The Marshal's Witness. Lena Diaz
was like comparing a hurricane to a light, summer breeze.
Jessica’s shoulders slumped again. “When you described this place, I thought it would be like Gatlinburg, a tourist town with cabins clustered together all through the mountains. I didn’t think I’d be so…alone up here.” She stopped her nervous chatter, already dreading his next city girl comment.
The silence drew out and she glanced up to find him staring at her with an unreadable expression.
“You don’t have to stay here.” His voice sounded sincere for a change, without a hint of mockery.
She couldn’t remember one time when he’d expressed any real concern for her feelings, so she didn’t trust this new, unfamiliar side of him. “What do you mean, I don’t have to stay?”
“You have to build a new life wherever you go. That’s hard to do if you hate the place. I can take you to a safe house; tell my boss you’ve changed your mind. It will take some time to research alternate locations, but—”
“No, wait.” She started to reach for his hand but stopped herself just short of touching him. She didn’t want to see that look of disgust cross his face again.
“I’ll stay. You said I’d be safe, that no one would think to look for me here. That’s infinitely more important than having a Starbucks on every corner.” She chewed her bottom lip. “They do have a Starbucks in Providence, right? I could really use a Venti Mocha right now.”
He slowly shook his head, his mouth twitching. “Not that I know of.”
“Oh, well. That’s not important.” And it wasn’t, not really. The thought of going back to a safe house again, code words for cheap motel, made her cringe. After flying from New York to Nashville and riding for hours in the middle seat of an SUV, squashed between two broad-shouldered marshals, all she wanted to do was rest. They could have flown in closer to Providence, but Ryan had taken the longer route, insisting it was necessary for security reasons.
He raised a brow, waiting for her answer.
“I’ll be fine. Really.” Would she be fine? She didn’t know, but she was willing to re-evaluate later.
He looked like he wanted to argue with her. But instead, he snapped his briefcase shut. “I’ll show you how to use the alarm.”
Back in the foyer he demonstrated the keypad, forcing her to set and disable the alarm several times until he was satisfied she remembered the code and how to use it.
“This red button is a panic button. It alerts the police station in town.”
“But…you’ll be next door, right?” She hated the fear that had crept into her voice. No doubt Ryan would seize on that and make fun of her.
“For a few weeks, yes.” No sarcasm, no teasing.
Relieved, she followed him out onto the porch and watched with mixed feelings as he spoke to the marshals who’d been waiting outside. She didn’t remember their names, had made a point not to.
There were already four names branded into her conscience. Along with Natalie’s.
The marshals drove away, disappearing to the sound of tires crunching down the gravel road. When Jessica looked back toward Ryan, he was striding across the front lawn to his cabin next door. The rude man hadn’t bothered to say goodbye. Without a word or even a glance her way, he disappeared inside, shutting the door with a resounding thud.
A cold breeze blew through the trees, ruffling Jessica’s hair. She shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. The sun was going down, and the temperatures up in the mountains were dropping rapidly. The trees that had looked so beautiful a few minutes ago, with their yellow and gold fall foliage, now took on a sinister cast. Shadows shifted in the bushes across the street. She could easily imagine a gunman hiding there.
Would she ever feel safe again? Was she safe? Ryan wouldn’t have left her outside if she wasn’t, would he?
The wind blew again, carrying the scent of pine trees and a host of other, unfamiliar scents and noises, robbing Jessica of the last of her courage. She turned and ran inside the house.
Chapter Four
A scream shattered the quiet of Jessica’s bedroom.
Startled awake, she jumped out of bed, slammed into the dresser and fell onto the floor. Cursing the dark, unfamiliar room, she scrambled to her feet.
The noise sounded again—a short, throaty moan that echoed through the room, making Jessica wince.
Sugar. What was that?
Frantically feeling along the wall for the light switch, she bumped something on top of the dresser. She grabbed it to use as a weapon, and her other hand brushed against the light switch. She flipped on the light and whirled around to face whoever was in the room.
The room was empty.
She glanced around in confusion and shoved her bangs out of her eyes. The noise echoed through the room again. She nearly collapsed in relief. The noise was coming from her window, outside the house.
She chewed her bottom lip and debated calling Ryan to investigate. But what if there was some logical explanation for the noise? Did she really want to endure more of Ryan’s teasing if he came over and found a feral cat or some other animal howling outside?
He’d get a real kick out of that, and Jessica’s pride had already taken about all she could of his city girl insults. More important, she was on her own now, or supposed to be. Ryan was leaving in a few weeks. She needed to learn not to panic or assume DeGaullo had found her every time something unexpected happened.
Her mind was made up, but her feet were still deciding. Blood rushed to her ears. She gathered her courage, and inched toward the window. With her back against the wall, she raised her weapon and slowly lifted the edge of the curtain.
Two round, black eyes surrounded by feathers and a beak stared back at her through the glass. Good grief, it was just a bird, sitting on her window ledge. It blinked and gave another throaty howl. As if it was satisfied that it had done its job by waking her up, it screeched again, flapped its wings and flew away.
Jessica let the curtain fall closed. She’d been scared witless by a stupid bird. Was this the kind of life she had to look forward to? Being awakened in the middle of the night by screeching birds?
The bright red numbers on the bedside clock read six-thirty. Okay, so it wasn’t the middle of the night. But since she hadn’t slept well as she tried to convince herself she was safe without a marshal in the next room, it might as well be the middle of the night. She was exhausted.
She was also keyed up, full of nervous energy, so going back to bed would be just as futile now as it had been last night. She raised her hand to brush her bangs out of her eyes and only then realized she was still clutching what she’d grabbed off the dresser to use as a weapon. She stared in disbelief at what she was holding.
A blow-dryer.
Sugar.
What was she going to do if she met up with one of De-Gaullo’s men? Offer to style his hair?
She pitched the dryer onto the bed and trudged through the short hallway into the bathroom. Her shoulders were knotted with tension from her unpleasant wake-up call. Right now nothing sounded better than a hot, steamy shower to relax her muscles.
While she waited for the shower to get hot, she went about her morning routine. Normally she’d carefully fold her clothes and put them in the hamper, but she didn’t have the energy for that right now. She discarded her clothes in a sloppy pile on the white tile floor and stepped over the side of the tub.
Icy water pricked her skin like hundreds of sharp needles. She shouted and hopped out of the tub, right onto the pile of clothes. They shot out from underneath her feet across the slippery tile.