The Marshal's Witness (5 page)

A flash of movement had Jessica looking back to her left. Two men burst forward out of the trees beside Ryan’s house. One of them raised his hand and the moonlight glinted off the gun he held.

Jessica clung tighter to Ryan. “Those men—”

“I know. Get down. Lock your arms around my waist.” He leaned hard to the
left. The bike skidded sideways as he made a sharp turn directly toward the gunmen. They both dove to the side, out of the bike’s path. Jessica bunched her fingers around the front of Ryan’s leather jacket as he whipped the bike back toward the right, aiming the powerful machine at a break in the trees.

The sound of gunfire erupted behind them. The bike’s engine roared. Ryan and Jessica surged
over the ridge.

Chapter Six

The motorcycle plunged over the side of the mountain.

Jessica clung tightly to Ryan as the ground rushed up to meet them.

The bike landed hard, bouncing and twisting like a bucking horse trying to throw off its riders. Jessica’s head banged against Ryan’s back and the force of the blow, even with the helmet on, snapped her chin. The taste of blood filled her
mouth from where she’d bitten the inside of her cheek.

Ryan managed to keep the motorcycle upright and gunned the engine, evening out the ride and propelling them down the path deep into the cover of trees.

Shouts sounded behind them up on the ridge, but Jessica didn’t risk looking back. She was too busy trying not to fall off the motorcycle.

Ryan yelled something at her, but she
couldn’t make out what he’d said over the sound of the engine and the blustery wind rushing past her.

“What?” she yelled.

He turned his head to the side. “Are you okay?”

“We just jumped off a cliff. I’m peachy,” she shouted back.

He swerved to avoid a tree branch.

Jessica dug her nails into his jacket. “
Sugar.
Could you warn me next time?”

“Did you just call me sugar?”

“Not in this lifetime,” she growled back.

He laughed and leaned the bike to the side to dodge another tree branch. The crazy man was actually having fun. Jessica hid her face against his back, desperately hoping the wild ride would be over soon.

It wasn’t.

Hours passed as Ryan rode the bike deeper into the mountains. At first, the trail they followed was well-worn, obviously
heavily traveled. Then he turned onto a smaller trail, if it could be called that. There wasn’t much room to maneuver and several times he had to dodge to avoid a fallen tree or a group of vines.

Jessica was proud of herself that she hadn’t fallen off yet, but if they continued much longer she would have to beg for a break. Her hands were aching from the cold and from clinging to Ryan’s waist
for so long. She didn’t know how anyone could actually enjoy riding a motorcycle. They were horribly uncomfortable, not to mention loud.

The sky was beginning to lighten to a pale gray when Ryan pulled to a stop next to a small shack and cut the engine. The sudden silence was unnerving, but was quickly replaced by a chorus of singing crickets and chirping frogs. Jessica had heard somewhere
that as long as you heard animal noises in the forest, there was no one else around. She hoped that crickets and frogs qualified as animal noises, and that she and Ryan were safe here.

“What is this place?” she asked, somewhat in awe of the Norman Rockwell appeal of the weathered shack set against a backdrop of fall foliage, and the homey scent of pine trees.

“An abandoned shed. There
used to be a barn and a house to go with it a few decades ago. There are hundreds of these old structures throughout the Smokies.”

“How do you know there used to be a barn and a house?”

“I didn’t randomly agree with Alex to locate you in this part of the country. I did my research, memorized maps of the area. I know what’s around here. Stuart Lanier, one of the rangers who served in
the Army with me, lives a couple hours north. We’ve hiked all over the Smokies.”

“So, what you’re saying is that you located me here because you thought someone might come after me and we’d have to escape into the mountains?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t plan on being here at all. I planned on high-tailing it back to New York as soon as I could, but my boss didn’t agree.”

Jessica
stiffened. It kind of sucked having a gorgeous man tell you he was only with you because it was his job.

“I studied the area,” Ryan continued, “so I would know what was around, what posed a threat. I used that information to help decide if it was a safe location for you. Can you slide off or do you need help?”

“What? Oh...no, I don’t need help.”
Hopefully.

She pulled off the helmet,
handing it to him as she gingerly tested the inside of the cheek she’d bitten during their wild ride. Her thigh muscles screamed in agony when she swung her leg over the seat. Instead of twenty-eight, she felt closer to sixty. She hobbled backward, rubbing her lower back.

