Dakota Marshal

“Like a man whose been shot, probed with a sharp instrument and left to die in a cowboy bar.”

“So, well on the way to recovery, then.” She held up one of the scalpels. “No double vision?”

“Not much vision at all.” He squinted at the ceiling bulbs. “Is the power off?”

“It went out right before you arrived and subsequently fainted.”

He half smiled. “I’ll let that go, Alessandra, because I do, in fact, see two scalpels. I also heard your voice while I was floating around in the black fog of our distant past.”

“Yes, you were reliving it fairly accurately until you got to the kissing part.”

“Call it wishful thinking.”

Alessandra looked at him and sobered. “Not that I want to be any more deeply involved than I am, but are you planning to tell me what you’re doing here, minus a great deal of blood and with a hole in your chest where a bullet used to be?”

“Just another day on the job, darlin’.” Wincing, he worked his way onto his right elbow.

She sighed. “You know you shouldn’t do that, right?”

“I know a lot of things, Alessandra, some of them not particularly pleasant.”

“Like the name of the person—possibly a cop, though I seriously hope not—who shot you? No hospitals, McBride? No police?”

“The shooter’s name is Eddie. He’s not a cop, but he is a pro, a dog with a bone, so to speak. And I’m the bone.”

“So, nothing new in your world. Except that this time the bad guy did a little more damage than usual and is, in some twisted way, connected to the police.”

He pushed up higher. “Your cynicism’s showing.”

“Removing bullets from people tends to bring it out.” She struggled with mounting frustration. “Why is this Eddie after you? Or were you after him and somehow the scenario shifted?”

“The details aren’t important. I’ll explain the cop thing later. I was doing my job, Alessandra. I have no idea what you were doing with that no-neck jackass in the parking lot.”

She could have told him it didn’t matter, let him sleep for another few hours, then given him a prescription and suggested he return to Chicago to sort out his police-related problems. Her conscience would be clear, and the status quo would be restored.

However, whether or not he would have acted on it, Hawley had a mean streak, and he was as tough as the bull who’d sired the now-dead calf. McBride had gotten rid of him. That rated an explanation.

Setting both scalpels aside, she released her hair from its long ponytail and boosted herself onto a table. “Frank Hawley wants to make his fortune breeding bulls. He just doesn’t want to spend a cent more than is necessary to keep them healthy. His farm’s like a puppy mill for cattle. One of his calves got sick. He waited too long to call. The rest—well, you heard him. He thinks I’m a killer.” Seeing him hoisting himself up, she hopped down and poked a firm finger into his chest. “The more you move, the more likely you are to reopen that wound.”

“I know.” Ignoring her warning, he swung his legs down and sat up, gripping the side of the cot. “What time is it?”

“It’s 4:00 a.m.”

“And the power’s still out?”

“We’re a little off the grid out here. Ergo, the big, noisy generator.”

He moved a tentative shoulder, hissed in a soft breath and stood. “I have to get out of here.”

“You realize that’s suicide, right?”

“Give me some bandages, Alessandra, and whatever else you think I’ll need to keep me on my feet. Then go home, and pretend none of this ever happened.”

Irritation momentarily crowded out concern. “You never change, do you, McBride? You crash in, scare the hell out of me, tell me not to worry and then disappear.”

He managed a weak smile. “That’s why you left me. Which goes to show how smart you are. Or how stupid I am. One way or the other, you don’t want to get mixed up in this.”

Her answering smile had more of a bite, but she simply said, “I’ll pack a medi-kit.” Then she went into the back room.

He’d broken her heart once. She wasn’t up for a repeat performance. Let some other female fall for his sexy, outlaw-cop charm. He was a good guy who read like a bad guy, and okay, yes, maybe he could still take her breath away with a look, but he didn’t have to know that.

She wanted someone more stable next time, not a brooding, gray-eyed rebel who seldom had less than a three-day growth of stubble on his face, disliked the thought of scissors touching his hair and hated rules almost as much as he did the people who’d so carelessly brought him into the world.

Well, damn, she thought, exasperated, now she’d gone and dumped sympathy on top of righteous indignation. She really needed to speed his departure along.

She stuffed gauze, sterile tape and antibiotics that could be used on animals or humans into a makeshift medical pack, added rubbing alcohol, electrolyte water and iodine for good measure, then zipped it closed and swung the bag onto her shoulder.

