Читать книгу Safe by the Marshal's Side - Shirlee McCoy - Страница 11

THREE

Annie woke with a start, her heart racing, a scream dying in her throat.

Darkness shadowed the furniture and lay deep and thick in the corners of the room. She sat up, her feet touching cool hardwood.

It took a moment to know where she was.

The safe house.

Safe apartment.

Not the kitchen of the little St. Louis rental she and Joe had chosen after their wedding. Not standing with a gun pointed at her head while Joe moaned on the floor, blood seeping from his chest. Night after night, she dreamed of that moment. The split second when the gun had misfired and the man who’d been pointing it at her had run.

Annie shuddered.

The sun would rise in a couple of hours. She’d feel better then, the nightmare fading, her fear fading with it.

She eased off the bed, trying not to disturb Sophia. She could hear her deep, even breathing, knew she was soundly asleep. Not hungry or scared or cold. She was a blessed little girl. Even under the circumstances. Even without a father’s love. Even with the moves and the disruptions, she had more than so many children did.

Annie had tried to keep that in mind during the past year.

She paced to the window, the old wood floor creaking under her feet. Icy rain splattered against the brick facade of the building, cold air drifting in through the single pane glass. She shivered, rubbing her arms, her stomach growling. She hadn’t eaten much the night before.

She thought about going to the kitchen to search for something to eat, but she didn’t want to face Hunter. He’d brought her the baby supplies Serena had managed to buy, asked if she needed anything. She’d told him no, but she had needed something. She’d needed someone to talk to, someone who could take her mind off the nightmare she seemed to be living in.

She hadn’t told him that, of course. She’d just said good-night and closed the door. Otherwise, she might have burst into tears and made a total fool of herself.

Someone knocked on the door, the soft tap barely sounding above the splattering rain.

She opened the door and found herself looking at Hunter’s chest. His very muscular chest.

She blushed, looking up and meeting his dark eyes.

“Did you get the photo of the doll?” She couldn’t think of any other reason for him to knock on her door at three in the morning.

“About an hour ago. I didn’t think it was worth disturbing your sleep, but when I heard the floor creak, I figured you might have woken up.”

“You were right.” She sidled past him and walked out into the hall, her pulse racing, her cheeks still blazing. She’d known Hunter for over a year. For the past month, she’d seen him almost every day. Somehow, she’d never noticed just how masculine he was. Or maybe she had, but she hadn’t wanted to admit it to herself.

“You hungry?” Hunter asked, following her as she walked into the living room. “Serena scrounged up some groceries. I’m not sure what there is. We can look around, find something to eat.”

“I’d rather just see the photo.” Although she had to admit, food sounded good.

“There’s no reason why we can’t do both.”

“Except that the sun isn’t even up yet.”

“Should that matter?” he asked, walking into the galley kitchen and opening the refrigerator. He pulled out a package of American cheese and a carton of eggs.

Her stomach growled, and he smiled. The second smile in twenty-four hours. She was sure that was a record.

“I guess when my stomach is growling as loudly as it is, it shouldn’t,” she murmured.

“I’m glad you agree, because I’m starving.”

She laughed a little at that, some of her tension easing away. “You should have eaten.”

“I didn’t want to make a bunch of noise in the kitchen while you were sleeping.”

“You wouldn’t have bothered me.”

“I wasn’t worried about bothering you. I was worried about waking you. Sophia is a deep sleeper. You don’t seem to sleep much at all. At least you don’t on any of the nights when I pull shift.” He cracked several eggs in a bowl and beat them.

It was true. She hadn’t been sleeping much since returning to St. Louis, but she hadn’t realized that Hunter had noticed. As a matter of fact, she’d had the distinct impression that he didn’t pay much attention to anything she and Sophia did. Unless he thought they were going to break a rule. Like the week before Christmas, when he’d cautioned her a half a dozen times, telling her to make sure she didn’t give in to temptation and go shopping for gifts.

She hadn’t actually been tempted. Celebrating Christmas without Joe had seemed too sad, too lonely. She’d been happy to give Hunter some money and a short list of gifts for Sophia.

As far as Christmases went, the last one was the worst she’d ever had.

Next year’s would be better, though.

She’d promised herself that.

“You’re deep in thought,” Hunter said as he poured the eggs into a hot pan and dropped cheese on top of them.

“I’m just tired. Like you said, I haven’t been sleeping much since I came back to St. Louis.”

“Nervous about the trial?”

“Among other things.”

“It’s good that you have a healthy sense of caution but try not to worry too much. It’s not good for you.” He folded the eggs into a fluffy omelet and took a plate from the cupboard. “Are you having nightmares, too? Is that what woke you tonight?”

