Love Inspired Suspense October 2015 #1 (39 page)

TWO

P
ain.

Deep, throbbing pain.

Angelina raised a hand to her forehead. A thick gauze bandage made her pause.

What?

She opened her eyes. A lightning bolt of hurt shot through her head and she squeezed them closed again.

Okay. Stay still and think. Where are you? What happened?

It didn't take long for her mental fog to lift. Everything came rushing back and she wished it hadn't. The shooting. Her best friend, Maria, dead.

She shot up in bed and instantly regretted it. The room spun like an amusement park ride out of control. Her stomach turned over. She held her head with both hands and groaned aloud.

“Good. You're awake.”

Angelina froze like a person who had stumbled upon a deadly rattler. She'd recognize that voice anywhere.

Dylan McKnight.

How had he found her? The last time she had seen US deputy marshal Dylan McKnight he was conspiring to have her killed.

She hadn't wanted to believe it. Wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't witnessed it with her own eyes.

Angelina had been sitting in a holding room waiting to testify before the grand jury. She knew her testimony would go a long way in helping them determine whether there was enough evidence to indict her father for murder.

Nerves had skittered up her spine. Her legs had bounced up and down and her hands wouldn't stop shaking. Unable to sit still another second, she sprang up from her chair and paced the room. On one of her passes she glanced out the door into the hall and saw Dylan slip the bailiff a piece of paper. Minutes later the bailiff, who had a sinister look in his eyes and a sneer on his lips, passed that note to her.

Do you really think you will live to testify? I own cops. I own judges. I own the marshals that pretend to protect you. You will never be able to hide from me.

The note had broken her heart. If she hadn't seen the exchange she would not have believed it. During the few short months they were together in the witness protection program before she fled, she'd started to have feelings for Dylan and had believed they were returned.

How could she have been so wrong?

She'd tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe Dylan had given the bailiff a different note. Or maybe Dylan hadn't read the note and was just a go-between passing it from an outside source to the bailiff.

Maybe.

But could she trust her own judgment anymore? She'd trusted her father, believed him when he claimed to be a successful businessman who was the brunt of vicious rumors by envious competitors. She'd believed Dylan when he told her he cared about her and promised to keep her safe.

She'd been wrong about both the men closest to her.

Her father had turned out to be a cold-blooded murderer.

And Dylan...

Even if Dylan hadn't known the contents of the note, he'd still let the bailiff come close enough to give it to her, close enough to kill her if he had wanted. She couldn't trust Dylan to keep her safe. The note proved she couldn't trust the marshals, the cops, even the bailiff! A heavy lead weight had formed in the pit of her stomach and with sickening clarity she'd known the truth. She couldn't trust
anyone
anymore except herself—not even God.

And for the past three years that was exactly what she'd done—protected herself.

Until last night...

Dylan approached the head of the hospital bed. “What's the matter, Angelina? Have nothing to say to an old friend?”

The warmth of the US marshal's breath fanned her cheek when he spoke. She couldn't be sure whether it was his words causing her pulse to trip or if it was the proximity of the man himself, the man who long ago had made her pulse race for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.

Did he have to stand so close?

There was a time when she would have welcomed his nearness.

But that was a lifetime ago. Three years had changed her. Three years had changed everything.

“Did you really think you could pull it off?” Dylan crossed his arms like an angry sentinel blocking all means of escape.

One glance into his dark, penetrating,
hostile
eyes brought her back to her senses. Her nerve endings danced in fear. What was he going to do with her now? She had betrayed him—and the years had not erased the memory.

She needed to run again—now, this minute—as far and as fast as she could. If she could only stop the shooting pain in her head and clear her blurred vision.

“Please...”

Please what?
Even she didn't know what she was trying to say. Where did that empty plea come from? Did she really think he could forget what she'd done?

A sense of dread cloaked her body like a heavy blanket. She inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, trying not to panic. Somehow she needed to buy time while she tried to figure out her next move. She didn't know what to do. She didn't even know where she was. Her gaze skittered about the room.

Okay. She was in a hospital.

A tightness drew her attention to the bandage squeezing her right arm. An IV was connected to her left hand and a steel rail guarded the left side of her bed.

A dull throb claimed the space right between her eyes. Sluggish, unfocused thoughts made her head spin as if she was trying to resurface from deep waters.

The pounding in her head became a full-fledged gallop of pain as the significance of the night's events slammed into her. Every cell in her body screamed.

You're in danger. Get out of here. Run!

She threw the covers off and tried to swing her legs from the bed.

Her head swam and her eyes refused to focus.

“Where do you think you're going? You are in no shape to be getting out of bed.”

She ignored Dylan's words and tried a second time to stand. When her feet hit the floor, her legs, shaking as if they didn't have a bone in them, stubbornly refused to hold her weight.

Two familiar, strong hands clasped her waist, supporting her, keeping her from hitting the cold linoleum in the white-washed room. Angelina knew she shouldn't but she welcomed the strength of his sturdy male torso and leaned heavily against him.

The sound of his heartbeat beneath her ear soothed her. The warmth of his body made her want to burrow deeper in his arms. The woodsy aroma of his cologne mingling with his own masculine scent brought a smile to her lips and stirred pleasant memories.

Seeking reassurance she lifted her head, gazed into his dark brown eyes, and found none. Only questions, hurt and disappointment stared back. His coldness and anger unnerved her.

He couldn't be on her father's payroll. Could he? Either way, she knew she wasn't safe in his care.

Dylan gently lowered her onto the bed. He pulled the blanket over her. The clipped tone in his voice vibrated with controlled anger but it was the gentleness of his hands as he tucked her blankets in and adjusted her pillow that offered her safety, comfort and hope.

