Wanted By The Marshal. Ryshia Kennie
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“I’m a US marshal,” he said quickly, as if afraid that she was going to cut him off again.
She couldn’t hide the look of disbelief on her face. Despite her earlier analysis, there was something about him that made her think of the bad boy in high school and not of someone in law enforcement. Except, this was no boy. He was tall and broad shouldered, with a rough but good-looking face and a tough-as-nails attitude. With the early morning shadows lifted, it was clear that he likely wasn’t a common thief. Besides, she doubted if one would be this confident after being caught red-handed trespassing.
“Identification?”
He held out something that glinted in the early morning sun. “My badge.”
It looked official enough. And she had been told there would be protection.
“You can call—”
“I don’t need you to tell me who I can call,” she said and couldn’t keep the bite from her words. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. She had too many men look at her like that and the last thing she needed was another. Except if she were honest, there was no lust in his eyes, only an intense determination. She didn’t like that either.
Despite that, she lowered the gun. She held it stiff and inches away from her hip. “So, you’re the protection I was promised.”
“Yes,” he said. “Along with two other US marshals. We are your security team from now through the trial.” He shifted as if contemplating moving a step closer.
“Don’t move,” she demanded.
“I have to say I’ve never had a witness react like this before,” he said looking down at the lowered gun.
“I’m betting that you’ve never met someone who escaped a serial killer either,” she said. She couldn’t help herself. Even in this situation she wasn’t about to take guff from anyone. She told it like it was; she always had.
“No.” He shook his head. “You’re right. You’re the first.” He took a step forward, his hand out. She held out her hand and noticed that he had to reach and take a step forward to accept it. She hated her small size in a situation like this for it made her feel at a disadvantage. He took her hand and it seemed to be swallowed in his as he gave it a firm shake and let go.
“Marshal Travis Johnson. Here to protect you and make sure that your testimony is given, and that piece of trash is put away for good.”
There was something in the tone of his voice that held a doubt she couldn’t identify, as if he questioned his assignment.
“You think there might be a problem?” she asked.
“No problem,” he said. “Look, let’s go inside and talk there before you have your neighbors wondering what’s going on.” He eyed the gun. “You might want to put that away.”
“This way,” she said and ignored his suggestion as she brushed past him. Their eyes met as she passed. His seemed to see beyond what she’d left unsaid, as if he knew her very thoughts. She looked away. He might be here to protect her, but he had no idea what he was up against. For there was another threat. The fact that it was faceless didn’t make it any less deadly.
* * *
“WOULD YOU LIKE a drink? Water, coffee?” Kiera asked as she closed the back door to her condo.
“Coffee, please.”
“Follow me,” she said with a no-nonsense tone of voice, as she led the way to the kitchen.
The unit was compact with only one bedroom, a living area and the kitchen. Despite the small space, everything seemed neat and organized. There was a homey feel to the way she’d decorated, and the smell of coffee seemed to permeate everything.
“Have a seat,” she said. “I’ll just be a minute. I obviously need to put this away.” She raised her gun hand mere inches, enough to make it clear that it was the gun she was putting away.
And with that she turned and disappeared into the bedroom. He heard a drawer open and close, and then she returned empty handed and went to the cupboard, pulling out two cups and lifting the coffee carafe and pouring them each a cup.
He felt out of place, too big for the space and very much as though he were intruding. He accepted the coffee cup from her and noticed that her hand shook. He wished there was something he could do to take the fear away from her but knew he had nothing to offer but his presence. Her fears existed in the past and in the unknown of her future.
They sat across from each other and for a minute neither of them said anything. She’d been through hell and he didn’t know what he should address first. He ran through a list of things that he knew he needed to ask, to tell her. Where to begin eluded him. When he looked at her he saw the way she rubbed her thumb against the tablecloth and when she looked up, he noticed the whiteness of her lips, and that’s when he knew just how much stress she was under.
Another minute went by and the silence was heavier, more awkward.
“I’m glad I have my aunt’s gun,” she said in a soft voice that broke the silence.
“If you find yourself in a situation in the future where you need to pull a weapon to defend yourself, just remember—you have to be ready to use it.” He paused. “You weren’t today, were you? I don’t count a wild shot, completely off mark, as prepared.”
“I don’t know, maybe.”
“Maybe is as good as no, and in another situation, hesitation would have been fatal—for you.”
“Then I can’t hesitate.”
“Exactly,” he said. “On the upside, I’m here to make sure that you never need that gun. If it’s not me, it will be another marshal making sure you’re safe. Although, we’ll need some help from you.”
“What do you need?”
“The truth and—” he paused “—your trust. That means that if there’s anything you haven’t said, anything you’re holding off saying, you need to tell me.”
“I’ve already told the FBI everything I know,” she said. “And they don’t believe all of it.”
“Everything?” he asked. He hoped that she’d give him something that could be used in the case. She’d seen one face only and she’d identified him, for now that was what they had to work with.
“He wasn’t working alone,” she said. “I heard...”
Her voice dropped as his heart sank.
She couldn’t repeat this, not in court. It would make her testimony questionable if she spouted those beliefs like facts with no physical evidence to back them up. They needed an ID on a killer, nothing else. Certainly not a belief that had no support, no evidence, no backing of any kind and seemed more fantasy than reality.
“Kiera, we can’t assume...”
“Not without evidence,” she said with a nod of her head. “I realize that. But there’s something else. I don’t think it’s connected, but it’s frightening.”
“What’s going on, Kiera?” he asked hoping that maybe going along with her might be a better way to eventually get her off this particular track.
“I’m getting anonymous calls,” she said. “In the early hours. Yesterday was the first morning I was home since the attack and that’s when they started. There was another this morning. They were both the same. The phone rings at five minutes to five o’clock in the morning and then again at five minutes after five.”
That much he hadn’t heard. Had it been reported? He doubted it, for it was a fairly glaring oversight and James was nothing but thorough. Another thought hit him. He pulled out his phone as he stood up. His knee caught on the table. Coffee slopped from his cup. It just missed the embroidered