“Yes,” she admitted. Nine nights out of ten, she woke in a cold sweat, her heart pounding with fear. She hoped that would change once Joe’s murderers were in jail. Knowing both men were off the street for good would go a long way in giving her peace of mind.

“That’s not surprising. You’ve been through some tough times. It’s going to take a while to get over it,” he said as he slid the omelet onto a plate and placed it in front of her. “Not that that makes the nightmares easier to deal with. Go ahead and eat while I make mine. Then I’ll show you the photo of the doll.”

“Okay.” She stabbed at the omelet, surprised by Hunter’s words. That was the most he’d ever said to her. At least, the most that he’d said that didn’t have something to do with the case and her safety.

She hadn’t thought he had it in him to care much about anything. Maybe she’d been wrong.

She took a bite of egg. No salt or pepper. No onions or green peppers, but it tasted good, and she really was hungry.

Hunter sat down across from her, a pile of scrambled eggs on his plate. He’d taken a lot more time with her food than with his own.

“Good?” he asked.

“Very. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. I’m just doing my job.”

“Your job is to protect me. Not feed me.”

He eyed her for a moment, his brow furrowed. “My job is to keep you healthy and safe until the trial. ‘Healthy’ means that you eat regular meals so that you don’t fade away to nothing.”

“I don’t think you can call this a regular meal. It’s not breakfast, lunch or dinner,” she pointed out.

“It’s food, and you need it. You didn’t eat breakfast or dinner yesterday.”

“Did you have cameras set up in the safe house?” She sounded as horrified as she felt.

“No,” he said. “I checked in a couple of times yesterday, remember? One bowl in the sink after breakfast. Two plates at lunch. Sophia’s little pink plate in the sink after dinner.”

“I snacked. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Sure it is. Like I said, I have to—”

“Keep me healthy and safe until the trial. I know,” she sighed. “Let’s change the subject, okay?”

He raised one dark brow. “Why?”

“Because I’d rather talk about the doll.” And because thinking about Hunter noticing all the things about her that he’d noticed made her uncomfortable. Even if he had just noticed because it was his job.

His dark eyes speared into hers, and, for a moment, she thought that he was going to press for more.

Finally, he stood. “I printed out a photograph. I’ll get it.”

She didn’t follow him from the room. She needed a couple of minutes to gather her thoughts. She wanted to see the photo, but she didn’t. If it was Sophia’s doll, the men who’d murdered Joe had picked it up. She didn’t remember seeing it in either of their hands, but then, she’d only caught a glimpse of John Fiske. He’d already been heading out the back door as she’d walked into the kitchen. He’d glanced over his shoulder to say something to his partner and had seen her.

Annie had been within seconds of dying that day. If the gun Luke Saunders had been carrying hadn’t malfunctioned, she’d be dead. If Sophia had been home, she’d have been dead, too.

She shuddered, washing Hunter’s empty plate and her own. Anything to keep the memories at bay. They were a heavy burden. One she didn’t think she’d ever be able to lay down. She’d wanted so badly to save Joe. She’d pressed dishcloths to the wound in his chest, trying to sop up the blood. She’d held his hand and touched his cheek and told him he was going to be all right. She hadn’t believed it. He hadn’t, either.

Don’t let anything happen to the baby.

His last words to her, and she’d promised that she wouldn’t.

“Please, Lord, help me keep that promise. For him and for me,” she whispered as she dried the plates and put them away.

The apartment floor creaked, and she knew Hunter was returning. She settled back into a chair, the eggs sitting like lead in the pit of her stomach.

Hunter took the seat across from her, sliding a folder across the table. “Are you sure you want to do this tonight?”

“It’s morning, and I’m sure.”

She might be sure, but her hands were trembling. Hunter noticed that and her pallor. She was ashen, her eyes bright blue in her pale face.

Any other time, any other witness, and Hunter would have been impatient for her to do what needed to be done. He was impatient. He needed her to look at the picture. If the doll had been taken from the Delacorte house, it would be a lot easier to connect the guy who’d used it to intimidate Annie to Saunders and Fiske. One more nail in the guys’ coffins.

Once they found the person responsible.

Yeah. He was impatient, but this was Annie, and she had a softer heart than other witnesses he’d protected. So many of the people Hunter had ushered into witness protection had been criminals hiding from criminals. He hadn’t felt sorry for their troubles because they’d brought them on themselves. Annie was different. Her husband had brought trouble into her life. Her only crime had been in loving a guy who’d borrowed money from the wrong people to feed his gambling addiction.

“It can wait,” he said.

She shook her head. “No, it can’t.”

She flipped open the folder and lifted the photo.

As crime-scene photos went, it was pretty innocuous. Hunter had seen a whole lot worse than the headless doll wearing the pink dress.

