“Not exactly.”
Uh-oh. Uneasiness piggybacked on top of the self-consciousness. This had better not impact her promotion. She’d thought they had an easy rapport. What hadn’t Kono told her?
Delaney loaded the coffeemaker to direct her sudden burst of nervous energy at something. “Well, that’s not exactly reassuring. What’s the deal? Do I click my teeth without realizing it? Pace too much?”
“This is an ideal posting. Coos Bay gets you much closer to your protectees. Being stuck this far away was never optimal. You’ve logged too many hours in the car riding herd on them.”
All good points. Also? A pivot away from her actual question, which proved there was something more to Kono’s recommendation that she take this assignment. Delaney pushed past him into their office. Once he followed, she deliberately shut the door.
“What’s the real reason?”
“On the record? I told Supervisory Deputy Marshal Lomax exactly what I just told you. He agreed you’d be the best fit.”
Fine. But Delaney wasn’t done digging. “What about off the record?”
As he sat, a sustained sigh came out, like a tiny hole popped in a pool toy. “You care about your protectees. You treat them like people, not just a job.”
“Yes. Basic human kindness, etc. What’s your point?”
“You’re seeing them as people, not as criminals,” he said bluntly.
And suddenly Delaney knew exactly what this was about. She’d told him about how the Maguires had affected her. How she’d pushed to keep them in the program despite a dozen good reasons to cut them loose. How she believed in them. How she was now torn about the giant swath of gray she’d discovered in a job that used to be black or white.
Kono was worried she’d gone soft. Burnout could manifest in either disgust or too-great attachment. He was worried she’d lost her objectivity.
Wow. He didn’t know the half of it.
Delaney leaned over his desk, tapping emphatically on the edge of his monitor. “We protect plenty of innocents. Whistleblowers. Spouses. Children.”
“Criminals who may or may not have turned over a new leaf.”
Self-defense reared its hammer-shaped head. It knocked the double hump of unease and self-consciousness right out of her. “I do my job—”
He cut her off by lifting a hand as big as a paw. “You’re a top-notch marshal. I did some digging when I found out I’d be sharing my office with you. Your cases are buttoned up tight. Everyone likes working with you, even if you are a control freak. If this trial goes off without a hitch, there’ll be a promotion in it for you.”
“That’s my hope.”
Dusting crumbs from his hands, Kono leaned back, making the chair squeak in protest. “Is it?”
“Yes. Of course.” He was probing, which she’d normally resent. But now she knew for sure that he had the ear of people up the ladder, so an explanation was necessary. “My dad was a bad guy. Through and through. In prison for life, as long as the parole board doesn’t fuck up. I’m atoning for what he did, righting his wrongs, balancing the scales, by being in law enforcement.”
“There’s more than one way to fold a towel.”
“Don’t get folksy with me.”
The chair creaked again. “I thought this joint task force might be a good change of pace. Give you a chance to explore your options, work on a different aspect of the Marshals Service. Think about how else you could tip the scales.”
Delaney had let that thought slither around her brain only a few times in the last four months. The black-and-white distinctions being called for didn’t always apply. A lot of people landed in gray areas. Like the Maguires. Officially bad boys, but deep down, good guys.
Still, she always came back to the same point. One that was impossible to move past. “But I’ve always wanted to be a marshal.”
“I always wanted to ski. Was in a cast for six weeks the one time I tried. Stop being a lone wolf. Take my advice and think about what you really want. Because it looks to me like you want to help people. Help them not have their whole lives defined by one bad action, one bad day.”
It was too much to contemplate with his sharp black gaze on her. “I . . . I don’t know.”
“Exactly. Take the day off.”
“You don’t have the authority to give me the day off. I can’t play hooky, even if you cover for me.”
Kono crossed his arms with a snort. “I like you, Delaney, but I wouldn’t cover for anyone not doing their job. Lomax told me to pass that on to you. He knows you won’t be able to take any time with the trial getting closer. Don’t think about it. Do something different. Clear your head. They’re expecting you in Coos Bay on Wednesday.”
