The Marshal's Witness. Lena Diaz

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СКАЧАТЬ knew and trusted.

      Thoughts of the stranger evaporated as Jessica descended the stairs, getting closer and closer to the bottom. By the time her feet touched the last step, her instincts were screaming at her to run, hide—anything but walk toward the exit at the end of the hall.

      Her heart pounded in rhythm with her steps. Twenty feet to the door.

      Nineteen.

      Eighteen.

      Too fast. Slow down. Please, slow down.

      Far too soon they stood at the back door. Had she said she was ready? She was wrong. She wasn’t ready.

      Her pulse leaped in her throat. Soon she’d be completely, utterly alone, without marshals guarding her twenty-four-seven. Her safety would depend on a web of lies and documentation, her fate in the hands of some paper pusher she’d never met.

      Panic tightened her chest. She jumped when one of the marshals opened the door and it slammed against the wall, caught by a blast of surprisingly chilly wind for early September. The oak trees lining the street swayed, their branches clicking together like tiny drummers foretelling her doom.

      With William urging her forward, she had no choice but to move. She couldn’t cling to the door and cower in fear.

      She stepped outside.

      A gust of wind and rain blasted her, whipping her hair around her face. The light sprinkle that had started earlier was now a steady downpour, pelting the small group as they hurried across the concrete to the street that ran along the back of the courthouse. A black cargo van waited fifty feet away at the curb. Uniformed policemen lined the sidewalk.

      Thunder cracked overhead, making Jessica jump. Lightning flashed, filling the air with the smell of something burning, reminding Jessica of gunfire the night her friend was killed—the flash, the smell.

      The spray of blood as Natalie fell to the floor, DeGaullo standing over her.

      The van’s open door was dark and menacing in the maelstrom of wind and rain. Jessica couldn’t breathe. Her lungs squeezed in her chest. Was this how Natalie had felt as she died?

      Please, I don’t want to die.

      Thunder boomed again and the rain became a deluge. Three of the marshals ran ahead to the van, positioning themselves to watch for anyone approaching. Jessica froze, unable to take another step. She was too exposed, too vulnerable, the safety of the van too far away.

      “Come on,” William urged. “We’re almost there.” He pushed her forward.

      She stumbled, gasping for air.

      Someone shouted, but the words were snatched away by the wind. Jessica whirled toward the sound. Ryan Jackson stood in the open courthouse doorway. He dropped his briefcase and sprinted toward her, his arms and legs pumping like an Olympic runner. He might have shouted her name, but she wasn’t sure.

      William cursed and grabbed her shoulders. Another shout, a metallic click, an explosion of light and sound. A wall of searing heat slammed into Jessica. She tumbled through the air, her screams mingling with the screams of others as the concrete rushed up to meet her. A sickening thud, burning, tearing agony, then…nothing.

       Chapter Two

      Smooth, soft sheets surrounded Jessica. But the fluffy pillow beneath her head did nothing to relieve the searing, throbbing pain that shot through her body. She tried to open her eyes, but her lids were too heavy, the pain too intense. The smell of antiseptic wafted through the air. A high-pitched beep sounded from far away.

      Pain jackknifed through her head. She cried out, squeezing her eyes against the harsh light filtering through her lids. She tried to raise her hands to block out the light, but someone grabbed her arms, forcing them down.

      “Let me go,” she cried, but her dry throat made coherent speech impossible. The words sounded garbled even to her own ears.

      “Hold her still before she hurts herself,” a man’s exasperated voice ordered.

      “I’m trying, Doctor,” said another male voice, inches from her face. “She’s stronger than she looks.”

      “She’s in pain.” A woman’s voice. “Can I give her the morphine now?”

      Morphine? Jessica relaxed slightly against the hands holding her. Yes, morphine. Please. Everything hurt, especially her head.

      “Not yet. I’m trying to wake her up, not put her back under.”

      Back under?

      “Ms. Adams, I’m Dr. Brooks. You’ve been in an accident. Can you open your eyes?”

      An accident? She gasped and cried out when the hands holding her down pressed on the upper part of her left arm.

      “Be careful, David. You’re pressing on her stitches.” Dr. Brooks. The man who wouldn’t give her morphine.

      A stab of hot, sharp pain shot through the left side of Jessica’s face. She moaned and tried to pull away from the rough, calloused hands holding her so tightly.

      “Give her some morphine.” The doctor, sounding impatient. “One-third the usual dose, just enough to calm her down.”

      “It’s okay,” a feminine voice whispered to Jessica. Soothing, gentle hands brushed against her. A low beep sounded. Moments later the pain dulled to a bearable ache and the urge to sleep flooded her veins. She fought its tempting pull and opened her eyes, blinking against the bright fluorescent lights.

      A young man in lime-green scrubs was leaning over her bed, his hands clamping her wrists down.

      “Release her, David,” the voice she recognized as Dr. Brooks ordered.

      The man in green let go of her arms and she pulled them against her chest. She turned her head on the pillow to put a face to the voice she’d heard. An unsmiling man stood on her right side. Instead of the white smock she’d expected, he wore an immaculate dark blue suit, his short, blond hair lightly curling around his face.

      “Miss Adams, do you know where you are?” he asked.

      She looked at the bed’s metal railing, the IV pump, the stethoscope draped around the doctor’s collar. “Hos…hospital,” she rasped.

      “That’s right. Cohen Children’s Medical Center.”

      Children’s? That didn’t make sense. Wait…wasn’t that in Long Island? She was in Louisiana, wasn’t she? She tried to speak again but her throat was too dry, too tight.

      The doctor motioned to the older woman standing beside him, dressed in a Daisy Duck smock. “Get her some ice chips.”

      The woman left the room. The man in green adjusted the IV drip. When the woman returned, she held a yellow paper cup to Jessica’s lips.

      “Let these melt in your mouth, sweetie. I bet your throat’s as dry as dust about now.”

      Jessica СКАЧАТЬ