by Jamie Hill
Do I have the right to be jealous? Another resounding ‘no’ echoed in his head as he stood under the warm shower spray. He hadn’t seen Jordan in all these years, which was not to say that he hadn’t thought of her. When he did, somehow he imagined her differently.
Married and frumpy? He closed his eyes, let the water pelt his face, and then leaned back and shook his head. He was fooling himself. Her being married was the one thing that would have caused him to back off, but she could never be considered frumpy. No matter what she looked like, he’d still think she was a knockout.
He’d been prepared for her to have changed. Gained weight, lost weight, short hair, differently colored hair—he wouldn’t have cared. He’d just never expected her to look the same. Like time hadn’t touched her, never etched a line or crease on her perfectly bronzed face. He hadn’t been prepared for that.
The urge to touch her in old, familiar ways was strong. He’d very nearly reached out earlier that day and shoved a lock of hair behind her ear. He could have easily nudged her knee with his when they were sitting side by side. And God help him, that was just the beginning of what he wanted to do to her.
His body reacted to the mental images running through his mind. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he muttered, and turned the water to cold. She was probably home cursing him in the same manner, and he didn’t blame her.
She’d called him a coward. Maybe she was right. The thought didn’t do much to calm his queasy stomach as he exited the shower and towel-dried his short, spiked hair.
He needed to forget about the past and focus on the reason he was here. The job of a US Marshal was inherently dangerous. It was imperative that both he and Jordan kept their minds on their cases so no one got hurt. Their witnesses and their very lives depended on it.
Thinking about Jordan in a pair of tight Levis wasn’t helping a bit. He flopped into bed, the bleach-scented sheets rough against his naked skin. Nick groaned and tossed the covers over his head.
Chapter Three
California State Prison, Corcoran
Protective Housing Unit
Corcoran, California
He’d never been much of a ‘people’ person, but solitary confinement took the idea of being alone to a whole new level. He wasn’t complaining, because he enjoyed waking up on the top side of the grass each day. But, he was bored as hell.
His first couple weeks at Corcoran were too exciting. Before the feds had worked out the details of his witness security gig, he’d been admitted as Peter Rossi to general population. It took less than a week before threats started arriving with his meals. The dead rat in his clean laundry did the trick. As much as he hated being a stool pigeon, he wanted to live. He sang like a canary and was soon whisked away to protective housing. Safe, but boring.
Never much of a reader, he’d decided it was either that, or learn to love staring at the chipped paint on the walls.
The deal he’d worked out wasn’t perfect. There was no way he’d get full immunity because he’d admitted to killing three people and assaulting dozens more. It was all part of the loan-sharking gig. If someone borrowed money, they were expected to pay it back with interest. If they couldn’t, certain lessons had to be taught.
He hadn’t meant to kill that last guy, Roy Something-or-other. Stupid moron, he was the one who started this whole mess. If he’d have just paid what he owed, nothing would have happened. Everything would be normal like it’d always been. But Roy had put up a fight, and instead of breaking an arm, he’d panicked and taken him out. One less scumbag in the world.
The pass-through window in his metal cell door clanged before opening.
“Chow time,” a guard said and set a tray on the ledge.
“Thanks.” He grabbed the tray and tried to strike up a conversation. “What’s the weather like today?”
“Same as usual. Seventy degrees and sunny. You’re not missing much.” The metal slide closed and echoed off the four walls.
He placed the tray on his small table and sat on the edge of his bed. Seventy degrees and sunny. People who grew up in California took that for granted. These days he saw the sun twice a week if he was lucky. He had human interaction approximately five times a day counting meals, mail call, and shower time. Depending on the guard, sometimes he could stretch out a conversation, and sometimes he couldn’t. Today was O’Leary and the Irishman wasn’t too talkative.
The meatloaf was edible, and that cheered him. He nibbled a cold roll and sighed, amused at how little it took to make him happy these days. The main thing was waking up on the top side of the grass.
* * *
Topeka, Kansas
Jordan got the call she’d been waiting for two days later. The trial William Espinosa was supposed to testify at was rescheduled for Friday in Atlanta. It was slated to last one day, after which they’d put Willie on a plane to his next Witsec destination and a new identity. Jordan had to admit, she’d be happy to see him go.
“Our plane takes off at seven a.m. If all goes as planned, we’ll be back by the same time that night.” She briefed Nick and the chief when she got to the office.
Rhodes said, “If you need to stay over, book a couple rooms. That’ll be no problem.”
She shot Nick a look and replied quickly, “We won’t need to.”
He tried not to smile, but she could see the corners of his mouth twitch.
Jordan looked away. He’d actually been behaving himself the past couple of days. She’d just started to think the month might not be so horrible after all. Nick was pleasant, and polite, and helpful to Ben and Olivia when they needed something.
Going away alone with him was a totally different story.
Rhodes handed her a packet of information. “Two marshals from the Atlanta office will meet you at the airport. They’ll get you to the courthouse and assist with security during the trial. When it’s over, they’ll take Espinosa to his plane and deliver you back to yours.”
Nick nodded. “Sounds easy enough.”