Delaney didn’t know what to say. Or think. She sort of wanted to give him a hug. “This whole having a partner thing is working out differently than I imagined. Am I going to receive a bill for life wisdom imparted?”
“You’ve already paid in full.” He crumpled up the muffin wrapper and lobbed it into the trash can. “This job is hard. Just because you’re good at it doesn’t mean it’s good for you. There’s nothing wrong with caring.” His gaze sharpened. “Until it crosses a line. Until it clouds your judgment. I’d hate for that to happen to you.”
He knew. Kono knew—somehow—about her and Kellan. Or did he?
“Thank you. For the opportunity. And watching out for me.” Then she almost jumped when a knock sounded.
After barely a second, the door opened. Sierra Williams waved and gave a shy smile. “Hi.”
Delaney had set up Sierra with a different marshal. As Flynn’s girlfriend, there was too much of a conflict of interest for Delaney to take on her case. But she liked the brave woman who had found the strength to get herself out of a horrible situation, to move past the fear and still see the good in people. “What are you doing here?”
“Training with a sketch artist. It was a great morning. He taught me ways to make a witness think about shapes and faces. I took a ton of notes. There’s a lot to practice.”
“I’m glad it went well.” As soon as she’d seen Sierra’s quick and precise talent with a pencil, she’d known it could be put to good use. Doing something far more rewarding than her current job serving beers at the Gorse.
Crossing to squeeze her arm, Sierra said, “Thank you, again, for hooking me up. I never dreamed my art would make a difference. That it could save someone’s life, or help put away criminals. I kind of feel like a superhero.”
“Mild mannered, unassuming, but with a secret, glorious red cape?”
“More or less. Hey, do you have time for a coffee?”
Hanging out with a friend sounded like a great distraction from thinking about her new assignment. Especially the one person besides Kellan that she didn’t have to lie to about what she did. “Yes. It turns out I’ve got the whole afternoon.”
Sierra’s mouth rounded into an O of excitement. “What if we do something more fun than just coffee?”
An hour later, Delaney regretted acquiescing to Sierra’s suggestion. Regretted it like walking into the ocean with fresh razor burn. Because it turned out that Sierra wanted to hang at a paint-your-own-pottery place.
She pulled her phone out and shot off a quick text to Em while Sierra grabbed more paint bottles.
D: You know what you should never do with a professionally trained artist? Make art.
E: How would that translate to your job? Like if a bodyguard-to-the-stars came up and hulked over you with muscles and shades and a bulky holster showing?
D: Are you confusing me with the Secret Service? What exactly do you think I do all day?
E: Not entirely clear. I’ve got a picture of you in my head with a shotgun trained on the bad guys and a badass smirk. Or this sad version of you in a government-issue ill-fitting suit, at a desk stacked with papers higher than your head, in a cubicle with those annoying buzzing fluorescent lights overhead.
That was . . . unsettling. Delaney looked up as
Sierra set more bottles—seven more, god help her—of paint on the table. “Do you know what your best friend does for a living?”
“Of course. Flynn’s a bartender.”
“Not your boyfriend. Your best friend.”
A sort of private, knowing smile slid onto Sierra’s face. “That’s what I said. Flynn is my best friend.”
“That’s . . . well, that’s lovely.”
“What about your boyfriend? The one who gave you that?” Sierra stroked a finger along the bracelet Delaney now wore every single day.
“Oh. Well.” Delaney swirled her brush in the little pot of water, buying time. No, not buying time. More like trying to figure out the answer. “I talk to him every night. Text all the time. I tell him things that I’ve never told my best friend, Emily. He’s become very important to me.”
Sierra clasped her hands over her heart. “You love him.”
“How did you know?”
“The way you’re talking around it. Like you don’t want to admit the truth, but you can’t deny it.”
