THE CABIN WAS well out of town. Sheriff Colt Tanner had met Jax at the courthouse and led the way. Tanner had last checked on the witness an hour ago. At this stage, Jax wasn’t going to simply check on her—he was to stick with her until she walked into that courtroom to testify. Protect, transport...whatever necessary.

      On the drive to her location, he had decided he really didn’t have a problem with doing the job. He couldn’t deny that he had spent a great deal of time trying to find Allison James, aka Alice Stewart, the widow of Harrison Armone Jr., illegal drugs and weapons kingpin of the southeast. In fact, he wanted to do this. He wanted to learn what had happened to the sweet young woman he had known during his training. How had the shy, soft-spoken girl become the wife of one of the most wanted bastards on the minds of FBI, ATF and DEA agents alike? Maybe it was sheer curiosity, but he needed to understand how the hell that happened.

      The actual problem, in his opinion, was how she would feel about him being the one charged with her safety. She no doubt would understand that he was well aware of who she had gotten involved with and would be disgusted by it. Members of law enforcement from Atlanta to DC had wished for a way to eradicate this problem.

      He guessed he would find out soon enough.

      Jax parked his SUV next to hers and got out. She was likely watching out the window. Tanner had updated her on Holloway’s condition and told her that a new marshal would be arriving shortly. Jax had no idea whether the sheriff had given her his name. If he had, she might be waiting behind that door with her weapon drawn. Not that she had any reason to be holding a grudge. He’d asked her to go with him to Seattle, but she had turned him down. No matter that he shouldn’t—didn’t want to—he wondered if she had attempted to track him down at any time during those early years after he left and before she made the mistake of her life.

      Had she even thought of him?

      He hadn’t asked her to marry him, but they had talked about marriage. They had talked about the future and what they each wanted. She’d had expectations. He had recognized this. But that hadn’t stopped him from leaving when an opportunity he couldn’t turn down came his way. She wouldn’t go. Her father was still alive and alone. She didn’t want to move so far away from him. What was he supposed to do? Ignore the offer he had hoped for from the day he decided to join the marshal service?

      That little voice that warned when he had crossed the line shouted at him now. He had been selfish. No question. But he’d had family, too, and they had been on the West Coast. An unwinnable situation.

      He walked up to the porch. Climbed the steps and crossed to the door. Aware she was certainly watching, he raised his fist and knocked.

      She didn’t say a word or make a sound, but he felt her on the other side of the door. Only inches from him. He closed his eyes and recalled her scent. Soft, subtle. She always smelled like citrus. Never wore makeup. She had the most beautiful blue eyes he had ever seen.

      The door opened and she stood there, looking exactly the way she had ten years ago—no makeup, no fussy hairdo, just Ali. The big black Lab the sheriff had told him about stood next to her.

      For one long moment, she stared at him and he stared at her.

      He inhaled a deep breath, acknowledged the scent of her—the scent he would have recognized anywhere.

      “Say it.”

      For a moment he felt confused at her statement.

      “Say it,” she repeated. “I’m not letting you inside until you do.”

      He understood then. “Superhero.”

      She stepped back, and he walked in. The door closed behind him, locks tumbling into place. The dog sniffed him, eying him suspiciously.

      She scratched the Lab’s head, and the dog settled down. “No one told me you were the one coming.”

      She stood close to the wall on his left, beyond arm’s reach. Now that he had a chance to really look, she was thinner than before. Fear glittered in her eyes. Beyond the fear was something else. A weariness. Sadness, too, he concluded.

      “I didn’t know it was you until I arrived in Winchester.” He held her gaze, refused to let her off the hook. He didn’t want this to be easy. Appreciating her discomfort was low. He knew this, and still he couldn’t help it. “I’m glad I’m the one Holloway called. I want to help. If that’s okay with you.”

      “I’m certain Marshal Holloway wouldn’t have called you if you weren’t up to the task.” She shrugged. “As for the past, it was a long time ago. It’s hardly relevant now.”

      She was right. It had been a long time. Still, the idea that she played it off so nonchalantly didn’t sit so well. No need for her to know the resentment or whatever the hell it was he harbored related to her decisions or the whirlwind of emotions she had set reeling inside him now. This was work. Business. The job. It wasn’t personal.

      He hitched a thumb toward the door. “I picked up a pizza. It’s a little early for lunch, but I was on the road damned early this morning.”

      “Make yourself at home. You don’t need my permission to eat.”

      No, he did not. “I’ll grab my bag and the pizza.”

      He walked out to his SUV. He took a breath. Struggled to slow his heart rate. He had an assignment to complete, and it was essential he pulled his head out of the past and focused on the present. What happened ten years ago or five years ago was irrelevant. What mattered was now. Keeping her safe. Getting her in that courtroom to put a scumbag away.

      He grabbed his bag and the pizza and headed back to the cabin. She opened the door for him and then locked the four dead bolts. He placed the pizza on the table and dropped his bag by the sofa. He imagined that would be his bed for the foreseeable future. The place didn’t look large enough to have two bedrooms.

      “This is Bob, by the way,” she said of the dog who stayed at her side.

      He nodded. “Nice to meet you, Bob.”

      Bob stared at him with a healthy dose of either skepticism or continued suspicion.

      “Would you like water or a cola?”

      Since beer was out of the question, he went for a cola. She walked to the fridge and grabbed two. On the way to the table, she snagged the roll of paper towels from the counter and brought that along, as well. She sat down directly across the table. Apparently she had decided to join him. He passed her a slice, grabbed one of his own and then dug in. Eating would prevent the need for conversation. If he chewed slowly enough, he could drag this out for a while.

      She sipped her drink. “You finally get married?”

      He was surprised she asked. Left her open for his questions. And he really wanted a number of answers from her. At the moment dealing with all the emotions and