“What can you tell me about what happened last night?”

Angelina lowered her head and remained silent.

“Don't you remember?”

“Maria and I were taking a walk when...when...”

When she couldn't find any more words, Dylan filled in the blanks.

“The police report states the two of you were walking last night down by the pier. Shots rang out. You ran for safety. You made it. Your friend didn't.”

The brutal honesty of his words stung her.

She squirmed beneath his scrutiny but remained silent.

“Do you remember now?”

How much should she tell him? What should she say? If he was working for her father, was he trying to find out if she could identify her shooter? Or was he simply a US marshal trying to do his job? Either way, she knew she needed to choose her words carefully.

“I'm sorry. I can't help you...” Her voice trailed off.

“Did you see the person who shot you?” Dylan waited for her answer.

She grimaced and touched the bandage on her forehead again. “I was shot?”

“Are you in pain?” A softer tone laced his words. “Do you want me to summon a nurse?”

“No.”

The hallway door opened. The figure of a large man, his silhouette outlined by the outside hall light, appeared in the doorway, his face in shadows.

A wave of panic stole Angelina's breath. Dylan wasn't the only one who had found her.

The killer found me. I'm no longer safe.

“Run!” She threw her body over the railing on the opposite side of the bed and promptly splatted like a pancake on the floor. Even her teeth vibrated with pain.

Dylan hurried around the bed. “Are you crazy? What are you trying to do?” He ran his hands lightly over her limbs, checking for broken bones. “That concussion must have scrambled your brains. Don't move. Are you hurt?”

She had pulled the IV out of her hand during the fall. Almost in a daze she held it up in front of her face and stared at the blood trickling down her skin.

“Now look at what you've done.” Dylan pressed a clean, white handkerchief to the back of her hand to stanch the bleeding. “What were you thinking by pulling a stunt like that?”

The man in the doorway threw on the overhead light and hurried forward. “Is she okay? Should I get a nurse?”

“She's fine.” Dylan scooped her up in his arms as though she weighed nothing more than a feather and deposited her back in the bed.

Angelina guarded her eyes against the bright fluorescent light that had replaced the soft glow of the night-light above her bed. Shadows no longer hid this second man's face. US marshal Robert “Bear” Simmons, Dylan's partner and the other half of the team she'd duped, had entered the room.

“Good to see you again, Ms. Baroni.” Dylan's partner grinned widely showing a mouthful of even white teeth against coffee-brown skin. “Imagine my surprise to find that you've been hiding right under our noses.”

Her eyes shot to Dylan.

For what? Reassurance? Safety? Help?

Dylan flashed that devastatingly handsome smile she had once found so hard to resist, that same smile that could draw her to him again if she wasn't careful, but it lacked the warmth it used to hold.

She glanced away. She couldn't afford to be careless again. Her life depended on it.

“I'll ask you again...” She could feel Dylan's eyes boring into her as he spoke. “Can you identify your shooter?”

“No. I didn't see a thing. I was too busy running for my life.”

“Do you have any idea who might want you dead?” He chuckled but there was no humor in his tone. “Let me rephrase that. Do you have any idea which one of the many people your father has hired to kill you may have actually tried to do it?”

She shook her head and the sudden movement flashed pain through her head and made her nauseous.

“My father didn't put a contract out on me.”

Dylan stared at her, disbelief written all over his face.

“He wouldn't,” she insisted. “If I'd remained with you and testified against him, then he would have felt he had no choice. I understand that. But when I left witness protection and disappeared, he knew I was no longer a threat.”

“After everything that has happened, do you really believe that?”

“Yes, I do. But don't you see, you've changed all that. If he finds out that I'm in your custody again, he'll believe I've accepted witness protection. Now I will be a danger to him. Now he probably will put out a contract on me. You have to let me go. You have to let me get out of here.”

“That's not happening.” They locked gazes. “Whether you testify voluntarily or whether the district attorney will have to call you as a hostile witness, we are still getting you to that trial and putting you on the stand.”

Angelina slid farther down her bed. She wished she could pull the blanket over her head and just make the world disappear. She'd been so careful. But in seconds her world had crashed around her and she didn't have a clue how to make things right.

“I... I've already told you that I didn't see anyone. I was walking with my friend Maria on the beach and then...”

Silence loomed between them.

“Please...” she whispered. “I need to rest. Please leave. I really can't help you.”

“Leave?” Dylan's mirthless laugh echoed loudly in the room. “Not a chance. I made the mistake of leaving you alone once before. Remember?” He moved closer so that only she could hear his words. “You lied to me.” His eyes darkened. “You walked into the bathroom, climbed out the window and took off. Made a fool out of me. Damaged my credibility with my boss.” He squared his shoulders and took a step back.

His voice hardened. “Did you really think I would forget? I haven't forgotten anything.”

Heat burned her cheeks with shame and regret over their last night together, over the way she'd lead him on to think they were going to have their first romantic evening but had deceived him instead and ran away.

A variety of emotions flashed across Dylan's face. He was as upset by this meeting as she was.

But how could that be? He was acting like the injured party. Is it possible she'd been wrong about her suspicions?

A twinge of conscience made her feel guilty. She hadn't wanted to hurt anybody, especially not him. But even if she'd misread the note situation, she hadn't been wrong about him letting the bailiff within arm's reach of her. She had to keep reminding herself of the facts. US marshal or not, Dylan couldn't keep his promise. He couldn't be trusted to keep her safe. She'd had no choice but to run. And, if she wanted to live, soon she would have to find a way to run again.

Dylan appeared to recover quickly, the raw emotions that flitted over his face were gone and his features hardened like carved granite. But when he spoke his words were gentle. “I'm sorry about Maria.”