Ellie trudged the few blocks to Sam’s house after taking the double long way around from what she thought of as Marshal Central where she’d met with Seth and Bella. Linc hadn’t been there as he was on courthouse duty and had a lunch engagement scheduled with Gordon Finster. She, Seth, and Bella had reviewed the evidence they had in Sam’s case, including what Ellie had heard Sam saying over the phone. She’d been ready for the order to search Sam’s private possessions, but her brother had surprised her. He’d agreed that cooperation and trust between her and Sam was critical for the mission, and whatever she might find by searching his things wasn’t worth sacrificing his faith in her if he found out. Which sounded good, except that Sam didn’t have faith in her. If he did, he wouldn’t be keeping secrets.
The Land Cruiser rumbled down the driveway as she was digging out her key to unlock the back door. She stood on the stoop to wait for Sam as he parked and secured the garage. The dogs greeted him at the gate with their snuffling woofs.
He came up the walkway and stopped in front of her. He looked tired. The grooves on either side of his mouth had deepened, his hair looked like he’d distractedly run his hands through it, and lines she hadn’t noticed before bracketed his eyes. She wondered if he’d actually slept the night before. He carried his suit coat and briefcase and had loosened his tie, the top button on his dark blue dress shirt unbuttoned. She checked the impulse to brush the hair from his forehead, instead turning to push open the door.
They stepped into the house where he disarmed the alarm and she walked ahead of him into the kitchen. She lifted the lid on the slow cooker, the smell of chicken and herbs wafting up with a cloud of steam.
“You made dinner? I thought you didn’t like to cook.” He came up beside her and bent his head to peer into the pot.
“Cooking may not be my passion, but we have to eat.” She worked to keep her tone light. “Thanks to this Crock Pot I found in the back of the cupboard we’re having rosemary chicken with red potatoes. The only thing left to prepare is the asparagus.”
“That sounds perfect.” His mood seemed to lift and his eyes warmed, and they focused on her lips and for a brief moment he swayed toward her like he might kiss her, then checked himself. The air between them crackled, and she couldn’t blame the warmth stealing up her cheeks on the steaming pot.
He backed up a step. “I’ll get changed and be back down in a minute.”
Ellie put her hand to her stomach to calm the nerves. She filled the dog dishes, her movements mechanical. Sam was nothing if not potent. One hot look and he had her all wound up.
He returned to the kitchen. While Sam in a suit had a certain appeal, she liked him in faded jeans and the red and black plaid shirt he wore open over a black t-shirt. His five o’clock shadow made him a little rough around the edges, a look that suited him. Or maybe it suited her.
“Want me to do the asparagus?”
“Sure.”
Leaving the slow cooker on warm, she took a seat at the table, determined to act normal. She flipped through the newspaper, scanning several articles, then noticed Sam had rolled the sleeves of the plaid shirt above his elbows. She’d never thought about it before but somehow rolling sleeves above the elbows was unbelievably appealing, while below the elbows they were just rolled sleeves. Maybe it was because he had good arms, the corded muscles flexing as he used a knife.
Watching him deal with the asparagus struck her as all kinds of sexy. Where she would have steamed the spears, added a little salt, and called it good, he tossed them with olive oil, used a micro-grater to shred parmesan, sprinkled sea salt and pepper, then arranged them on a baking tray. After sliding the tray into the oven, he washed the dishes he’d used, then worked the cork out of a bottle of Chardonnay.
He brought her a glass and sat across from her. “Are we good?”
She sipped her wine, and then placed the glass carefully on the table. There were things they needed to discuss, but not until after dinner. But that wasn’t what he was asking about. “Sure, we’re good.”
“Regrets about last night?”
She stared into the straw-colored wine. “Last night I said I was off duty, but I still crossed a line between my professional and personal life. I could get fired for that.” She frowned. “But at the moment it felt worth it, so no, I have no regrets.” She raised her gaze. “You?”
“Your job brought you into my house. I don’t like feeling like I took advantage of you.”