Ryan hopped off the bike as if he’d only been riding for a few minutes. Jessica rubbed her bruised posterior and glared
at him with resentment. Except for the slightly singed hair, he looked like he always did—fresh, ready to take on any challenge, no worse for wear in spite of everything that had happened. He even smelled good, outdoorsy, whereas she could still smell the smoke clinging to her hair.

“Stay here.” His voice was hard and cold again, as he firmly moved her away from the door of the shack and
went inside. So much for the kinder, gentler Ryan she’d glimpsed when he’d talked her through her fears back in his garage. Or when he’d seemed genuinely amused when she’d used
sugar
as a curse word.

When he emerged from the shack, he held the door open for her, his gaze darting around the trees as if he expected someone to jump out at them at any moment.

Jessica followed his gaze, beginning
to feel uneasy again. “You don’t think they could have followed us, do you? They were on foot. They couldn’t have caught up to us.” She glanced up at him for reassurance. “Right?”

His jaw tightened. “Right.”

He didn’t sound convinced. He raised a brow, waiting for her to enter the shack. She sighed and stepped inside.

The cabin, if it could be called that, boasted one grimy window
on the rear wall that barely allowed any light in. Wooden crates were scattered around the floor as if someone had used them for chairs. But there was nothing else, not even a bathroom, a convenience Jessica was sorely in need of at the moment.

Ryan stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He swept past Jessica, startling her by grabbing her hand and tugging her toward one of the overturned
crates.

“What are you—”

He pressed her shoulders, forcing her down onto the crate before squatting down in front of her, his gaze at eye level with hers.

She wrinkled her brow in confusion. Was he worried about her? Did she have some blood on her mouth from biting her cheek? She wiped her mouth. No blood. “Ryan, what’s wro—”

“What, exactly, did you do to Richard DeGaullo?”

Jessica’s spine stiffened at the raw accusation in Ryan’s voice. That intense look in his eyes wasn’t concern. It was suspicion. She should have known better. Just because he’d saved her life didn’t mean he’d begun to respect her. To him she was just
city girl,
the woman he’d been forced to watch over.

“You’re seriously asking what
I
did to
him
? He killed my friend, right in front of
me. And, oh gee, I had the gall to testify against him.” She curled her fingers around the edge of the crate. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Did you steal from him?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Date his best friend, one of the other mafia bosses?”

“Are you crazy?” She shoved at his chest, but he didn’t budge. “I didn’t even know any of his friends, let alone some other mafia
boss. I’m...I
was
...an accountant, sometimes a computer hacker. A geek. I worked in an office with four other women. DeGaullo didn’t even know my name. I probably saw him half a dozen times in the five years I worked for him. Why are you asking these questions?”

She shoved at him again, but he grabbed her hands and held them trapped in his.

“The only reason I’m alive right now is because
a man was stupid enough to hold a gun to my head, and I was able to head-butt the gun and grab it. If he’d held the gun a few feet away, I probably wouldn’t have made it out of my shower. And you would have burned alive in your cabin. Now it’s up to me to keep you alive. And I can’t protect you if I don’t know what I’m up against. Answer me truthfully. Were you Richard DeGaullo’s lover?”

She gasped and tugged her hands, stomping her foot in frustration when he wouldn’t let go. He stared at her intently, waiting, as if she was going to confess some terrible sin. She felt like a teenager again, her latest set of foster parents accusing her of something one of the other kids had done. After all, Jessica was the one who came from bad stock—a mother who’d died a thief and a junkie, a father
on death row for a murder he’d most certainly committed.

Ryan was no different, thinking the worst of her, like everyone else had her entire life. Never mind that she’d worked two, sometimes three jobs to put herself through community college. Never mind that, when she started her first job after graduation, she didn’t even realize the company who’d hired her was owned by the DeGaullo crime
family.

“Answer me, Jessica.” Ryan lightly shook her fisted hands.

“No! I was never Richard DeGaullo’s lover.” She tugged her hands again but he still wouldn’t let go. She flushed hot, gritting her teeth. “Let go of me or I swear you’re going to walk funny for a week.” She raised her foot and pressed her sneaker between his legs.

He grimaced and released her hands.