They all three added at once, “So of course, it won’t go that way.”
Everyone laughed. Jordan caught a glimpse of Nick’s expression and her heart lurched. She used to love the way his face lit up when he laughed. Then things went sour and neither of them found much to laugh about.
She shook her head to clear the painful memories.
“Just be careful,” Rhodes advised, “and don’t feel bad about letting the Atlanta boys help you out. They’re more familiar with the city. If they want to run the show then let ‘em. You’ll have done your job by getting Espinosa there in the first place.”
“Won’t be stepping on my toes,” Jordan agreed. “I’ll take whatever help they want to give.”
“Good. Make sure to text me when he’s safely on his plane and advise me of your ETA. It doesn’t matter when you come back. I just like to know where my marshals are.”
Jordan smiled over her shoulder at him as she returned to her desk. “We like to know where you are, too, boss.”
“Yeah, well, mind your own business,” Rhodes teased and retreated to his office.
Nick sat behind his desk. “I’ll pick you up at what, say five thirty? We can grab Willie and get to the airport by six.”
“I can drive,” she insisted.
He gazed at her skeptically. “Don’t second guess every move I make. We only need to take one car. I’m offering to pick you up. No ulterior motives.”
Jordan frowned. “Maybe I don’t want you to know where I live.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Touché. Point taken. I never asked if you had a new roommate, someone you don’t want me to know about perhaps?”
She rolled her eyes. “If I did, you’d already know because I’d have flaunted it. No, no roommates. Not even a cat. And I live at the same place.”
His brows rose again, in a surprised expression this time. “Really? I figured you might have moved. Bad memories and such.”
She snorted. “I like my duplex too much.” Her voice so
ftened and she added, “The memories weren’t all bad.”
Nick’s eyes twinkled.
Before he could speak she added, “When I’m not remembering you, that is.”
He chuckled. “I hear you. So, does Mrs. Conner still live next door? She was a good neighbor.”
“She still is.” Jordan rose, attempting to diffuse the suddenly sentimental moment. “I’m going to get some coffee.”
He took a sip from his cup. “I hate cats,” he murmured to himself.
She paused and allowed a small smile. “I remember. You can pick me up at five thirty.” She kept walking, adding over her shoulder, “You know, that’s a bad thing to admit. Most women hate a man who hates cats.”
He shook his head in resignation. “Might as well shoot me now.”
* * *
Jordan tucked everything she might need into her pockets the next morning. She disliked carrying a purse when working a protection detail. She checked her gun and secured it into the back of her waistband. Her bullet-proof vest went over her blouse and she layered a dark jacket over it.
Spotting Nick’s headlights in her driveway, she proceeded to join him.
He rolled down his window and stuck his head out. “Got your vest and weapon?”
“Yes, Mother.” She tucked her keys into her trouser pocket and climbed in his truck. “This is nice. Traded in your old one?”
“Too many memories,” he teased and backed out. “What’s Willie’s address?”
She told him and they headed that way. At his apartment complex, Nick parked and they both got out and glanced around.
“Looks clear,” he commented.
“It’s dark,” she countered, knowing they could never see anyone lurking at this time of day.
“Because it’s flipping five-forty-five in the morning. I generally recognize only one five-forty-five per day.”
She chuckled and they approached Willie’s apartment door. Jordan knocked and the short, dark-haired man answered.
“Hey, chica.” He glanced at Nick. “Who’s your boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” she protested too quickly. She sounded like a teenager, even to her own ear. “This is Marshal Nick Pierce. He’ll be accompanying us on our trip.”
“Aw.” Willie feigned a pout. “And here I thought I’d have you all to myself. Thinking maybe we could work on that mile high club this time.”
Nick shrugged. “I like to watch. Whatever you two want to do is fine.”
Jordan gave him a dirty look then frowned at Willie. “Get your shit, man. The trial is probably going to happen this time, so you won’t be coming back here.”
“All packed.” He motioned behind him to six large suitcases. Placing sunglasses on the top of his head, his reached for the smallest two bags and smiled. “Are we ready?”
She rolled her eyes and reached for the two largest cases.
Nick removed them from her hands, leaving her the medium sized bags. “I’m ready. You ready?”
“I am way past ready.” She grabbed the last pieces of luggage and they secured everything in the back of Nick’s truck.
Willie handed her the apartment keys and climbed into the second seat of the large cab.
She briefed him on the way to the airport. “Two more marshals are going to meet us, and I suspect they’ll take over once we get to Atlanta.”
“Such a show of force.” He clucked his tongue. “For little ol’ me.”
“Just behave yourself,” she advised. “We’d like to get through this with as little muss and fuss as possible.”
“Not sure I like the sounds of that,” Willie muttered.
Nick glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “Make no mistake about it. We’re geared for muss and fuss. We just need you to do what we say, when we say it. Capice?”
“Understood.” Willie settled into his seat for the remainder of the ride.
They navigated the section of the airport reserved for private planes and after going through security, boarded a jet with shipping company logos on the side. They were the only passengers aboard, so they had their choice of seats. A section in the center had four seats, two on each side, facing each other. She chose one and when Willie tried to sit beside her, Nick nudged him to move across from her. He took the seat next to their witness.
