The Marshal's Witness Read Free Page A

another lifetime he would have been appealing. But her attraction to him was eclipsed by the anger rolling offhim in waves.
    She fought the urge to squirm farther away and concentrated on asking what she desperately needed to know. “What happened? The other marshals, how badly were they hurt?”
    His lips flattened. “All dead. The only reason you’re alive is because you didn’t get into that van, and because Marshal Gavin shielded you with his body.”
    She covered her mouth, swallowing hard againstthe bile rising in her throat. She’d spent nearly every waking minute with those marshals for twelve months. She knew what foods they liked, what shows they watched, what made them laugh or curse.
    Her heart twisted painfully in her chest and she shook her head in denial. She immediately stilled when the throbbing in her head worsened. “What happened?” she whispered, gritting her teeth againstthe pain.
    “Someone, presumably one of DeGaullo’s men, blew up the van using a damn toy, a remote-control car. I saw the car a few seconds before the blast.” His jaw tightened. “My warning came too late. Except for you. Ironic, isn’t it? A woman who dedicated her life to cooking the books for the mob survives, while four decent, honorable men die.”
    She jerked back from the raw fury andaccusation in his voice. The sudden movement caused a wave of nausea. She sucked in a deep breath and bit back the sharp retort hovering on her tongue. Ryan Jackson didn’t know her, or why she’d made the choices she’d made. He’d just seen his colleagues die, and he obviously blamed her, at least partially. She could understand that. She’d probably feel the same way.
    “When are the funerals?”She struggled for a calmness she was far from feeling. “I want to go.”
    “You can’t go to their funerals.” He spoke in short, clipped tones.
    Anger flared inside her, overriding her sympathy for him, overriding her horror over what had happened. “I don’t care what you think of me, but I have to go to their funerals. I owe them that.”
    He reached toward her arm. Before she could moveaway, he gently lifted her wrist and unwound the IV tubing that had become tangled around one of her bandages.
    “Whether I would have allowed you to go to their funerals is a moot point. In spite of your miraculous survival, you didn’t come away unscathed in the blast. You’ve already been here for quite some time, and the doctor said you’ll be here several more weeks, maybe longer. The funeralswere held a few days after the explosion.”
    She clasped her hands on the railing beside her, hatred for DeGaullo filling her like a living thing. He’d hurt so many people, including the one person she’d opened up to about her past—Natalie—and now he’d stolen her right to pay her respects to the men who’d died protecting her. “How long has it been since the explosion?”
    He pulled up hercovers and arranged the call button so she could easily reach it. He tugged at the wrinkles in her blanket, smoothing them out.
    She frowned at his actions. It dawned on her, from the faraway look in his eyes, and the way his expression had softened, that he probably didn’t realize what he was doing. His movements seemed automatic, like he was operating on autopilot.
    The lines aroundhis eyes were deeper than before. He looked tired, almost haggard. Silver threads shone in his dark hair, as if he’d aged several years since she’d met him at the courthouse.
    His hands stilled. He straightened, his eyes frosting over, his cold mask back in place. “Two weeks. The funerals were two weeks ago.”
    He yanked his hand back and crossed to the window. A moment later, he squaredhis shoulders and turned around to face her. “I’m the lead field agent on your case now. When you leave here, I’ll take you to a new location, settle you into another new identity.”
    Her mouth dropped open and she stared at him. She shook her head in denial, no longer