The Marshal's Runaway Witness. Diane Burke
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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