Jessica
dropped her foot and scrambled off the crate, desperate to escape Ryan’s accusations, but even more desperate to take care of her painful bladder. She grabbed at the waistband of her sweatpants before they could fall to her knees, and shoved her bangs out of her eyes. “Don’t follow me.”

His knowing look made her face flush even hotter.

“Don’t go out of sight of the cabin,” he said. “If
you’re not back in five minutes, I’m coming after you.”

She mumbled something beneath her breath that was definitely
not
sugar, and flung the door open. Her dramatic exit was ruined when she tripped on her floppy shoes. She caught herself against the doorjamb, glared at Ryan, and slammed the door.

* * *

R
YAN
GRINNED
AS
the sound of the slamming door echoed through the shack, but
his grin faded as he remembered the shattered expression on Jessica’s face when he’d asked her about being DeGaullo’s lover. He hadn’t expected that wounded doe look in her eyes, either. And he certainly hadn’t expected to feel like such a heel for even asking her those questions.

She’d surprised him, looking so appalled, so offended, so...innocent. With her curves and sultry, pouting mouth,
he’d assumed all along that DeGaullo would have made her his mistress. Who would have thought that sexy little Jessica was just as disgusted by that thought as he was? She seemed to be telling the truth, but nothing added up.

Mike Higgins, or whatever his real name was, had known Ryan was a marshal. He knew Jessica was a protected witness. He couldn’t have known that unless he’d received
inside information. The unmistakable conclusion was that someone had infiltrated WitSec, a feat which, as far as Ryan knew, had never been done before.

Richard DeGaullo had lost a tremendous amount of clout with the other mob bosses by being in the Justice Department’s crosshairs during the money laundering and murder investigation, and subsequent trial. DeGaullo hadn’t been able to make
a move without an FBI agent shadowing him. So why would he risk placing himself back under their scrutiny, unless his gripe against Jessica was personal?

If Jessica was telling the truth, and there wasn’t anything personal between her and DeGaullo, then maybe someone else was behind the leak at WitSec. But who would have the motive, or the power, to infiltrate a program whose very existence
was built on the premise of absolute secrecy and unimpeachable security? And why?

This whole mess was a frustrating puzzle, and Jessica would pay the ultimate price if Ryan couldn’t piece that puzzle together—fast.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his cell phone, and the battery pack he’d removed last night to ensure no one could trace his location. Without knowing who
the mole was inside WitSec, calling his boss didn’t seem like the brightest idea. Alex Trask was no slouch. As soon as Ryan called, Alex would put a trace on the call.

But what other choice was there? Ryan needed to know if he could trust Alex. Calling him was a risk he’d have to take. He’d keep the call short, hopefully too short to trace.

He noted the exact time on his watch, down
to the second, and made a mental calculation of just how long he thought he could safely remain on the phone. Countdown starting...now.

He snapped the battery pack on and punched the contact number for his boss.

“Alex Trask.”

“It’s Ryan Jackson.”

“Ryan, what in blazes is going on? Where are you? Where’s my witness?”

The fine hairs on the back of Ryan’s neck stood straight
at attention. How did Alex know that he and Jessica were on the run? The local police didn’t know Jessica was a protected witness, so they wouldn’t have notified the Feds. And Ryan wasn’t due to place another check-in call with his boss for several more hours.

“What are you talking about?” Ryan hedged.

“Don’t give me that. Your witness’s house burned down last night, and rather than
call me and get a team of marshals to extract her, you’ve both gone missing. We’ve also got two dead guys at your cabin. I don’t have to wait for ballistics to know who killed them. You’d better start explaining.”

Ryan glanced at his watch. “How did you know about the fire?”

“What? Now, listen here. Don’t you start interrogating me. I need answers. You wouldn’t believe the pressure coming
down from the higher-ups. Where are—”

“How did you know about the fire?” Ryan repeated.

Alex cursed into the phone. “Someone staked a copy of
The New York Times
on the witness’s lawn, the same edition that was published right after the mistrial. That got the local PD’s attention, and the press, I might add. The police contacted the FBI, who then contacted me. Enough stalling. What’s
going on? Is the witness okay?”

The cabin door opened and Jessica stepped inside, clutching the waistband of her baggy sweatpants. Her eyes widened when she saw Ryan on the phone.

He held his finger to his lips to signal her to be quiet.