Twin Targets. Marta Perry

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      Ruby—it must be something to do with Ruby.

      She raced down the stairs, feet keeping time to the violent beating of her heart. She hurried to the door and yanked it open while the man’s hand was still raised to knock.

      That faint shock in his brown eyes—was it because of her precipitous approach, or because he was looking at an identical replica of Ruby?

      “Are you Jade Summers?” His voice was a deep, mellow baritone, roughened by some emotion.

      She nodded, taking a step back, motioning him in. He stepped across the threshold, the movement bringing a wave of cold air into her cozy room.

      He was even taller than she’d thought, with an air of authority that seemed to suck all the air out of the space around him. He removed his hat, holding it in one hand, revealing thick, glossy brown hair cut in a vaguely military manner.

      He had a slash of straight dark brows, a lean, tanned face and a jaw that might have been carved from teak. A faint hint of sympathy in his brown eyes softened the harsh impression.

      Sympathy? Or pity? Her eyes focused on the badge. U.S. Marshal. The U.S. Marshals ran the Witness Protection Program.

      Nausea hit like a blow to her stomach. Something had happened to Ruby.

      “I’m Deputy Marshal Micah McGraw.” He held out some sort of identification.

      She shook her head in denial of the news he undoubtedly carried. “Ruby…” Her voice failed.

      “I’m sorry.” His baritone deepened even more. “I’m afraid I have bad news.”

      She couldn’t stand dancing around it. “Tell me. Just say it.”

      His eyes hardened at her tone. “Your sister, Ruby Maxwell, died last night.”

      Maxwell. That had been the name she’d taken when they’d relocated her out here after she’d testified. It didn’t sound right.

      “Died.” She repeated the word. It was odd that no tears sprang to her eyes. Maybe because she couldn’t picture Ruby—vital, eager, annoying Ruby—as anything so final as dead. She took a harsh breath. “You mean, killed, don’t you? Murdered.”

      That would be the way it ended. That was the only thing that would bring a U.S. Marshal to her door.

      “She was shot in her garage.” He paused, as if editing what he was saying. “I’m sorry. She would have died instantly.”

      Was that supposed to comfort her? She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came. Instead her knees buckled.

      She sensed him move. He guided her to the sofa, lowered her to a seat, steadying her with a hand on her elbow.

      “Easy. Just take it easy. Take a deep breath.”

      She wanted to snap at him that deep breathing wasn’t going to help her, not when her twin would never breathe again.

      Why, God? Why? The plea formed before she thought about it.

      Why did she bother? Ruby had always said you couldn’t rely on anyone else—certainly not God. Once she’d have argued the point, but in the past year she’d begun to think Ruby had it right. If God cared, why was her twin dead?

      She sucked in air. She had to say something—had to make him stop hovering over her.

      “Last night.” She swallowed. “They say identical twins can sense it if something traumatic happens to one of them. I didn’t feel a thing. But we’ve been apart so long.”

      “Have you?”

      She gaped at him, not sure she’d heard correctly. He’d moved a step away, taken off his heavy jacket and tossed it on the back of the sofa. Now he sat, pulling the straight-backed chair up so that they were knee to knee.

      “I—I don’t know what you mean.” She stammered the words, mind racing. Ruby had broken some rule, probably, in letting Jade know she was being sent to Montana. A vague need to protect her sister moved through Jade. “I haven’t seen Ruby since she went into Witness Protection. You must know that.”

      His gaze probed, as if he looked for a chink in her armor. “You’ve corresponded with her. E-mailed, maybe.”

      “No.” What was he getting at?

      “What are you doing in Montana then, Ms. Summers? This is hardly normal stomping grounds for an Easterner like you.”

      She had control now. She wouldn’t let him rattle her. “I can’t think of any reason why that would be your business, Marshal McGraw.”

      “It wouldn’t,” he said. “Except that if Ruby broke the rules in order to bring you here, that might explain what happened to her.”

      For a second she stared into those stern brown eyes, feeling like a jackrabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming pickup. Then a cleansing wave of anger washed through her.

      “What are you saying? Are you accusing me of contributing to my sister’s death?”

      He looked as if he might respond, but before he could speak, she swept on. “How dare you? How dare you imply such a thing? Ruby testified in that Mob case because you people offered her a fresh start. You promised you’d protect her. You said no harm would come to her. You cited all kinds of statistics to prove she’d be safe. If anyone’s responsible for my sister’s death, it’s you!”

      McGraw rose, and for a second she thought he was threatening her. But he raised his palm, signaling her to silence.

      She heard what he must have picked up first—the sound of a vehicle coming down the lane.

      “Are you expecting someone?” The question was low and sharp.

      “No.” She got up, shaking off the atmosphere of fear he’d brought into her house with him. “It’s probably a neighbor.” She took a step toward the door. “I’ll get—”

      He caught her, pulling her against him, his hand going over her lips. Her first instinct was to struggle, but his grasp was protective, not menacing.

      “Stay here.” He whispered the words against her ear, his breath moving her hair. “I’ll check.”

      Ridiculous, one part of her mind said. But some instinct kept her glued to the spot, watching as he moved silently to the window. Keeping to one side, he peered out cautiously.

      Then his body stiffened, and his hand moved toward his gun.

      Micah forced himself to remain motionless, assessing the odds. Two of them, both armed, with their weapons out in the open, obviously not fearing any interference in this isolated location. Even as he watched, one man signaled the other to go around the back of the small house, cutting off any retreat.

      His hand was on his weapon. If he were alone…

      But he wasn’t. The woman had to be their target. His first priority was to protect her, СКАЧАТЬ