“Yeah.” Blake took the next left and stole a look at her bruised face. His fingers tightened on the wheel. “It’s precautionary. Nothing more.”
Her shoulders relaxed by a small measure.
“How is it that you’re so calm?” he asked. Most people he protected had at least one outburst by now, and their threats weren’t always as immediate. He expected tears. Rage. Something. People in Marissa’s position usually found someone in law enforcement to blame for their circumstance or a reason to complain about the way Blake handled the case. Instead, she’d been instrumental in every step of progress they’d made. “You were smart to think of the lake town.” His stomach rolled at the memory of all those women being pulled ashore. “You did a mighty thing.”
She pursed her lips and looked away, watching the view outside her window. “Lucky guess.”
“And the calm front you’re wearing?”
“A disguise.” The inflection in her voice suggested she wasn’t sure. “Maybe mind over matter. I don’t know. I’ve always been pretty good at compartmentalizing in times of strife or challenge. I break big obstacles into smaller, more manageable tasks, then I handle the pieces one at a time. I use the same method to reach personal goals. It’s how I got through college while working full-time, and pretty much how I learn to do anything. Horseback riding. Rock climbing. Nothing comes easily for me. I’m just a natural-born hardhead, and I guess I’m applying those strategies now. I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“Well, it’s working.”
“It’s how I got away,” she said, taking a look in his direction. “Now that you’ve mentioned it, focusing on the small picture is probably the only reason I’m not in the bathtub back at the hotel wound into the fetal position.” She turned back to her window. “Besides, panic has never helped anyone accomplish anything, and Kara needs me to stay focused. I’ll have a proper breakdown later. Privately.”
Emotion welled in Blake’s chest. He didn’t like the thought of her alone and upset in a bathtub or anywhere else. “You can talk to me,” he said, “if you want.” He’d like that. Marissa was strong, maybe even the kind of woman who could handle life with someone like him, a man who spent his life in a perpetual state of danger. Most women either couldn’t or wouldn’t, but he suspected Marissa was fully capable of anything.
Truth be told, the Garrett boys’ reputation for being a matched set of untamable playboys was deeply ironic. Even if they wanted to settle down, how would they find someone willing to endure life with a lawman? It was easier not to think past the third date than to haplessly search for someone who didn’t exist.
“What?” Marissa asked.
Blake started. “What?”
“You shook your head. Was that because of what I said?”
“No.”
Her gaze warmed the side of Blake’s face.
He waited. Apparently, she had something to ask, and he knew firsthand how difficult it could be to put some things into words. Considering all that Marissa was going through, she deserved to take as long as she wanted. Personally, he found it easier to keep things to himself, speaking only when necessary and never longer than he had to. The practice had served him well as an agent. When he had something to say, his team knew it was worth hearing, and they listened.
Marissa lifted and dropped her hands against her thighs. “My dad thinks I should have stayed with him.”
Blake’s gaze jumped to hers, then back to the road. The uncertainty in her tone was a blow to his chest. Did she think her dad could keep her safer? Was that possible? Or was it something else? Maybe she wanted a break from Blake’s constant presence and was too polite or overwhelmed to say so. He’d been enjoying their dynamic, but he hadn’t considered how she might feel. Stifled. Smothered. Unhappy. He slowed the truck. “Nash is looking for you, so your presence will add to their risk. I won’t stop you from going back, but I’m staying with you wherever you are.” He could keep watch from outside if she needed a break from him.
Her blue eyes widened. “No. I want to stay with you.”
His grip on the wheel loosened. “Okay.” He turned back to the road with relief and nonsensical pride. “Then why’d you bring that up?”
She bit into the thick of her bottom lip and furrowed her brows. “My dad thinks I’m keeping you from playing a more active role in Nash’s pursuit, and I think you should focus on the case and stop worrying so much about me. I don’t want to be the thing that holds you back.”
The sincerity in her eyes and voice sliced straight through him. He pulled the truck over and twisted on the seat to face her. “Your dad is wrong.”
She wet her lips and waited, for what he wasn’t sure, but the words from his head were piling on his tongue faster than he could sort them. “We’re sticking together,” he said. “If you’re not with me, then I’ll be worrying about you, and that’s no good. My men can handle the field while I take point. We’re doing it this way because it’s the only way that makes sense, not because you’re holding me back.”
His shoulders sagged as he worked the truth over in his mind. He’d taken himself out of play on the most important case of his career. For years, he’d dreamed of tearing into Nash with his bare hands, and now he’d relegated himself to a desk. He’d done it so Marissa would be safer and feel less afraid.
Blake turned stiffly back to the wheel and angled the truck onto the road. The realization was a load of bricks dumped over him. Marissa’s dad couldn’t have been more wrong. Her presence wasn’t compromising Blake’s investigation. Meeting her had compromised him.
* * *
MARISSA GAWKED AT the line of people extended along the front of the sheriff’s department.
Blake parked on the sidewalk outside the crowded lot. He circled the truck and opened the passenger door for her.
“Are these all volunteers?” she asked.