Through the window she noticed a shadow pass by outside. Apparently McBride truly did want to be gone, and quick. She was more than happy to facilitate that desire. She opened the side door, intending to offer some comment in line with her mood, when a weak beam of light from the porch slanted across the shadow’s face. It was not McBride.

Quickly she eased the door shut, not making a sound. Then she turned. “McBride!” She doubted he could hear her urgent whisper. Still holding the medi-pack, she ran for the lab. And plowed right into his chest.

He steadied her with his good hand as he glanced over her shoulder. “Is someone out there?”

“A guy with a gun. A big one.”

“Did he see you?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe.”

McBride stuffed the Glock he’d evidently retrieved into his waistband. “Can you describe him?”

“Long hair, ratty beard, nose ring.” She let him nudge her to a less visible exit. “Eddie?”

“Yeah.” He kept his eyes moving. “Bastard. I drove in ten different directions before coming here. I thought I’d lost him.” With a glance out the window and another behind them, he positioned her next to the door. “Stay right here, Alessandra. Don’t move.”

He drew his gun, pointed it up. Alessandra’s muscles knotted.

The moment McBride left, she went for the medicine cupboard, unlocked it and pulled out the .45 Dr. Lang kept there. She had to go through his desk for the bullets. Grabbing her purse, she doused the scattering of overhead lights, shoved everything into a backpack, then froze when she caught a faint creak of hinges behind her.

Instinct told her it wasn’t McBride. Careful not to make any sound, she ran back to the door, took a quick look into the rain and slipped out onto the wraparound porch.

She saw McBride’s black truck—barely—in a far corner of the lot. A light appeared, then vanished, in one of the examination rooms. Eddie must be working his way through the building. With an eye on the window, Alessandra inched carefully along the wall. “I’m going to kill you if Eddie doesn’t,” she whispered to the absent McBride.

She saw something a split second before a hand snaked around her neck and covered her mouth.

“Not a sound, sweet thing,” a man’s Southern-accented voice whispered in her ear. “I need to know where that slippery badass I shot and I reckon you helped has gotten to.”

She should have loaded Dr. Lang’s gun. That was Alessandra’s first and pretty much only thought. Instead, a greaseball with bad aftershave had his gun pressed into her neck and was dragging her around the porch.

“Sorry to say, I’m gonna have to do you, but not until the badass is as dead as my cheating ex-wife.” He inclined his head again, and she heard the grin in his voice. “I upped my rate when I heard McBride was the target. Come on now, you can tell old Eddie, how bad’s he shot up? One to ten. Use your fingers.”

She held up two, ordered herself to move with him, to keep breathing, to think.

“Is that all?” He sounded pissed off, but only for a moment. Then the grin returned. “Or could it be you’re lying to buy time?”

Although his breath smelled of beer, he didn’t sound drunk. He continued to haul her sideways. Alessandra waited, counted.

“C’mon, McBride,” the hit man growled through his teeth. “I got the girl. Play hero, and…” The rest came out as a shocked curse.

He hadn’t noticed the single step down to his right. Off balance, he let her go as he stumbled, then slammed into the clapboard wall.

Alessandra didn’t hesitate. She scrambled from the porch.

“You come back here!” Still off balance, Eddie fired. Unsure if she’d been hit, Alessandra ran for the corner of the building.

She heard a thud. Two more shots whizzed past.

“Get to my truck,” McBride shouted.

Looking back, the only thing Alessandra saw was a blur of rain and motion.

Another bullet discharged. Eddie swore again in a wheeze, and got off two more shots.

A hand gripped her arm. “Inside,” McBride ordered. He shoved her through the driver’s side door. “Stay down.”

She knelt on the floor in front of the passenger seat and tried to determine if either of them had been injured.

Once in the truck, McBride fishtailed out of the lot one-handed, his eyes on the rearview mirror. “Man, he’s packing four semiautomatics.”

Was that some sort of twisted admiration in his voice?

“How can you possibly—” She broke off when she glimpsed his shoulder. “You’re bleeding.”

“I know. He got me in my bad arm when I tackled him.” He swung the truck down a narrow road.

Bracing for the potholes, Alessandra stole a brief look out the back window before climbing up into her seat. “You need to stop and let me restitch that wound.”

