Читать книгу Her Christmas Hero - Elle James - Страница 10
ОглавлениеNormally Trouble, Texas, wasn’t much trouble, and that was the way Sheriff Garrett Galloway liked it. No problems to speak of, save the town drunk, a few rambunctious kids and a mayor who drove too nice a car with no obvious supplemental income.
Garrett adjusted his Stetson and shoved his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket to ward off the December chill. He’d hidden out in Trouble too long. When he’d arrived a year ago, body broken and soul bleeding, he’d trusted that the tiny West Texas town would be the perfect place to get lost and stay lost for a few months. After all, the world thought he was dead. And Garrett needed it to stay that way.
Just until he could identify who had destroyed everyone he loved and make them pay. He’d never imagined he’d stay this long.
But the latest status call he’d counted on hadn’t occurred. Not to mention his last conversation with his mentor and ex-partner, James McCallister, had been much too...optimistic. That, combined with a missed contact, usually meant the operation had gone to hell.
Garrett’s right shoulder blade hiked, settling under the feel of his holster. He never left home without his weapon or his badge. He liked to know he had a gun within reach. Always. The townsfolk liked to know their sheriff walked the streets.
He eyed the garland-and tinsel-laden but otherwise empty Main Street and stepped onto the pavement, his boots silent, no sound echoing, no warning to anyone that he might be making his nightly nine o’clock rounds.
James McCallister’s disappearance had thrown Garrett. His mentor had spent the past few months using every connection he’d made over his nearly thirty-year career, trying to ferret out the traitor.
Big risks, but after a year of nothing, a few intel tidbits had fallen their way: some compromised top secret documents identifying overseas operatives and operations, some missing state-of-the-art weapons. The door had cracked open, but not enough to step through.
Garrett didn’t like the radio silence. Either James was breaking open the case or he was dead. Neither option boded well. If it was the first, Garrett contacting him would blow the whole mission; if the second, Garrett was on his own and would have to come back from the dead.
Or he could end up in federal prison, where his life wouldn’t be worth a spare .22 bullet.
With his no-win options circling his mind, Garrett strode past another block. After a few more houses, he spied an unfamiliar dark car slowly making its way down the street.
No one drove that slowly. Not in Texas. Not unless they were up to no good. And no one visited Trouble without good reason. It wasn’t a town folks passed through by chance.
His instincts firing warning signals, Garrett turned the corner and disappeared behind a hedge.
The car slowed, then drove past. Interesting.
Could be a relative from out of town, but Garrett didn’t like changes. Or the unexpected. He headed across a dead-end street, his entire body poised and tense, watching for the car. He reached the edge of town and peered through the deserted night.
Nearby, he heard a small crack, as if a piece of wood snapped.
No one should be out this way, not at this time of night. Could be a coyote—human, not the animal variety. Garrett hadn’t made friends with either one during the past year.
He slid his Beretta 92 from his shoulder holster and gripped the butt of the gun. Making a show of a cowboy searching the stars, he gazed up at the black expanse of the night sky and pushed his Stetson back.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a cloaked figure ducking behind a fence: average height, slight, but the movements careful, strategic, trained. Someone he might have faced in his previous life. Definitely. Not your average coyote or even criminal up to no good. James McCallister was the only person who knew Garrett was in Trouble, and James was AWOL.
The night went still.
Garrett kicked the dirt and dusted off his hat.
His muscles twitchy, he kept his gun at the ready, not wanting to use it. This could be unrelated to his past, but he needed information, not a dead body on the outskirts of his town. What happened in Trouble stayed in Trouble, unless the body count started climbing. Then he wouldn’t be able to keep the state or the feds out.
He didn’t need the attention.
He could feel someone watching him, studying him. He veered off his route, heading slightly toward the hidden figure. His plan? Saunter past the guy hiding in the shadows and then take him out.
He hit his mark and, with a quick turn on his heel, shifted, launching himself into a tackle. A few quick moves and Garrett pushed the guy to the ground, slid the SIG P229 out of reach and forced his forearm against the vulnerable section of throat.