Annie dropped the photo as if it was a venomous snake.

“Is it—?” Hunter started to ask.

“I need some water.” She cut him off, pushing away from the table. She grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filled it at the sink, her hands shaking so hard water sloshed onto the floor.

She set the glass on the counter and grabbed the dish towel. There were tears in her eyes. He should have ignored them, kept his distance, let her clean up the water and get her emotions in check.

But she looked vulnerable and young, her shoulders slumped as she halfheartedly swiped at the drops of water. She’d given up her family to testify. Given up the friends and support system she’d had before her husband’s murder.

She’d been cautioned against making too many friends in Milwaukee. Until the trial, they wanted her disconnected, free from the temptation to say too much, the danger of slipping and revealing her identity.

She had no one.

Except for him.

For some reason, that mattered to Hunter more than he wanted it to. He told himself it was because he had a younger sister, and that he’d have wanted someone to take care of her emotionally if she’d been in the same situation. He thought the reason might be a lot more complicated than that. Annie was a beautiful woman with a beautiful spirit. That was a difficult combination to resist.

He knelt beside her, took the cloth from her hand. “I’ll clean it up.”

“You’re a U.S. marshal. Not a maid,” she replied, but she scooted away and sat on the floor, her back resting against the cupboards, her arms around her knees.

“I’m whatever I need to be.” He finished wiping up the water and dropped the cloth into the sink.

When she didn’t move, he sat beside her. “Right now, I think you need more than a U.S. marshal. I think you need a friend.”

“Don’t be nice to me, okay?” Her voice broke, and she dropped her head to her knees.

“Aren’t I always nice?” he responded, knowing he wasn’t. Hoping the comment would make her smile.

Or at least keep her from crying.

“Nice?” She turned her head, eyeing him dispassionately. “I suppose some people would call you that.”

“What would you call me?” he asked, more curious than he should be. She was a witness, and her opinion of him shouldn’t matter. Right at that moment, though, it did.

“Efficient.”

“Not hard-nosed or cold, huh?” He’d been called both on a number of occasions. He’d thought the descriptions apt and had taken them as compliments. They wouldn’t be compliments coming from someone like Annie.

“No.”

“That’s your problem, then, Annie. You’re too nice. Instead of getting mad at people who treat you badly—”

“You’ve never treated me badly,” she cut in, and for some reason her continued kindness annoyed him. He’d rather she be like everyone else he’d protected. Convinced that he was as cold as he pretended to be.

“I’ve never treated you kindly, either,” he pointed out. “I’ve done my job. That’s what I get paid for, but you continue to act like I’m doing you a huge favor.”

“Is that what I’m doing?” She stood, and she didn’t look vulnerable or young anymore. She looked angry. “Acting?”

“That wasn’t what I was saying.”

“Then what were you saying, Hunter? That I’m too foolish to know that you’re just here doing what you’ve been paid for? That I’m too stupid to realize that the only reason you’re talking to me right now is because you want answers about the doll and you’re afraid I’m going to have some kind of mental breakdown before I give them to you?” Her voice was soft, her tone light, but there was heat in her gaze.

“That’s not why—”

“You want to know the truth? A year ago, I might have been a fool and I might have been stupid. I trusted people because I wanted to think the best of everyone. After what I learned about Joe, I’m not that naive. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be kind.” She grabbed the folder and thrust it at him. “Yes, it’s Sophia’s doll. That’s the dress I made for it. Check the stitching. I didn’t have any pink thread so I used robin’s-egg blue.”

She spun on her heels and ran from the room.

She didn’t slam the bedroom door, but he heard the quiet snap of the lock.

He could have followed her. It would have been easy enough to unlock the door.

But he had the answer he needed. There was no need for further conversation.

He looked down at the photo of the headless doll. The dress was intricate and well made with puffy sleeves and some sort of gathers on the front. He’d call Joshua, ask him if the thread used on the dress was blue. Just to be sure.

If it was, then the doll had been taken the night of Joe Delacorte’s murder. Once they found the guy who’d tossed it into the safe-house yard, they should be able to connect him to Saunders and Fiske. Neither man would have a chance of escaping justice.

That should have excited Hunter. It was what he lived for. Seeing justice done, knowing he had done his part to make it happen.

It had always been enough before.

Right then, though, it felt empty. The thrill of the hunt, the excitement of the chase, victory in sight—none of it seemed nearly as important as making sure that Annie was okay. He hesitated, tempted to unlock Annie’s door and make sure she was. He wouldn’t, though. That would be crossing a line and walking into dangerous territory.

Cold detachment. It had served him well before. It would serve him well again.

He pulled out his cell phone and called Josh again.