Bounty Hunted
Author
Barb Han
Reads
15.8K
Chapters
24
There's a price on his head…and one US marshal will make sure no one collects US marshal Crystal Remington is assigned to protect Wade Brewer, but the wounded combat vet with a bounty on his head is quickly becoming her most challenging case. The stubborn witness seems to have an agenda all his own and it doesn't involve the one person who can keep him safe. But if he's to stay alive and testify against his former employer, Crystal has to get him to let down his guard. Before long, and with everything to lose, Crystal and Wade find they're better together than apart…maybe forever…
Chapter One
Crystal Remington repositioned her black Stetson, lowering the rim, after she opened the door of the Dime a Dozen Café off I-45. She scanned the small restaurant for Wade Brewer. At six feet, four inches of solid muscle, the thirty-three-year-old former Army sergeant shouldn’t be too difficult to locate against the backdrop of truckers and road-tripping families.
In the back left corner, Mr. Brewer sat with his back against the wall. His position gave him an open view of the room. As a US marshal and someone who was used to memorizing exits, Crystal appreciated the move. At his vantage point, no one would have an opportunity to sneak up on him from the side or behind.
He glanced up and then locked onto her, not bothering to motion for her to come sit down. In fact, he looked downright put out by her presence. What the hell?
Tight chestnut-brown-colored hair clipped close to a near-perfect head and a serious face with hard angles and planes, she didn’t need to look at a picture to verify her witness’s identity. This was the man she was scheduled to meet. After deciding she wasn’t a threat, he leaned forward over the table and nursed a cup of coffee as she walked over to join him.
He picked up a sugar packet and twisted it around his fingers. “Marshal Remington, I’m guessing.” Most would consider him physically intimidating, but she’d grown up around a brother and a pair of cousins similar in size, so it didn’t faze her.
“That would make you Wade Brewer.” Crystal sat down, then signaled for the waitress before refocusing on Brewer. Even with facial scars from an explosion during his time in the service, the man was still beautiful. “Ready for the check so we can get out of this fishbowl and I can get you to a safe place?”
“Do I look like I need your help?” he shot back with daggers coming from his eyes. She wasn’t touching that question. “Remind me why I agreed to this when I’m fully capable of taking care of myself?”
Crystal waved off the smiling waitress who was unaware of the tension at the table. And then she turned all her attention to her witness. “First of all, two of the people I love most in this world are lying in hospital beds fighting for their lives while I’m sitting here with you, so have a little respect.”
Brewer didn’t flinch. Instead, the most intense pair of steel-gray eyes studied her. The unexplained fear that he might pull something like this had been eating at her since she’d learned about his background. Tough guys like him generally didn’t go around asking others for help. They handled life on their own terms and, generally speaking, did a bang-up job of it. She’d dismissed her worry as paranoia. Then there was the fact of her grandparents’ serious car accident that had been weighing heavily on her mind. Didn’t bad events usually occur in threes? If that was the case and her witness decided to bolt, she had one more to go. Lucky her. “Now that we have that fact out of the way, you are the key to locking away a major criminal who—”
“Is currently in jail,” he interrupted without looking away from the rim of his cup.
From here on out, Wade was Brewer to Crystal just like everyone else she referred to. Using last names was a way to keep a distance from people. First names were too personal.
“And has a very long reach on the outside with two lieutenants and more foot soldiers ready to kill on command than you can count on both hands.” She needed to get him out of this café and on the road to Dallas if they were going to get there in time to pick up the key to the town house tonight. “Why are we talking about this? I thought this issue had already been decided. It was my understanding that you agreed to enter into my protective custody. Has something changed that I haven’t been informed of since six a.m.?”
“I’ve had time to sit here and think.” Brewer took a sip of black coffee, unfazed by the emotions building inside her and emanating from her in palpable waves. “Maybe it’s time to change my mind.”
“Why is that, Mr. Brewer? What possible thought could you have had that would cause you to do an about-face right now?” If he said the reason had to do with her being a woman, she might scream. She’d come across perps who’d believed they could outrun or outshoot her due to her having two X chromosomes. They’d been wrong. If that was the case with Brewer, she could assure him that she was just as capable as any man to do the job or she wouldn’t be here in the first place. Brewer didn’t give her an indication this was the issue, but she’d come up against this particular prejudice a few too many times in the past and it always set her off.
To his credit, Brewer didn’t look her up and down. Instead, he stared into his cup. “It’s simple. I’ll be able to stay on the move a lot easier if I’m alone. Being on the move doesn’t make me a sitting duck.”
