U.S. Marshals: Hunted (U.S. Marshals Book 1) Read online

While Joe eased the door shut, Gillian shoved as many supplies as she could into a laundry bag hanging from the bathroom wall.

  Boom.

  Their company was early.

  Gillian took a folded stepladder from the pantry, braced it under the hall door.

  Boom, boom.

  “Ready?” she asked, one hand on the back door, the other reaching out to Joe.

  He nodded.

  “Let’s go. Straight out behind the house. It’ll be rough going at first, but—”

  “Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand for a quick, reassuring squeeze. “I can handle it.”

  Boom.

  They’d just begun their escape when they heard the sound of splintering wood. Hopefully, once inside, the two gunmen would keep busy hunting for snacks.

  Outside, Gillian blinked a few seconds in the beating sunshine. It was unseasonably hot. Eerily still.

  Their footfalls sounded more like King Kong fleeing the yard than a man and woman. The scent of imminent death magnified each crunch of hiking boot on dirt, each snapped weed or twig.

  They’d just made it over the top of the hill when Gillian stopped. “Oh my God, Joe. Bud. Where’s Bud?”

  14

  * * *

  “Great,” Joe said. “Of all times for the mutt to run off.”

  Out of breath, Gillian put her hands on her thighs and groaned.

  “What?”

  “When I took him out earlier, I had a hard time getting him away from a pretty gruesome find. Took us nearly being shot to get him in the cabin.”

  “What’d you see?”

  “Dead rabbits—three. He was trying to dig up a raccoon carcass. Poor thing looked drained of blood. And that’s not the worst. Those rabbits?”

  “Yeah?”

  “One of those cookies you tossed out the door was nearby—or one of the same batch.”

  He took a second to let that news sink in, then slapped the trunk of the nearest tree. “Dammit. That mean what I think it does about your pals, Wesson and Finch?”

  She swallowed hard. “I can’t even imagine guys like them turning to the dark side. Especially not being in cahoots with a lowlife like Tsun-Chung. Surely there’s got to be some other explanation.”

  “Yeah, well, whatever it is, we’ve got no time to think about it now.”

  She shot him a sideways glance. “What about Bud?”

  “Guess he’ll have to fend for himself. We’ve gotta keep moving.”

  “You’re right,” she said with a sharp nod, unable to fathom how much pain Joe’s decision to leave his dog had just caused him. “You know the island better than me. Where to?”

  “Sea caves,” he said without hesitation, turning in that direction.

  Gillian followed on his heels, gun at the ready. “What then?”

  “Remember when I threatened to haul you back to the mainland in my skiff?”

  “Yeah?” she asked while they kept up their pace.

  “My boat—she’s not exactly seaworthy. I generally keep an outboard here, too, but it’s in the shop.”

  “Not exactly seaworthy?”

  “It’ll be all right. Assuming you don’t mind bailing, and this weather holds, it’ll get us where we need to go.”

  “Swell.” She grimaced. “From the mainland, I’ll call for backup. Ordinarily, I’d use my sat phone, but just our luck you picked one of the few spots on the Pacific without a signal.”

  After a sarcastic grunt, he said, “Up until fifteen minutes ago, that was a good thing.”

  “Okay, back to business. At this point, we’ve got to assume everyone else assigned to your case is…”

  Though she didn’t finish the sentence, Joe stopped to see by her flat expression what she meant. Dead. “I keep a car garaged not far from the dock. Maybe it’d be best to drive to L.A.?”

  “No,” she said, glancing over her shoulder while she took a breather, too. “Portland. There’s a marshals’ office. My brothers are based out of there.”

  Joe whistled. “You must really like me, to risk running into them.”

  “Of all times, you choose now to crack a joke? Joe, this is serious.”

  “You think?” He cast her a smile. Never had he looked more handsome, even with dirt smudging his left cheek.