“Not until we put some miles between us and Eddie.”

“McBride, you can’t ignore the laws of medicine forever. Lose enough blood, and you will die.”

His eyes were still fixed more on the mirror rather than the road in front of them. “I’ll do that a lot faster if we don’t lose him.”

Twisting around, Alessandra risked another glance, saw nothing and stared at his profile. “Who is that guy, and why does he want you dead?”

“Us dead,” McBride corrected. “And I’m really sorry about that part.”

“So am I.” However, since she knew he meant it, she breathed through her irritation. “Talk to me, McBride. Who sent a hit man after you and why?”

“Long story short, I was dispatched to apprehend an escaped felon by the name of Rory Simms. Rory’s sister is one of those crime lords the FBI would love to have under lock and tossed key, but unlike Rory, Casey’s smart enough not to get caught standing over a corpse, holding a smoking gun. That’s murder one. Rory’s in for twenty-five minimum. But big sister was afraid he’d go a little crazy inside, say things he shouldn’t about the family business, so she engineered an escape. Now Rory’s on the run, I’m on his ass and big sister’s hit man’s on mine.”

“And the no-cops, no-hospitals thing is just you not wanting to be removed from the case?”

He regarded her shrewd face. “Would you go with that if I said yes?”

“Not even if I was twelve years old and you looked like Captain Jack.”

Which he kind of almost did, but that was absolutely not the point.

She looked again, did a double take. Were those headlights bouncing far in the distance? She turned around as the tires slammed through a series of ruts. “Do you know where you’re going?”

McBride narrowly avoided a low tree branch. “At this moment, no. Overall, yes. Rory’s heading south. That means we are, too.” The apologetic tone returned. “I didn’t plan for you to be involved in this, Alessandra, but you can identify Eddie, so you are. I’d love to call in, get information, request backup, but I can’t. The last time I did—right before I got shot—I let my boss and only my boss know where I was heading. And yet Eddie, who’d been chasing me until that time, suddenly wound up ahead of me.”

“You think someone in your home office leaked the information to him?”

“To him or Casey.”

“Unless Rory called Casey or Eddie himself and told one or both of them where he’d be.”

“That’d be the logical explanation,” McBride agreed. When he hitched his injured shoulder, she noticed the bloodstain was spreading. “Problem is, I have a strong feeling Rory’s not following Casey’s orders. Which could be another reason Eddie’s been dispatched—to take little brother to a place where he and Casey can have a nice long chat.”

“And you know all this because?”

He flashed her a quick smile. “That’s classified information.”

“Meaning, you have a source within Casey’s organization.”

“And you thought being a cop’s wife had no benefits.” His smile widened slightly. “My X source is a guy I’ve known since I was a rookie and he was a street dealer. Casey’s screwed him over a few times, so he came to me with a deal. I’ve held up my end, now he’s holding up his. X overheard part of Casey’s conversation with Eddie. He knew the assignment to track Rory was mine. He called me.”

“Honest to God, McBride, I feel almost ridiculously cloak and dagger right now. Okay, you’re convinced there’s a leak in your office, but every police department in every state doesn’t report to the Chicago division of the U.S. marshals.” Hesitating, she slid him a sideways look. “Do they?”

“They do if one of the deputy marshals goes down. Gunshot wounds have to be reported, Alessandra, by hospitals and police. That puts information on the computer, makes it accessible to anyone who cares to find it.”

“Specifically, a turncoat marshal.”

“For one. My gut tells me there’s somebody on the take in the Chicago P.D., as well, probably in Homicide.”

She kept a close eye on the spreading bloodstain. “You’ve got names in mind, haven’t you?”

Although the smile that had been hovering on his lips grew a little, there was no humor in it. “Yeah, I’ve got names in mind. Doesn’t do me any good here and now, but it will when Rory’s back in prison and I’m back in Chicago.”

She searched the heavily treed road behind them for anything resembling a tail. “This uncharacteristic optimism is a treat, McBride. If I hadn’t just dodged flying bullets, I’d actually applaud it.” Something glimmered, and she looked more closely out the rear window. “Those are definitely headlights.”

McBride’s gaze slid to the rearview mirror. “They definitely are.” He gave her unfastened seat belt a flick. “Buckle up and hold tight, darlin’.” His eyes glittered with anticipation as he geared down. “This ride’s gonna get wild.”

