Federal Agent Under Fire Read online

  He circled back to face her. “These bruises are going to look a lot worse before they look better. I can get some ice in here if you want. That might help with swelling.” He widened his stance until his face was nearly level with hers and shined a light in her eyes.

  She swatted it away on instinct. “Where’d you get that.”

  “Pocket. Hold still and let me look.”

  “I don’t have a concussion. I was attacked hours ago. I’m fine. Cole already checked. Remember?”

  “You need to clean these abrasions.”

  “I did.”

  Blake straightened and cocked a brow. “When?”

  “Bathroom. I never leave home without a first aid kit. The cuts are cleaned. They’re already beginning to scab. I’m fine.”

  “That’s what you keep saying. Did Cole offer to get a female medic to give you a more thorough evaluation?”

  She sighed. “I’m. Fine. What happens to you now? Will someone come to relieve you so you can go home and sleep?”

  “I don’t sleep much.” He walked her to the bedroom and made a slow circuit through the room, peeking into the bathroom before returning to the doorway. “I’ll wake you if anything significant happens.”

  Marissa dawdled, frightened by the prospect of being alone.

  Her phone buzzed with a text.

  Blake nodded toward the sound. “Tell your family I said everything’s going to be okay.” He pulled the door shut behind him as he left.

  Marissa climbed into the waiting arms of a comfortable queen-size bed and rolled onto her back. She lifted her cell phone into view and swiped the screen to life. She didn’t recognize the number on her new text message, but she opened it anyway.

  Panic swelled in her chest and throat as she stared at the image of herself enveloped in Blake’s strong arms. The photograph was clearly taken from outside her bedroom window only hours earlier.

  And the message read, Consider this Agent Garrett’s invitation to the wedding.

  Chapter Four

  The chair toppled behind Blake as he lunged toward the freshly closed French doors, the only things standing between him, Marissa and whatever had elicited her bloodcurdling scream. The barrier sucked open before he reached it, whipping suddenly inward to reveal his trembling charge.

  “Blake.” She choked on his name, extending her cell phone in his direction.

  His gaze darted through the silent room behind her. No signs of an intruder. The window was securely closed. The bathroom door was open. No one was inside.

  “Blake,” she pleaded, wiggling the phone. “Take it.”

  Slowly, he holstered his sidearm. “You’re alone.”

  “Yes.”

  His muscles unclenched by a fraction. He dragged his attention from her stricken face to the offering in her white-knuckled grip. He hadn’t left her alone for more than thirty seconds. He’d barely pressed the straw of his chocolate malt to his lips before she’d screamed. The fine hairs along the back of his neck rose to attention as he pried the small pink device from her hand. That scream. His guts twisted at the thought of what it could have meant. What he could’ve found behind the doors.

  “It’s him,” she whispered.

  The momentary relief he’d felt at the sight of her was quickly replaced by the image on her screen. Revenge boiled in his blood. “This was the text you received?”

  She nodded quickly, her attention glued to the phone.

  He powered the device off and used his own to dial West’s number. “We’ve got a new problem. Nash has Marissa’s number. He sent a text with a photo. I don’t know if he’s tracked her. I powered the phone down. I’m pulling the SIM card now, but we need someone to capture prints outside her house and match them to the ones at the site of her attack. Also, get me a burner phone so she can stay in touch with her family.” He disconnected and returned his focus to Marissa, the statue in baggy white pajamas.

  Her attention remained wholly fixed on the phone. “I can’t have it back?”

  “Not right now.”

  “I have pictures on there.”

  “We won’t remove anything personal from the device. I promise. I’m just keeping the card separate so Nash can’t track us here.”

  Marissa’s gaze snapped up to meet his. “He can do that?”

  Twelve hours ago, Blake would’ve said no, but his opinion of Nash Barclay was rapidly changing. “Better not to take any chances.”

  She wrapped her arms around her middle and lifted her chin. “Okay.”

  “Why don’t you get back in bed? Cover up. Try to rest.”

  Marissa cast a woeful look at the bed she’d no sooner climbed into than leapt back out of. “I could sleep on the couch.” Her voice lifted on the final word, bringing a hopeful expression to her pinched brow. “Then you won’t have to patrol both rooms.”

  Blake rocked back on his heels. Having her in his line of sight would make his job a lot easier, but after the day she’d had, and whatever Nash still had planned, a good night’s sleep was best for Marissa. There was no way she’d get any decent rest on the couch. Not with local and federal authorities swarming in and out all night, trading intel and updates.

  He dropped his chin an inch and cocked his head. “I’ll be just fine. You take the bed. I’ll keep watch.” If it meant Marissa could rest, he’d make the extra effort.

  “Or,” she said softly, “you could work in here.”

  Maybe it was her voice. Maybe it was the tenderness in the offer, but something stirred in Blake’s chest, extinguishing a tiny portion of the fire in his belly. His contempt for Nash had driven him this far, and he needed it now. What he didn’t need was to think of the kind of work he could do in a room like that with a woman like her. Marissa had earned his respect before they’d ever met. She’d done what he couldn’t do. When challenged by Nash, she’d gotten the best of him.

