Heroes In Uniform (238 page)

Marsh felt eyes on him.

Who else was out there in the night?
Was the Blade Hunter watching right now?

Why had the sonofabitch made this personal?

Covers rustled in the bed.

“What are you looking at?” Josephine asked. Fear threaded her voice, made his nerves tighten at the insidious threat.

“Some guy walking his dog.” He looked back at her.

Groaning, she fell back against the covers. “I
hate
this.”

He moved away from the window and sat on the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight. “I hate it too.”

Words didn’t help. Promising to catch the bastard didn’t help. The only thing that might help was locking this animal behind bars. Marsh moved around the bed and picked up his pants—rifled through his pockets for his cell phone.

Checking the screen, he saw he’d missed several calls, but not the ones he’d been expecting.

“I don’t understand why Agent Walker hasn’t brought me in for questioning.”

“Ugh.”

“What do you mean
ugh
?” Alerted by her tone he glanced up. Moving back to the side of the bed he dropped his cell next to his weapon.

“I hmm…” Josephine’s voice was muffled by the sheet.

“Did Walker tell you something?”

Josephine sat up in bed, gathered the sheet across her breasts and looked sexier than ever with her mussed hair and lush lower lip.

“More like I told him something.” She pressed her lips together and met his gaze. The moon had set, but there was enough ambient light to make out the way her eyes skittered away from his.

“What exactly did you tell him?” he asked.

Raising her chin, she swept her hair out of her eyes with an impatient gesture. Marsh recognized the pugnacious tilt of her jaw.

“He was going to pin it on you.”

Her words stirred his suspicion. “He wouldn’t be doing his job if he didn’t consider me a suspect.” And that fact pissed him off. All the years of service to his country counted for nothing. And that’s exactly how it should be, he reminded himself.

“Well I know you didn’t do it.” She glared at him like he was a moron.

Uh oh
. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him you were here with me.” Defiance and certainty radiated from her.

“But for all you or Agent Walker know, I could have crept out of here in the middle of the night and murdered Lynn.” He nodded his head toward the locked door that had separated them last night.

She shook her head. “I
know
you aren’t that monster.”

Did Walker feel the same way? He doubted it.

Again he was getting
the look
like he was too stupid to live.

“I told Walker you were
with
me, all night long,” she said.

Shit. A rapier of anger speared through him. Sharp. Deadly. He looked away, suddenly afraid of his feelings. “You lied to an FBI agent during a critical investigation?”

“Yep.” She tossed out the word the same way she tossed her hair.

“That doesn’t bother you?” His jaw clenched so tightly he could barely speak.

“It isn’t exactly the first time.” Raised brows challenged him.

Christ
—he knew that, but this was a serial killer investigation. A short breath escaped his nostrils in a burst of frustration. He was trapped. If he confessed the truth he branded Josephine with the label “liar” that might put into question every testimony she ever gave. But if he didn’t tell Walker the truth, he demeaned himself and his ethics. He’d compromised himself once before and damned if Josephine hadn’t been involved that time too.

“What exactly is the problem, Marsh?” She got out of bed, naked and distracting as hell, which knowing Josephine was her intention. “Because I thought the whole point was to catch the bad guy? Getting caught in his tricks won’t do that.” She crossed her arms over her breasts. His eyes lingered involuntarily. This woman was his Achilles’ heel and he resented his weakness.

She hesitated, worried her bottom lip. “What would I do if you were arrested for a murder I know you didn’t commit? The real killer is trying to get me alone and unprotected, you know that.” A tremor ran through her frame, cold or fear he didn’t know. He moved closer, put his hands on her shoulders, the slender bones unyielding beneath the surface of her skin.

This serial killer
was
playing games with the cops. “Vince will be here for as long as it takes. We can hire additional security if we need to—I told you this already.”

“I don’t want ‘additional security’ I want you.” She raised herself on tiptoes, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. He was so surprised by that unsolicited act of affection he stood there stupidly, only one part of his body reacting. When she released him his brain was blank from lack of blood.