Willie frowned, but buckled in.
Jordan didn’t mind the arrangement. She didn’t need Willie sitting next to her, getting friendly, but she didn’t care for Nick’s macho act. She’d managed fine without his help all these years. He had no right to come back acting like an overprotective brute. If he kept it up, she’d have to put him in his place.
Both Jordan and Nick glanced around warily, keeping an eye out until they’d taken off.
Once they were in the air, they all read so they wouldn’t have to make conversation. Jordan pretended to read, anyway, and could tell Nick was doing the same. They both continued to observe their surroundings, even as they winged their way to Atlanta.
It was roughly a two hour flight, and the pilots made good time. When they landed, Nick disembarked first to check things out before returning and giving Jordan a nod.
They flanked Willie and led him off the plane, directly into an office where the Atlanta marshals waited for them.
“Joe Beck.” A tall, stocky man with a blond crew cut flashed his badge and shook hands with Nick then Jordan. “This is my partner, Tom Thorpe.”
They shook with the shorter, black marshal.
Nick nodded. “Nick Pierce and Jordan Burke. And this is Willie Espinosa.” He glanced around. “Everything’s been quiet on our end.”
“So far, so good,” Thorpe agreed. “Does he have luggage?”
“Oh hell, yeah.” Nick rubbed his chin. “Six pieces.”
Beck placed a call then nodded. “It’s being scanned through security right now. We’re going to hold it here so when we bring him back it’ll be ready to go.”
“Good plan,” Jordan agreed. She hadn’t relished the idea of hauling it around while trying to protect him.
Beck pocketed his phone. “We’ve got a Fed Ex truck outside. We’ll take that to the courthouse. Hopefully this will be an easy and uneventful in and out.”
“Your mouth to God’s ear.” She saw Nick unfasten the holder on his gun holster so she reached around to do the same thing. She was a pretty good shot at the firing range, but hated like hell when she had to use her gun for real. When it came down to it, she knew she could do what she had to do, and that was what counted.
The four marshals flanked Willie and escorted him to the waiting truck. There were no seats in the back, so she, Nick, and Willie climbed in and sat cross-legged in the wide open space.
Beads of sweat formed on the witness’s forehead. All the subterfuge was apparently hitting home. They hadn’t made it this far on their last trip, and Jordan could tell Willie’s nerves were kicking in. Her own gut rumbled a little. She tried to pass it off as hunger, but knew it was nervous energy.
“It’s going to be okay,” Nick assured them both.
She looked at Willie and then at the black, windowless side of the truck. Damn him! It grated her to no end that Nick could still tell what she was thinking.
Willie cracked his knuckles. “You think?”
“Sure,” Nick replied casually. “We’re halfway there. Once you’ve testified the pressure will be off. It’ll just be a matter of sending you off to your new home.”
“Yeah,” he snorted, not sounding the least bit reassured.
The window between the cab and the back of the truck was opened and Thorpe stuck his head in. “Almost there. Sit tight until we’ve secured the area. There’ve been some rumblings that the mob might try something, but so far that’s just been talk. Fingers crossed.” He closed the window again.
“Fingers crossed,” Willie repeated, now sweating profusely.
Nick nudged the man’s knee. “You’ll be fine. You’ve got four of the US Marshal Service’s
finest protecting you.”
“Yeah.” Willie snorted again.
Jordan found that funny and couldn’t help grinning.
Nick grinned back, and she felt somehow comforted, even if Willie didn’t.
The truck stopped and nothing happened for several minutes. The back door opened and Beck motioned for them to exit. “This way. We’re going in through the basement hallways and coming up below the courtroom.”
They hopped out and were immediately ushered through a doorway. Beck and Thorpe flanked Willie and rushed him through several long, dimly lit halls. Nick grabbed Jordan’s arm and she let him guide her along behind.
They ascended the first flight of stairs and rounded a corner to the next hallway. Beck stopped short and muttered something unintelligible, but it sounded like cursing.
Jordan and Nick peered around them to see what he was looking at.
A small pool of blood spread out on the floor in front of them, coming from underneath a closed door.
Thorpe immediately radioed it in, and the two marshals drew their weapons.
Nick and Jordan did the same.
Beck motioned for Nick to open the door and the other three trained their guns in that direction.
Nick got behind the door, made eye contact with each of them, nodded and pulled it open.
A court security guard lay in a crumpled heap in the small closet.
“Officer down! Officer down!” Beck shouted into his radio, and a bullet flew through the air. Two more shots rang out quickly in succession.
Time seemed to stand still as Jordan spun around toward the witness. She saw Beck push Willie down and drop on top of him. Thorpe covered both their bodies with his own.
Another bullet whizzed by, so close she could almost feel it. Before she knew what was happening, Nick shoved her to the floor, sprawling across her.
A flurry of activity filled both ends of the hall. Jordan glanced up in time to see a blue-uniformed police officer race by, followed by another. “We got him!” someone yelled.