“What do you want?” he growled, shoving aside his pinned assailant’s hood.
The grunts coming from his victim weren’t what he’d expected. With years of experience subduing the worst human element, he wrestled free his flashlight and clicked it on.
Blue eyes full of fear peered up at him. A woman. He pressed harder. A woman could kill just as dead. Could play the victim, all the while coldheartedly planning his demise. He wasn’t about to let go.
The light hit her face. He blinked back his surprise. He knew those eyes. Knew that nose.
Oh, hell.
“Laurel McCallister,” he said. His gut sank. Only one thing would bring her to Trouble.
His past had found him. And that meant one thing. James McCallister was six feet under, and the men who wanted Garrett dead wouldn’t be far behind.
* * *
THE PAVEMENT DUG into Laurel’s back, but she didn’t move, not with two hundred pounds holding her down. He’d taken her SIG too easily, and the man lying on top of her knew how to kill. The pressure against her throat proved it.
Worse than that, the sheriff—badge and all—knew her name. So much for using surprise as an advantage.
She lay still and silent, her body jarred from his attack. She could feel every inch of skin and muscle that had struck the ground. She’d be bruised later.
Laurel had thought watching him for a while would be a good idea. Maybe not so much. Ivy might have told her to trust Garrett Galloway, Sheriff of Trouble, Texas, but Laurel had to be cautious.
The car door opened and the thud of tiny feet pounded to them. “Let her go!” Molly pummeled Garrett’s back, her raised voice screeching through the night in that high-pitched kid squeal that raked across Laurel’s nerves.
He winced and turned to the girl.
Now!
Laurel kicked out, her foot coming in contact with his shin. He grunted, but didn’t budge. She squirmed underneath the heavy body and pushed at his shoulders.
“Molly, get back!”
The little girl hesitated, sending a shiver of fear through Laurel. Why couldn’t her niece have stayed asleep in the car, buckled into her car seat? Ever since that horrific night four days ago, she couldn’t handle Laurel being out of sight, knew instinctively when she wasn’t near.
Suddenly, Garrett rolled off her body, slipped her gun into his hand and rose to his feet with cougarlike grace. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt either of you.” He tucked her weapon into his pants and stared her down.
She sucked in a wary breath before her five-year-old niece dived into her arms. “Are you okay, Aunt Laurel?”
She wound her arms around her niece and stared up at Garrett, body tense. “You’re my hero, Molly.” She forced her voice to remain calm. At least the little girl hadn’t lost the fire in her belly. It was the first spark Laurel had seen from her since the explosion.
Molly clutched at Laurel but glared at Garrett.
He struggled to keep a straight face and a kindness laced his eyes as he looked at Molly.
For the first time in days, the muscles at the base of Laurel’s neck relaxed. Maybe she’d made the right decision after all.
Not that she’d had a choice. There’d been nothing on the national news about her family. No mention of gunfire or Ivy being killed by a bullet to the head. There had been a small piece about an SUV burning, but they’d blamed a downed power line. That was the second Laurel had known she was truly on her own.
Until now.
She hated counting on anyone but herself. She and her sister had been schooled in that lesson after their mother had died. With their father gone, Ivy and Laurel had been pretty much in charge of each other.
But Laurel was out of her league. She knew it. She didn’t have to like it.
She held Molly closer and studied Garrett Galloway. Something about him invited trust, but could she trust her instincts? Would this man whose expression displayed an intent to kill one moment and compassion the next help her? She prayed her sister had been right, that he was one of the good guys.
Garrett tilted back his Stetson. “I could have...” He glanced at Molly, his meaning clear.
Laurel got it. She and Molly would be dead...if he’d wanted them dead.
“...already finished the job,” he said harshly. “I’m not going to.”
“How did you know my name?”
He raised a brow and slipped his Beretta into the shoulder holster and returned her weapon. “I know your father. Your picture is on his desk at...work.”