  “Okay,” she admitted with a faint grin. “Probably the dumbest statement I’ve ever made, but still, me seeing my brothers is nothing compared to getting you back to L.A. in one piece.”

  “Alive might be good, too.”

  “Watch it, Morgan. Technically, you don’t really need that forked tongue of yours for the trial. Pencil and paper’ll work just—”

  “Shh…”

  From the east came faint sounds of someone walking through heavy brush. “Come on out, kids! It’s only a matter of time before this deed is done. Why not finish up early so we can get the hell off this wretched island to go for a nice steak dinner?”

  Hunching down, drawing Joe with her, Gillian whispered, “Wesson. I’m guessing he’s about three hundred yards away. What do you think?”

  “Sounds about right. Still think we can make the caves?”

  “At this point, that’s pretty much our only choice.”

  Joe led, trying not to make too much noise. Fortunately, the guy looking for them was crashing around so much he provided awesome sound cover.

  Bud barked.

  Joe froze, as did Gil.

  “Get that dog!” Wesson shouted. “It’ll make great canary bait!”

  “Will do!” This new voice was muffled.

  Joe closed his eyes in silent fury. All he’d have to do was call out and Bud would come running. Yet if he did, they’d all die.

  One shot rang out.

  Two.

  Three.

  “Damn dog’s fast! Like one of those freakin’ rabbits!”

  Gillian put her hand on Joe’s forearm. Raised her index finger to her lips.

  She motioned him up island, away from the caves, but also away from the men. Joe squeezed his eyes shut for a second, thanking God for all those times Bud had run off chasing critters. Maybe the mutt had learned a thing or two.

  One more shot.

  A high-pitched whimper shredded what remained of Joe’s heart. This wasn’t happening. Couldn’t be real.

  “Bull’s-eye!”

  “Dammit, Wesson, you were just supposed to catch him—not kill ’im!”

  “Get over it.”

  “I’m calling the shots here. Don’t forget it.”

  Wesson laughed.

  Joe pressed his lips tight. Why was this happening? Was this the point where they took what remained of his life, right down to his dog?

  “I want this done clean, Wesson. Weather’s supposed to turn into a real nut shrinker by morning, and I’d just as soon not be around for it.”

  Eyes stinging, Joe wrapped his arms around Gillian, nuzzling the top of her head. She smelled good. Normal. Like they were out for a casual walk instead of running through the woods being chased by guys who shot dogs for sport.

  When finally the sound of the men’s footfalls and banter faded, Gillian peered up. Her eyes looked big and extra wet.

  In some small, stupid way, Joe took comfort in knowing he wouldn’t be the only one missing Bud. How was he going to tell Meghan? Maybe this was a sign that he needed to just leave well enough alone where she was concerned. She’d been better off without him all these years, so maybe he should stick with the same routine—assuming he even got off the island.

  * * *

  They made it to the cave.

  Tucked beside Joe in the same spot she’d spent her first night on the island, Gillian asked, “How long a walk is it to the boat?”

  “Thirty minutes.”

  “That’s not bad.”

  “For less visibility in case of uninvited guests, I keep it at the abandoned cabin’s dock.”

  She nodded. “Good call. We never saw it.”

  “Whatever.” He wouldn’t look at
her. Why? She would’ve liked to see all of his face. To get a feel for how badly he was emotionally hurt.

  “You hungry?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “Me, neither.”

  “You should eat,” he said.

  “But not you?”

  “Touché.” Still he wouldn’t so much as glance her way.

  They sat a few minutes in silence, save for the lap of water against rock.

  Out of nowhere, Joe said, “You hiding anything else?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You didn’t tell me about the dead rabbits.”

  “Are you kidding me?” She sharply laughed. “When was I supposed to tell you? In between gunshots three and four?”