“The Blade Hunter is trying to get you caught up in this investigation, to confuse the police and divert attention away from himself and leave me exposed.” She nipped his bottom lip hard enough to make him blink. Ouch. “That means he’s watching me—watching
us
and I’m not going to let him manipulate everything the way he wants to.”

He knew she was right and he knew she was also very wrong. But with one hand stroking his erection, the other curled around his neck, Josephine dragged him down to the bed and God help him, he didn’t exactly put up much of a struggle.

* * *

Marsh poured coffee from the state-of-the-art coffeemaker in Josephine’s kitchen.

“Want one?” He spoke over his shoulder to Vince who’d walked in.

Vince nodded and took the second chair in the galley-size kitchen.

Pouring four cups of the thick brew, Marsh left one on the counter for Josephine who was tucked safely in the shower. Steve Dancer slouched in another chair, his shirt wrinkled, his socks mismatched.

Marsh had been raised in an atmosphere that demanded physical perfection; home, school, the Navy and finally the Bureau, but Dancer had managed to slip through the cracks and under the wire. It should have appalled Marsh’s senses that Dancer wore brown shoes with black pants and a navy sports coat, but he didn’t give a shit. Steve Dancer was one of the brightest people he’d ever met. The only child of a single mother, Dancer had put himself through MIT by working three jobs. Men underestimated the guy because of his freckles and unkempt appearance. Women wanted to mother him. Marsh didn’t know why the guy had signed up for the FBI, but he was smart enough to be grateful he’d been able to wrangle him onto his team.

“Why did you let her lie to Walker, Vince?” Marsh was still pissed he’d been caught in a web of deceit. He didn’t like being manipulated by anyone.

“She didn’t exactly lie.” Vince’s white teeth gleamed against burgundy lips. “She implied.” He shrugged one massive shoulder. “Walker bought it, but man, he was pissed.”

“All he has to do is go back and check the dates of the other murders, which I thought he’d done.” Marsh drew in a tight, breath, released it through his nose. “Why would he think I was involved?”

Vince rubbed hands the size of dinner plates over his close-cropped hair, ear stud blinking. He gave him a dry look. “You know why.”

Josephine
.

Jealousy was a bitch. But having a relationship with Josephine shouldn’t interfere with catching the killer. No matter who she was, what she looked like or what she said.

“Did the killer strike again? Anybody hear anything?” Marsh asked, stirring his coffee. Dancer and Vince shook their heads.

“Maybe he took the night off.” Dancer sipped his coffee and winced. Not a morning person.

Or maybe they just hadn’t found the body yet.

“Where are we at with the De Hooch/Vermeer investigation?” asked Marsh.

Dancer blew the top of his coffee. “I took a look at the internet records. Sale looks legit.”

“With or without a warrant?” Vince’s eyes sharpened with interest.

Dancer’s freckles danced on his cheeks. “No comment.”

Vince grunted and went back to his coffee. Picked up a muffin from a box in the middle of the table that Dancer had brought from a bakery around the corner.

“According to Thomas Brown the picture was in the family mansion for years. But according to Admiral Chambers it was stolen from him in nineteen-ninety.”

Marsh looked up at the ceiling. Given the prominence of both families he was facing at a royal screw up.

“We need to talk to Chambers again. Verify his account of the theft.”

“He’s back,” Dancer ran his hand through his hair, which flopped awkwardly back in his eyes. “Got a flight out of Anchorage last night.”

Anxiety bit along the edge of Marsh’s nerves. He had a job to do and a position to uphold. Neither melded with protecting Josephine from a killer 24/7.

“I guess we’re going to Boston.” He grimaced.

“What about…” Vince glanced over his shoulder and jerked his chin toward the open door.

Marsh rested the base of his spine against the kitchen counter. Leaving Josephine in NYC meant leaving her vulnerable. Vince could protect her, but Marsh needed to
know
she was safe.

“She’s coming too.”

“She won’t like it,” Vince stated with a shake of his head.

There was a creak of a hinge and the soft tread of bare feet across floorboards. Josephine padded to the doorway, looked at the three men in her kitchen and silently held her hand out for coffee. He picked up the mug and handed it across, their fingers brushing and the spark of contact making her blush. Dancer caught Marsh’s eye. Raised a knowing brow.