“Did I act like I was being taken advantage of?”
Gray eyes glinted silver. “No.”
“Okay, then let’s settle the ethical issues here and now. We both wanted what happened, neither of us was under duress, and we’re both unattached, healthy adults.”
“I can live with that.” A timer chimed. “That’s the asparagus.”
They worked together to get dinner on the table. Maybe the air had been cleared somewhat, but she couldn’t help wondering whether a repeat performance was off the table. Neither of them had mentioned it, but she’d bet Sam was thinking about it as she was.
Ellie gathered plates and utensils, he brought the food, and in minutes they were taking their seats. Sam had dimmed the kitchen lights, giving the room a cozy feel, and she wondered if she was the only one affected by the intimacy of sharing a meal at the small table. By unspoken agreement, they delayed talking about the investigation.
She found Sam easy to talk to. They shared an interest in history and discovered they’d both read the same biography on Eleanor Roosevelt.
“She should have left Franklin when she found out about his affair with Lucy Mercer.” Ellie gestured with her fork to emphasize her point. “She should have demanded a divorce and published the love letters she’d found so everyone could see him for the dirty dog he was.”
“Easy to say when you’re not living under the social constraints of the early 1900s. People then tended to be more scandal averse, and divorce held a social stigma, which is why Franklin’s mother pushed him to reject that option. She had political aspirations for her son.”
“All true, but I hate that he treated Eleanor so badly, though she certainly came into her own during his presidency.” She sampled the baked asparagus. “Mmm, this is really good.”
“The entire meal is really good. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You know, I’m named after her.”
“You’re named after Eleanor Roosevelt?”
“Yeah, my brothers and I were all named for famous historical figures.”
“Linc is short for Lincoln?” At her nod he said, “Then that one’s not hard to figure out. What about Seth? The only historical Seth I can think of is Seth Bullock of Deadwood. He was a US Marshal, too, wasn’t he?”
“That’s the guy.”
“Did Seth become a marshal to fulfill his historic destiny?”
“No, becoming a marshal was more our stepfather’s influence. Being marshals gave us a legal way to pursue Richard Jameson and bring him to justice.”
“And when he’s behind bars, what then?”
“You think we’ll get him?”
“I have no doubt.”
His confidence pleased her. “When he’s behind bars we’ll have removed a threat to our government, and on some level made him pay for his betrayal. I want my mom and Arch to be at the trial.”
“And when that’s over, what will you do?”
She considered her answer as she carefully sliced her chicken. She knew how her brothers would respond. They would go on being US Marshals, pursuing fugitives, protecting witnesses, and guarding federal judges. They’d never even talked about it because the assumption was that they were marshals. It’s what they did.
“I’m thinking about that.”
He brows shot up. “As in you’re thinking you might not continue your career as a marshal?”
“Let’s say I’m considering my options.”
“Like what?”
She chewed thoughtfully, swallowing before answering. “I went to law school, so I could take the bar.”
“Why? Was bringing your father to justice the only reason you became a marshal?”
He watched her with the intense focus she found so stimulating. As Bella had said, Sam paid attention, and when he looked at you, he made you think you were the only person who mattered to him.
“Bringing Richard Jameson to justice was a big motivating factor, and I’ve enjoyed the work, but there are things I’d like to have in my life that being a marshal makes more difficult.”
“Like what?”
“Like a home that’s more than an apartment that I spend less than half my time in.”
He nodded. “Understandable. What else?”
Get married, have a couple kids. But there were limits to what she was willing to reveal to him, so she went with what was easy. “A beagle.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not kidding. I’ve wanted a beagle since forever. But I’m always getting on a plane and flying somewhere, sometimes for weeks at a time. It wouldn’t be fair to the dog if I’m away from home all the time.”
He tipped his head to the two dogs sharing a cushion in the corner. “You could always come back here. I’ve got plenty of beagles, and Cleo follows you around like she’s already yours.”
