U.S. Marshals: Prey (U.S. Marshals Book 3)

by Laura Marie Altom

  While Adam headed to the kitchen to stock up on Cokes, she snorted. Yep, they’d get to all of those romantic maybes—right after pigs learned to fly!

  “What’s wrong?” Charity asked Adam about an hour into their cruise through Tillamook Bay. They were fishing for Chinook, and though she’d never been all that keen on the sport, it was shaping up to be a gorgeous day. Bright sun sparked off the choppy water. The brisk wind and fresh sea air were invigorating. The thought of landing a sixty-pound Chinook salmon was waaay exciting. “This whole trip was your idea, but you’re looking green in the gills.” She snort-laughed, elbowing his ribs. “Get it? Gills? I crack myself up.”

  “Do you have to be so loud?” he complained.

  “Do you have to be so whiny? What’s the problem?”

  “I’m sick. Seeing how you’re all girly now, where’s your sensitivity?”

  “Aw,” she said with a grin, patting his head. “Poor baby. Want me to get you a yummy mustard and bologna sandwich? Can’t you just smell that bologna? Feel all that yummy fat coating your—”

  Blech! Adam yakked over the side of the boat.

  “Sorry,” Charity said, trying to keep hold of her trolling rod while at the same time rubbing Adam’s back. “I was messing with you for waking me up so early. I didn’t think you were really that sick.”

  “Yeah,” he snapped, “well, I am.”

  “Hold my pole,” she said. “Let me see if I can round up a Sprite and crackers.”

  He shook his head. “That’s okay. Just let me die in peace.”

  She rolled her eyes, but all the same helped him to a vinyl-covered bench. “Try not to think about it,” she said. “And look at the horizon. I’ve heard that helps.”

  “Nothing’s going to help. I told you, I’m dy—” He tossed his cookies again. Or in his case, eight doughnuts and coffee.

  She rubbed his back for a while, but then her pole hunched over.

  “Hey!” the hairy guy standing next to her hollered. “You got one. And from the looks of it, he’s a monster!”

  More than two hours later she’d reeled in a fifty-eight-pound Chinook salmon. By the cheers and adulation of the six guys on board—not counting Adam, who’d gone below—you’d have thought she’d reeled in a flat-screen TV. Never had she felt more important. Just think, it hadn’t taken landing a mastermind crook, but a massive fish.

  Early that evening, back at the dock, she posed for pictures then made taxidermy arrangements—no way was she just going to eat the beauty. She wanted him around for all time. Bragging rights this good couldn’t be bought! Even better, Captain Wallace asked her permission to use her photo on his charter service’s Web page. Of course, she agreed.

  If Adam had told her she’d have this much fun fishing, she never would’ve believed him. But not only had she liked it, she was great at it!

  Could she do that with dating and parenting, too?

  Charity went in search of Adam, and found him in the fetal position, huddled under a rough wool blanket on a lower berth across from the boat’s smelly bathroom.

  Boy, was she a great friend, or what? Leaving him down here, miserable all day while she’d had the time of her life. And here she supposedly loved him. Or did she? Was the fact that she’d abandoned him—despite the increased sexual tension of the past few days—a sign that they were nothing more than pals?

  She put her hand on his shoulder. “Adam, hon? Time to wake up.”

  “Hey,” he said, sleepy-eyed with an algae-colored complexion. “Catch anything?”

  “Only the biggest fish of the day. Fifty-eight pounds.”

  “Damn…” His voice was scratchy. “I’m impressed. High-five.”

  She held her hand up so he could slap it.

  “That’s great,” he said, “How did that make you feel, wrestling him in?”

  “Truthfully,” she admitted with a sheepish grin, “like I was on top of the world. As if I could accomplish anything I set my mind to.”

  “Mission accomplished.”

  “Huh?” She scratched her head. “You planned this whole thing?”

  He cast her that toothy grin she adored. “Right down to having the diver put a gorgeous fish on your line.”

  “You’d do that for little ole me?” she teased, batting her eyelashes, knowing full well she’d caught that fish on her own.

