years before to God, whom she believed never answered her prayers. But she couldn’t take the prayer back. Not this time.
Two more bullets hit the water, each one closer than the last.
Springing into action, Angelina zigzagged across the beach, doing everything she could not to be an easy target. If she could reach the boardwalk she’d be safe. Lights, people, help loomed only a few dozen yards ahead.
Almost there.
She pushed harder, her feet fighting her as they sank into the soft sand. Her calves cramped beneath the punishing pace. Her breath bubbled in short gasps, each one feeling like her last.
Only a few more yards.
She never heard the bullet that claimed her. Never felt the pain as the velocity of the shot threw her to the ground.
I’ve been hit.
That was her last conscious thought as a second bullet sent her into blessed oblivion.
* * *
US marshal Dylan McKnight stormed down the hospital corridor and came to an abrupt halt outside one of the rooms. US marshal Thomas “Bear” Simmons stood with his back against the closed door.
Dylan never knew whether the man had gotten his nickname from his enormous linebacker girth or the fact that his huge hands could be mistaken for lethal weapons. Either way he never thought of his partner as anything less than the bear of a man he was.
“Is it true?” At six foot one Dylan still had to look up at the gentle giant.
Bear held his hands up and grinned. “Hey man, I know better than to play with you about this. Yeah, it’s true. Angelina Baroni is inside.”
Dylan exhaled slowly. He’d thought about what he’d do if he ever saw her again. Prayed about it. Now the time was here and he didn’t feel he could move a muscle.
His mind’s eye immediately captured the memory of long thick black hair framing a heart-shaped face. Twinkling sky-blue eyes. Natural blush-tinged cheeks. Lips, touched lightly with red, smiling back so mysteriously, she could give the Mona Lisa a run for its money.
His Angelina.
His nightmare was more like it.
He’d had one job to do. Keep his witness alive and hidden in protective custody until the upcoming trial of Vincenzo Baroni, New Jersey capo. Head of one of the strongest arms of organized crime to hit this area since the olden days of Capone and Luciano.
Ruthless.
Elusive.
Untouchable.
He had had Vincenzo dead to rights. His own daughter Angelina was going to testify against him. But Dylan had broken a cardinal rule—never get involved with a witness.
He’d trusted Angelina, after all he’d known her since grammar school, but he should have known better. He’d been burned once before by trusting a witness. The bad information had led to a shoot-out that killed his partner and had almost cost him his life, as well. He couldn’t believe he’d allowed his tendency to trust to burn them again.
Angelina had proven without doubt that she was her father’s daughter. She’d played him. Made a fool out of him. Disappeared without a trace. Almost ruined his career. Definitely ruined his case.
Thankfully, there had still been enough circumstantial evidence for the grand jury to indict. Now, after three long years and multiple attempts of the defense attorneys to delay, the case was finally going to trial.
With his star witness missing and the trial starting in six days, he’d been unable to sleep, eat or do anything else these past few weeks but pray.
God had cut it close answering those prayers. But He’d answered. Angelina was on the other side of that door.
His heart thundered against his chest. He shot a glance at Bear. “What happened? How is she?”
Dylan wanted to push past his partner into the room and find out for himself but he steeled himself to remain professional and in control. Something he should have done three years ago and hadn’t. He’d put his heart on the line and he’d been burned.
“She took a couple of bullets. One in the right arm. One grazed her head.”
His stomach clenched as if he’d been sucker punched. No matter what had happened between them he couldn’t bear the thought of anyone hurting her.
“She probably has a concussion. We’re waiting for the doctor to brief us.” Bear stepped away from the door. “She’s one blessed lady. The woman with her was brought in dead on arrival.”
Again, Dylan winced, offered a prayer of gratitude that Angelina hadn’t died and offered a brief prayer for the woman who had.
“Did they nab the shooter?” Dylan placed his hand on the door but paused for the answer.
Bear shook his head. “So far no witnesses. We have our suspicions but you know how that goes.”
Dylan nodded and pushed open the door.
The room, illuminated only by the night-light over the bed, revealed a small female form lying beneath the blankets.
Dylan stepped closer.
Short errant strands of hair peeked from beneath the gauze bandage across her head.
Red hair?
Who would have thought?
A smile touched his lips. Cute, though.
Almost as if it had a mind of its own, his hand brushed a wisp from her forehead.
He’d forgiven her years ago as God asks everyone to do. Forgiveness was the easy part.
It was forgetting he was having trouble with.
She stirred beneath his touch.
His hand froze. The warmth of her smooth, velvety skin seared his skin. His pulse skipped a beat. His eyes strayed to her slightly parted lips. She’d been his best friend in grammar school and their relationship had become full of teenage angst in middle school. Gazing at her now stirred those memories.
He took a deep breath, stared at the sleeping woman for another minute, and then lowered his hand to his side.
Once upon a time he’d believed he was falling in love with her. Until...
A slow, steady burn rose from his gut and he allowed the anger to flow like molten lava through his veins.
Anger would help him remain professional and keep his personal feelings at bay. Anger would keep him sharp and focused. Anger would prevent him from falling for her lies or betrayals ever again.
