dealing with. That included not only the witness but her environment as it was now—undisturbed. Less than a minute later, he pulled up to the three-story off-white condo building in the middle of the block. The ground-floor unit was the one that the witness, Kiera Connell, resided in. She’d purchased it a year ago. He knew that because he’d already run a check on the property. It was built five years ago, and she was the second owner. They were trivial facts but even in a low-threat case like this, it was his habit to research such things. Even though there was a driveway, he parked the SUV in the parking lot a group of similar buildings shared. It was too early in the morning to knock on her door and introduce himself. The entire building, including her condo, was still in darkness. He could see the darker shadows of flowers in the flower bed. Everything seemed to be in place—neat and organized.
He wondered what the inside of her place was like and he wondered what the occupant was like. He didn’t know what she’d been like before the incident. But he could only guess that now she would be in need of support and counseling for many months, or even years, to come. She’d survived a vicious attack by a serial killer who had left a trail of women dead. The women had all been raped and then murdered, all except the first two. They’d been murdered without any evidence of sexual assault. That wasn’t odd but rather an indicator that the perpetrator had evolved. An attack like that could leave the victim broken and unable to return to their former life. He hoped that wasn’t the case. But the law of averages wasn’t in her favor. It was too bad. According to the file, she’d been a determined young woman. She had carved a career for herself despite adversity. But a file never told the whole story, nor did the authorities who led the investigation. To keep her safe, he needed to know who she was as a person. That was for later; for now he’d scout out the area. The advantage of this early hour was that he could do so without any distractions. He was lead on the team of marshals who would protect Kiera Connell. The danger to the witness was minimal. Despite the low risk of danger, he was working the case like he did any other.
On this assignment, he’d had shorter notice than most. It was up to him and his team to keep her safe and make sure she kept it together until the trial was over. The feds had pinned their case not only on the evidence they’d collected but on the testimony of the only witness.
He’d learned as much as he could about the woman who was his latest assignment. It fascinated him that she was the only victim who had escaped. That a twenty-five-year-old nurse, with little life experience, had been the one to do it—that, to him, was mind-blowing. Although, he couldn’t imagine how messed up she must be from the experience at the madman’s hands. He felt for her. But he still would rather bow out of this assignment. For, he saw little challenge. The perp was behind bars and he and his team were effectively babysitters to a witness who was too important for authorities to take any chances on. She was the key to ending a killing spree that had lasted far too long. For they suspected it had gone on long before they’d become aware of it. All that aside, bowing out was, unfortunately, not an option.
He looked at his watch. It was twenty to six. He’d been up since four after only five hours of sleep. It wasn’t a big sleep loss, only an hour less than he usually got. He shrugged the thought away. It wasn’t a factor. The amount of time that had passed since he’d arrived was. He’d learned a long time ago that time could slip away if not tracked and organized. Time was critical for it could mean life or death. That was why he always kept a tight schedule and a close eye on the time.
A window at the front of her property was open a crack. It was the swing-out kind that, if one was into such things, could open from the outside. He frowned at that. No matter that the killer was behind bars—open windows low to the ground were begging for a crime to happen. He stood at the corner of the condo. The sun was rising. Streaks of sunlight were making it easy to see without the aid of a flashlight. He took a step forward meaning to scout the entire perimeter of the unit.
“Freeze! Take one more step and I’ll shoot.”
The woman’s voice came out of nowhere. He’d been broadsided. Damn it, he thought. He’d been caught with his pants figuratively down. He turned and saw out of the corner of his eye the barrel of a handgun. He didn’t dare turn right around, even though he wanted to. But he didn’t plan to die today, or any day in the immediate future.
“Drop your weapon!”
There was no way in hell that was happening. His mind ticked through the options. He could take her down, but he had to get closer. He hoped her attention was on his weapon as he dropped it to his side, still holding it in his left hand. At the same time, he took a step backward, toward her.
“Do it!” she snapped. “And don’t take another step.”
“I’m a US—”
“I don’t care who you are,” she interrupted. “Put your hands where I can see them and drop your gun.”
He slid his gun into his holster and lifted both hands in the air. He had his badge in one hand, having pulled it out from the side of his holster as he’d holstered the gun. “I’m going to toss my badge—”
“No!” she interrupted. “You’ll throw nothing.”
Damn it, he thought again. He was furious with himself. She’d snuck up on him. But she hadn’t come out of nowhere. He should have sensed that he wasn’t alone. He should have known. Hell, he thought. He should have expected it, been prepared for it. It was the basic tenet of any scout pack—Be Prepared—never mind a US marshal. He’d missed the signs that she was near. And because of that, he was at the wrong end of a gun. Was he getting old? His friends had teased him about that only a week earlier over a couple of beers. They’d been celebrating his thirtieth birthday. He discounted that thought. He worked hard to be at the top of his game. Still, that didn’t change the fact that he’d screwed up—big time.
“Who are you?” he asked. If nothing else, he deserved to know who was threatening him. More important, he needed to put himself back where he belonged, in charge of this situation.
She fired a shot that kicked up dirt two feet to his right.
“What the hell!” he roared and almost spun around, stopping himself with sheer willpower.
“Another word and you’re a dead man,” she retorted.
A thought came to him that was as outrageous as it was possible. After all, it was her condo that he was standing outside. The more he thought it, the more the idea gained plausibility. Was it possible that this was the witness he’d come to protect?
“I’m here to—”
“Do you not understand English? Shut up,” she said.
The words were angry and spoken with no hesitation, no hysteria and no tears. That wasn’t what he expected if she was the witness. But if it wasn’t her, who was she?
“Turn around,” she ordered. “And do it slowly.”
There was something about her voice. A silken edge that in another time and another place might have been erotic. He couldn’t help the thought. It was a voice that could do things to a man in the darkness of the night.
He found it interesting that her voice vibrated a bit as if she was nervous or traumatized. Had she never held a gun before? It was a possibility. And a possibility where he’d been lucky that she hadn’t hit him.
He pivoted on a heel. He wanted to give her the impression of how little he cared about her demands, or the fact that she had the advantage. She needed to know that he didn’t fear her.