“Sadly, no.” He offered her a hand out of the vehicle, then closed the door behind her. “Those are all witnesses.” The sour look on his face said he didn’t believe half of them had witnessed anything other than the morning newscast. “Excuse us,” he said, escorting Marissa inside.
As promised, a gaggle of women her mom’s age filled the seats at a row of newly erected tables near the far wall. Old-fashioned telephones with landlines had been set up in front of each seat like a telethon. “Is that your mom’s quilting crew?”
He gave the group a peculiar look. “None other.”
A pair of Shadow Point deputies conducted interviews at their desks, while an agent with a clipboard spoke to the next person in line.
Marissa looked to Blake. “Are all these people good news or bad?” It seemed the verdict could go either way.
Blake rubbed the stubble on his chin. “A little of both, I guess. Good news is that we know the newscast made an impression. Bad news is we have to sift through all the chaff to find the wheat, if there is any, and then hope we aren’t too late to act on the intel.”
Marissa’s muscles tightened and her throat clogged at the implication. “I see.”
Blake’s hand found the small of her waist. He tipped his head downward, forming a private conversation space. “Hey. I didn’t mean too late for Kara. I meant that if it takes us too long to learn Nash’s whereabouts, and he moves on, then even the good information is still useless, and the efforts here are in vain. Timing’s everything in cases like these.”
Marissa smoothed sweat-slicked palms against her jeans. “Where should I sit?”
“Break room?” He lifted his brows in question.
Marissa cocked her head back. “If the local quilting crew can take calls, I can talk to the people in line. I know what he looks like. I’ll know if someone really saw him.”
Blake hunched lower into their private cocoon. His fingers relaxed, settling into the curve of her hip. “Listening to false reports can be
infuriating. You don’t have to put yourself through any unnecessary ordeals. You’ve already done more than anyone expected.” His voice was low and careful, evidently meant to protect her from potential trauma.
She formed her most pleading expression and matched his cautious tone. “You just said timing is everything, and I can help you get through this line of people waiting to be heard.” Blake had made it clear that his job was to protect her, but her job was to protect Kara, and if listening to some cuckoo stories was the fastest way to get the facts, then that’s what she would do.
Blake didn’t answer. Instead, the two of them locked determined gazes.
“Hello.” A woman’s voice sounded nearby, and a shadow fell over them.
Blake turned his eyes on her without relaxing his stance. Mixed emotions flitted over his handsome face before he straightened. “Mama.”
The woman’s attention darted from her son’s face to his hand on Marissa. “This must be Miss Lane.” She squinted at the marks on Marissa’s face before settling into a small smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you today. You’re in good hands, now. I promise.”
Blake dropped his hand away and rolled his shoulders back.
Marissa offered his mother a hand to shake. “It’s nice to meet you. I hope Blake’s said nice things.”
“I haven’t heard a thing from Blake.” She gave him a curious look as she took Marissa’s hand. “I’ve spoken to West, Cole and their father, but not Blake.”
Marissa ignored the senseless tug of disappointment. Of course Blake hadn’t rushed to call his mom and tell her all about her. This was business for him. Marissa, on the other hand, had too many emotions and not enough sleep.
Blake’s chest expanded and fell in a silent sigh. “I’ve meant to call. I’ve had my hands full.”
“Yes, I saw.” She smiled warmly at Marissa. “Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”
“I’m fine.” She pushed her hand into her pocket hoping it wasn’t too clammy during the shake. “I was just asking Blake where I should sit to help with witness statements.”
A mix of surprise and pleasure flitted over his mother’s face. She turned mischievous eyes on Blake. “Why don’t I show her to the community bulletin table? No one’s using that space.” She started toward the far wall and motioned them to follow.
They stopped at a four-foot folding table. Blake stacked the piles of community event flyers in a heap and moved them to the center. He released a sharp whistle, and Marissa flinched.
A passing deputy stopped to look their way.
“Can I get two chairs over here?” Blake asked.
“Yes, sir.”
Blake rested his fists on the wobbly structure. “This will work. I’ll take one end and review reports while you talk to witnesses on the other.”
Blake’s mom shot him a look and returned to the table lined with middle-aged women and ringing phones.
“Great.” Marissa fought a wave of nausea. She even needed a protective detail inside the sheriff’s department. She was in so much danger that she was being escorted around town by a federal agent. Her breaths came short and hot.
“Marissa?” The warmth of Blake’s body was back in her space. Scents of his cologne and aftershave were everywhere. “Are you okay? Remember. You don’t have to do this.”
She swallowed the lump of fear in her throat and nodded.
Did he really think someone might try to hurt her at the sheriff’s department? Was Nash Barclay that bold?
The deputy arrived with a pair of folding chairs. “Anything else?” His gaze lingered on Marissa’s swollen cheek.
She swept the length of her hair over one shoulder and let the thick strands form a veil over the marks on her fast-heating face.
“No.” Blake took the chairs and opened them, setting one at each end of the table.
Her knees buckled easily as she fell onto the seat.
Blake watched with a heartbreaking expression.
