Dakota Marshal. Jenna Ryan

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      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 СКАЧАТЬ