“’BOUT TIME y’all got here,” Marshal Beau said with a slow grin and that infuriating imitation of her accent. Granted, she’d poured it on thick the morning she’d locked him in that storage closet, but it hadn’t been that thick.
“Where’s my property?” she asked from behind the wheel, shading her eyes against blinding noon sun. Their appointed meeting spot was an even more tired establishment than the last one she’d stayed at.
The Fish Tale Motel was on the outskirts of the bustling tourist town of Ulmstead—located in the heart of redwood country. The towering redwood setting was spectacular, sweet-scented and warm; it was almost enough to make the giant log cabin, with its tattered green roof, charming. An abandoned mini-waterslide had been filled with pungent yellow marigolds.
“Get out,” Marshal Beau said, “then I’ll show you.”
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon you put it in my trunk.”
“And then you drive off into the sunset?”
She laughed. “It’s high noon. There’s a ways to go before nightfall.”
“You know what I mean.” He braced his hands on the side of her door. Strong hands, with long elegant fingers. His muscular forearms were tan, a few light hairs mixed among the dark, glinting in the sun.
Yes, she thought, licking her lips. A few seconds earlier she’d known exactly what he’d meant, but somewhere between his biceps and broad shoulders, she’d totally lost track of her thoughts.
“Get out,” he said. “Please.”
She sighed. “You, please, cut me some slack. I feel eighteen months pregnant, according to you, my husband’s trying to kill me and I haven’t had a decent meal in two days.”
“Wait just a sec,” Beau said, jogging the fifteen feet to his black SUV.
He soon headed back her way bearing a large grocery sack. “This is for you,” he said, “but only if you’ll at least get out long enough to talk to me.”
“I’m not stupid,” she said, thumping her forehead against the steering wheel. “I get out, you’ll slap cuffs on me. That’ll be it. My whole life instantly ruined.”
“Look—” he knelt, resting his forearms on her door “—I’ll level with you. You’re not going to like it, but for your own good, it has to be said.”
“What?” She made the mistake of raising her head to meet his eyes. They were amazing eyes. Deep walnut with flecks of mossy-green. Above all, they were kind, not the eyes of a man deadset on destroying her life.
“Gracie Sherwood, this isn’t a game. Your ex-husband wants to kill you—and your baby.”
“I have to get to that competition,” she said, refusing to let his words sink in. “And anyway, how would Vicente or his supposed hired thugs ever even find me?”
“I did. You’re a looker, driving a look-at-me car. Believe me, you’re not too hard to find.”
“Then why’d you have to steal my stuff to get me back?”
“I didn’t,” he said. “All I had to do was temporarily store your belongings in my car, then wait. I knew it was just a matter of time till you returned.”
“So all night and day you’ve been right behind me?”
“Pretty much.”
“Who else?”
He looked away.
“Tell me.”
“So far, one suspicious guy in a forest-green Hummer.”
“And?” she asked, looking toward the busy highway. “Where is he now?”
“He, ah, turned off around Fort Dick.”
“Uh-huh. Which only proves my point that Vicente’s no fool. He wants nothing more to do with me. What happened back in Portland was no doubt some last chance, desperation effort designed to scare me, which it did. I’ve left town—for all my ex knows, for good.”
Marshal Beau sighed. “Ever heard that saying about the calm before the storm? Right now, you happen to be in the sun—and I’m not complaining, but your ex isn’t known for being a warm, fuzzy kind of guy. If you come with me now, you’ll have a team of folks to keep you safe. If not…” He shrugged.
She bravely raised her chin. “I guess, seeing how I’m safe for the moment, I’ll pick, not.”
Chuckling, he said, “Actually it’s not up for negotiation. I was trying to be nice, but—”
Nice? Gracie didn’t have time for nice, so she grabbed for the bag bearing what she prayed were doughnuts, then gunned her engine. She might not get much of a lead, and hot Marshal Beau might still have her stuff, but the way she saw it, desperate times called for desperate measures. She had to get to San Francisco. Winning that contest was her and her baby’s only shot at a decent future.
BEAU PRESSED OFF his cell phone, sick after having to admit to the boss that he’d lost Gracie—again. Only this time, it really wasn’t his fault, but that of fierce tourist traffic. He’d kept up with her no problem for thirty miles, then at Steed Point, he’d been cut off by a gang of parading preschoolers on tricycles celebrating Clean Air Day.
From there on, it was slow going. Checking every dirt crossroad for rising dust, signaling she might’ve gone off the main path. In every town he approached, he checked every gas station, restaurant and motel for her car—as did the other marshals assigned to the case.
It was ten that night when he got the call from Adam that they’d found her in an inland motel. “Want me to cuff her and bring her in?”
Resting his forehead on the steering wheel, Beau sighed.
At this point, he wasn’t sure what to do.
God only knew why, but he had a soft spot for the woman. She’d proven herself to be a major pain in his derriere, but seeing how she was pregnant and all, he at least wanted her treated with kid gloves. She had a goal, which was way more than he could say for himself.
Sure, he had his career, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. For as long as he could remember, he’d wanted a real family. Like the one he’d grown up in only better, because his future wife, the mother of his children, wasn’t going to die like his own mom had.
In marrying Ingrid, he’d thought himself well on his way to making his every dream come true. Funny how that so-called dream had turned nightmare.
“Yeah,” he said to his brother, “I guess if it comes down to it, go ahead and cuff Gracie, but be gentle. I don’t want her or the baby getting hurt.”
“Duh,” Adam said. “When’s the last time I banged up a—” His brother’s sudden silence hit Beau hard. It was tough enough on Beau remembering what’d happened to the last woman Adam had been assigned. Beau couldn’t imagine how his brother must feel. Yeah, he had woman problems, but at least Ingrid was still alive.
“What happened to Angela wasn’t your fault,” he told Adam for the hundredth time. “Could’ve happened to any one of us. Now, with Gracie, just use common sense. She’s an itty-bitty thing. Crafty, but she doesn’t bite.”
“BRO,” Adam said an hour later just as Beau approached the miniscule town of Boynton where Gracie had finally been found. “You’re not gonna believe this, but she got away again.”
“How?” Beau asked.
“I was just about to slap cuffs on her, when she bit me!”
AT