  Blake stepped carefully into the front room of their suite and wedged the door open. “How about I set up shop here? If we leave this open, I can see the bed and the front door. You’ll be safe, and I won’t have to leave my post to check on you.”

  Marissa turned on her socked feet and went back to the bed. Whatever she thought of the offer, she didn’t say, but she didn’t argue either.

  He flipped the light switch, casting her room into shadows, and went to drag the chair and table to its new location.

  * * *

  MARISSA WOKE WITH a start. Her fingers curled deep into the soft fabric of hotel bedsheets. Her limbs were heavy with fatigue and her mind groggy with the effects of a restless night. She pried her stinging eyes open and squinted against the streams of poorly filtered sunlight sneaking through closed hotel blinds. Thank goodness the night was over. She hadn’t remembered falling asleep, but the dreams had come quickly. The rose petals and the lake. Nash and his song. She hadn’t stopped running through the dark forest since the moment she’d closed her eyes.

  In the dream, she didn’t get away.

  Blake flashed brilliant blue eyes on her in that moment, as if he’d somehow sensed her waking. “Morning.” His easy southern drawl pulled her back to reality. He’d repositioned the table and chairs from the front room, and by the looks of him, sat guard all night.

  He swiped a travel mug off the table and pushed onto his feet. He stopped at the doorway. “May I?”

  She nodded, pressing her lips together, certain she needed a toothbrush or chewing gum before speaking to anyone.

  A few unfamiliar faces turned her way, then back, immediately disinterested. The vibration of quiet voices electrified the air beyond her bedroom door, buoyed by the scent of black coffee and the outdoors.

  Blake handed the cup to Marissa. “How are you feeling this side of yesterday?”

  She bobbed her head in positivity. “Awful.”

  His mouth tick
ed up on one side. “Coffee helps.”

  She pressed the cup to her lips and sucked the steaming hot liquid. The burn on her tongue and scald on her throat were a necessary evil. There was no time to waste on letting the liquid cool. “What have we learned?”

  “Not much. We’ve got your phone at the lab, and my men are comparing the prints at the lake with those outside your bedroom window.” His voice drifted slightly off.

  Was he recalling the stolen image as she was? The photo of her in his embrace? She could still feel the strength of his arms around her.

  Marissa scooted upright in the bed, suddenly guilty for the comfort he’d forgone to keep her safe. “Didn’t you sleep?” The question was rhetorical, its answer evident. The stubble on Blake’s cheeks had darkened, nearly as much as the circles beneath his eyes. He hadn’t changed clothes, and the shiny FBI badge he’d worn proudly around his neck when they met was now missing.

  “As much as ever.”

  “You don’t normally sleep?”

  He flicked his attention to the bustle in the front room. “No.”

  “Hazard of the job?” she guessed.

  “Something like that.”

  “Are you always on a case like this?” she wondered. Surely he wasn’t always on call. “Do you get time off when you’re done? Can you sleep then?”

  He pursed his lips and turned piercing blue eyes back on her. “The cases close, but the people stick with me.”

  “I see.” A piece of her heart broke for his. She couldn’t imagine the things Blake had seen or how he put them aside when it was time to move on. “Will someone relieve you soon so you can at least try to rest?”

  “I’m fine. I’ll step outside and pull the door while you...” he circled one wrist “...do whatever ladies do in the morning.”

  Marissa pushed back the comforter and swung her legs over the bed’s edge. “Normally I run, but I guess that’s out of the question.”

  “Yep.”

  “I use the adrenaline to wake me up. I like the endorphin rush.”

  Blake pinned her with a cheeky smile. “Coffee’s going to have to do today.”

  Marissa had never had much interest in photographing people, but she wouldn’t mind taking a crack at Blake. His square jawline and brooding brow were more than print-worthy. The slight imperfection of his nose and faded scar above his temple were interesting too, but it was the protective edge, the palpable energy, that fascinated her most. Too many people were out for themselves these days, but Blake spent his life watching over others.

  “What?” he rumbled, scanning the room around her.

  “I was thinking that what you do is noble,” she said, “and I’m wondering if anyone ever tells you that.”

  He snorted. “That’s not one I’ve heard before. No.”

  “That’s too bad.” Marissa stretched onto her feet and reached for the ceiling. Her bunched and exhausted muscles complained at the effort. “Well, if I can’t run, what am I doing today?” She dropped her hands together at her waist. “Another trip to the lake? Maybe down to the station?”

  “I’m headed to the station to see what the team’s got down there,” he said, pointing a finger at his chest. “You’re going to stay here with your detail. I won’t be long.” He fished a small black cell phone from his pocket and set it on the nightstand. “This is ready for use. We’ll get your personal device back to you as soon as tech’s done with it. They’re going to run a few more diagnostics first.”

  “Thank you.” Marissa hurried into the attached bathroom and shut the door. “When are you leaving for the station?” she yelled.

  She discarded her pajamas and shoved her legs into the soft jeans she’d set out the night before.

  “Soon,” he replied. “Take your time. If I’m not here when you get back...”

  She pulled the door open with one hand and brushed her teeth with the other.

  “Whoa.” Blake stepped back. “What are you, Houdini?”