Chapter Three

Surreal was the best description Alessandra could come up with for the next sixty minutes of her life. Somewhere between where they’d been and where they wound up, the rain stopped, the clouds broke apart and shafts of light began to filter through the trees.

By the time her mind slowed enough for her to register her surroundings, they were well into the mountains near what had probably once been a logging camp.

The moment McBride halted, she slid from the truck. Thick stands of pine and spruce towered over them. The fallen trees, now moss covered and decayed, were more likely the remnants of a windstorm than a timber man’s ax. She let her head fall back and, finally, some of her tension ebbed.

“Please tell me we lost that creep, because five more minutes of those ruts and my brain will be permanently scrambled.” He didn’t answer. Rubbing her backside, Alessandra turned. McBride was still in his seat with his head resting on the back. His eyes were closed. She climbed back into the cab to shake him. “McBride. Are you conscious?”

“Enough to tell you there’s only a fifty-fifty chance we lost him.” He spoke but didn’t open his eyes or move.

“That’s better than your odds of surviving if you don’t let me restitch that gunshot wound.”

“Nag, nag, nag.”

Alessandra refused to be alarmed by his pallor. Leaning over, she opened his shirt. The bandage covering the gunshot wound was soaked through. “Out of the truck, McBride.”

A half smile grazed his lips. “Forest floor works better for you, huh?”

Straddling him, she caught his hair and pulled until his eyes finally cracked open. “I see a lot of clouds in there, pal.”

“Yeah, but what are you feeling?”

Part of her wanted to laugh. Only McBride would be thinking about sex under these conditions.

“Apparently your sick mind hasn’t changed since the last time I saw you.” She pushed the door open. “How can you be hard when you’re bleeding to death?”

His eyes closed, but the vague smile remained. “From where I’m sitting, best answer I can give you is, ‘Duh.’”

“Great. I’m on the run with a crazy man.” He was going to black out, she just knew it. She hopped off. “Time to get down and dirty.”

She supported him by his good arm as he tumbled from the cab. An old gray blanket from the back served as a cot. Once he’d dropped onto it, Alessandra rolled up her sleeves and reached for the medi-pack.

“No sign of Eddie?” he asked in a slur.

“No sign, no sound, no need.” Partly because he deserved it, but mostly in an effort to startle him awake, she gave the rubber tubing in her hand a snap, smiled, then bent down until her lips grazed his ear. “Let the bloodbath begin.”

MCBRIDE SURFACED to shadows that were thick and air that was heavy with the prospect of yet another rainstorm. His limbs weighed fifty pounds apiece, and he swore someone was using a blunt ax on the back of his skull. Still, he managed to get his eyes open and make the connection between his brain and his vocal cords.

“Where am I?”

Alessandra didn’t seem the least bit surprised by the sudden question. “You’re propped up against a fallen tree in the Black Hills of South Dakota, and, by some miracle, still alive.” Sitting cross-legged in front of him, she folded a bunch of strange-looking leaves into a cloth and tied a string around it.

“Why don’t I trust that serene expression on your face?”

“Relax. If I wanted you dead, you’d have passed on before sunset.” She gave the string a hard tug.

Alarm bells began to clang in his head. “What’s that?”

“A medicinal poultice. We use them on horses after they’ve been gelded.” The glitter deepened. “I say ‘we,’ but I really mean I use them. Dr. Lang believes in the more traditional forms of pain management, his favorites being those that are introduced rectally.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Only for the past thirty seconds. Until then, I was calling you a bastard in every colorful way I could think of.”

He used his good hand to push himself away from the trunk. “You’re father’d be pissed.”

“No, he’d just straighten his shoulders, look stoically upward and blame my mother for influencing me. Then he’d sag and blame himself for giving in to temptation once and marrying her. I’m a sort of by-product of his lust. I don’t think he’s ever quite figured out where I fit into his straightforward, methodical world.”

It was a tragedy, to McBride’s mind, that Alessandra’s mother had died of an aortic aneurysm mere days after her only child’s eleventh birthday. Sadder still was the fact that she’d apparently really loved Alessandra’s father. Why else would any sane woman endure twelve years of marriage to a man who lived, worked and would ultimately die by an archaic set of rules that were more of his own making than those of the religious order to which he belonged?

