The Marshal's Witness. Lena Diaz

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       Chapter Four

      A scream shattered the quiet of Jessica’s bedroom.

      Startled awake, she jumped out of bed, slammed into the dresser and fell onto the floor. Cursing the dark, unfamiliar room, she scrambled to her feet.

      The noise sounded again—a short, throaty moan that echoed through the room, making Jessica wince.

      Sugar. What was that?

      Frantically feeling along the wall for the light switch, she bumped something on top of the dresser. She grabbed it to use as a weapon, and her other hand brushed against the light switch. She flipped on the light and whirled around to face whoever was in the room.

      The room was empty.

      She glanced around in confusion and shoved her bangs out of her eyes. The noise echoed through the room again. She nearly collapsed in relief. The noise was coming from her window, outside the house.

      She chewed her bottom lip and debated calling Ryan to investigate. But what if there was some logical explanation for the noise? Did she really want to endure more of Ryan’s teasing if he came over and found a feral cat or some other animal howling outside?

      He’d get a real kick out of that, and Jessica’s pride had already taken about all she could of his city girl insults. More important, she was on her own now, or supposed to be. Ryan was leaving in a few weeks. She needed to learn not to panic or assume DeGaullo had found her every time something unexpected happened.

      Her mind was made up, but her feet were still deciding. Blood rushed to her ears. She gathered her courage, and inched toward the window. With her back against the wall, she raised her weapon and slowly lifted the edge of the curtain.

      Two round, black eyes surrounded by feathers and a beak stared back at her through the glass. Good grief, it was just a bird, sitting on her window ledge. It blinked and gave another throaty howl. As if it was satisfied that it had done its job by waking her up, it screeched again, flapped its wings and flew away.

      Jessica let the curtain fall closed. She’d been scared witless by a stupid bird. Was this the kind of life she had to look forward to? Being awakened in the middle of the night by screeching birds?

      The bright red numbers on the bedside clock read six-thirty. Okay, so it wasn’t the middle of the night. But since she hadn’t slept well as she tried to convince herself she was safe without a marshal in the next room, it might as well be the middle of the night. She was exhausted.

      She was also keyed up, full of nervous energy, so going back to bed would be just as futile now as it had been last night. She raised her hand to brush her bangs out of her eyes and only then realized she was still clutching what she’d grabbed off the dresser to use as a weapon. She stared in disbelief at what she was holding.

      A blow-dryer.

      Sugar.

      What was she going to do if she met up with one of De-Gaullo’s men? Offer to style his hair?

      She pitched the dryer onto the bed and trudged through the short hallway into the bathroom. Her shoulders were knotted with tension from her unpleasant wake-up call. Right now nothing sounded better than a hot, steamy shower to relax her muscles.

      While she waited for the shower to get hot, she went about her morning routine. Normally she’d carefully fold her clothes and put them in the hamper, but she didn’t have the energy for that right now. She discarded her clothes in a sloppy pile on the white tile floor and stepped over the side of the tub.

      Icy water pricked her skin like hundreds of sharp needles. She shouted and hopped out of the tub, right onto the pile of clothes. They shot out from underneath her feet across the slippery tile. Her hands flailed in the air, futilely grabbing for the countertop. She fell hard, smacking her head against the side of the toilet.

      She lay there, naked, her head throbbing, while she tried to decide whether to cry, scream, or break something. Above her, the shower curtain billowed out over the tub. Every one of the red and blue cartoon cats grinned down at her as if they were about to burst into laughter.

      A strangled gurgle wheezed between her clenched teeth. She rolled over, wincing when she put pressure on her left hip. She grabbed the countertop and painfully pulled herself to her feet. When she caught sight of her face in the mirror, she let out a low groan. A dark bruise was already forming on the side of her temple.

      Could this day get any worse?

      All those months during the trial, she’d longed for the comforts of her apartment, her Jacuzzi tub, the fluffy down comforter she’d bought two Christmases ago during a shopping trip with Natalie. She’d hated the cheap motel rooms the government called safe houses. She’d longed for the day when she’d be in a place she could call home again.

      Now that she was, she realized how good she’d had it all along. At least the cheap motels had hot water. And she certainly didn’t have wild animals perched outside her window, screaming louder than Mrs. Bailey’s grandchildren when they ran up and down the hallway outside her apartment.

      She shut the shower off and stood in front of the mirror, finger-combing her hair over her bruise. The tiny red scars that ran along her hairline made her pause. There were dozens of them all over her body, reminders of the explosion. Self-loathing filled her. How pathetically shallow to worry about downy comforters and jetted tubs when four men had given their lives for her.

      They’d made the ultimate sacrifice, simply because it was their job, because they’d vowed to keep her safe. She was in awe of men like that, men with courage who did what was right, not what was easy. She’d worked for DeGaullo for years, too afraid to do what was right. Even the night Natalie had died, Jessica had been too scared to do anything more than cower beneath her desk. She’d done nothing to save her friend.

      Her fingers tightened around the edge of the countertop. If Natalie’s family, or the families of those dead marshals, could give up their modern conveniences to have their loved ones back, Jessica was certain they’d make that trade without hesitation.

      So would she.

      Resolved to appreciate what she had and not to complain, even to herself, she ran a sink full of cold water. She shivered through an old-fashioned washcloth bath. As she was about to leave the bathroom, the shower curtain caught her eye again.

      The cats stared back at her, mocking her. Unable to resist a childish impulse, Jessica grabbed the curtain and gave it a tremendous yank. The shower rod popped off the tile and landed on the floor with a satisfying metallic clang. Jessica stomped on the curtain, ridiculously pleased to hear the plastic crinkle beneath her feet.

      Feeling buoyed by her tiny victory, she dressed in a pair of jeans and a plain, blue T-shirt. The sun was up now, turning the brown curtains in her bedroom a light muddy color. Not yet ready to face the roosters marching across her kitchen walls, she decided instead to check out the view behind her house. She hurried through the living room to the breakfast nook.

      No telling what was hiding behind the curtains covering the sliding glass door. Knowing Ryan, there was something awful in her backyard.

      Like the city dump.

      She straightened her shoulders, reached up, and slid the curtains СКАЧАТЬ