Chapter Thirteen

“Looking for me?”

Three words in a text and Linc was thrown back to the muzzle flash of Donny’s gun, and the incredible pressure of the bullet ripping through his chest.

No caller ID, only a phone number with an area code Linc didn’t recognize. Probably a burner phone tossed two ticks after the text was sent. Linc knew it was Donny as sure as he knew his own reflection.

Donny’s betrayal had cut deep. There had always been something about their relationship that had bothered him. He’d thought they’d been friends, but every now and then there’d been a look in Donny’s eyes, edgy and calculating, as if he wasn’t fully there, totally on the job. Now Linc knew he should have looked deeper, not accepted Donny’s loyalty as a given. That was on him.

After the shooting, Donny had run, and Linc had learned that idiot Joey Medrano had breached security and contacted someone in the Zecena organization. The Marshals Service had never lost a witness who had followed the rules, and Joey Medrano hadn’t followed the rules. Linc wasn’t going to wear the mark of being of the first marshal to lose a witness who’d done everything right.

Driving with one hand on the steering wheel, he wondered how Donny planned to stay alive. If the marshals found him, and damn, they were looking, he could flip to save his skin and testify against the cartel. Paco Zecena knew this, and sure as shit had his own men out hunting Donny.

Linc wondered if the woman who’d lured Donny in, who’d introduced him to the cartel as a way to pay his gambling debts, had bothered to stick around after he’d done the job. Linc guessed not. Donny had shit poor luck with women.

But that text. Donny was baiting him. It might make Linc wish he could break the guy’s face, but it was also the first clue they’d gotten.

Had taunting Linc been Donny’s only motivation? Why else would he have contacted him? Donny wasn’t stupid. Contact was asking for attention. It meant leaving a trace with the potential of locating him. Why the hell would Donny take that risk?

Linc pressed on the gas pedal as the highway leveled out to cross an expanse of open range. He glanced at Mikayla and felt the now-familiar pull of an attraction that was amping up into something a lot deeper.

The sunlight slanting through the window highlighted the red in her hair, giving her a fiery aura, but he didn’t miss the shadows under her eyes. His job was to keep her safe, and he’d do that. And that required him to keep a lid on the attraction. Getting personally involved meant lost objectivity. He’d get her safely stashed and go after Zecena.

And she was right that he wanted to go after Donny.

When the job was done, he’d come back for Mikayla.

For the first time ever, and to his surprise, he found himself contemplating forever with a woman.

***

Mikayla blinked open her eyes to find that while she’d slept they’d entered what she assumed was Salt Lake City. Linc had parked in a near-empty lot next to a restaurant. A fortress-like, multistory structure stood across the street. An older building with classic architecture nearby shared the same city block. She turned her head to find Linc tapping on his phone, dark hair falling across his forehead. Why this one man appealed to her on so many levels, she didn’t know. He lifted his eyes and their gazes locked for a long-drawn-out minute.

She cleared her throat. “Where are we?”

“Federal courthouse in Salt Lake City. The Marshals office is in the new courthouse.” He indicated the building with a nod of his head.

A feeling of dread fell over her like an oppressive cloak. They were going through with it. Linc would see that she was placed in witness protection. She’d be locked in a prison until Paco Zecena was apprehended and put on trial.

Even then, she might still be in danger. She didn’t think it was beyond the realm of possibility for Zecena to retaliate against her from inside a federal penitentiary. And if he wasn’t convicted, the threat was even more dire. She pushed back on the urge to jump out of the vehicle and run as fast and far as she could.

Linc opened his door and got out. Mikayla moved more slowly. She stepped out into the chilly afternoon, shutting the door of the Jeep and leaning back against it, arms folded. “I don’t want to do this, Linc. If I go in there, my life won’t be my own.”

He crossed the pavement to stand in front of her, brows lowered in a frown. “You don’t want to go into WITSEC. I get that. But it’s the only way. I want you safe.”

She didn’t move, instead tilting back her head and staring into the deep blue sky. Running to the store for milk, going for a sunrise walk, the little freedoms normal people never had to think about wouldn’t be allowed. She was supposed to teach a class on Cold War America next semester. “I don’t want to do it.”

“WITSEC is the safest option.” Frustration tinged his voice. “You’ll be someplace safe until you can testify.”

“Paco Zecena isn’t even in custody. You might never catch him. I don’t want to put my life on hold forever.”

“At least you’ll have a life, Mikayla. Don’t underestimate these guys. Zecena is one of the cartel’s top operators. His brother is the cartel chief in Mexico, and they’ll throw everything they have into protecting him. You think you’ll be safe but you never will. If you testify against Zecena, then he’s out of commission. And we’ll bring down his organization with him. This is our chance to cripple the Zecena cartel. But we need you alive to do that.”

“You can’t use me as a tool to get at the cartel.”

“Damn it. I’m not using you as a tool.” He paced away from her, then back again. “Do you think that’s all we’ve had these past few days?”

“I don’t really know.”

His eyes blazed. “We have more than that. You know we do.”

“I don’t know anything of the sort. You’re all about the job.” She didn’t know why she was goading him.

“My first priority is protecting you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Christ, Mikayla.” He reached out and gripped her shoulders, the movement of his thumbs brushing along her neck in direct opposition to the hard expression on his face. “These guys aren’t amateurs. They use torture and murder to settle disputes.”

“I don’t want to be put in a cage.”