  “If that other marshal went bad, how do I know I can trust you?”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, those guys were after me, too, Joe. Believe me or not, we’re in this together. I swore to protect you, and that’s what I’m going to do. I’m sorry I couldn’t do the same for Bud, but as much as I loved the dog, too, I couldn’t save him to risk losing you.” Tears started. Hot, messy streams down her cheeks. “I—I never had a d-dog. My dad and brothers bought me an ultra-fluffy white cat who did nothing but sit on my bedroom windowsill licking its paws. Whenever I came near it, it hissed. I—I always wanted a great big lovable Lab. He was a good dog, Joe. The best.”

  She looked up at him, and Joe was lost.

  He’d tried pinning the blame on her, believing her capable of such cruelty, but in the end, all it took was one look into her eyes to know she was as innocent as Willow had been.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, dragging her into his arms. “I don’t know why I said that.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m tough. I can take it.”

  “You shouldn’t have to.”

  Exhausted, clinging to this woman he didn’t deserve, but had to have, Joe rested his head on hers.

  * * *

  “Joe?” Gillian gave him a nudge. “Wake up. The tide’s back down.”

  He rubbed his eyes, stretched as best he could on the small ledge of sand.

  “What time do you think it is?”

  “Gotta be after ten with the tide this low.”

  “How long do you think it’ll take to row to town?”

  “Two, maybe three hours. We’re lucky the water’s calm.”

  “Okay, then that should give plenty of nighttime cover, right?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  She drew her bottom lip into her mouth. “Remember the first time Bud got hurt?”

  “Kind of hard to forget.”

  “Right. Well, the past few hours, I’ve just happened to have a lot of time to hash over a few things. Think back to the first night we spent here. Bud was a pretty big baby, when that cut of his wasn’t all that bad.”

  “So?”

  “What if Wesson didn’t really kill him? Just grazed him? Bud’s soft as they come. What if he just lay down, waiting for one of us to come rescue him? Think you know the island well enough to find him in the dark?”

  Joe was instantly wide-awake. “Heck, yeah.”

  * * *

  “He’s not here.”

  “Has to be,” Joe said in a raised whisper. “I know every inch of this island, and this was the field your colleague was standing in when he shot my dog.”

  “If Bud’s not here, then he was at least still alive when…”

  They looked for another twenty to thirty minutes with no luck, the whole time getting steadily closer to the cabin.

  The generator chugged away, flavoring the night with diesel instead of sweet wood smoke.

  Joe clenched his hands, hating to feel so helpless. Like a victim. Again.

  He’d had it with this role.

  Before stumbling across the drug dealers and murderers that’d ruined his life, he’d never been this kind of loser.

  “There.” Gil pointed to the cabin porch. “See him?”

  Joe looked that way, feeling a surge of hope, followed by defeat, followed by steely determination. Bud. His dog was tied up and miserable-looking on the cabin’s cold front porch.

  Renewed strength in his every step, Joe headed for the cabin.

  “What are you doing?” Gillian yelped, grabbing him by the back of his T-shirt and tugging him back. “You can’t just go storming in there like Rambo.”

  “Why not? That’s what they did to me.”

  “Joe, please. Be reasonable. You’re talking crazy.”

  “Got a better plan? I’m not leaving without my dog.”

  Gillian sighed. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do….”

  * * *

  “That stupid generator out of gas again?” Kavorski asked, bologna sandwich to his mouth.

  Wesson flicked on a flashlight. “I’ll get it.”

  “Damn right you’ll get it,” Kavorski said around his latest bite. “If it weren’t for you screwing this whole thing up with your little hunting trip, I’d be in a five-star hotel right now counting my cash.”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever. It’s not like they’re going anywhere.” Unlike you. Wesson couldn’t wait to get his hands around his so-called partner’s throat. Only reason he hadn’t already killed him was on the off chance he needed his help.

  “They better not go anywhere. It’s my ass on the line if they somehow get off this island.”

  Wesson rolled his eyes.

  See? There was the difference between himself and Kavorski. Wesson had long since learned to relax. Savor the moments. He was rather enjoying his game of cat and mouse. Killing was a lot like fine wine. It had to be sipped. Not gulped.

