SHELBY (Second Chance Novels Book 4) (9 page)

I have never seen her eyes look more broken than they do in this moment. Thick tears swim in her eyes, but don't seem to have the will to fall.

"Shelby, I'm so sorry," I say quietly.

"Right," she half-speaks through a shaky-voiced whisper. "I really thought...I mean, I was starting to think you cared..."

"I do, Shelby. I want to keep you safe, and not just as a US Marshal. I'm still Dade."

"No," she shakes her head and stares at nothing. "No, you're US Marshal Francis D. Roarke. And you can go to hell."

She shakes her head as though she's clearing her thoughts. Guilt and empathy press on my chest as I simply wait, hoping for a sign of how I should proceed. The other marshals are undoubtedly taking in the subtle indication that I've been less than professional. I don't bother explaining to them.
 

I've experienced every sort of reaction from new witnesses, from each stage of grief to absence of reaction completely. This time, however, the emotional component I fostered in her complicates my announcement. I tore another piece of her heart when I confessed who I am. God damn it. I fucked this up from the beginning, but I have no idea how else I could have played it. She was putting herself in such danger, and when I saw the pain in her eyes, my instinctual protective side couldn't be denied.
 

I still believe the best way to keep Shelby safe is to keep her close to me. I refuse to acknowledge my
personal
need to keep her close. I will continue to deny my feelings for her, at least until the trial is over. I don't know how or if I can explain my role here. I'm her devoted protector, which has little to do with my job at this point.

When I first saw her, I couldn't help but notice her sex-appeal or natural beauty. Her sadness drew me in and her attitude intrigued me. It wasn't until our first real conversation, however, did I realize how warm, caring, and easy-going she is under all her hurt. The relaxed hours we spent that evening were my first moments of seeing the true Shelby, one untainted by a need for a quick fix for her pain…one both warm and smiling. She listened and cared that night, and she thrived on the connection. She's able to shine. When she doesn't dwell on her hurt, she's extraordinary. I want to give her a reason to move on.
 

Every chance I had after that night, I pulled her into another conversation, hoping to know her better. Our date-like evenings were the highlight of my weeks. Though she would talk little about her skill with the computer, her obvious intelligence came across on every topic we discussed. Occasionally, she would laugh freely. That sound encouraged me.

And now…

Now I've added a reason for mistrust. I hope as we keep her safe, she and I will have a chance to repair the rift. Secretly, I'm thankful to have a legitimate excuse to keep her near me and away from the bars. I won't lose my chance to prove to her every side of my dedication and ability to be someone she can rely on. There may be no attraction on her side, but she needs to know: not everyone will let her down.
 

As I watch her try to adjust to her new reality, the misery swims in her eyes. Her frustration, confusion, and anger take a back seat to raw, deep sadness. Her heart is broken from every angle. Her eyes flick to mine.

"They really want to kill me."

"They would have done it tonight," I confirm for her gravely.
 

She stares at the floor again, and starts walking in a slow circle with her hands up on her temples. I wish there were more words to help her brain process the reality. I watch cautiously, waiting for the opportunity to offer additional explanation or possibly comfort. My fellow marshals are doing a standard security sweep, checking doors and windows, as well as doing a video survey of the grounds. Marshal Shaw is head of on-site physical security. He nods a subdued greeting to Shelby as he checks the front door and moves systematically to the next point on his rounds.

Shelby watches him and her face becomes...determined? hard? One heavy sob escapes her chest and she begins walking again, but this time her feet show purpose. I can't get a read on her expression until she shocks the hell out of me and makes a sprint for the front door.
 

None of us is prepared for her move. To this point she's been mostly compliant, and our focus has been keeping danger
out
. Keeping Shelby
in
hadn't appeared to be a problem.
Fuck
! I run after her, trying to catch her before she breaches the safety of the house. We don't want a neighbor to see her face. One glance at her could cause problems down the line.
 

I manage to pull her back by the waist, knocking us both off balance as I do. She lands backward on top of me and I wrap her up tight as she sobs almost violently. I shift to a sitting position and hold her in an awkward sort of cradling position.

"Just let me go!" she cries, pounding at my chest. "I don't want this! I don't want any of this! I don't even know why the hell I'm here! I'm just…done…"
 

Her voice trails off into nothingness as silent sobs wrack her entire body. I keep ahold of her to keep her from leaving, and also to keep her in my arms. I want to comfort her. If only I could prove she can rely on me, but I know better than to think she'll believe that anytime soon.
 

Her crying eventually quiets and I ease my embrace. Shaw catches my eye and moves to the door so I can let her sit on her own.
 