“I can offer a stable safe house, Mr. Brewer.”
The look he gave said he wasn’t buying it. “You have no guarantees.” Didn’t he really mean to say she wasn’t strong enough to cover him if push came to shove?
“Not one witness to date has died while following the guidelines under the protection of a US marshal,” she pointed out. “I can’t say the same for folks who decided they could do it themselves.” She folded her arms across her chest and sat back in her chair. “Our track record speaks for itself.”
Brewer didn’t seem one bit impressed. The terms dark and brooding came to mind when describing him.
She needed to take another tack, offer a softer approach. “First of all, I want to thank you for your service to this country.” She meant every word. “And I realize your training provides a unique skill set that most who come under my protection don’t possess.” Pausing for effect would give him a few seconds to process the compliment and, maybe, soften him up a little. “I have no doubt you were very good at your job, Sergeant. But make no mistake about it—my training is suited to this task. And I’m damn good at my job. If you have any doubts, feel free to contact my supervisor or any of the other marshals I’ve worked with over the years. This isn’t my first rodeo.”
He dismissed her with a wave of his hand, which infuriated her.
Taking a calming breath, she started again. “If the fact I’m a woman bothers you, say so upfront and let’s get it out of the way.”
His face twisted in disgust. “I’ve served alongside a few of the most talented soldiers in the Army, who happened to wear bras. The fact you do has no bearing on my decision whether or not to strike out on my own.”
Embarrassed, heat crawled up her neck, pooling at her cheeks. She cleared her throat, determined not to let this assignment go south. “You have no reason to trust me other than the badge I wear. You don’t know me from Adam. I get that. Not to mention your military record is impeccable. If we were at war, you’d be the first person I turned to. This situation is stateside, and you have no authority here.”
“I have a right to defend myself,” he countered.
“Same as every citizen,” she pointed out. No doubt he packed his own weapons, not that he needed a license to carry any longer. Scooting her chair closer to the table, she leaned in and lowered her voice. “Did you take care of your aunt?”
“Yes, ma’am. She has been relocated to a secure location,” he said. Taking care of his elderly aunt had been his first priority after Victor Crane had been taken into custody and was the reason they were meeting north of Houston, his home city. “Without your help, by the way.”
“Fair enough.” Crystal could see she was losing him. Was it time to cut bait? Leave him on his own? The way she saw it, there wasn’t much choice. His mind seemed made up. Then again, there was no harm in trying. She’d throw out a Hail Mary anyway and see if it worked. “At least make the drive to Dallas with me. Consider changing your mind about protective custody. What’s the worst that can happen?”
He flashed eyes at her.
She put a hand up to stop him from commenting. “How about we get inside my vehicle and you can consider your options on the highway heading north?” she said. “You change your mind, I’ll personally drop you off anywhere you request. No questions asked.”
Brewer gave her a dressing down with his steel gaze. If he was testing her, she had no intention of backing down.
With the casual effort of a Sunday-morning stroll, he shifted gears, picked up his mug and drained the contents. After reaching into his front pocket and peeling off a twenty, he slapped it onto the table, shouldered his military-issue backpack, then stood. “Let’s go.”
A celebration was premature. Crystal stood up, turned around, and walked out of the diner, keeping an eye out to make sure no one seemed interested in what they were doing. She didn’t like meeting this close to Galveston, Brewer’s childhood home, or Houston, where he currently resided. Victor Crane would no doubt have someone on his or her way down to make certain Brewer couldn’t testify. With a pair of loyal lieutenants, Crane wouldn’t even have to make the call himself if Brewer’s name got out as a witness. He’d been Crane’s driver, so the odds of that happening were high now that Brewer had disappeared.
He followed her to her government-issue white sedan parked closest to the door without taking up an accessible parking spot. She half expected him to keep walking right on past and was pleasantly surprised when he stopped at the passenger door.
It was too early to be excited. She’d given him the out to change his mind anytime during the ride to Dallas in order to convince him to get into the car.
“I should probably hit the men’s room before we continue north,” he said, breaking into her small moment of victory like rain on parade day.
“All right.” On a sharp sigh, Crystal took the driver’s seat, figuring it was a toss-up at this point as to whether or not he would return. She tapped her thumb on the steering wheel after turning on the engine as Brewer headed inside the restaurant. What was he going to do? Sneak out the bathroom window to throw her off the trail for a few minutes? Were negotiations over? His mind made up?
She’d give him five minutes before she gave up and called it in.