His expression spoke volumes. She got it. Garrett had worked with her father in an OGA. While the CIA had a name and a reputation, her father’s Other Government Agency had none. Classified funding, classified missions, classified results. And the same agency where Ivy had worked. Alarm bells rang in Laurel’s head. Her sister had sent Laurel to a man working with the same people who might be behind the bomb blast. And yet, who better to help?
Garrett held out his hand to her. “You look like you’ve been on the road awhile,” he said. “How about something to eat? Then we can talk.”
Laurel hesitated, but what was she supposed to do? She’d come to this small West Texas town for one reason, and one reason only. To find Garrett Galloway.
She didn’t know what she’d expected. He could have stepped off the set of a hit television show in his khaki shirt, badge, dark brown hat and leather jacket. Piercing brown eyes that saw right through her.
If she’d imagined wanting to ride off into the sunset with someone, it would be Garrett Galloway. But now that she’d found him, what was she going to do with him?
He didn’t pull back his hand. He waited. He knew. With a sigh, she placed her hand in his. He pulled her to her feet. Molly scrambled up and hid behind Laurel, peering up at Garrett.
He cocked his head at the little girl. Laurel sucked in a slow breath. Molly’s face held that fearful expression that hadn’t left her since they’d run from Virginia, as if any second she might cry. But then her eyes widened. She stared at Garrett, so tall and strong in his dark pants and cowboy boots, a star on his chest.
He was a protector. Laurel could tell and so, evidently, could Molly.
Garrett met her gaze and she recognized the understanding on his face. “Come with me,” he said quietly.
“I have my car—”
He shook his head. “Grab your things and leave it. If anyone followed, I don’t want them to know who you came to see.”
“I was careful. I spent an entire extra day to get here due to all the detours.”
“If you’d recognized you had a tail, you’d already be dead.” His flat words spoke the truth of the danger they were in. He walked over to the vehicle and pulled out the large tote she used as a suitcase, slinging it on his shoulder opposite his gun hand. All their belongings were in the bag. “Until I’m certain, we act like you have one.”
Laurel stiffened. In normal circumstances she could take care of herself and Molly. As if sensing her vulnerability, Garrett stepped closer.
“You came to me,” Garrett said. “You may have blown my cover. You need to listen.”
He was on assignment. She should have known.
She prided herself on her self-reliance, her ability to handle most any situation, but his expression had gone intense and wary, and that worried her. Ivy had been a skilled operative. She had always been careful, and she was dead. Laurel had to face reality. She’d jumped into the deep end of the pool her first day on the run and Garrett Galloway was the lifeguard.
She swallowed away the distaste of having to rely on him, nodded and lifted Molly into her arms. “How far?”
“Across town,” he said, his gaze scanning the perimeter yet again.
“A few blocks, then?” Laurel said with an arch of her brow.
Garrett cocked his head and one side of his mouth tilted in a small smile. His eyes lightened when he didn’t frown.
“Let’s go.”
One block under their feet had Laurel’s entire body pulsing with nerves. She’d never seen anyone with the deadly focus that Garrett possessed. He walked silently, even in boots, and seemed aware of each shadow and movement.
Suddenly he stopped. He shoved her and Molly back against the fence, pulling his gun out. Then she heard it. The purr of an engine. It grew louder, then softer. He relaxed and tilted his head, looking from Laurel to Molly. “Let’s move.”
Molly gazed up at him, her eyes wide. She looked ready to cry. He tilted the Stetson on his head. “You ready for something to eat, sugar?” He gifted her with a confident smile.
Just his strong presence soothed Molly. For Laurel, his nearness had the opposite effect. She wanted to pull away, because the draw she felt—the odd urge to let herself move into his arms—well, that was something she hadn’t felt before. She’d never allowed herself to be this vulnerable. Not ever.
He could snap her neck or take her life, but he might also do worse. This man could take over and she might lose herself.
