But at one time they’d been more than family—they’d been friends.
Even after all these years, sadness still etched her smile and he bore the brunt of responsibility for putting it there. Beyond that sad smile, there were other changes to her physical appearance. For one, she’d straightened her hair, and she apparently wore dark designer suits these days, looking every bit the professional government agent.
A real G-man, government man. Or G-woman—person—as the case may be.
Kidnapping the kid would be difficult enough without dragging an armed and angry aunt along for the ride.
But he owed her that much at least.
No one else should have to die because of him. Humbled by the sacrifice Torri and Thompson had made, he knew he had to make his escape count. He had to save his family. And he had to honor the two marshals, and Cara, and countless others, by staying alive to testify.
He grabbed the boy’s backpack from the bed where Benjamin had dumped it after school. Nash stuffed a change of clothes inside, and then moved on to Mallory’s room, where he found her gym bag and then shoved some of her clothes into it.
It dawned on him that the gym bag’s presence was not a good sign. If it wasn’t a workout keeping her late, what was it?
He checked his watch again. It’d be fully dark soon. If she wasn’t here within the next twelve minutes, he’d have some tough choices to make.
Stepping into the adjoining bathroom, he grabbed her toothpaste and toothbrush. It struck him as odd that there was no sign of a man in her life. Not so much as an extra toothbrush to indicate a sleepover. But he didn’t have time to dwell on whether or not there was the complication of a boyfriend. Other than how unfortunate it would be for any guy who walked in the door with her tonight.
While he couldn’t account for every variable, he had to hope she didn’t spend Friday nights away from home—or at least not this Friday night.
Nash scowled at his reflection. While there was no love lost between him and his former sister-in-law, leaving Mal behind was not an option. If she wasn’t here by nineteen hundred hours, he’d find out from the boy where she was and they’d go get her.
Worst-case scenario, Bari or one of his henchmen had already gotten to her.
Just the thought was enough to send chills down his spine.
Ben’s safety had to come first. Not Mal, not his mother—not even Sari—came before Ben, and those were just the cold, hard facts.
But he’d have a hard time living with himself if anything happened to Mallory—or with any of the women on the periphery of his life—because of him. His conscience would demand that he go after her. His conscience was why he was here now instead of already on the road.
Back in the bedroom, he checked both nightstands looking for Mallory’s handgun.
Assuming she had more than one firearm, where would she keep them? Some place out of the kid’s reach. He scanned the room and then settled on the closet, where he found a fireproof lockbox on the shelf underneath some sweaters.
He felt along the dusty ridge of the doorframe inside the closet until he came across the key. The most logical place to look was usually the place to find what you were looking for. The lockbox contained her SIG Sauer and a box of 9 mm bullets among life’s important papers—birth certificates, death certificates, adoption papers.
Dead presidents.
Not the amount of cash needed to start a new life, but enough for a household emergency or a quick getaway. He didn’t think twice before shoving the money into his pants pocket.
Checking her unloaded gun, he grabbed the box of bullets. The 9 mm shells would fit both their weapons.
Tucking her SIG into his waistband at his back alongside his Glock, he wondered why she’d kept the weapon. There was no doubt in his mind the SIG Sauer was the same one he’d given her as a graduation present from Quantico. The one she’d pointed at him while reading him his rights.
A car door slammed. Nash drew the bedroom curtain aside to check it out. Mallory had just gotten out of her white Prius with a bag of groceries in hand and a pumpkin tucked under her arm.
The two agents parked across from the house approached her with a flash of agency badges. Nash couldn’t make out what they were saying, but Mal dropped the pumpkin and everything else she carried with a splat as she ran toward the house.
CHAPTER FOUR
MALLORY RAN UP the front steps. Fumbling for the right key, she unlocked the door and in her haste tripped over the threshold. “Ben, Benjamin!”
“Yeah?” He looked up from his video game on the big screen. “Whatever it is, I didn’t do it.”
Her heartbeat slowed to normal at the sight of him playing his favorite video game. “Is there something I should know that you’re not telling me, Ben?”
“No.” He returned to Skylander Spyro’s Adventures.
Mallory turned to the two agents who’d followed her as far as the door. “Looks like we’re fine.” She kept her voice low so Ben wouldn’t overhear.
“We’ll be right outside.” FBI Special Agent Stanley Morgan set the groceries inside the door and handed over her pumpkin-gut-splattered Kate Spade handbag. The one she’d saved for six months to buy and then ruined in six seconds with the first words out of his mouth a couple minutes ago.
“When was the last time you had contact with Kenneth Nash, Ms. Ward?”
No contact. Ever.
He’d promised—a convicted felon was as good as his word, after all.
“Would you mind telling me what’s going on?” She took a step outside, backing the agents up onto her front porch. She left the door cracked behind her and kept a watchful eye on Ben through the picture window to the front room.
Stan, with his basset hound eyes and long overdue for retirement, exchanged a look with his young bulldog of a partner, an ex-marine named Christopher Tyler. Though not well acquainted with either of them, Mallory knew both men from the downtown office. Tyler even hung out on the fringe of her social group and had asked her out once or twice. But she gave dating him or anyone from the office a wide berth.
At the very least these two men owed her the professional courtesy of a response. “Guys?”
“Nash was in the custody of two U.S. marshals found dead early this morning,” Tyler said. “He’s a person of interest.”
“Meaning what, exactly?” She crossed her arms. “Are you saying he killed two federal marshals?”
Stan shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sure that’s what the Marshal Service would like to find out.”
“There’s enough ballistics and blood evidence to suggest he was wounded at the scene,” Tyler said. “They really want to find the guy.”
“Where was this?”
“Back East, somewhere.”
“That doesn’t tell me anything, Stan. New York? D.C., Virginia...? Where back East?”
“Mallory,” Stan said, sounding rather paternal as he ignored her question—he reminded her of her father and everything about him that she would miss once he was gone. “Kenneth Nash is considered armed and dangerous. He’s been a deep-cover operative for a while now. It’s not unheard of for these guys to turn rogue. If you come up against him, do not try to take him down alone this