"Where's my bedroom?" she asks meekly. My only answer is to point down the hallway. She stands and ghosts away. I let out a heavy breath as Shaw comes over to me.

"She's going to be a goddamn handful, that one," he shakes his head and helps me off the floor.

"Yeah," I nod, releasing a deep breath. I shake my head and walk to the kitchen. I start a pot of coffee and slump into a chair at the table. By the end of my shift, Shelby hasn't come out of her room and I have no excuse to stay longer in case she does. She'll be glad to have her distance from me anyway, damn it.
 

"I'm out for the night," I say to Shaw. Banks nods from his position in the living room. "Lyons and Engle will be here at midnight."

Each of my subordinates looks at me with an odd expression, obviously seeing my over-dedication to the witness. I refuse to engage on the subject, and I return home. Shelby needs space from me, which depresses my mood significantly.

I can't sleep a wink. Who am I kidding? I haven't slept well since I was assigned this case by the White Collar Crimes division of the FBI.
 

Shelby Keene, computer hacker. She tripped over a breach into the national gallery and doesn't even know it. The feds have been following this ring for years, and she tags the biggest player on her second big hack. She shouldn't be too tough. You watch her until we know how much either party knows, then snag her as a witness the minute we can. The safe house is ready.The FBI wants these guys in a big way. This woman may be our way to nail them.

I shake my head at the
shouldn't be too tough
blip in that speech. Yeah, 'simple' is not how I would describe anything about Shelby Keene. Even if I could ignore the goddess-hot kind of beautiful she's got going on, the rest of her is at the very least complex. Few women could ooze sexy the way she does while working in a quiet, white-collar, super-nerd environment. Her intelligence and history indicate she could adopt nearly any hobby and enjoy success, but she chooses hacking.
 

Another complexity unique to Shelby is what she does when she gets through the final firewall of every hack. She achieves absolute power within the system, but she doesn't use that access for anything at all. They say absolute power corrupts absolutely, with the exception of Shelby, apparently.

I take a few deep, slow breaths and try to relax my brain into sleep, but all I can do is relive the moment Shelby sprinted for the door. I knew she was broken, but I had no idea
suicidal
would be on the radar. I'm sure she wouldn't take a gun to her head, but I know now she would certainly allow herself to be passively swept away from her life. Like she said so sadly today, she's done.
 

Yeah, sleep isn't happening.
 

I pull myself out of bed and walk bare-chested through my bachelor pad apartment and smirk. Bachelor pad? More like home office. Nothing ever happens here but work. My spare bedroom is my gym. My breakfast table is my desk. My couch serves as a laundry station most of the time, and my bedroom serves as a goddamn monastery at this point. Between seventy-hour work weeks, extra surveillance on Shelby, and my general annoyance with female drama, the only action I'm getting comes from my right hand…and sometimes my left, just for variety.
 

God, I want to take Shelby in my arms and shake some sense into her…or
kiss
the sense
out
of her. All I can do, however, is peruse the case information again. She is my witness, and therefore she is off-limits, and also the safest person on the planet. There is nothing more simple than the base truth of the situation.
 

I burn these midnight oils brushing up on Shelby and her personal life. Every note I took during surveillance and every recap of our conversations I wrote get strewn across my table as I once again cannonball into her mind. Her sorry ex-boyfriend warrants some of my time. Mason Pratt. Dishonorable discharge, murder suspect, and rumored vigilante…not to mention he fucked his vigilante partner while still involved with Shelby. From what I can tell, his friends revere him. Am I missing something here? The man is a degenerate loser as far as I'm concerned. Much of the pain Shelby carries comes from her dealings with that man. He can stay away, and I'm happy to help.

I look, too, at the other friends she keeps, most of whom hang out at a bar called Second Chance, which is owned by Mason's best friend Ledger, who is now engaged to Shelby's childhood friend. They are all so intertwined, yet none of them noticed when Shelby started to slip. If even one of them took the time to look past Shelby's fronted smiles, she may not have gotten so deep into hacking or started sleeping around to get attention. I shake my head at all of them, including Shelby, and return to my work.
 

By tomorrow, I'll be ready to play therapist. I hope being the only familiar face in the house will help her open up to me, even if she's still pissed. She needs to get her head together because the federal prosecutor doesn't want to waste any time. He'll interview and start Shelby's trial prep immediately, probably Monday, which means I have the weekend to bring her around. I let out a deep breath and glance at the clock. I might as well try to sleep.
 

Patting the table in a distant goodnight to Shelby, I scuff my way to my room and try to close my eyes again. Yeah, right.