Diane Burke - The Marshal's Runaway Witness

“What are you talking about? I told you it would be okay. I’d keep you safe.” Dylan gingerly patted her shoulder. “And I will.”

When Bear released Angelina’s other arm, she slid to the bottom step, grateful for the moment of rest.

Bear leaned over, his huge hands bracing his upper body against his knees, and sucked air deeply into his lungs. “Yeah, well don’t start celebrating yet,” he baited Dylan. “All we’ve managed to do is jog down a million steps.”

Angelina smiled up at the older man. “You did a good job. Thank you for keeping me safe.”

A surprised expression crossed his face. Then he nodded almost shyly in acknowledgment of her compliment.

“Stop your griping, Bear.” Dylan slapped his partner on the back. “You really are getting soft, you know. Good thing you’ll be hanging up your shield soon. Those bones of yours are getting pretty old.”

“Don’t get too sure of yourself. How long do you think it’s going to take the bad guys to figure out we took the stairs? A nanosecond from now?”

Dylan glanced up the stairwell and then out into the corridor. “My guess is they’re riding the elevator and searching floor by floor.”

Bear nodded. “Then let’s get out of here before they figure it out. I’m a bigger target than you. Today’s not the day I feel like getting shot.”

“Copy that, big guy.”

Dylan helped Angelina rise from the step. “You okay?”

She nodded. But she knew Dylan wasn’t blind. Her eyes watered from the pounding in her temples and she didn’t know how much longer she could tolerate the pain.

Still, she couldn’t slow them down. She refused to be the reason any more people died. Not today. Not ever.

“Beat you to the back door.” She forced herself to grin at the two men.

“You’re doing great.” Dylan stared into her eyes exuding more confidence than she was sure he felt.

She knew she wasn’t fooling him but he wasn’t fooling her, either. They were in danger. Huge danger. And every second counted.

“One more corridor. Just one more,” he assured her. “Selma’s right on the other side of that last door and then we’ll be safe.”

Angelina took a deep breath. Now she understood what it meant when people said the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. She knew her fighting spirit and determination wouldn’t let her down but she worried that her body was another story.

“We’ll do this together, Miss Baroni,” Bear said, clasping her under the arm. “Let’s go.”

Without another word, both men picked her up and moved in a rapid pace toward that back door. She knew neither man would dare voice their own fears that Selma and the getaway car might not be there in time but tension was written all over their faces.

Excruciating pain pounded in her temples at each jolt of her body. Her vision blurred even more and nausea cramped her stomach.

Dear Lord.

The beginning of a prayer came naturally. It saddened her that she couldn’t feel comfortable anymore talking to the Lord, the only One whom she had once believed could truly keep her safe, whom she had once sought for comfort and inner peace.

Angelina gritted her teeth and endured the ache in each arm as the men half carried, half dragged her down the corridor.

The men’s pace increased almost with a desperation she knew they didn’t want to show.

This wasn’t going to work. These men would forfeit their lives trying to get her to the safe house and she would have more blood, more good lives lost, on her head. The murder she witnessed of a neighbor had started this whole thing. Then, the loss of Maria. Who would be next?

A moan of grief escaped her lips.

“Almost there, Angelina. Hang on.”

Dylan’s voice penetrated her consciousness. He’d misinterpreted her moan for pain. Well, it was pain. But it was so much more—fear, grief, uncertainty.

Please, please don’t let anyone else die.

She couldn’t help offering the prayer even though she truly believed God didn’t listen to her anymore. Maybe this time He would. For these men if not for her.

She thought back to the night three years ago when she’d deceived Dylan. Funny thing, the mind. Here she was being shot at by mobsters and being dragged down corridors and all her mind wanted to think about was Dylan.

They’d gotten close...much closer than either of them had expected. Dylan had done his best to be professional and keep his personal feelings out of it. He’d even made jokes that it was nothing more than physical attraction blossoming between them and they needed to ignore it.

But she knew it had been more.

She’d touched his heart. She saw it in his eyes when he looked at her. She felt it in the warmth of his touch, a touch lasting a moment longer than it should. She heard it in the gentle huskiness of his voice when he spoke to her.

And she’d exploited those feelings.

A twinge of shame and regret hit her conscience. How could she have hurt him like that? Particularly when she hadn’t been sure he had deceived her. His current actions made her more certain than ever that she’d misjudged him.

Now it was worse. Those gentle feelings she’d seen in his eyes years ago were replaced with anger, mistrust and pain. Yet here he was putting his life on the line to protect her, again. He was probably going to get himself killed. And it was all her fault.

“There they are!” Male voices at the distant end of the corridor rang out and were quickly following by the sound of feet pounding the floor.

“If you’ve ever said a prayer, man, this would be a good time to do it,” Bear yelled to Dylan. Then he slammed the palm of his hand against the back door. “Be there. Be there. Be there.”

The three of them paused on the loading dock, acclimating themselves to the darkness and to their surroundings.

“Hurry! Over here!” Selma’s crisp, tense voice carried in the cool autumn air.

Angelina’s body took another heavy jolt as the men sprang into action, lifted her feet off the ground, and ran with her bouncing between them toward the dark sedan barely visible in the poorly lit drive. The severe jarring motion made every muscle in her body scream in protest.

Her stomach roiled and it took all her strength to remain conscious.

Bear pulled open the back passenger door and dived in. He reached out his hand to pull her in after him. Dylan brought up the rear.

Angelina squinted as the bright light of the car interior hit her eyes, sending shafts of fresh pain through her eyes.

The sound of a bullet hitting metal made Dylan push her into the backseat. Her face mashed against Bear’s chest. She could hear his voice reverberate against her ear as he yelled to Selma.

“Go! Go! Get out of here! Now!”

Sandwiched between Dylan and Bear, Angelina heard the car tires squeal before Dylan had even closed the back door.

Another bullet on metal. Then another.

“Stay down!” Dylan ordered, shoving her head deeper into Bear’s chest as his large, ungainly partner sprawled half on and half off the backseat. Why was God letting this happen? Why wasn’t He bringing her father to justice before more innocent people got hurt?

The car swayed to the right. Then Selma took a sharp turn to the left.

Angelina grabbed hold of Bear’s shirt and tried to steady herself and not crash backward into Dylan.

Selma made another right-hand turn, this time down a backstreet. Angelina was certain they did it on two tires, not four, before the car banked sharply back to the left. They cut through an industrial park parking lot.

“I think you lost them. I don’t think they were able to grab a car in time to follow us.” Dylan, gun drawn, his back pressed against the back of the driver’s seat and his knee digging painfully into Angelina’s side as he balanced himself on the seat, pointed his weapon at the rear window.