He yanked her to him. She thought he would shake her, but instead long fingers slid into her hair to cradle her head. Frustration, anger, heat, all flashed in his eyes. She gripped his arms as he held her like that for a long moment. As she felt the hot flames of desire racing along skin already sensitized to his touch, he dipped his head.

Firm lips seared across hers and Mikayla felt the burn like a flash-fire. His taste, his smell, the feel of him, overstimulated her senses. Desire flared, more intense than she’d ever felt. His fingers stroked her scalp, as warm lips parted hers.

His tongue swept past her lips to tangle with hers, charging a jolt of pure pleasure through her body. Gripping the waistband of his jeans, she pulled him closer, rising on tiptoes to meet the kiss. The knotted emotions of the past few days surged through her, exploding in a hot fireball of longing. He broke the kiss to brush his lips across her jaw and then back to the corner of her mouth, before easing back to create a few scant inches between them.

Their gazes met and held. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“It doesn’t change anything, Linc.” She forced the words past the tumult of emotions.

“It sure as hell does. I’m not exactly sure what, but you mean something to me.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to dictate what I do.”

“Mikayla, you’re going into WITSEC if I have to strap you into a straitjacket to do it.”

She wondered if he realized that his hands were still on her face, a thumb stroking along her cheekbone, even as he threatened her. It was hard to resist his conviction that he knew what was best, that she would be safe and everything would turn out fine if she simply followed his rules.

Confusion seemed to be the mental state of the day. He may have kissed her out of frustration, but her own reaction had been revealing. And alarming. He had turned her world upside down with that kiss, brought out raw and edgy emotions she’d never experienced before.

He bent his head forward, eyes hot and urgent as he dropped his hands from her face to entwine his fingers with hers. “Trust me, Mikayla.” Slowly, he released her, the warmth that had lit his eyes now banked behind a wall of determination. “They’re waiting for us. Let’s go.”

With a sigh of utter dejection, she walked with him toward the doors at the front of the fortress-like building. The Marshals Service would put her in witness protection, but it might as well be prison. The cartel could be after her, and objectively she knew WITSEC was for her own safety, but she couldn’t help feeling like steel doors were locking behind her.

Linc showed his badge and credentials to the armed security guard, who waved them past without having to go through the screening process. They walked down a short hall, then Linc ushered her into the elevator with a hand at her back. He moved it to her shoulder as the car rose and she wondered if he was worried she would bolt.

They stepped off the elevator and through glass doors marked US Marshals Office, District of Utah. A couple of men stood talking in the lobby. The taller of the two, a man with a rangy build wearing a marshal’s badge on his belt like Linc, stopped speaking when he saw them. Nodding to the other man, he said, “I’ll catch up with you later, Jess.”

Linc strode up to him. They shook hands, and the rangy marshal gripped him on the shoulder.

“Glad you came,” Linc said.

“Never even a question about that.”

Linc turned to Mikayla and beckoned her forward. “Mikayla, this is my brother, Seth. Seth, this is Mikayla O’Kane.”

Seth Jameson held out his hand and Mikayla saw the familial resemblance. Both men were well over six foot, though Linc’s body type was more muscular while Seth’s was long and lean. She shook the hand he held out.

“I’m sorry about the loss of your fiancé, Ms. O’Kane.”

“Ex-fiancé,” Linc growled.

Seth glanced at his brother before turning back to her. “We’re assembling a team to ensure your safety, Ms. O’Kane, if you’ll come with me.”

“Finally, you’re here.” A woman with enviably long legs approached, her step quick. She too wore a marshal’s star, hers hanging around her neck on a lanyard. She stopped in front of Linc and placed her hands on her hips, frowning as she studied him.

“I’m fine.” Linc sounded defensive.

“You’re supposed to be recovering, not getting into knife fights.”

“I’ve recovered.”

She reached out and plucked at his shirt like she intended to tug it up and have a look at the bullet wound for herself.

He batted her hand away. “Knock it off.”

“I want to see how you’re healing. That way I can give Mom a full report when she calls. And she will call.”

“You are not pulling up my shirt in the middle of the office. I’ll call Mom and let her know I’m fine.”

Ellie, Mikayla thought as she watched the exchange with interest. The woman, blonde hair held back in a tortoiseshell clip and with serious blue eyes, studied her brother for a long moment. Apparently deciding he was indeed fine, she rose up to kiss his cheek and he enfolded her in a brief hug. “Glad you’re here, big guy.” Ellie turned her attention to Mikayla, gaze frankly assessing. “I’m Ellie Jameson.” She presented a smart, no-nonsense image, from the cut of her jacket to the clean, almost makeup-free face. This woman worked in a male-dominated field and looked like she could more than hold her own.

Mikayla shook her hand. “I’m Mikayla O’Kane.”

The siblings were clear winners of the genetic lottery. While the men shared the same dark hair, Ellie looked to be a natural blonde, but their faces revealed common parentage. High cheekbones, wide foreheads, and the set of their eyes were similar. And while at five foot nine, Mikayla had never thought herself lacking in stature, next to these three she felt positively petite.

“We’d better get the meeting started.” Seth motioned to the open door of a glass-walled room. Inside, a dark-haired woman sat at a conference table, working intently on a laptop while a balding man with a slight paunch read the screen over her shoulder. They were probably deciding what safe house to stash her in, Mikayla thought glumly.

She glanced around. The ladies’ room was down the hall. And past it was a green EXIT sign over a door labeled with the symbol for stairs. “Excuse me, please.”