A throwaway comment, or was he serious? This was the first time the possibility of seeing each other after the end of her assignment had been broached. But coming back to visit the dogs wasn’t quite the same as coming back to see Sam.
She kept her tone nonchalant. “Sure, I’d love to see Cleo and Tony.”
Sam pushed his plate aside and sat back in his chair. Ellie did the same, fiddling with the engagement ring on her left hand. He reached out and took her hand, holding it up where the emerald-cut diamond glittered as it caught the light. He brushed a thumb over her knuckles. “Looks good on you.”
“Guess we’re lucky it fits. Tell me about the previous fiancée, unless the subject is painful.”
“Why do you assume there was a previous fiancée?”
“This is an engagement ring, Creed, you happened to have lying around? If it’s a sore subject, you don’t have to talk about it.”
He shrugged. “There was no fiancée. The ring was my aunt’s.”
“Really? From the young man who died in Vietnam?” She stared at the ring with a new regard, rubbing a finger over its surface, then started working it off her finger. “This is special, Sam. You shouldn’t have given it to me.”
He took her hand and pushed the ring back in place. “Wear it. My aunt would have liked you. She wore the ring on special occasions, and she’d have been fine with you wearing it now.”
She fisted her hand. “Okay, I’ll be careful with it.”
They took the dishes from the table to the counter. Sam filled the dishwasher while Ellie found containers for the leftover food, then ran hot water in the basin for the hand washing.
The connection with Sam had intensified throughout the meal. They were in a situation that demanded they spend a lot of time together. Add the undeniable attraction that had led to the shared intimacy the night before, and heated tension was bound to keep building. She felt like it was swelling beneath the surface, and that neither of them was as in control of their emotions as they’d like.
They went through their evening routines. Ellie felt they were tiptoeing around the pull. Last night had proven how good they could be together, but going there again was complicated. From her corner of the couch she watched him staring at the screen on his laptop, earbuds in his ears. His lips turned down in a frown, and he drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair.
When he looked up, she caught a look of raw emotion before it was blocked. She motioned to his ears and he pulled out the earbuds, setting his laptop on an end table.
“What happened this morning? Where did you go?”
A simple question, but the filters dropped over his eyes. “Personal issue, sorry.” His tone made the boundary clear.
“There’s no personal right now.” She frowned as a thought occurred, one she didn’t care to examine too closely. “If you’re more comfortable talking with Seth or Linc, then do it, but you can’t hold back with us.”
Heat kindled in his gaze. “You think I left here this morning to meet a woman? After last night?”
“How would I know? You’re not exactly Mr. Talkative. The night the flashbang was thrown in the house, you were late then, too.”
“I’m not seeing anyone in the manner you’re thinking.”
When she didn’t respond, he swore and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m trying to figure something out. I’ll tell you when I can.”
“That’s not how this works, Sam. You have to be honest. Seth made that clear when we decided on this course of action.”
“I’ll tell you when I can,” he repeated.
She couldn’t keep the edge out of her tone. “You made a decision to bring us in when you reported the threatening emails to the Marshals Service. That was the right thing to do, because you’re a federal judge, and, like it or not, a threat against you is a threat against our system of justice. You don’t get to hold back when the information you have isn’t convenient to share.”
“Convenience has nothing to do with it. I told you it’s personal.”
“Personal because it’s about Drew?”
“Leave him out of it.”
“Leave him out of it when I think he’s involved?” She shook her head. “I heard you last night.”
“Heard what?”
“I heard you on the phone. Your voice carried through the vent to my room. I came downstairs. You were in your office and sounded angry. Was it Drew?”
“Back off, Ellie.” His sharp tone told her he was at the edge of his patience.
“I won’t back off. This is my job.”
His gaze narrowed, eyes turning a flat gray. “How far will you go for your job, Eleanor? You listened in on what was obviously a private conversation, so you crossed that line. Was it your job to get close to me to get more information?”
Everything inside her froze. “What exactly do you mean?”
