by Alex Ander
He put the opening to his lips and tipped back his head.
“...sexy foot would’ve only made it taste better.”
His mouth widened at her quip, and water dribbled down his cheeks. He quickly righted himself, wiped away the liquid, and faced her. “I see you’re not letting go of that, are you?”
Beaming at a lone drop of water still clinging to his chin, she slowly shook her head. “Not just yet I’m not.”
“You know...most heroes who save the damsel in distress are showered with flowers, or get a simple kiss, not wisecracks.” Randall thought for a moment. “Although, I guess I did get a kiss.”
“No.” Faith wagged her finger. “No. That wasn’t a kiss.” She recalled her embarrassment from earlier. “Whatever happened back there, we’re not calling that a kiss.”
“I’m fine with that.” Peering over the Dodge’s roof, “It kind of felt like,” he stared at some distant trees, “like I was sucking on a mound of ice cream.”
“Hey!”
He cranked his head back toward her, lifting an open hand a beat later at the scowl on her face. “Hold on. Just,” he pumped an index finger toward her, “just let me finish.”
Trying her best to show feigned indignation, she folded her arms and dropped them onto her belly. “Oh, I can’t wait to see how you get out of this one.”
His mouth ajar, his mind spinning, Randall stared at her lower legs. Think fast, Noah. Think fast. “It was like ice cream...on a, a—a hot summer day. It felt like ice cream on a hot summer day.” He flipped his palms skyward and met her gaze. “I ask you. What’s more refreshing than that?”
Unable to fake injured feelings any longer, Faith let her amusement return. “I’ll give you this. You’re quick on your feet.”
“I’m a CIA man. I have to be.”
“I thought you said you were DEA.”
He lifted a shoulder. “I was traded for a first-round draft choice.”
She chuckled before lightly massaging her aching foot. “So how do you know my sister?”
“I’m her new partner.”
“CIA...DEA...now a marshal? You get around, don’t you?” She confronted him. “Wait a minute. What happened to her other partner? Where did Blake go?”
His humor evaporating at the thought of Faith not knowing that Blake Hawkins had been killed, Randall gaped at the concrete road and rubbed the back of his neck.
Faith noticed the change in his demeanor. “Did something happen to Blake?”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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Chapter 19
I’m Sorry
His cheeks puffing outward, Randall exhaled a long, slow breath and explained that Blake had been murdered in Mexico. When Faith probed for more information, he told her the whole story, including the attack on Devlin’s family.
Having finished recounting the tale, Randall turned his back on Faith and slid hands into pants pockets. “I’m sorry.” He looked up at a bright blue sky, a few stringy clouds playing across it. “I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you that. I figured Jessica would’ve contacted you by now.”
“She called me...before I was taken. But I,” Faith put both feet on the ground, bent over, and held her head in her hands, “I was busy. I couldn’t take her call.” She cursed. “Some sister I am.”
“We all get calls we can’t take. You couldn’t have known.”
The roadway around her rotating, Faith slammed shut her eyes at the thought of Blake being dead. A series of violent images zipped through her brain, beginning with her abduction. Those images were accompanied by an overwhelming sense of fear at how close she had come to being raped and most likely murdered.
“I’m sure Jessica understands.” Randall pivoted. “She knows you’re—”
Faith’s shoulders bounced up and down.
He saw wetness between the fingers covering the woman’s face. Taking a knee, he clutched her upper arms. “Hey, hey...it’s okay. She knows you have a lot of responsibilities.”
Faith sat upright, shaking her head, and wiping her cheeks. “It’s not that. I know she understands. It’s just,” she sniffled and ran fingers over her nose, “it’s just...I think with everything that’s happened...in the last few days,” she swallowed, “I think it all just came rushing up to the surface.”
He patted her hip. “That’s to be expected.”
Her chest swelled. “I can’t help but think there was something I could’ve done differently...something,” she looked away and exhaled, “something I should’ve done that would’ve kept all this...”