Admitting it to Kellan hadn’t actually been that hard. Figuring out what to do next, now that was hard. But she didn’t want to get sidetracked. This question Emily had accidentally planted in Delaney’s brain about her job still bothered her. “What about a best friend you had back in art school?”
“Well, since I turned into a fugitive—” Sierra dropped her voice to a whisper on the F word “—I don’t exactly have a profile on LinkedIn to keep up with everyone.”
“Not even your very best friend? No midnight Googling?”
Sierra took the half-painted plate in front of Delaney and made a tsking sound. “Did you have a plan when you started this? A vision?”
“No. I’m trying to go with the flow. Be spontaneous.” It had some circles—the same blue as Kellan’s eyes. A few wavy lines.
“That’s not really your style, is it?”
A laugh erupted from Delaney. “Not at all. But I’m giving it a whirl.”
“Be spontaneous with ice cream flavors. Or places to have sex. Not with paint.” Expertly, Sierra dabbed and swirled while she continued talking. “It isn’t just the being in hiding thing. I was a bit of a loner at college. You know my history. A string of bad foster home experiences doesn’t give you a big circle of friends to trust. That’s what I love about Bandon. I have friends there. I’m not lonely anymore. And I’d never realized just how lonely I was, being all strong and self-sufficient, until I moved. And, of course until Flynn.”
Good thing Sierra had taken her plate because Delaney would’ve dropped it the moment Sierra mentioned being lonely. It was like not realizing you needed glasses until suddenly putting on your first pair and realizing the trees had leaves, not just green blotches.
She’d been lonely. For so long.
There wasn’t the kind of built-in camaraderie with the Marshals as with other law enforcement agencies. That was impossible with the layers of secrecy and constant moving around the country. Back in college she’d been too focused on keeping her scholarship, training to be ready to hit the ground running for the six-month-long stint at the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center in Georgia.
Not being able to reveal what she truly felt, or even what she did on a daily basis, had worn her down. Emily not knowing how she spent her days? That proved she’d been too buttoned up, too isolated. For too darned long.
“My best friend that I’ve had since college just told me she has no idea what I do every day as a marshal. Is it weird to ask how you see me?”
Sierra dropped the brush on the table. Palms flat, she leaned forward with wide eyes. “Omigosh, you’re the one who’s a superhero.”
“Hardly.” Delaney tugged at the polyester lapel of her blazer. “Don’t you think I’d be rocking a cape and a good pair of red knee-high boots if I could?”
“You protect people. You’re a living shield against not just violence, but against fear.”
That was a shock. Flattering, over-the-top, and so surprising to hear from someone that she hadn’t actually protected at all. “I haven’t caught a bullet between my teeth in at least two months,” Delaney joked.
“It’s not that. You’ve got this air of competence—I’m quite sure you can run and fight and shoot as well as, if not better, than everyone else. But it’s the way you listen and lay out facts and options. You hand over this supreme surety like a giant safety blanket. To someone who’s scared of the present and petrified of the future, that’s invaluable.”
The heartfelt compliment flashed the beginning of an idea into Delaney’s brain. What if Sierra was right? The woman had a heart the size of a small Baltic country, so obviously what she’d said was overblown, but what if the foundations were true? What if Delaney used that compassion and empathy that she’d braced against? Rather than being a weakness, it could be an asset.
What if she used it to help witnesses feel secure enough to testify? Witnesses who weren’t necessarily victims, but whose testimony would ultimately help the government make their case. People like that were often sneered at by prosecutors, agents, cops, all because they weren’t purely innocent.
If she became an official advocate for them, she’d still be doing good. Still be on the side of right, and yet also celebrating the good she saw shining in people who were far from paragons.
Was this even a real thing? Victim advocates, sure, but for witnesses who were on the wrong side of the law? Delaney didn’t know. But insider testimony often proved to be the most important. If it wasn’t a thing already, it should be.
