialty,” Jake boasted with a grin.
Mac snorted and eased into one of the kitchen chairs. Noah occasionally interacted with him and the other two, but he was clearly the quiet one of the group. Not necessarily shy, more like he had been trained to be quiet. As if he’d been conditioned from birth to be seen and not heard. It pissed Mac off that Noah had lived such an abused and militant life under the thumb of Manning.
He’d seen the bruises on Noah’s collar bone. During the drive there, Noah had shared a little. The more Mac learned about the kingpin, the more he realized the man was a scumbag dictator and had ruled that compound with an iron fist.
It had been hours without food, but Noah wasn’t eating enough to satisfy Mac. When the boy’s spoon would rest on the bowl for long periods of time, Mac found himself gently nudging Noah and nodding toward the food. As if realizing how hungry he was, Noah would blink and begin shoveling the chili into his mouth.
Mac took a bite of his own food and then reached for a piece of cornbread. Placing one on Noah’s plate, he snagged another for his own. Ignoring Jake’s questioning glance, Mac took a bite and concentrated on his bowl. Next to him, Noah tentatively took a bite of the bread, paused, and then stuffed half of it into his mouth. The move brought a lump to Mac’s throat.
Obviously, the boy was not used to an unlimited amount of food, nor the quality of Jake’s chili. Mac wanted to cook for Noah so he’d never be hungry again. He wanted to find different dishes to tempt the boy’s appetite. What Mac really wanted to do was find Manning and Stevenson and rip them to shreds.
“Have you ever had cornbread before?” Mac asked Noah, needing to take his mind away from killing someone. The boy finished swallowing the rest of the piece and nodded.
“Yeah, but not like this,” Noah said, and a quick smile flashed when Jake puffed up a bit and placed another piece on Noah’s plate. “We had a cook who made all kinds of things. But there were a lot of us, so he usually just made something he could cook in bulk. If we made it in time to eat, it was good.”
Mac could bet on how much Noah had gone hungry by those last few words. Somehow, and for some reason Mac couldn’t figure out, the urge to protect Noah grew beyond what he normally felt for a witness. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, but this beautiful, blond boy was changing him. Shifting, uncomfortable with his train of thought, he shoved down the unwanted and unfamiliar feelings.
As if shocked that he’d said so much, Noah grew quiet. Mac wasn’t surprised Manning kept a cook. It was clear the man had built an army to run the place.
Too bad the fucker was in the wind. Both Manning and Stevenson had eluded capture. Manning by not being on the property, and Stevenson had escaped through the woods. Police had dogs looking for the man, but they’d come across a helicopter pad a few miles from the house. The kingpin and his lackey may have escaped, but the compound was finished.
Noah was under his protection, and under his protection was exactly where Mac kept the boy. He stayed vigilant, never returned the flirtatious blond’s teasing, and never took his eyes off surveying the area for threats. Not that it was easy when he found himself looking at the long-legged teenager every chance he got. Of course, it was his job to look at Noah to make sure that nobody approached the man.
Today, the tiny swimsuit Noah wore on the beach was going to be his undoing. A stray drop of water clung to the edge of Noah’s crotch before it slipped down one thigh. Mac watched the trickle slide down Noah’s leg.
“It’s so beautiful here,” Noah said innocently, interrupting his focus.
“I love it,” Mac admitted, tearing his gaze away and adjusting himself discreetly beneath the wadded beach towel he had on his lap. Taking a deep breath, he looked up into those incredible whiskey-colored eyes. He was going to have to talk to Buller and get himself reassigned.
You’re lucky to live on the beach,” Noah murmured and smiled knowingly.
Just fucking shoot me now.
Mac had made the mistake of telling Noah he owned a beach house. Now the young man was obsessed with coming to see it. And each plea was breaking down Mac’s resolve.
Jenny ran from the water, right up behind Noah, and shook her wet hair at him. Noah laughed and chased the girl all the way back to the water.
Jake dropped down into the chair next to him. They’d been cooped up for a month, and the beach, a short drive from San Jose, was a treat for them all. If today went well, they might start a trend.
Mac took the soda from Jake with a thanks. He swallowed the liquid as Jake made small talk. Mac listened with half his attention.
His gaze never wavered from Noah splashing in the waves.
Noah
After the day at the beach, Mac would ste
al him out of the house to eat burgers and fries or go to the lake, if not the beach again. Sometimes, Noah imagined he saw affection in Mac’s eyes, but the look would disappear as quickly as it appeared. The man certainly didn’t realize he starred in every one of Noah’s fantasies.
“How long do I have to stay in WITSEC with you?” Noah shifted in his seat, keeping his voice low. They were currently sitting at a coffee house, hours from the safe house.
“You’ll need to stay until you can testify. Then you’ll get a new identity. But all that won’t be until we catch Stevenson and Manning,” Mac said.
“So I won’t always be Noah Bradford?” Noah tested out his new last name. It felt funny saying it, but it wasn’t too far from Brown, so it grew on him quickly.
“No, not if you go to the trial.”
“Well, at least I get to keep my first name.”
“Mmhmm,” Mac agreed.
“And I really have to testify?” Noah licked the whipped cream from his lips and swallowed more mocha.
“Yes,” the man replied, nodding and shifting in his chair. “You’re the only one.”
“I’m the only one willing,” Noah pointed out since Jenny was wavering on testifying. Currently, his best friend was with Jake, trying to find a new outfit to wear to the movies. She’d stopped using heroin and the withdrawal had been brutal. Jake had taken her to the doctors and they had a plan to help people like her. As a result, Jenny had gained some much-needed weight, and to stop her from complaining about her clothes being too tight, Jake had offered to take her shopping today.
Mac sighed and pointed his straw at him. “Quit that. I have a surprise for you.”
“What?” Noah couldn’t help the feeling of excitement.
“Come on.” Mac smiled and stood.
A short drive away, Mac parked the SUV and entered a small warehouse-style building through the back entrance.
“Whoa,” Noah drawled, walking into the wide room until he stood beside a thick wrestling mat. The room was a massive gym, but only a few people were using machines in the far end of the room.
Ricochet (Out for Justice Book 1) Page 5