  “You know,” Wesson said, wrench in hand, imagining all the ways he could use it to kill the man in front of him. “You have real issues when it comes to—”

  Ka-boom!

  Shards of flying glass from the back door pierced the back of Wesson’s head.

  While he screamed in fury and pain, Kavorski hit the floor.

  * * *

  “Where are you going?” Gillian asked, chasing after Joe on the treacherous trail leading to the ocean. Bud ran in front of him, on the same rope Gillian’s traitorous co-workers had used to tie him to the porch.

  As she’d hoped, the dog hadn’t been badly hurt at all. From the dried blood on his back, she guessed the bullet had grazed him.

  “That was such a cinch,” Joe said. “I figure why not see if our luck’ll hold?”

  “Meaning what?” she asked with a hasty check over her shoulder to make sure they weren’t being followed.

  “Why not ride to the mainland in style?”

  “You mean steal Wesson’s boat?”

  “Heck, yeah. Got a problem with that?”

  Gillian groaned. Where did she start? “You think he conveniently left the keys?”

  “Worth a shot, isn’t it?”

  “Logue! Morgan!” Wesson shouted, before firing off three rounds. “You’d better keep running, ’cause when I get hold of you you’re beyond dead!”

  “Speed it up,” Gillian shouted down the trail, awkwardly firing her own weapon into the darkness. “We’ve got company.”

  Gillian’s lungs burned by the time she joined Joe and Bud in the boat.

  As if someone upstairs was smiling on them, Joe had been right: a bundle of silver keys glinted in the moonlight.

  “Hold on,” he said, turning over the engine and throwing the throttle into reverse.

  As a series of shots sparked from shore Gillian fired off four rounds to Wesson’s two. “What about the tether ropes?”

  “What about ’em?” Joe asked, taking a cleat and a good chunk of the rotten old dock along with them for the ride.

  * * *

  “This feels weird,” Gillian said from the passenger seat of Joe’s black Jag. The sumptuous black leather smelled totally different from the island’s briny air. The dash was made of some highly polished dark wood inlaid with over a dozen softly glowing panels.

  �
��What?” He didn’t take his eyes off the road.

  “Hello? After being chased all day and most of the night by gun-toting bad guys, here we are, cruising along in luxury as if nothing happened.”

  “And…”

  “Don’t you think we should talk about it? I mean, it’s not every day this kind of stuff happens.”

  He shrugged.

  “Think Bud’s going to be all right?” They’d left him with Carl—the guy who restocked the cabin—and his wife.

  “That dog’s going to outlive us all.”

  Gillian had borrowed Carl’s phone to call her boss and fill him in about Wesson. She’d relayed her suspicions about Finch being involved, too, but said she hadn’t seen him, and she’d never gotten close enough to recognize the other man working with Wesson. She also was unsure of the whereabouts of Kavorski or Brimmer.

  William Benton told her to lie low, then promised to send someone to get them, along with arranging for local authorities to clean up the mess they’d left on the island. She’d mustered every ounce of courage to tell him thanks for the offer of finding them a ride, but no thanks. That just to be safe, she’d get Joe to the Portland marshals’ office. William reluctantly agreed.

  While she’d been on the phone, she’d seen Joe hand Carl a large wad of cash, then ask him to keep an eye on the dog for the next few weeks. When Carl had asked where Joe would be, he’d said something had come up.

  Joe, in no frame of mind to talk, turned on the radio, settling for a classical station he hoped would put Gillian to sleep. On one of their picnics, she’d mentioned being a fan of alternative rock.

  Within ten minutes, she was out, leaving him alone with his thoughts. A place he now wasn’t so certain he wanted to be.

  Pretty amazing how much had gone down back on the island. But at the same time, inside him, how little had changed. Here he was, yet again running scared.

  After the trial, would that change? Would his repeat testimony finally bring an end to his running?