The Marshal's Runaway Witness. Diane Burke

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      A twinge of conscience made her feel guilty. She hadn’t wanted to hurt anybody, especially not him. But even if she’d misread the note situation, she hadn’t been wrong about him letting the bailiff within arm’s reach of her. She had to keep reminding herself of the facts. US marshal or not, Dylan couldn’t keep his promise. He couldn’t be trusted to keep her safe. She’d had no choice but to run. And, if she wanted to live, soon she would have to find a way to run again.

      Dylan appeared to recover quickly, the raw emotions that flitted over his face were gone and his features hardened like carved granite. But when he spoke his words were gentle. “I’m sorry about Maria.”

      The tears Angelina had been fighting so hard to hold back flowed freely down her cheeks.

      She remembered the shocked, empty look in Maria’s eyes, the weight of her body as she’d lowered her friend to the sand. She couldn’t imagine a day, didn’t want to imagine a day, without Maria in her life.

      “Thank you.” Her words came out a whisper.

      “Over the years, I’ve struggled with the possibility you might be dead. When you disappeared that night, I thought somehow your father’s organization had kidnapped you. It took me a while to understand that you fled on your own.”

      Was that pain she heard in his voice? Could it be?

      “I find it hard to believe you hid in plain sight for three years and didn’t run into the deadly end of a bullet before now.” Dylan’s voice softened. “I’m grateful you’re still alive.”

      Angelina studied his expression. He seemed sincere. How could she know for sure? She had no faith in her ability to judge a person’s character anymore. If he were going to harm her, wouldn’t he have done it by now? Maybe Dylan had never been on her father’s payroll. Maybe she’d been wrong. Or maybe not. How could she know whether she could trust this man with her life or not?

      * * *

      If Dylan didn’t know better, he would think Angelina was afraid of him. He chided himself. Didn’t he know by now that she had that sweet, vulnerable act down to a science? He’d fallen for it once. He wouldn’t fall for it again.

      He couldn’t believe she’d been able to survive on her own all this time. He’d carried a heavy burden of guilt for not being able to keep her safe every day since she’d disappeared. He’d been certain that one day he’d come across her dead body and he often wondered how he would ever face it if he did.

      But she wasn’t dead.

      She was alive and, although injured and hurting, he was certain she was warily looking for an escape route. He couldn’t let his guard down for a second.

      The panic shining in her eyes reminded him of a helplessly injured and frightened animal. His conscience made him regret that he had to treat her so callously. But the memory of her setup and her betrayal was all it took to keep him on guard.

      “Who knows I’m here?” She clasped his hand.

      He felt the trembling in her fingers. The panic in her eyes made her appear vulnerable and terrified. She seemed barely able to hold it together and for a moment he felt sorry for her.

      But only for a moment. He knew what she was capable of, after all she was her father’s daughter, and he would do well to remember it.

      “I have to get out of here, Dylan. I’m not safe.” Her eyes pleaded with him.

      “Don’t worry. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. There are only a handful of people who know who you are—or where you are—and they are on a need-to-know basis.”

      The flash of doubt on her face surprised him.

      He pulled his hand away from hers. “Get some sleep. You need your rest.”

      “You don’t understand. If anyone other than you and Bear knows that I am here, then my safety is already in jeopardy.”

      Dylan glanced over his shoulder at Bear. “Did you get the protection unit set up outside the room?”

      “Yep, 24/7. Detective Donahue loaned us some of his men. No one will be allowed into this room without furnishing proper identification.”

      Angelina laughed mirthlessly. “You think a cop sitting outside my door is going to protect me? You think my father isn’t capable of corrupting a nurse or a doctor with stellar credentials to gain access to this room?” She flailed her arms. “How about the janitor mopping the floors and emptying the waste bins? It isn’t a matter of if my father can infiltrate this joke of protection you’re offering me, it’s when.”

      She pushed hard against Dylan’s chest. “Move out of my way. I have to get out of here now!”

      “Shhh!” Dylan pulled her to him, his arms steel bands holding her against his chest. “You’re safe, Angelina. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Trust me.”

      It took her a few minutes to stop struggling and calm down. When she did, she raised her head from his chest. Her eyes challenged him. “Why should I trust you?”

      A bittersweet smile twisted his lips. “Because I didn’t betray you. You are the one who betrayed me.”

       THREE

      Dylan’s words settled over the room like a dark thundercloud. An ominous silence ensued between them.

      Bear shook his head and emitted a low whistle. “Things are getting a little too dicey in here for me. You two work this out. I’ll be outside the door making sure everything’s set.”

      After Bear stepped outside, Angelina sat on the edge of the bed. She looked into Dylan’s eyes and tried to find answers to her unasked questions. She sighed. She didn’t trust him. She didn’t believe he could keep her safe but she realized, for right now, there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

      “What do you have planned?” She grimaced and again fingered the bandage wrapped across her forehead as a lightning bolt of pain grabbed her. “How long do I have to stay here?”

      “Not long. I’ve already put things in motion to have a safe house ready as soon as you’re discharged.”

      “And if I don’t want to go to a safe house? If I don’t want to cooperate?”

      Dylan didn’t respond. The hard glint in his eyes did the talking for him.

      Once there had been warmth and gentleness in Dylan’s demeanor. Though she understood his coldness and distance, it still surprised her and she wished for just a flash of that former warmth.

      “Are you certain it was my father who killed Maria and shot me?”

      “I doubt whether your father was the actual shooter. He’s too smart to dirty his hands a second time. But did he order the hit? What do you think? You are the only person standing between him and a date with a lethal injection.”

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