A dog’s howl broke through the night, followed by more barking. As Garrett led them through the town in silence, Molly clung to Laurel. Her eyes grew heavy and her body lax. The poor thing was exhausted, just like her aunt.
Garrett matched his steps with hers. “Whatever brought you here, it was bad, wasn’t it?” He bent toward Laurel, his breath near her ear, the words soft.
She couldn’t stop the burning well of tears behind her eyes. She had no reserves left. She wanted nothing more than to lean closer and have him put his arm around her. She couldn’t. She recognized her weakness. Her emotions hovered just beneath the surface, and she’d be damned if she’d let them show.
In self-preservation, she tilted her head forward, expecting her long hair to curtain her face, to hide her feelings, but nothing happened. She ran a hand through the chopped locks. Gone was her unique titian hair, and in its place, she’d dyed it a nondescript brown that stopped at her chin. She had to blend in.
“I understand,” he said, his voice gruff. “Better than you know.”
Before Laurel could ponder his statement, he picked up the pace. “My house is ten minutes away. Across Main and around a corner two blocks.”
With each step they took, the blinking lights and garlands, then the tinsel, came into full effect. He paused and shifted them behind a tree, studying the street.
Molly peered around him, her small mouth forming a stunned O. “Aunt Laurel, lookie. It’s Christmas here.” The little girl swallowed and bowed her head until it rested on Laurel’s shoulder. “Our Christmas is far away.”
Laurel patted her niece’s back. “Christmas will follow us, Molly Magoo. It might be different this year, but it will still happen.”
Molly looked at her, then at the decorations lining the town, her gaze hopeful. “Will Mommy and Daddy come back by then?”
“We’ll talk about it later,” Laurel whispered. She didn’t know what to say. Even though Molly had seen the explosion, she still hadn’t processed the reality that her mother, father, brother and sister were never coming back.
She gritted her teeth. As a grown woman, she didn’t know how long it would take her to accept her family’s death. That she was alone in the world. Except for Molly.
“We need to move fast.” Garrett held out his arm. Main Street through Trouble wasn’t much. Two lanes, a single stoplight. “Go.” They were halfway to the other side when an engine roared to life. Tires squealed; the vehicle thundered directly at them.
Garrett pushed them behind a cinder-block wall, dumped the tote, then rolled to the ground, leaving himself vulnerable.
A spray of gunfire ratcheted above Laurel’s head as she hit the ground. Molly cried out. Laurel covered the little girl’s trembling body and pulled her weapon. She lifted her head, scooting forward. To get a clean shot, she’d have to leave Molly. Bullets thwacked; concrete chips rained down. Laurel tucked Molly closer, gripping the butt of her gun.
A series of shots roared from behind the wall.
Skidding tires took off.
At the sound, Laurel eased forward, weapon raised. She half expected the worst, but Garrett lay on the ground, still alive, his gun aimed at the retreating SUV. He squeezed off two more rounds, then let out a low curse.
She couldn’t catch her breath. They’d found her.
“What’s going on out there?” An old man’s voice called out, and the unmistakable sound of a pump-action shotgun seared through the dark.
“I’m handling it, Mr. McCreary,” Garrett called out. “It’s Sheriff Galloway. Get back inside.”
A door slammed.
Garrett held his weapon at the ready for several more seconds, then picked up his phone. “Shots fired just off Oak and First, Keller,” he said to his deputy. “Activate the emergency system and order everyone to stay inside. I’ll get back to you when it’s clear.”
He shoved the phone in his pocket and ran to Laurel. “Everybody safe?”
Molly sobbed in Laurel’s arms. She clutched the girl tighter. Laurel didn’t know how much more her niece could take.
“Come on.” Tension lining his face, he scooped up Molly. His boots thudded on the ground; Laurel carried their belongings and her footsteps pounded closely behind. He led them down an alley to the rear of a row of houses. Then, when he reached the back of one house, he pulled a set of keys from his pocket. “We’ve got to get out of sight. Plus, I have supplies to gather. Then we need a safe place to hole up.”
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I brought this to you.”