Alessandra’s grandmother, her father’s own mother, called him a tight-ass. Not in those particular words, but that was the gist. She’d liked her son’s beautiful Bahamian-born wife and had, McBride knew, run interference for her granddaughter up to and including his and Alessandra’s wedding day—which was an entirely different memory.

As if she’d been following his thoughts, Alessandra’s lips curved. “You can puzzle it out for the rest of your life but you’ll never understand him.” She threw McBride the poultice and stood in a single graceful motion. “Sun’s set, you need rest and I want a shower. I’m also hungry. All I found in your truck were nacho chips, candy bars and some energy drinks.”

“Never know when you’ll need a quick buzz.”

“Mmm, I found the whiskey bottle, too.”

“Buzzes come in many forms, Alessandra. You’re right, though, we need to get out of here.” The pain had less of a rapier-sharp edge after he worked his way into a crouch. He tucked the poultice in his shirt pocket. “Can you drive a loaded 4x4?”

He knew she was watching him for signs of disorientation. He must have passed the test, because she began folding the blanket. “On good roads, yes. On a wilderness obstacle course, we’ll find out.”

He could go with that. “Do you know where we are?”

“More or less.” She caught his arm when he stood and the rapier took a nasty swipe at him. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’d consider returning to Rapid City.”

He slanted her a dark look that brought a fleeting smile to her lips.

“Figured as much. In that case… Can you walk?”

Like a man who’d taken several pulls from that whiskey bottle. And her touching him didn’t make him any steadier. Her father’s thoughts for her mother were Puritanical compared to the ones currently flying through McBride’s head. He knew and vividly remembered every inch of her butt, her legs, her breasts and, God help him, her hands. She’d learned lightning fast how to drive him straight to the edge and over.

When the pain sheared through him again, he welcomed it. “Keys are in the ignition, Alessandra. If you’re sure you’ve got your bearings, we need to head southwest.”

“That’s the direction Rory’s taking, huh?”

Fat drops of rain began to fall from the bruised clouds above. “Rory’s heading for a border.” Although climbing into his truck was roughly equivalent to scaling Mount Rushmore during an ice storm, McBride persevered. “He’s zigzagging, wants me to believe he’s going to Canada, but my money’s on Mexico.”

She stopped pushing to peer around his arm. “Are you serious? You expect me to go to Mexico?”

“Did I mention I was sorry?”

“Did I mention I put some of Dr. Lang’s suppositories in that medi-pack?”

He managed to chuckle rather than wince. “Give me a viable short-term destination, Alessandra.”

She sent him a last biting stare, then swung on her heel to point. “Bodene’s about fifty miles southwest of here. Spruce Creek’s thirty, but in a slightly different direction. Joan’s rustic Dead Lake cabin’s our best bet. It’s a twisty twenty-mile drive from this old camp.”

“Sounds good,” he said. “Secluded.” Ghoulish, too, but hopefully not portentous.

Rain began to pelt the roof and windshield. In the driver’s seat, Alessandra tied back her hair in a long ponytail. Now how in hell could something so simple strike him as so damn sexy?

Once again, she seemed to know what he was thinking. Her lips twitched when she shoved the truck in gear. “Eyes forward, McBride. We’re off to Dead Lake, and Eddie’s nowhere to be seen.”

Which was, McBride reflected as he scanned the eerily silent clearing, the thing that concerned him most right now.

JOAN’S CABIN HAD a bathroom, a galley kitchen, a huge stone fireplace and a pull-out sofa that faced the hearth.

“Home sweet home.” Alessandra dropped her gear on a small window table. “It’s compact, but not all that different from my father’s house. There’s even a loft.” Humor invaded her tone. “No ladder.”

Overhead lights flared at the touch of a switch, as did the propane water heater.

“Quick trip into town for supplies, and I can have my long-awaited shower.”

McBride, who’d recovered even more rapidly than she’d anticipated, made a more purposeful circle of the room.

“There’s a lot of glass,” he noted. “And trees for cover.”

“There’s also a good chance we left Eddie in one of those potholes we slammed through last night.” She halted him by setting her palm on his chest. “The rain’s stopped, there’s a general store just over a mile from here and, honestly, given a choice at this moment, I’d rather die from a bullet than from starvation. We’ve seen, you’ve scoped, let’s go.”