“I’m talking about you and me last night. Maybe it wasn’t as spontaneous as I’d assumed. Maybe the marshals assigning you to be my girlfriend was more calculating than I gave you credit for.”
“Calculating in what way?” But the hollow pit in her stomach told her she already knew what he was going to say.
“Did you tell Seth that you and I had been together when we were both at University of Oregon?”
She sat up, closing the cover of her iPad with careful, precise movements. “Let me get this straight. You think Seth and I manipulated you using an encounter you didn’t even remember.”
“Did you?”
“No. I was too embarrassed to admit to my brother what an idiot I’d been thirteen years ago. But let’s get to the more important assumption, the one that I’d use sex as part of my job. You know, fake orgasms, get you off, all to gather information. That’s what you’re saying?”
“I didn’t say the orgasms were fake. Nothing wrong with enjoying your job.”
Her hands were shaking as she rose to her feet. “You may be an asshole, but I’m not a whore.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, the rasp of his beard drowning out the ticking clock. “I didn’t say you were a whore.”
“Really? Because that’s what I heard. Except that instead of money, I get paid with information. So if my motivation was information, which I didn’t get by the way, what was yours? Another sexual conquest like thirteen years ago?”
“Don’t blow this out of proportion.”
“You suggested I prostituted myself for the Marshals Service and I’m blowing this out of proportion?” Her voice rose despite trying to stay calm. “I think you said exactly what you meant. I’ll talk to Seth about getting reassigned because we obviously can’t work together.”
The look of relief that flashed across his face was gone so quickly she might have imagined it.
“That might be best.”
Hurt cut through her with a lancing pain. She forced herself to think past it. “Is that what this conversation has been about, you want me thrown off the case?” Realization dawned. “You bastard.” She picked up a cushion and hurled it at him. “We’re back to that, are we? You want me reassigned because you think I might get hurt.”
He caught the cushion and tossed it back on the couch. “Cut it out.”
“Well, fuck you. You have no respect for my ability to do my job. You want to tuck me someplace safe while others put themselves in danger to protect you.”
“I would hardly have gone along with the fake engagement if I didn’t think it was a good idea, but it hasn’t worked out.”
“Maybe I’m assuming you actually care about me when in reality you’re worried I’ll figure out what’s going on with Drew. My bet is that you didn’t know he was involved when this first started. Now that you do, you want to stop the investigation. I take it back. I’m not going anywhere. If your plan was to get rid of me so you can cover for your brother, I’m not cooperating. You’re stuck with me.”
***
The next morning, Ellie stood outside Sam’s closed office door. Whatever had been developing between them was dead. Maybe he did care about her, but he was obstructing her ability to do her job.
They hadn’t gone on their morning run, and she’d stayed in her room, watching through her bedroom window until he’d left for work. By now he was safely in court, so she put aside whatever misgivings she might have had and turned the knob. He’d locked it.
No matter, Arch Bollinger had taught his stepchildren how to pick locks using whatever tools were at hand. She went up the stairs to her room and returned a minute later with a bobby pin. Seconds later, she had the door open.
She started with the antique rolltop desk set against one wall and determined it was used for things related to the house: manuals for kitchen appliances and electronics, sample books for countertop material and flooring that suggested Sam planned to update the kitchen, and even an architectural drawing of the house dated nearly a hundred years before.
Tucked next to it she found an envelope with a school-project valentine printed in a child’s careful hand to “Auntie Nan” and signed “Your nephew, Sam.” In the center of the red construction-paper heart was a small school photo of a serious, dark-haired boy. Oh geez. Was there anything that could pull harder at her heartstrings than that lonely little boy who had lost his mother? She returned the valentine to the envelope and tried to put a lid on the emotions the card had pulled up.
She moved and sat in the high-backed leather chair in front of the wide desk Sam regularly used and shut down her apprehension about going through his personal things.
She started with the desk drawers first, pulling each open to examine their contents. The top left drawer was stacked with receipts, mostly from online retailers, while the middle one held bills. The deep bottom drawer held a couple of squeeze-type grip strengtheners.