He gave a curt nod. “Who knew you were coming to Texas?”
“No—no one.”
“Who told you about me? Your father?” Garrett said.
“My...my sister.”
“Ivy?” Garrett’s brow furrowed. “She worked for the agency, but we never tackled an op together.”
Laurel bit her lip. “My sister said your name with her dying breath. She said to tell you that you were right.”
* * *
THE SUV THUNDERED down the highway and out of Trouble. Mike Strickland slammed his foot on the accelerator and veered onto an old dirt road leading into the hellish West Texas desert. When he finally brought the vehicle to a halt, he slammed it into Park and pounded the steering wheel with his fist. “Son of a bitch. Who was that guy?”
“The law,” his partner, Don Krauss, said, his tone dry. “You see the badge?”
Krauss could pass for everyman. He was great to have on the job because he excelled at blending into the background. His medium brown hair, medium eyes, medium height and nothing-special face got lost in a crowd.
Strickland had a tougher time. A scar from his marine stint and his short hair pegged him as ex-military. He could live with that. He tended to work the less subtle jobs anyway. But Krauss came in handy for gathering intel.
“No sheriff has reflexes like that,” Strickland said. “She should be dead. They both should be.”
“The girl avoided us for four days, and she’s just an analyst, even if she does work for the CIA. She’s smart. Switched vehicles twice and never turned on her cell phone.” Krauss tapped the high-tech portable triangulation unit.
All this equipment and a girl in a beat-up Chevy had driven over halfway across the country and avoided them. “She got lucky.” Strickland frowned.
Krauss let out a snort. “No, we got lucky when she used her ATM for cash. The only stupid move she made, but she cleaned out her account. We won’t be lucky again. And now she’s got help.” He hitched his foot on the dash. “If Ivy talked—”
“I know, I know.” Strickland scratched his palm in a nervous movement. In four days the skin had peeled, leaving it red, angry and telling. Not much made him nervous, but his boss... He forced his hand still and gripped the steering wheel, clenching and unclenching his fists against the vinyl. “We can fix this. Forensics will be sifting through what’s left of that car for weeks. I made sure it burned hot, and I’ve got friends in the local coroner’s office. If they stall long enough for us to provide two more burned bodies, no one will ever know. Everyone will believe the woman and girl died that night along with the rest of her family.”
“You blew her head off,” Krauss said. “Cops had to notice.”
“It hasn’t been on the news, has it?” Strickland said with a small smile.
Krauss shook his head. “I figured they were holding back details as part of the investigation.”
“Hell, no. First guy there threw her into the fire. Everyone else is keeping mum. They think it’s national security.”
“Lots of loose ends, Strickland.”
“I got enough on my contacts’ extracurricular activities. They won’t be talking anytime soon. They know the rules.” Strickland slid a glance at his partner. “You read the paper? Remember last year, that dead medical investigator? I had no choice. He was a loose end. Like the boss says, loose ends make for bad business.”
Krauss tugged a toothpick from his pocket. “Guess the boss was right in choosing you for this one, because we have two very big loose ends.” He turned in the seat, his normally sardonic expression solemn. “You ever wonder how we ended up working for that psycho? ’Cause I’m starting to regret every job we do.”
“For the greater good—” Strickland started, his entire back tensing. He cricked his neck to the side.
“Yeah, I might have believed that once,” Krauss said.
“Don’t.” Strickland cut him off. “Don’t say something I’ll have to report.”
“Says the man who’s hiding his screwup.”
“I don’t plan to be on the receiving end of a lesson,” Strickland said. “You talk and we’re dead. Hell, we’re dead if we don’t fix this.”
“I know,” Krauss said, his voice flat. “I got a family to protect. Let’s get it done fast, clean up and get the hell out of this town. I already hate Trouble, Texas.”
“No witnesses. Agreed?” Strickland turned the motor on.
“The sheriff, too? Could cause some publicity.”
“This close to the border, this isolated, there’s lots of ways to die.”