“No.” Randall whipped his head back and forth. “No. Don’t...”
“...from happ—”
“...don’t take that on.” He sloped sideways and got in her line of sight. “You did nothing wrong.”
She regarded him.
“So just get that out of your head. You hear me?”
Licking her lips, she looked down. “Yes. I hear you. But you didn’t go through what I went through. You weren’t the one naked and exposed, waiting for that guy to shove his,” her voice trailed off.
Randall hung his head and envisioned a bound Faith, bent over the arm of the sofa. “You’re right. I’m not necessarily the best person to offer advice on this topic; however,” he raised his head, “you’re a cop. You know what happens after a woman’s been assaulted.” He paused. “You know they oftentimes end up blaming themselves. Isn’t that right?”
She nodded.
“And, even though you weren’t actually,” he wavered, “well, you’re still blaming yourself for what happened. So take your own advice, the advice I’m sure you’ve given to victims over the years.”
Her shoulders rising and falling once, Faith let out a breath. “I guess I probably should.”
A minute passed.
Randall pivoted his head. “When I was in grade school, there was this kid who,” he hesitated, “he must’ve been on a mission to make my life a living hell. No matter what I did, he still picked on me. At the time, I just kept thinking that if I was nicer to him, if I helped him with his schoolwork, if I...whatever...that he would treat me better.”
Slanting closer to him while pressing her knees together and resting her elbows on them, Faith strained her ears to pick up Randall’s every word.
“One day, my Pops must’ve sensed something was off with me.” Randall rocked backward into a squat and sat on his haunches, his forearms on his thighs, his fingers interlaced between his knees. “He asked me what was going on, and I told him. We talked for a few minutes before he looked me in the eye and said...Noah, don’t take responsibility for someone else’s shortcomings.”
She frowned. “What exactly did he mean by that?”
“Basically, he told me that this kid was probably a bully with lots of problems, shortcomings. And that no matter what I did, I was most likely not going to get him to like me.”
Faith bobbed her chin at Randall. “So what happened? Did you and this kid eventually patch things up?”
“He kept picking on me. So, one day after school, I called him over and,” Randall stared at her lower legs, “and I beat the snot out of him.”
Her eyes bulging, Faith sat erect.
“I don’t think that’s what Pops had in mind when we talked that day, but,” Randall regarded Faith, “the kid did stop picking on me after that.”
A slow grin overhauled her shocked expression.
He cupped her kneecaps. “The takeaway from all that is...you did everything you could to fight those men off.”
Envisioning the damage that she had inflicted—cutting Mason twice, once with a lamp and once with a knife; gouging the man’s accomplice with a homemade shank and, later, kicking him in the groin, she let a sliver of a smile play over her features. “Oh, I got my shots in all right.”
“I’ll bet you did.” Randall patted one of her knees a couple times. “You can’t expect anything more from yourself, Miss Mahoney. So, just like Pops told me, I
’m telling you. You’re not responsible for someone else’s behavior.”
After peering into his brown eyes, she admired his dark hair and square jaw before nodding and covering his hands with hers. “Thank you...again.”
He smiled, “You’re very welcome,” and stood a moment later. “Now...where would you like me to drive you?”
“Home.” She swung her legs into the car. “Where I can get a hot shower and put on some clean clothes.”
“Home it is.” He closed her door and walked around to the driver’s side, his mind thinking of the flight back to Virginia and the upcoming hunt for the outlaw who started all this, Michael Crane.
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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Chapter 20
Flying Across the Country
11 MAY—1:38 P.M. (LOCAL TIME)
ALEXANDRAI, VIRGINIA
U.S. MARSHALS SERVICE
DISTRICT HEADQUARTERS
“What the hell are you doing here?” Rising from her chair, Devlin rounded the corner of her desk, approached Randall, and jerked a thumb toward the doorway on his left. “What the hell is she doing here? She should be at home, resting and recuperating, not flying across the country.”