She picked one up and worked it a few times before replacing it to continue her search. An organizer in the top right-hand drawer held paper clips, Post-its, pens and pencils. How could someone only have boring pale yellow Post-its, plain metal paper clips, and yellow wooden pencils? She wondered what that said about Sam’s personality.
It wasn’t until she got to the bottom right drawer that she found hanging files, one with a tab that read “Rock Creek Estate.” Inside Joss Creed’s will, the deed to the ranch, and correspondence with a lawyer were all neatly organized, Sam having written notes on the boring yellow Post-its with his precise script. She leafed through the documents, gaining a clearer picture of the difficult position Sam’s father had left him in, and why Drew was so resentful.
She pulled out the last file in the drawer. Inside was an unlabeled manila folder containing a stack of papers. One glance told her these were copies of the threatening emails. She read through them again, reviewing the now familiar messages from the self-described Freedom Defender.
The last sheet contained the most recent email. She frowned as she read. This email had been sent two days ago, and Sam hadn’t shared it with her or the team.
Like the others, FD claimed to be preserving the Second Amendment. After the usual diatribe against Judge Creed, accusing him of being part of a conspiracy to subvert the Constitution, the last line read: Enjoy the time you have left with your girlfriend. When she dies, her blood will be on your hands. We’ll keep you alive long enough to witness her death, then you’ll follow her to hell.
“Talk about overly dramatic,” Ellie muttered to herself. She took out her phone and snapped a photo of the email and sent it to the rest of the team.
***
The next morning, Ellie steered the Land Cruiser toward the grocery store, reviewing how everything had evolved over the past twenty-four hours. She bit back a sigh. The best way to describe her and Sam’s current relationship was as a deep freeze with brief flashes of heat. After work he’d shut himself in his office, and an hour later she’d received an email from him. He’d forwarded the threat she’d found in his drawer to herself and the others.
Good thing, because now the team could talk openly about it in his presence without giving away that she’d snooped through his desk.
Seth had called. She and Sam had driven around for fifteen minutes to throw off anyone watching them before going to Marshal Central for a late evening meeting. Sam had hammered on about the threat to Ellie, but Seth had refused to change her assignment. She was becoming more and more discouraged with the lack of progress. Bella’s questioning looks told Ellie that the tension between her and Sam hadn’t gone unnoticed.
The friendship they’d seemed to be developing before their argument was a memory. Now they ignored each other. Or at least he ignored her. Her dilemma was that while she was putting on a good act, she couldn’t help being hyperaware of everything about him.
His scent triggered a response if he walked too close to her, an aroma she labeled Hot guy on a crisp fall day. Maybe she should shorten it to Sam. When his hair fell over his forehead, she had to leave the room before she jumped him.
There was that moment in the courthouse parking lot earlier that morning. Sam had driven, so she’d stepped out of the Land Cruiser to switch seats. They were standing behind the vehicle when a pair of women had walked toward them. Sam’s expression had turned speculative, then he’d leaned forward to cup the back of her neck and lowered his mouth to hers. The momentary touch of lips had been like flash lightning, scorching in its brief intensity.
He’d stepped back and released her to jam his hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. A moment later she was watching his back as he strode toward the courthouse.
She pulled up in front of the grocery store, her mind on trying to figure out something for dinner. The brooding sky and icy temperature matched her mood perfectly. Sam, who did aloof really well even as he was handing her an umbrella, had informed her of an impending storm. The clouds stacked up in the western sky and the biting wind made her grateful she’d opted for her padded down coat.
With her purse slung over her shoulder, she pulled up her hood, bent her head against a strong gust, and trudged toward the glass doors of the store. A van pulled to a stop, blocking her way, the passenger door opening as she stepped sideways to go around it. It wasn’t the man who got out of the vehicle who caught her attention, but the pale face under the dark beanie of the driver. Frowning, she opened her mouth to speak. A movement in her peripheral vision was her only warning before a blow to her head had the world spinning into darkness.