  “Heck, yeah—despite the fact that I got zero nursing from you.”

  “Aw, poor, baby.” She brushed the hair back from his clammy forehead. “Guess I just got lost in the moment.”

  “Cool,” he said. “Then it was worth it.”

  “What? I thought you got our seats for free?”

  Captain Wallace clumped down the boat’s stairs. “Good, good, I see our sickie’s finally back to the land of the livin’.”

  “Almost,” Adam said.

  “Excellent. Well, hate to bother you, kind sir, seeing how you haven’t had a pole in the water all day, but I need to settle up or the wifey’ll have my hide. She does the accounting, and with fuel prices being what they are…”

  “Not a problem.” Adam reached into his back pocket for his wallet, then pulled out a wad of cash. “Here you go.”

  The captain counted out three hundred in twenties before folding the bills and handing Adam a prewritten receipt. “Pleasure doing business with you, son. Hope your next trip, you stock up on Dramamine instead of bologna.”

  “Eeuw.” Adam winced. “Please, don’t even say the word.”

  “I still can’t believe you forked over that much money to try to make me feel good about myself.” Charity tucked Adam into her bed. He’d insisted he’d rather recuperate at her loft than his apartment. And seeing how sweet he’d been to her and how she’d abandoned him at his time of need, she’d agreed. Ralphie hopped up beside him. “What made you think up such a thing?”

  “Long story,” he said, propping one of her prized antique feather pillows behind his still-greenish head.

  “We’ve kinda got all night.” She snatched a pillow for herself so she could recline next to her two favorite boys. She smelled like fish and badly needed a shower, but for the moment, nothing sounded better than lying beside them. “Come on, spill it.”

  “Hmm…” he said, a partial spark back in his eyes. “Seems to me the last time I made that demand, I got hurled into a recliner.”

  “That was different.” Her cheeks superheated at the thought of how dangerously good it’d felt with him on top of her, pinning her to the floor.

  “How so?” he teased.

  She landed a playful swat to his shoulder. “Just get on with the story.”

  “All right,” he said with a big sigh. “But only because you’ve browbeaten me into it.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Okay, you know how my mom died when I was a kid, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, a few days after her funeral, I was still pretty out of it. Gillian was crying all the time and Beau was angry. Wouldn’t talk to any of us. Just sat in Mom’s favorite rocker.”

  “That skirted one by your dad’s bay window? The one upholstered in that funky blue-and-gold fabric that’s covered in Revolutionary War flags?”

  “That’d be the one. Anyway, after a couple weeks of moping, one Saturday morning, Dad yanks us out of bed way before dawn, then hauls us to the docks. Back then, Desolation Point didn’t have a tourist industry, so we hitched a ride on his buddy Zeke’s commercial trawler. Damned thing belched oil and diesel. Stank so bad you wanted to die. Ten minutes in, I was tossing my cookies. Caleb, too. But Gillian and Beau—they came alive out there. The sea did something to them. They caught fish after fish. I don’t even remember what kind. For each one they caught, Cap’n Zeke would throw ’em a couple bucks. Me and Caleb were jealous as hell.” He shook his head, grinning. “Something about that trip. I don’t know. Just made everything better. It didn’t bring Mom back, but it made us see life had to go on. That it could even be fun to go on
.”

  “So you got seasick even back then?” she asked, stroking the hair back from his forehead.

  “Yep. On land, I can eat anything from week-old pork chops to sour milk, but put me on a boat and I’m a goner.”

  “So even though you knew this about yourself, you planned this fishing date anyway? Just for me? Because I was being a big baby over my lot in life?”

  “You weren’t being a baby.” He took her hand in his, bringing it to his mouth for a soft kiss. “You want a baby. Everyone has their crosses to bear. Some chicks I know get bent out of shape over a mole or packing on a few extra pounds, but when your twin brother died, you lost a part of yourself. When you tried taking Craig’s place for your dad, you lost a little more of yourself. And so now, here you are working in a field you’re damned good at, but might not have gone into if it weren’t for your father, and it’s hit you that the real Charity is ready to come out and play. And, babe, as powerful as you felt using every ounce of your strength wrangling that fish, you’ve got to do the same in going after your dream of having a baby.”