Dressed in dark navy Apex Pants from 5.11 Tactical, a short-length blue jean jacket that barely covered the Colt 1911 on her hip, and a white tank top, Faith Mahoney folded her arms and leaned against the doorframe on her right. She crossed her feet at the ankles and pointed the toe of a brown hiking boot, one identical to Devlin’s footwear—Merrell Moab 2 Mid hiking boots—toward the floor. “Huh.” Her eyebrows came together. “That wasn’t the soldier-returning-and-surprising-his-wife-in-the-kitchen kind of reception I was expecting.”
Back in Seattle, Randall had taken Faith home in Detective Harker’s Charger. Upon entering the apartment, she had spotted the blood stain on the carpet, done an about-face, and bent over in the hallway, a hand on her chest, her breaths coming in short gasps.
When her breathing had returned to normal, he then secured her permission to invade her privacy and pack an overnight bag. He had also grabbed a few articles of clothing for her to put on right away before driving her to a hotel where she had showered and taken a nap.
Awakening ninety minutes later, she had asked Randall to accompany her to the police station, where she had spent the next two hours giving a statement about her ordeal and talking with colleagues. Once she had collected her pistol from Harker, she had her escort take her back to the hotel, arriving around 6:30 p.m.
An hour later, having eaten dinner with Randall—he had ordered room service for them—Faith had retired to the bedroom after half asking, half imploring him not to leave her. Her mind envisioning the pitch-black cell she had been kept in for nearly three days, she had reluctantly shared with him her newfound aversion to being alone in the dark.
After assuring her that she would see him in the morning, Randall had watched twenty minutes of television before dragging an afghan from the back of the couch and drifting off to sleep with the TV still on.
Now, staring at Faith, Devlin was happy to see her sister, but mad that she was ‘seeing’ her sister. She came back to Randall.
“Hey,” he lifted hands in surrender, “I agreed to work with you to take down violent criminals...not to,” he whipped his finger back and forth from Devlin to Faith, “come between two feuding sisters.” He shook his head at the floor. “No. I’m afraid the CIA never quite got around to training me on how to handle something as dangerous as that.”
Faith inwardly smiled at the man playing both sides. “Oh, this is nowhere near us feuding with each other. Isn’t that right, Jess?”
Devlin glimpsed Faith and faced Randall.
He eyed his miffed partner. “Besides, you weren’t there.” He tipped his head toward the doorway. “She wasn’t going to be denied.”
FOUR-AND-A-HALF HOURS AGO...
6:11 A.M. (LOCAL TIME)
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
Her hair wet, Faith stood in the bathroom doorway at the hotel, one hand gripping the edge of the door, the other haphazardly holding a towel up to her dripping body. “I’m coming with you, and that’s final.”
In a split-second, Randall’s gaze flitted down and up her figure. Disappearing behind rounded shoulders, her blonde hair looked as if she had just surfaced from a swimming pool. Curvy hips and toned legs greeted him next. Finally, his attention strayed to other areas of her anatomy peeking out from behind the white bath towel. Intimate parts he would not be seeing had she taken more time to cover her upper body before throwing open the door so quickly.
She stepped back and closed the door on him.
“Don’t you,” hoping to clear away the distracting images, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, “don’t you think you should be taking it easy for a while? It—”
A hair dryer started.
He raised his voice. “It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since we left that place. No one’s going to fault you for getting some rest.”
The hair dryer’s speed doubled.
Chuckling, Randall looked at the floor. This reminds me of when I was married. A tick later, he studied the bathroom door and envisioned the woman on the other side. And the make-up sex after those spats.
Four minutes later, the hair dryer stopped.
Two minutes after that, the door opened, and Faith stood in the archway again, her right hand squeezing the doorknob, her left hand on her hip. “If you think I’m just...”
