witness’s file. He was facing the very woman he was to protect, and the file picture had done her no justice. In the picture she’d been pretty; in real life she was so much more than that. The rising sun highlighted her dark hair, giving it a glossy sheen that framed her beautiful face. She was petite, no more than a few inches over five feet. She was slim and yet voluptuous in a way that made him fight to keep his eyes up and on her face. It was an attraction that he hadn’t felt in a very long time, if ever. She mesmerized him with a look.
He was pinned by green eyes. They were eyes that would have held him forever if it weren’t for the gun that she had yet to lower. The moment shifted everything he knew about this case. A simple, uncomplicated assignment had just become difficult. Difficult in ways he’d never imagined.
“Kiera Connell?”
“How do you know me?” Kiera’s voice cracked as it had off and on since her ordeal. She hoped that it wasn’t on the edge of breaking or of her losing it like she had for an hour only yesterday. She couldn’t afford to lose her voice when a strange man was roaming her property. After everything she’d been through this was beyond disconcerting. She wanted to ask who he was, why he was here but she feared that her voice wouldn’t hold out. That he knew her name was interesting but not startling. There was a list of owners in the common area. The question that was more troubling was—had he been casing the place?
“I don’t.”
The easy way he spoke combined with his soulful brown eyes seemed to say that none of this bothered him. That this was just an everyday occurrence. Who was he?
He took a step forward.
“Take another step and you die.”
It was a stupid thing to say and she knew it. She’d already threatened him with death once and despite her threats, she doubted if she could kill him. Pull the trigger, yes, she’d already done that. But that had all been for show. If she was going to threaten to kill, she should be able to make good on that threat. She’d only shot the gun at the shooting range and then here, when she’d dusted the top of a dandelion to prove her point. She didn’t like the feeling of aiming a killing weapon at another human being, at any being.
“Who are you and what are you doing slinking around my place in the dark?”
Except it wasn’t dark anymore. The sun had cleared the night shadows and the neighborhood was coming to life. Soon one of her neighbors would be wondering what was going on. On the upside, she was sure that if someone were to see their little tableau, they would be quick to call the police. This wasn’t the kind of neighborhood where guns and violence were common. In fact, she’d never seen or heard of an incident in the time she’d been here.
“Travis Johnson...” He broke off as if reconsidering saying anything else but instead took a step forward.
“Stop!” Her throat hurt at the effort, but it didn’t break. She clenched the gun so tight that her palm was beginning to sweat.
She frowned. He hadn’t ditched his gun as she’d demanded, only holstered it. She wasn’t sure how she’d let that get past her. She guessed that she would have had to shoot him for him to relinquish the weapon as she’d demanded. Except for the weapon which he was careful to keep his hand away from, he was complying. Not once had he tried to overpower her, to take the gun from her. Considering how fit he looked, she guessed he could have easily been able to overpower her. Instead, he’d let her remain in control, let the situation play out. Except for the gun, none of his mannerisms indicated that he was the trespasser or thief that she’d first thought. His voice was low and calm as if having a gun held to him was a normal way to begin his day. His stance was relaxed, as if she were no threat. That annoyed her.
Despite the discomfort, she held the gun tighter. It was as if by doing that she was safe—protected even more than before. Her eyes met his. His brown eyes were steady and in an odd way honest. Yet something ran under his calm surface. She speculated that he hid a harder, darker side. The thought of that made her hold back a shiver. She needed no more darker sides. She’d faced more darkness than she ever wanted to see in this lifetime. And yet it wasn’t over. There was still the trial. And there was still... She pulled her thoughts back from another terrifying reality. One that was hers alone, for no one else believed her.
“Okay, Travis Johnson. Why are you on my property?”
“I’m a US marshal,” he said quickly, as if afraid that she was going to cut him off again.
She couldn’t hide the look of disbelief on her face. Despite her earlier analysis, there was something about him that made her think of the bad boy in high school and not of someone in law enforcement. Except, this was no boy. He was tall and broad shouldered, with a rough but good-looking face and a tough-as-nails attitude. With the early morning shadows lifted, it was clear that he likely wasn’t a common thief. Besides, she doubted if one would be this confident after being caught red-handed trespassing.
“Identification?”
He held out something that glinted in the early morning sun. “My badge.”
It looked official enough. And she had been told there would be protection.
“You can call—”
“I don’t need you to tell me who I can call,” she said and couldn’t keep the bite from her words. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. She had too many men look at her like that and the last thing she needed was another. Except if she were honest, there was no lust in his eyes, only an intense determination. She didn’t like that either.
Despite that, she lowered the gun. She held it stiff and inches away from her hip. “So, you’re the protection I was promised.”
“Yes,” he said. “Along with two other US marshals. We are your security team from now through the trial.” He shifted as if contemplating moving a step closer.
“Don’t move,” she demanded.
“I have to say I’ve never had a witness react like this before,” he said looking down at the lowered gun.
“I’m betting that you’ve never met someone who escaped a serial killer either,” she said. She couldn’t help herself. Even in this situation she wasn’t about to take guff from anyone. She told it like it was; she always had.
“No.” He shook his head. “You’re right. You’re the first.” He took a step forward, his hand out. She held out her hand and noticed that he had to reach and take a step forward to accept it. She hated her small size in a situation like this for it made her feel at a disadvantage. He took her hand and it seemed to be swallowed in his as he gave it a firm shake and let go.
“Marshal Travis Johnson. Here to protect you and make sure that your testimony is given, and that piece of trash is put away for good.”
There was something in the tone of his voice that held a doubt she couldn’t identify, as if he questioned his assignment.
“You think there might be a problem?” she asked.
“No problem,” he said. “Look, let’s go inside and talk there before you have your neighbors wondering what’s