She would’ve asked what he was thinking, but where would that get her? Blake wasn’t exactly a sharer. If he wanted her to know something, he’d volunteer it. Besides, it wasn’t as if that look had anything to do with her, and if it wasn’t about her or her sister, then it wasn’t any of Marissa’s business.
She pulled her attention to the line at the door. “I’m going to collect my first witness.” She had plenty of work to do and all night to speculate about the cause of Blake’s troubled face.
“I’ll be here if you need me.”
If there was ever a Blake Garrett action figure, that would be the tagline.
Marissa faltered only steps from the double glass doors. Her heart rate kicked up, and she felt the chill of fear roll down her spine. “Blake.”
Amidst the white noise of traffic and soft rumble of the crowd, another sound trickled into her ears. “Blake?”
He was at her side in an instant. “What is it? What’s wrong?” His hands were on her hips, his cautious blue eyes weighted with worry.
“I hear his song.” She raised a finger to her lips. “Listen.”
Blake jerked his head around to face the lot. “Stay here.” His eyes widened, and he barreled outside with one hand on his sidearm.
Marissa clutched her chest and crept closer to the open door, torn between wanting the song to be in her imagination and not wanting to be crazy.
Silence fell over the witnesses as they moved against the building in an awkward wave, nudging one another and pointing as Blake rounded each car and surveyed their faces.
West and a pair of agents strode into the lot where Blake stood.
Nash’s creepy chapel song blared from the pocket of a black hoodie.
A sheen of sweat formed on Marissa’s brow. Nash’s hot breath blew fresh on her face, as real and sickening as the day they’d met. She rubbed her heated cheeks and shuffled through the doors, desperate to know what would happen next.
Blake snaked an arm out and spun the person around.
The hood fell back to reveal a homeless-looking woman with ratty blond hair. “I saw him,” she said with a grin.
Blake yanked an old CD player from the hoodie and jammed his finger against the power button, ending the awful tune.
Marissa’s shoulders sagged with release.
“He gave me a coat, money, music and a sandwich,” the woman said. “All I had to do was stand here until I got the chance to tell you.” Her wide toothless smile sent tremors over Marissa’s frame.
Didn’t the woman understand her benefactor was a cold-blooded killer? Didn’t she know? He could have hurt her. Drowned her.
A fat tear rolled over Marissa’s cheek and she sucked in another ragged breath before turning back for the station. Surrounded by law enforcement, and Nash had still been right outside the glass double doors.
Marissa wasn’t safe anywhere.
Chapter Eight
It was after four before Blake had a chance to check in with West again. He knocked on his brother’s open office door and wedged himself in the threshold. “A line of witnesses around the building and no one saw anything.”
West looked up from his file. “You mean no one except the nice homeless woman.”
Blake rolled his back against the jamb and rested his head on the cool metal. “The one who spoke of Nash as if he were the Messiah, bringing her a warm jacket, music from her heyday and money?”
“That’s the one.”
Blake blew out a long breath. “What’d you do with her anyway?” The woman had been gone when he and two of his team members finished scouting the area for signs of Nash nearby.
“I took her statement then drove her to a shelter where she could get a hot meal and a warm bed for the night. I put the sweatshirt into evidence with the CD player and gave her a replacement with a little cash for her trouble
.”
“Great.”
West hunched over his desk as Blake stepped into the hall. “Where are you going?”
“To find Marissa. I’m going to see if I can get her out of here. Get some food. Get some sleep.” He’d tried to coax her away an hour ago, but she’d insisted on staying until the last witness was heard.
As if her day hadn’t been bad enough, there wasn’t any news about her sister, and Kara was still unaccounted for.
Blake returned to their table and slid copies of the most promising witness accounts into a manila envelope for later.
Marissa’s head was on the desk, one cheek cradled in the crook of an arm. Her free hand dangled at her side. It would’ve been a peaceful scene, if the marks of a lunatic weren’t displayed across her visible cheek and throat. She’d done her best to hide the evidence behind her hair as “witnesses” made their statements, but the fight was now lost to exhaustion.
“Ready?” he asked. Blake moved to her side, gut and jaw clenched as he imagined the terror and confusion when Nash attacked her. He’d come so close to losing her that day. Except that wasn’t true. He hadn’t known her then. So, how did a woman he’d met less than forty-eight hours ago feel like she’d been a part of his life forever?
“Marissa.” He squatted beside her chair and used his most soothing voice so as not to startle her. “Marissa.” His fingers ached to reach for hers, to twine them with his, or maybe just pull her into his arms. Blake let his lids fall shut for a quick internal curse. He could admire her without touching her. He needed to get thoughts of the latter out of his head.
He scanned the room for prying eyes and found plenty. His brother, West, was among the spectators. Two members of his team turned away when they were caught staring, but West crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels, a distinct look of interest on his brow. Blake didn’t like it. What did it mean? Surely it wasn’t romantic interest in Marissa. He felt his scowl deepen. “Marissa,” he repeated, slightly louder this time. “Hey.” He lifted her hand in his and met West’s gaze once more.
Federal Agent Under Fire Page 9