Glimpsing wavy blonde hair that fell around her shoulders, Randall took in the tops of full breasts, held in check by a black sports bra, before he observed black, seamless, bikini-style underwear.
“...going to lie around and watch TV while the S.O.B. who tried to kill my sister’s family—my family—is out there enjoying life somewhere, then,” she brushed by him, “you don’t know the Mahoney women very well. I’m coming with you and Jessica whether you...”
His attention wandered south to her tight-fitting underwear riding up to reveal the start of firm butt cheeks.
“...like it—” grabbing her pants and spinning his way, Faith caught him looking at her backside. She suppressed her amusement while stepping into her clothing. Glad to know he’s interested in more than just feet. “Whether you like it or not.”
Spying the woman spying on him, he cleared his throat, looked away, and came back to her. “All I’m saying is, after everything you’ve been through—”
“I’m fine, all right?” After running a black belt through pant loops and securing the buckle, “I’m fine,” she slid a tank top over her head, put on socks, stuck feet into hiking boots, and sat on the edge of the bed. “And don’t you think it’s better for me to be doing something productive...rather than moping around and feeling sorry for myself?”
Watching her lace up her second boot, Randall envisioned her in her underwear before imagining how she had looked wearing only a towel.
She stood, attached her Colt 45 and spare magazine pouch to her belt, slid arms into a blue jean jacket, flipped out her hair, and faced him, plopping hands onto hips in the next instant. “Well?”
Admiring her pose—hands on hips, weight shifted to one foot, her figure silhouetted by a table lamp behind her—he felt his body temperature rising.
“Don’t you?”
“I,” he took in her sexiness, I think I’d like to spend more time with you...that’s what I think, “I think someone who has experienced what you’ve experienced should take some down time.”
She sulked at him.
“But,” a tiny part of him, his selfish side, overruled his common sense, “you’re an adult, and you can make your own decisions.”
She smiled.
“So are you ready to go?” He checked his watch. “The jet’s already waiting on the tarmac.”
PRESENT TIME...
ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA
“You know yourself, Jess.” Turning away from Devlin, Faith eyed Ran
dall. “I get what I want.”
Oblivious to her sister’s subtle overture, the older woman fumed. Following a ten-second staring contest, she shook her head and lifted her arms. “Just get over here.”
Beaming, Faith embraced her sibling.
The women squeezed each other while listing from side to side a few degrees.
“Oh,” Devlin rubbed Faith’s back, “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you, little sis.”
Faith winked away a tear. “Now, this is more like the greeting I had hoped for.”
Devlin snickered and held the other woman at arm’s length. “Let me look at you.” She cocked her head at Faith’s eyelashes and lips. “Since when did you start wearing makeup? You’ve always said you’re a natural beauty.”
Faith threw a look at Randall and came back to Devlin. “I’ve worn makeup before.”
Noticing cheeks with skin-toned rouge on them, Devlin zeroed in on a hint of purple under the cosmetic, and her facial expression betrayed the sinking feeling in her gut.
“It’s okay, Jessica. I’m not hurt...really. Nothing’s broken. In time, everything will heal.”
“Were you,” Devlin held Faith’s face in her hands, “were you...”
“No. Your man’s timing was spot on.”
Devlin turned toward Randall. “Thank you.”
He dipped his chin once.
Faith took her sister’s hands and held them in front of her chest. “I...”
Devlin spun toward her.
“...I heard about Blake.” She shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Jess. I really liked him. He was a good man.”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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Chapter 21
Shell Game
1:51 P.M.
“Since you’re a little behind in recent developments, Mr. Randall, allow me to bring you up to speed on what’s transpired in the last twenty-four hours.” Sitting behind her desk wearing a knee-length navy-blue skirt suit with matching high heels and a white blouse, Deputy Director Marissa Thorn spun her black executive chair ninety degrees to starboard and crossed her legs at the knee.