Ignoring the other agent, Marsh stared into Josephine’s eyes. “You need to come to Boston with us.”

A soft breath escaped her lips, “Has he killed again?”

He cleared his throat.
It was a sensible plan
. Josephine would buy it. “No, this isn’t to do with the Blade Hunter case. I have to go to Boston as part of the investigation I’m leading.” He stared into cobalt eyes that were slowly freezing over. “This way we can keep an eye on you rather than leaving you exposed and threatened in NYC.” He tried to hold her gaze, but it was like she was disappearing before his eyes.

“I won’t run away from this asshole. Not this time—”

“It isn’t running away, it’s being smart.” Marsh plowed right on over her concerns. “Bring everything you need to paint and we’ll set you up somewhere—”

“My canvas is twenty-foot high.” Remoteness echoed through her voice like she’d turned herself off.

“Work on something else for a few days.” His voice got louder, unconsciously trying to penetrate the armor she was building around herself.

Her eyes turned to his, empty—none of the passion, none of her usual spirit.

“I have a commission to finish.” She bit her lip. “It might not be important or worthy—but it’s mine and I’m not giving it up for that sonofabitch.” She was looking right through him, but not seeing him. She was seeing that knife-wielding bastard. “Vince can look after me.” Backing out of the room she smiled vaguely at them all, her pale skin turning even whiter in the morning sun.

“Josephine.” Panic crept in to his tone. She said she wasn’t running away but she was lying. He’d expected fireworks, but he had expected to get his way. This distance was beyond him and he’d never seen her retreat into herself before. “Pack your stuff because we’re leaving at noon.”

There was no reply, just the click of the lock on the bedroom door and the expectant weight of silence.

“Well, that went well.” Dancer slugged down the last of his coffee, licked frosted sugar off his fingers. “Want me to get the tranquilizers or can you manage?”

* * *

The light was perfect. If she could concentrate on color, on how to make the folds of the Statue of Liberty’s toga look both fluid and solid at the same time, everything would be fine. Squeezing out permanent green, some phthalo green and a blob of cobalt green deep acrylic, she stared stupidly at her palette. Her hands shook as feeling slowly crept back into her senses.

This was never going to work. Being with Marsh was never going to work.

He couldn’t protect her forever and she didn’t want him around purely out of obligation. Neither did she want to put him in danger or have to worry about him. She closed her eyes and swayed. She was an idiot.

She should have run that first day but she’d hesitated and that had been her first mistake.

Liberty’s upraised arm mocked her. This painting was supposed to represent the indomitable spirit of New York City. It was supposed to represent the phoenix rising from the ashes of grief and the courage of the people of this great city. But how could she hope to do it justice when she couldn’t even walk the streets without a bodyguard? She despised what her life had become. She wasn’t some weak little drip who hung on a man’s word and expected him to take care of her. Neither did she want to be the dumbfuck blonde in a horror flick who got caught by a monster with a big sharp knife.

Marshall Hayes got under her skin in a way no man ever had before. She wanted to believe in him, wanted to lean on him, and knew she couldn’t risk it.

Sunlight filtered in through the tall glass windows and worked tiny beads of sweat on her temple. At age nine she’d learned the key to survival was keeping quiet. Keep your head down, don’t get involved. Don’t expose your emotions. Run, hide, watch, survive, strike out when necessary, and keep your goddamned mouth shut. Her father’s image rose up in her mind, calling her names because she’d had the audacity to resemble her mother. What would Walter Maxwell have done different if he’d known his wife had been murdered rather than left him? Josephine frowned for a moment. It would have been another excuse to drink himself to death. No wonder her mother had gone off with another man. Marion had saved her, taken her in, and in the end Josie had repaid that debt with painful death.

Painful death had a habit of following her around and she couldn’t stand the idea it might be Marsh this time as a result of some vain effort to save her. But she was not letting a man—not even a good man like Marsh, and definitely not an evil bastard like the Blade Hunter—control her life.