Her fingers flexed, almost reaching for her phone to tell Kellan. That had become her first instinct for everything. Telling him. Sharing with him. In a little more than two months together, they’d melded into what she’d never aspired to be—a couple. It turned out there was a reason for all the hype. That sharing with another person didn’t weaken you. It doubled everything. The joy. The strength. The fun.
The love.
Then she remembered that she couldn’t tell Kellan, at least not without coming up with an alternate version of how she got the idea. Delaney didn’t know if Sierra’s training to be a sketch artist with the marshals was confidential or not. And in her work, the go-to assumption was always to err on the side of caution and confidentiality.
Was that what their relationship would be like? Hiding things from Kellan all the time? They had this unique opportunity for her to talk about her current case because he was in it, but that wouldn’t continue. This glimpse into the future . . . sucked.
Sierra tickled her arm with a dry brush. “Delaney? It feels like I lost you there for a minute. Are you okay?”
“I will be.” She squeezed the tube of blue paint. Hard. Good thing the cap was on. “Thanks for what you said. It helped more than you know.”
“I’m sorry that you have to hide so much from your friends.”
“It’s not that hard. I don’t have very many.” Wow. Delaney had never let herself think about it before. Not really. Because why brood about something that couldn’t change? But now that she’d released the floodgates on all of her buttoned-up feelings—thanks to the whole falling in love thing—she could admit that it bothered her. “One of the hazards of the job, of always being on the move and under a gag order.”
“I know the feeling.” Sierra’s wry smile was the only hint at how hard her life had been while she spent six months alone, running from an ex-boyfriend who’d duped her into art forgery. “But you’ve got me, now. Not just for as long as you’re here. For as long as you want.”
She made it sound so simple. “Will that still hold after you see how ugly I make this plate?”
“Don’t worry about that. I fixed it.” Sierra pushed it back in front of her. The lopsided blue circles were now quirky, adorable flowers. The wavy lines had become a field of grass blowing in the wind.
“How did you do that?”
“Your cape says superhero. Mine says super with a paint brush. We�
��ve all got our thing. Mollie can literally save lives, so I always thought her talent was the coolest. But then I tasted Lily’s chocolate rum cake, and now I’m wavering.”
“That sounds amazing.”
Sierra squeezed her arm. “I wish you didn’t live so far away. You could come to our next girls’ night and try it yourself.”
“I’m actually moving much closer—to Coos Bay. For at least six weeks.” With a half-shake of her head, Delaney said, “Don’t ask why.”
“That’s wonderful. I mean, unless there’s a serial killer that you’re stalking.”
“As far as I know, your boyfriend and his brother are the only criminals in Bandon.” It felt good to tease Sierra. To talk about the Maguires.
“Criminally handsome, that’s for sure. Ooh, you’ll be nearby to help with the Cranberry Festival.”
“Hasn’t your whole town been working on that all year?” Rafe certainly complained about it enough at every briefing. And Kellan had worked hard to draft a new brochure and website for it.
“Mmm-hmm. But there are so many different events over the three-day festival that the to-do list is endless. And it doesn’t feel like work when you’re hanging out with your friends. Like us, today. With more wine and chocolate. My Bandon friends seem to require that every time we get together. It’s awesome.”
“I like their style. I’m much better at providing wine than I am at painting.”
Sticking her tongue out, Sierra said wryly, “I can believe that.”
The Festival was the biggest event in Bandon. It drew hundreds of thousands of tourists to town, which meant she and Kellan could interact normally. They’d blend into the crowds and there wouldn’t have to be a cover story, or a pretend date with the sheriff. Delaney wouldn’t have to lie. It could be three days of carefree fun before the reality of the trial hit.
“You know what? I’d love to meet your new friends. I’ll even liaise with your handler to make it count as a check-in. We can use today as our cover story.”
“Cover story for what?”
Delaney loved the streak of optimistic innocence that ran deep in Sierra. “You can’t introduce me as a federal marshal.”
Got it Bad Page 20
