The Marshal's Hostage. Delores Fossen
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on the job a few months, had little experience in law enforcement. No. If anyone found anything incriminating, it’d be Joelle and her team of hotshot investigators that she had crawling all over the state.
Dallas aimed his index finger at her. “This report could destroy Kirby.” His foster father. And a man he darn sure wouldn’t see destroyed.
Joelle dodged his gaze, turned, and gave him another view of that blasted bra. The left nipple this time. Great day in the morning! He didn’t need this.
Nor the other thing he saw.
He’d missed it at first because the pendant was literally tucked in her bra, but it shifted, slipped out, and he spotted the gold heart locket. Not a flashy piece, this one was coated with fine scratches and even a little tarnish. It looked like the one he’d given her for her sixteenth birthday, but he had to be wrong about that. And even if he wasn’t, if it was indeed the same necklace, maybe it was the “something old” part of her bridal garb.
Dallas wondered whose picture was inside it now.
Definitely not his.
“This isn’t a good time for the cat to get your tongue,” Dallas reminded her.
Again, she opened her mouth to say something, but there was a knock at the door before she could get out even a syllable. Both of them groaned and cursed the interruption. At this rate, the day would be over before he got answers.
“Ignore it,” Dallas insisted.
Another knock. “Joelle, it’s me, Lindsey. Owen called and wanted me to check on you.”
Joelle did the opposite of ignoring it. She stepped around him, unlocked the door and threw it open. The tall, curvy brunette peered in, first at Joelle and then at Dallas.
“Are you, uh, okay?” she asked Joelle.
“I’m fine,” Joelle snapped. She followed the woman’s gaze to the lacy bra, cursed again and jerked the robe shut. “My friend was just leaving.”
“No. He’s not,” Dallas said. “Not until we get this straight.”
Lindsey volleyed concerned looks between them, and she handed Joelle the plastic cup she was holding. “Jack Daniel’s, straight up,” she told Joelle. “I figured you could use it.”
“I can.” Joelle took the shot in one gulp. “I won’t be long,” she added, sounding even more riled than Dallas was.
Joelle whirled around, put her back to the door and faced him head-on. “I can’t do this now. Please go.”
The please gave him a few seconds pause. She hadn’t said it in anger—something he knew firsthand that she was pretty good at—but rather in a breathy whisper. Still, he couldn’t let a breathy plea stop him.
“We settle this now,” he insisted.
She groaned and scratched her head, mussing more of that perfect hairdo. “If Kirby did something wrong all those years ago, then I can’t keep it hidden away.”
Something wrong? Yeah. More like something right. “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you, but sixteen years ago Kirby got me and my foster brothers out of that hellhole.”
In this case, the hellhole was the Rocky Creek Children’s Facility. A down-home name for a notorious orphanage that had nearly destroyed him.
“Kirby may have pulled strings to get custody of you,” she added, then swallowed hard. “Not just you, but the others. Clayton, Harlan, Slade, Wyatt. And especially Declan.”
All five of his foster brothers. Yeah, there might have been an irregularity or two in the paperwork that had given Kirby guardianship and then full custody. But if Kirby hadn’t gotten them out, none of them might be alive right now. They sure as heck wouldn’t all be deputy U.S. marshals and running a successful ranch.
“Kirby may have done some other things to make sure custody wasn’t contested,” Joelle added in a whisper.
Dallas knew exactly what she meant because he’d already gotten wind of her so-called report that the governor would use to determine if the Texas Rangers should open a full-scale investigation against Kirby. An investigation that could lead to some charges.
Including murder.
Now it was Dallas’s turn to swallow hard. He couldn’t let that happen to Kirby.
The photos of the dead man’s bones flashed through his head. They’d been found seven weeks ago, a little over a mile from the now abandoned Rocky Creek facility. A crew working on the power lines had uncovered it.
Jonah Webb’s body.
The devil of a man who’d once run Rocky Creek and someone who’d been missing for sixteen years.
“Jonah’s rib cage showed signs of knife wounds,” Joelle explained.
Something else he didn’t need to be reminded of. And that brought back another set of images that Dallas would rather forget. “I read the forensic reports.”
He’d also studied the police file and the official notification from the governor to authorize Joelle, one of the state’s legal advisers, to conduct an independent inquiry to determine what had gone on at the state-run facility all those years ago.
“My father didn’t kill Jonah Webb,” Dallas concluded.
Something went through her eyes. Not a glare this time, but something he couldn’t quite figure out. “The governor’s a fair man.”
That gave Dallas zero reassurance. “If there’s something in your report that implicates my father, and I’m pretty sure there is, then the governor will have no choice but to make it an official investigation.”
She blew out a long breath, swiped some of those now dangling strands of hair from her face.
He waited, mentally rehearsing the argument to make her amend that report. Or burn it. Or just plain lie. “Arresting my father wouldn’t be justice, and you know it.”
“Yes, but it would be the law,” she snapped.
“To hell with the law.” Dallas nearly winced at his own words. He was a federal marshal, sworn to obey the very laws that might take his father from him.
He forced himself to regain what little composure he could. “My father’s not in good health and might not survive something like this.” That caused the anger to roar through him again. “You can stop it now.”
She shook her head, and yet something different went through her eyes. Not emotion exactly, but she got a weird glazed look.
Joelle touched her fingers to her forehead, and the plastic cup slipped from her hand and clattered onto the hardwood floor. “You have to go.”
Like the please, that was all breath.
Dallas looked at the cup on the floor. At the dress. And then at her. “What’s going on?”
“I’m marrying Owen,” she said. Still whispered, except this time there was a tremble in her voice. Her hands were shaking, too.
Dallas caught her arm. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, and her eyelids fluttered down. “I think someone drugged me.” Her words were so slurred that it took him a moment to realize what she’d said.
“Drugged you?”
Ah, hell.
What the devil was going on here?
“It’s not safe for either of us,” she mouthed through those trembling peach-tinged lips.
And with that, Joelle crumpled right into his arms.
Chapter Two
Joelle couldn’t stop herself from falling.