  She’d dressed hastily in her chosen outfit and raked a brush through her hair, still slightly damp from last night’s shower. Marissa lifted a finger into the air and turned to the sink to rinse her mouth. “You’re not leaving without me.”

  “There’s nothing you can do right now,” he said, drifting closer to the open bathroom door. “My goal is to keep you safe and out of sight.” His gaze slid over the multicolored bruising on her cheek, jaw and throat.

  Her hand went to the aching spots on instinct. She’d tried not to look too long at her battered reflection when she’d driven a lip gloss wand along her bottom lip. The thick line across her cheekbone hurt, but it was nothing like the infernal sting where her face had collided with the tree, leaving heavy rows of scratches from the tree’s bark.

  “I’m coming.” She grabbed a hooded sweatshirt from her bag on the floor and pulled the strings until welts left by Nash’s fingers were no longer visible. The marks had raised and darkened overnight, leaving distinct imprints of his hands like shadows clasped around her throat. She didn’t need everyone she saw today looking at her the way Blake was looking at her now.

  Blake stepped into the doorway, blocking her view of the small crowd in the suite’s front room. He searched her top to bottom with cautious eyes before lingering his gaze on her cheek. “You sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  He stepped aside, opening one arm to direct her out. “We’ll take my truck to the station. West says the sketch artist will be there soon. He was bringing her to you, but I’ll let him know there’s no need.”

  “A sketch artist?” Marissa grabbed the new phone from her nightstand. “I didn’t see the face of the man who grabbed me.”

  “Anything you can tell her will help. I know this is Nash, but I need more than my gut to prove I’m right. Tell her what you remember, and whatever it is, it’ll be enough.”

  “I don’t see how.”

  Blake stopped to retrieve his badge and sidearm from the table. He signed his name to something, then whisked her out the door and into the cab of his truck.

  “Last chance,” he said, slipping the shifter into Reverse. “You can still stay if you’d like. There’s lots of qualified personnel who could look out for you in there. West can still bring the sketch artist up here.”

  “No. It’s good for me to get out. I feel like a sitting duck in there.”

  “Fair enough.” Blake guided his truck away from the hideout and down the winding country road back to town.

  Warm autumn winds rattled the trees and speckled the pavement with brightly colored leaves. It was hard to believe something as ugly as Nash Barclay could exist in a place as beautiful and peaceful as this one. Harder still to believe Nash wanted her. What had she done to gain his attention? How close was he to finding her again?

  Blake stared at Marissa as he took the next right. “You look ready to jump.”

  She loosened her grip on the seat’s edge. “I usually run to blow off steam. Now, I’ve got more to worry about than I ever have and no way to work out the tension.” Her cheeks heated as numerous ideas for burning energy with Blake came to mind. “How do you do it?” she asked, desperate to redirect the images in her mind. Another minute of those thoughts, and she’d need to crack a window for air.

  Blake lifted and dropped one shoulder. “I run.”

  “You run?” A smile broke over her face. “Really?”

  “Well, don’t act so surprised. I don’t do it in the wilderness or up a cliff at five a.m. like you, but yeah. I run.”

  Marissa faced forward, her smile set in place. She could feel his eyes on her cheek. There was no logical reason for the pleasure coursing through her, but the fact they shared a hobby made her happy.

  “When you grow up with three younger brothers, like I did, you’ll do anything for an hour alone.”

  What would life have b
een like for Marissa with two more little sisters?

  “It was always just Kara and me. We did everything with our folks. You think I’m outdoorsy. You should meet my family. Especially Kara. She’s a leaf on the wind. She never stops moving, and she only comes inside when she has to.”

  “I’d love to meet them someday.”

  Marissa turned to face Blake. She’d like that, too, and she knew why. Dumb as it was, she liked Blake’s company a little too much. But why would he want to meet her family? She examined the lines around his eyes and mouth for signs he was joking, or lying. Though, she had no idea how to tell the latter.

  She turned her eyes back to the road with an internal groan. Blake was a nice guy and a good agent who was just doing his job. He probably said whatever he thought would make the people in his care feel most at ease.

  She had to admit he was good. At his side, it was easy to forget they were in danger.

  A little while later, Blake held the door as Marissa entered the bustling station. She recognized the members of her local sheriff’s department. She’d grown up with most of them in one capacity or another. The FBI agents were easy enough to identify as well. Though she only knew Blake, the agents were dressed in slacks and jackets like the ones Blake had on when they’d met.

  Small groups of official-looking men and women huddled around every desk, discussing the scattered contents of file folders or taking a call on speakerphone. Marissa’s name was on the lips of a dozen local protectors at once.

  Blake’s warm palm slid against the small of her back and nudged her forward.

  “Sorry.” She hadn’t realized she’d stopped moving.

  West stood in the hallway, stirring a cup of coffee and frowning. His gaze locked on Marissa’s throat.

  She adjusted the hooded sweatshirt, but his eyes simply moved north and stuck to the abrasions on her cheek.

  “Blake, Marissa.” He nodded. “Can I get you anything?”

  “No.” She cleared her throat to sound more confident than she felt.

  “All right, then let’s get started.”