  Swoon. “Anyone ever told you you’re adorable?”

  But nothing about her dream was simple—especially, when the only baby daddy she wanted was him.

  Late Monday afternoon at Steph’s house, daubing her eyes with a tissue, her sister said, “Adam’s so going to propose to you. I predict next weekend, but you could have a ring on your finger as early as midweek.”

  “No way,” Charity said. “Yes, his gesture was incredibly romantic and sweet, but it doesn’t prove he loves me.”

  “Are you kidding? The man made himself sick making you smile. What more proof do you need?”

  Charity left her sister’s sofa to pace. “I’m still not sure his act proves anything beyond the fact Adam loves me as a friend—which I already knew.”

  Stephanie rolled her eyes.

  “You can roll your eyes all you want, but not a single thing that transpired yesterday was boyfriend/girlfriend-type stuff. If he’s on the verge of proposing, seems to me I’d have at least had a congratulatory kiss.”

  “But the man was green as that monster fish you caught.”

  “Correction.” Charity cleared her throat. “My magnificent Chinook salmon wasn’t green, but silvery, with a blackish streak on his spine.”

  Stephanie returned to her eye-rolling.

  At his favorite table at Ziggy’s, Adam tried chilling over a beer, watching a Seahawks vs. Miami game, but worry had him on edge. He was meeting Caleb, Beau and Bug for dinner, and all three were more than thirty minutes late.

  Quinton Davis, Number Eight on the Service’s Top Ten Most Wanted list, was believed to be in the Portland area. Along with his brothers, Bug had been assigned to the team charged with bringing Quinton in.

  Office grapevine had it that Bug and Beau had been key players in cuffing the target outside a neighborhood convenience store where he’d bought cigs and beer nuts. He’d been staying with a friend named Luis Vuarez—a slimeball wanted for drug trafficking and four counts of armed robbery.

  Adam knew his brothers could take care of themselves, but the thought of Bug being out there facing dangerous scum, made him about six kinds of queasy.

  Oh, sure, she beat him at target practice, but that didn’t mean he wanted her out there in the field, trying out her skills. He’d always supported female marshals. After all, his sister still worked the occasional sting. But Bug wasn’t just any woman. She was his.

  Not his woman, per se, as in girlfriend. But as his best friend, he didn’t want her in harm’s way. Counting his mom and Angela, he’d already lost two women he’d deeply cared about. He wasn’t sure he could stand losing Charity.

  “Hey, big guy.” Caleb startled Adam from his thoughts with a slap to his back. “How were things in court?”

  “Dull.” Adam nodded at his other brother Beau. “Where’s Bug?”

  “That all you have to say?” Caleb slid into the half-circle booth. “We pulled off a major coup today. I’d think you’d have some congratulating to do.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Adam said. “You’ve never needed me to tell you you’re awesome. Now, where’s Bug? I thought she was riding with you. She didn’t get hurt in the sting, did she?”

  “I don’t think she’s gonna make it,” Beau said.

  “Why?” Adam’s nerves had him jiggling his spoon.

  Beau shrugged. “Probably has a hot date with Sam. Those two have been pretty close lately. Shared an order of onion rings at lunch.”

  Adam bent the spoon in half.

  “Take it easy on my silverware,” Ziggy said, order pad in hand. The guy was shaped like one of his hamburgers with a shock of self-dyed black hair that looked as if it had been slicked back with a whole can of Crisco.

  “Sorry.” Adam straightened the mangled utensil.

  While Caleb and Beau gave Ziggy their orders, Adam couldn’t get his mind off Bug standing him up for Suck-up Sam. Couldn’t she have at least called to let him know she wasn’t coming? And what was the deal with her sharing rings with the guy? Such an intimate act was best shared with friends.

  Adam gave Ziggy his order, then settled in to endure a couple hours of comparing diapers and cute-kid stories.

  “What’s Cal Jr. got planned for the science fair?” Beau asked Caleb.

  “He flip-flops between building a volcano and something electronic.”

