Ryshia Kennie

Marshal On A Mission


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Mexico City.” He looked at his smartwatch. “She should have landed over six hours ago.”

      “I don’t like the sound of any of this. Old-school as a bank robbery is, these people have proved to be vicious. They’ve left a trail of bodies across two states in the last year. And there’s nothing to say they weren’t the ones who broke in looking for her.”

      “Exactly. And they’re still on the loose. As far as Tara goes, we’re finalizing the setup of a safe house,” Jackson said. “I will send you the details once it’s complete. Unfortunately, we have no witness to put there.”

      “I’ll rectify that,” Trent said with determination. But fear rode in his gut. She was alone and in Mexico with a killer who could be hot on her trail. And if he wasn’t, there could be contacts, people deployed—unknowns. He was in a race to find Tara.

      “Let’s get you on a flight out. Your history may make it easier to establish trust with her,” Jackson said. “That is, once you locate her.”

      “I’ll find her,” Trent said as if to reinforce the confidence Jackson had in him.

      “I’m counting on it. I’ve a moratorium on body bags. This gang has to be shut down—fast. This has been a bad year for murders. I don’t need these yahoos carrying on and making it worse than it already is.”

      Trent nodded but he was buried in his thoughts about how effective he was going to be. The wild card was Tara. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been in tears. Then he’d considered it unnecessary drama. He’d acted like a typical teenage boy—without empathy, without much feeling of any kind. He’d turned his back on her tears but not before telling her that she was acting like a baby.

      Despite his youth at the time, the memory still disturbed him. It was his one regret in life. Her tears were ones that he had caused. On hearing that her family was moving, instead of comforting her and offering ways that they could remain in touch, he’d broken up with her. It had been a completely defensive reaction. Walking away, acting macho had somehow cloaked his own hurt.

      He wished he could go back and tell that self that he needed to grow up. He wished that he could have prevented the whole scene. Prevented everything that happened to her immediately after.

      But at the time, he had been too busy hiding his feelings when he’d heard that she was moving. Too busy trying to be tough to realize the pain he had caused her. He hadn’t understood what he was losing when he’d thought it wise to break up rather than go long-distance. And then it had all gotten worse when her father had been shot by someone assumed to be criminally involved with the very suspect he was to testify against.

      But that was the past. He could see why Tara had run. She had a bad history with authorities. She was walking proof that the law couldn’t always do what it promised. Her father was promised protection, and he’d believed. Now he was dead.

      She’d not be happy to see Trent. The last thing she’d said to him was that she’d never forgive him. They’d been young then but the words haunted him even now. They were words that told him she’d have none of his presence shadowing her and that she wouldn’t be apt to take his counsel.

      What she’d need to know was that there was no choice. He was her shadow until this was over. He’d keep her safe. He could only hope to hell that she stayed safe until he found her.

      His thoughts flipped to the threat. This group was as yesteryear as it was violent. Bank robberies were passé. It was only the number and violence associated with their crimes that was taking them up the ladder of Most Wanted. The fact that there’d not only been a witness in their latest robbery, but they’d gone after her changed everything. The break-in at her house, combined with the fact that the witness had disappeared, had turned the case on its head.

      He thought of how gutsy she was, returning to live alone in Pueblo, forging ahead with her life. Not only that, but she’d come face-to-face with a bank robber. Now she was alone and confronting a danger no civilian should have to. He had to find her and quickly.

      “By the way, if you hadn’t volunteered, I would have asked for you,” Jackson said. “You might not like witness protection, but you haven’t failed once. We’ve lost no witnesses under your watch. And this—I admit, I hesitated because of the personal connection. I’d hate to see—”

      “Like you said,” Trent interrupted. “I haven’t lost a witness yet and I won’t start now.”

      “The file is fairly concise right up until she boarded that damn plane,” Jackson said.

      Trent nodded. He’d read it. She’d driven to Denver, and from there she’d boarded a flight to Mexico City. That was where her trail dead-ended.

      “You had her in the palm of your hand. Now she could be anywhere,” he said, annoyed that she hadn’t been stopped, that this hadn’t been foreseen. “Why wasn’t she offered witness protection immediately?”

      “There was no indication that she would run. She was in her own community, her own house. The thought was that she was safe, that we had time—if needed—to get witness protection in place. The perps were believed to have left town, as they always do. And there’s no evidence that didn’t happen.”

      “Except in the case where they hunted down two witnesses before ever leaving the area.” He referenced a robbery that had occurred recently in Fort Collins, Colorado.

      “That was within minutes of the robbery and just outside the bank.”

      “But it happened,” Trent said darkly, not liking any part of what he was hearing. “And this time, they were after her. Damn it!”

      “There’s no proof of that,” Jackson said.

      “That was what frightened her.”

      “That was our initial thought but that wasn’t the case. She was gone long before the break-in. Her flight reservation was made in the early hours of the afternoon. Unfortunately, that information was on her kitchen counter. It was fair game for anyone in her house.”

      “Unbelievable,” Trent said.

      “We’ve got what little we could gather from the neighbors,” Jackson continued. “A dog was barking around eleven o’clock last night. A neighbor looked out and saw a strange car cruising the area. She thought she saw two men but no description.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t enough to put in an emergency call and she let the incident go unreported.”

      “You’re thinking the guy Tara can identify came after her?”

      “Possibly, but that’s only speculation.” Jackson pushed the file aside. “Something else. Years ago, her father was killed while in witness protection. He witnessed a notorious drug dealer shoot a rival gang member. We had him in witness protection. It was to no avail. Two months later he was shot crossing a street and pronounced dead at the scene.”

      “Doesn’t give her much trust that the system will be there for her,” Trent said.

      “No, it doesn’t. But I don’t know why I’m repeating this. You knew all that,” Jackson said and shrugged as if that didn’t matter. “Add to that the fact that no one spoke to her about protection of any kind.” He smacked the desk. “By the time we sent a man to interview her, it was clear that someone else had been there first. The back door had been broken in. And the porch door was open. Interesting thing was that there was nothing taken. At least that’s what we assume, as everything was in place.”

      “I can see why she might have run but son of a—” Trent bit off the expletive. “This makes things difficult.”

      “Between us, we’ll get her back,” Jackson said.

      “Us?” Trent repeated with just a hint of sarcasm.

      “You,” Jackson stated with finality.

      Ten hours later

      IT HAD ALL sounded so easy then. But it was early morning