your baby.”
“I have to get to that competition,” she said, refusing to let his words sink in. “And anyway, how would Vicente or his supposed hired thugs ever even find me?”
“I did. You’re a looker, driving a look-at-me car. Believe me, you’re not too hard to find.”
“Then why’d you have to steal my stuff to get me back?”
“I didn’t,” he said. “All I had to do was temporarily store your belongings in my car, then wait. I knew it was just a matter of time till you returned.”
“So all night and day you’ve been right behind me?”
“Pretty much.”
“Who else?”
He looked away.
“Tell me.”
“So far, one suspicious guy in a forest-green Hummer.”
“And?” she asked, looking toward the busy highway. “Where is he now?”
“He, ah, turned off around Fort Dick.”
“Uh-huh. Which only proves my point that Vicente’s no fool. He wants nothing more to do with me. What happened back in Portland was no doubt some last chance, desperation effort designed to scare me, which it did. I’ve left town—for all my ex knows, for good.”
Marshal Beau sighed. “Ever heard that saying about the calm before the storm? Right now, you happen to be in the sun—and I’m not complaining, but your ex isn’t known for being a warm, fuzzy kind of guy. If you come with me now, you’ll have a team of folks to keep you safe. If not…” He shrugged.
She bravely raised her chin. “I guess, seeing how I’m safe for the moment, I’ll pick, not.”
Chuckling, he said, “Actually it’s not up for negotiation. I was trying to be nice, but—”
Nice? Gracie didn’t have time for nice, so she grabbed for the bag bearing what she prayed were doughnuts, then gunned her engine. She might not get much of a lead, and hot Marshal Beau might still have her stuff, but the way she saw it, desperate times called for desperate measures. She had to get to San Francisco. Winning that contest was her and her baby’s only shot at a decent future.
BEAU PRESSED OFF his cell phone, sick after having to admit to the boss that he’d lost Gracie—again. Only this time, it really wasn’t his fault, but that of fierce tourist traffic. He’d kept up with her no problem for thirty miles, then at Steed Point, he’d been cut off by a gang of parading preschoolers on tricycles celebrating Clean Air Day.
From there on, it was slow going. Checking every dirt crossroad for rising dust, signaling she might’ve gone off the main path. In every town he approached, he checked every gas station, restaurant and motel for her car—as did the other marshals assigned to the case.
It was ten that night when he got the call from Adam that they’d found her in an inland motel. “Want me to cuff her and bring her in?”
Resting his forehead on the steering wheel, Beau sighed.
At this point, he wasn’t sure what to do.
God only knew why, but he had a soft spot for the woman. She’d proven herself to be a major pain in his derriere, but seeing how she was pregnant and all, he at least wanted her treated with kid gloves. She had a goal, which was way more than he could say for himself.
Sure, he had his career, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. For as long as he could remember, he’d wanted a real family. Like the one he’d grown up in only better, because his future wife, the mother of his children, wasn’t going to die like his own mom had.
In marrying Ingrid, he’d thought himself well on his way to making his every dream come true. Funny how that so-called dream had turned nightmare.
“Yeah,” he said to his brother, “I guess if it comes down to it, go ahead and cuff Gracie, but be gentle. I don’t want her or the baby getting hurt.”
“Duh,” Adam said. “When’s the last time I banged up a—” His brother’s sudden silence hit Beau hard. It was tough enough on Beau remembering what’d happened to the last woman Adam had been assigned. Beau couldn’t imagine how his brother must feel. Yeah, he had woman problems, but at least Ingrid was still alive.
“What happened to Angela wasn’t your fault,” he told Adam for the hundredth time. “Could’ve happened to any one of us. Now, with Gracie, just use common sense. She’s an itty-bitty thing. Crafty, but she doesn’t bite.”
“BRO,” Adam said an hour later just as Beau approached the miniscule town of Boynton where Gracie had finally been found. “You’re not gonna believe this, but she got away again.”
“How?” Beau asked.
“I was just about to slap cuffs on her, when she bit me!”
AT FOUR in the morning, while everyone else on the team had long since pulled over for naps, Beau was still out looking. For sure, Vicente’s new crew wasn’t sleeping. If they got to Gracie before him, well…
Beau refused to think about it.
It was four thirty-seven by the digital clock on his dash when he pulled into the rear of a relic of a motel with individual cabins for rooms. On the outskirts of the Mendocino National Forest, the place was surrounded by more of the dark, eerie, dense forest that was starting to be a major pain in his ass when he spotted Gracie’s car behind the last unit.
He killed his lights and engine a few cabins back. Took his time getting out of his car, rolling his shoulders, trying to work out Gracie-induced kinks.
Every cabin save for one was dark, so he headed toward Cabin Eight with its bluish TV glow.
When she’d been little, and sick or upset from a bad day at school, his sister Gillian had liked to fall asleep in front of the living room TV.
Maybe Gracie was the same?
He peered through the inch or so between the curtain and wall. A lone man sat up in bed, sipping a Coors.
Great. Now what?
Beau yawned. Rubbed his eyes. Headed for the motel office.
Of course, at this time of the morning it was closed, but he wailed on the bell regardless.
“I’m comin’, I’m comin’.” A wisp of an elderly woman who didn’t at all match her booming, gravelly voice flicked on lights in a shabby reception area. “You want me to open the door,” she shouted through thin glass, “show me you got money for a room.”
“How much?” Beau asked.
“Forty.”
He flashed two twenties.
She unlocked the door.
“I’ll need your license,” she said from behind a counter she could barely see over.
“Here’s