BREWER CONTEMPLATED DITCHING the marshal for two seconds in the bathroom. Getting far away from Galveston and Houston was a good idea. Dallas? Was it his best move? He’d only been out of the military for six months now and hadn’t come home to a warm welcome in his former hometown other than his aunt despite his service to his country.
In all honesty, he’d brought the town’s reaction on himself. He’d barely graduated high school due to the number of fistfights he’d been in. He’d worked two jobs to help provide for his elderly aunt, who was technically his great-aunt, which had tanked his grades. He could have been more focused in school, except that he’d hated every minute of sitting in class. Before he’d shot up in height, he’d been bullied. And then, he’d gotten angry. The football coach, in an attempt to court him, had given Brewer permission to use the weight room before school, which he’d done religiously to bulk up and then use his newfound muscles to punish. By junior year, he’d taken issue with anyone who’d looked sideways at him and had the power to back it up. And he’d done just that a few too many times for the principal’s liking and pretty much everyone else in town whose kid he’d beaten up.
The military had given him a purpose and an outlet for all his anger, not to mention a target to focus on. He’d gone from hating the world and blaming everyone for his hard-luck upbringing to being able to set it all aside and compartmentalize his emotions. His childhood had had all the usual trappings that came with a drunk for a father who apparently couldn’t stand the sight of his own child. As for his mother, she’d been a saint to him until she’d up and disappeared. The Houdini act had made Daniel Brewer hate his son even more. The man could rot in hell for all Brewer cared after what he’d ultimately done. As far as his mother went...what kind of person left a five-year-old behind to live with a drunk? Her sainthood had been short-lived as far as he was concerned. It had died along with all his love for her.
Brewer fished his burner cell out of his pocket. He fired off a text to his buddy to say this was him on a new number and to pick up. Then, Brewer put the phone to his left ear and made a call. The burner phone was new since he’d turned his old one over to the US Marshals Service for safekeeping. It was too late to regret the move now.
His buddy picked up on the second ring. “Trent, hey, it’s me.”
“Dude, I tried to call you.” Trent Thomas breathed heavy like he was in the middle of a run. “What happened to your phone?”
“I borrowed this one.” He hoped Trent wouldn’t ask any more questions. They’d been military buddies early on in Brewer’s career, Trent having been the closest thing to a friend in basic training when they’d both had their backsides handed to them.
A disgruntled grunt came through the line. “I had no idea what that bastard was really up to, Brew.”
“Figured you didn’t,” Brewer reassured his buddy. The two had gone to the same middle school, high school, and boot camp. They hadn’t really gotten to know each other until the latter. They forked in different directions after basic.
Then Trent had been a godsend when Brewer had medically boarded out of the Army. He’d been the first to make calls to find work for Brewer, work that had given him a reason to keep going after his life-changing injury. And now the job put his life in jeopardy. There was no way Trent could have known Crane wasn’t the head of a legitimate company as they’d been told. Brewer’s buddy would never do that to him.
“I feel like a real jerk for putting you in that position, dude. Especially after what you’ve been through and all.”
“Don’t sweat it,” Brewer reassured. “Besides, this’ll all be over in two shakes, and I’ll be on the hunt for a new job.”
“What can I do to help?”
He knew Trent would come through. “I need a place to hide out for a few days until I can figure out my next move. Somewhere off the grid, if you know what I mean.”
The line went quiet for a few seconds that felt like minutes as Brewer turned on the spigot to wash his hands.
“I can help with that, Brew. No problem.” He rattled off coordinates that Brewer entered into his cell after telling his friend to hold so he could dry his hands.
“I’ll owe you big-time for this, Trent.”
“Consider it payback for the position I put you in,” Trent said with a voice heavy with remorse. He wasn’t normally an emotional guy, so the intensity registered as odd.
After what he’d been through in the past twenty-four hours that had led him to standing in front of a bathroom mirror in a roadside café made him more than ready to get off the grid, where he could catch his meals and cook his own food. Civilization wasn’t as civilized as he’d wanted it to be.
“I’ll be in touch when I can.” He ended the call on the off chance someone was listening. Freedom was near. All he had to do was ditch the marshal sitting in the parking lot and get on the road.
After entering the coordinates into his map feature, he smiled. This place was so remote, all that showed on the screen was a patch of trees. Near the Texas-Louisiana border close to Tyler, he could easily see himself getting lost and finally finding some peace until time to go to trial.
So why was his first thought that he didn’t want to disappoint the blue-eyed, ponytail-wearing marshal sitting out front?