  “What kind of electronics?” Beau helped himself to Adam’s chips and salsa.

  “Guys,” Adam complained, “could we please get back to Bug. Is she okay?”

  “Why wouldn’t she be?” Caleb asked.

  “I heard shots were fired. She might’ve been grazed or something, and you guys just aren’t telling me.”

  Beau sighed. “Give it a rest. She’s fine. Probably right now, cuddled with Sam in front of his new 86” UHD TV.”

  Caleb whistled. “I helped Sam set up his sound system, and let me tell you, that baby rocks. Bug’ll love it. Oh—and this was cute. Bear said Sam was laying in a huge supply of those cookies she likes, just so—”

  “Fudge Grahams?” Adam interjected.

  “How’d you know?”

  Adam shrugged. “Lucky guess.”

  Beau and Caleb ignored him, rambling on about Suck-up Sam and his lame TV. Bug wasn’t really falling for the guy just because of his impressive gadgets, was she? In a potential husband, she should be studying deeper issues. Trustworthiness and loyalty. He’d have to be a good provider and dad. A good listener and friend.

  Like himself.

  Not that Adam was nominating himself for the job. But if he had been, he’d be perfect. Maybe if he’d met Bug before Angela, things might’ve turned out differently, but it was a little late in the game for second-guessing. What was done was done, and Bug deserved better than a head case like himself.

  “Adam?” Caleb asked.

  “Huh?” He looked up.

  “Have you seen Sam’s movie collection? When you get a chance, you should check it out. Bug said it was mighty impressive.”

  Adam growled.

  “Where have you been?” Adam asked from a bench outside Bug’s building. It was past nine, and cold enough for him to see his breath. He’d asked his grandmotherly neighbor to feed Ralphie.

  “Excuse me?” she asked, her sexy pear scent reaching him before she did. What was she thinking wearing that stuff around Sam?

  “Our date? Ziggy’s? Ring any bells? Or were you too busy fawning over Sam’s TV that you forgot your friends?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Are your allergies bothering you, and you accidentally overdosed?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, pushing to his feet, falling into step beside her.

  Mounting the building’s stairs, she shot him an odd, sad sort-of look. Was she worried about him? “You seem…off.”

  “I’m good.” He got the door for her. “It’s you I’m worried about. Spending so much time with Sam. It’s going t
o louse up any progress you might make in finding a real father for your baby.”

  “Stop.” She ducked under his outstretched arm on her way inside.

  “What am I doing?”

  “Acting like a jealous lover. And for your information, I wasn’t with Sam tonight, but Steph.”

  “Oh.” Waiting with her for the next available of the building’s three elevators, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “For your information,” he said after they’d waited a good two or three minutes. “I wasn’t acting like a jealous lover, but a concerned friend.”

  Ancient Mrs. Kleypus wandered up with her Pekingese, Gringo, and judging by her gaping mouth, apparently just in time to catch Adam’s speech.

  “Charity, dear,” she said while Gringo lifted his leg on the plastic ivy flanking the left side of the elevator door. “Is this foul-mouthed hooligan bothering you? If he is, Clive is just down the hall. I’ll be happy to get him.”

  Now there was a frightening prospect. Adam worked hard to hide a chuckle. Clive was Washington Manor’s security guard and, judging by the last time prankster teens had gotten away with dressing the building’s George Washington garden statue in drag, Gringo the Peeing Wonder Dog would’ve had better odds of drowning visitors who were up to no good.

  Mrs. Kleypus knew full well Charity was a gun toting marshal, quite capable of taking care of herself. Still, the ornery old woman persisted in giving Adam grief every time he came around.

  “No, ma’am,” Charity said, flashing the nosy old bat a much sweeter smile than she’d given him all day. “Thanks so much for asking, but I think I can handle this on my own. No need to interrupt Clive’s shows.”

  “All right, then.” Mrs. Kleypus scratched her hip with one hand, yanking Gringo’s pink leash with her other. “But call if you need me. I’ll be in all evening.”

  “Will do,” Charity said just as the elevator announced its arrival with a loud ding. “Thanks again for your help.”