angle of his jaw, the sharp cut of his cheekbones—that made her think of the old Westerns she used to watch with her dad, the hero cowboy riding to the rescue on his trusty steed. Only, this hero didn’t have a horse; he had a dog.
“I’m not. I’m making your job easier. Go back to your office and tell anyone who cares that I refused federal help. I want to do this alone.”
“What? Get yourself killed?”
“Call off your dog, okay? I want to get out of the mud.” And the Everglades and the mess her family had created.
To her surprise, he complied.
“Release!” he said, and the dog backed off, sitting on his haunches, still watching her. Only this time, she was sure he was grinning.
* * *
King had had a great night. He’d found his mark twice and brought in an armed man. He was obviously pleased with himself, his tail splashing in a puddle of water, his dark eyes turned up to Ian.
“Good boy,” Ian said, scratching behind King’s ears and offering the praise he’d been waiting for.
“That’s a matter of opinion,” Esme muttered.
Ian flashed his light in her direction. She’d fallen hard but didn’t seem to be much worse for the wear. “He did what I asked him to. That’s always a win.”
“That depends on what side of his teeth you’re sitting on.”
“He wasn’t going to bite you.”
“Right,” she scoffed, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. She hadn’t colored it. That had surprised him. It would have been the first thing he’d have done if he’d been in her position.
“He bites when he has to, but it’s not in his nature to snap. Unless I give him the command.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, a hint of weariness in her voice. She looked as exhausted as she sounded—her skin paper white in the twilight, dark circles beneath her eyes. He’d seen photos of her taken just a few months before she’d watched her brother execute a man. Her cheeks hadn’t been as hollow, her shoulders as narrow.
He didn’t want to feel sorry for her. She was, after all, part of the family that had taken his. Years ago, Reginald Dupree had called the hit on Ian’s father. He’d been just starting out, sticking his toes in the water of his new family business. Ian’s father had been a Chicago police officer, determined to undermine Dupree’s efforts. He’d arrested two of Reginald’s lower-level operatives. In retaliation, Reginald had paid a couple of street thugs to shoot him when he left the house for work. They’d opened fire as he’d stepped outside. The first bullet had killed him instantly. The second had killed Ian’s mother, who’d been standing in the doorway saying goodbye.
Yeah. He didn’t want to feel sorry for anyone in the family, but his father had raised him to be compassionate, to look out for those who couldn’t look out for themselves. More than that, he’d raised him to do what was right. Even when it was difficult. The right thing to do was to protect Esme. Despite her last name and her family, she’d committed no crime.
“How about you keep something else in mind, too?” He offered a hand, and she allowed him to pull her to her feet.
“What?”
“Next time I tell you to stay somewhere, you should do it. It’s a waste of King’s energy to chase after you when he’s supposed to be keeping you safe.”
“You told him to guard me,” she pointed out.
“Because the closer you are, the easier it is for me to make sure your brother doesn’t get what he wants.”
“Me dead, you mean?”
“I wasn’t going to put it so bluntly, but yes.”
“My uncle is the one who wants me dead, Ian. It’s his hands that were around my throat the other night.” Her tone was hard, her voice raspy, and the compassion he didn’t want to feel welled up again.
“Does it make you feel better to keep telling yourself that?” he asked gently.
“It will make me feel better to be done with this. It will make me feel better to do what I promised and to get on with my life. So how about you leave me alone and let me go back to the business of staying safe until the trial?”
“Do you think this will all end if we have your uncle in custody?” he asked, calling King to heel and leading Esme back the way they’d come.
“I hope it will,” she murmured, limping as she tried to keep pace with him. She must have hurt her leg or foot. He shouldn’t have cared. She was a means to an end. Despite the clean criminal record, the supposedly upright business, she was who she was—a Dupree.
But he did care, because she was a person who’d found herself in an untenable position and had chosen to do the right thing. She’d witnessed a horrible crime, and despite the fact that her brother had committed it, she’d gone to the police and offered to testify.
“What’d you do to your leg?” he asked, and she shrugged.
“Twisted my ankle. It’s fine.”
“Then why are you limping?”
“Because I’m tired, okay? Because I want to get out of this stupid swamp and into clean clothes. I want to take a shower and wash three days’ worth of bug repellent off my skin. Mostly, I just want to close my eyes, open them and find out that this has all been some horrible nightmare.”
“I’m sorry,” he said and meant it.
“For what? Being the one they chose for this assignment?”
“For the fact that all of this isn’t just a bad dream. Your family has deep pockets, Esme. They can afford to pay people to do their dirty work. Which means you won’t be safe until we shut down the crime ring your brother and uncle control.”
“You’re a wellspring of joyful tidings, Ian.”
“I’m honest.”
“And, like I said, I’m tired. So how about we discuss this another time?”
“You want to survive, right?” He stopped short and looked straight into her pale face.
“Would I have spent three days in the Everglades if I didn’t?”
“Some people love it here.”
“I’m not one of them,” she huffed.
“And yet, this is where you ran when you left witness protection.”
“My parents and I spent every summer here when I was a kid. They’re—”
“Buried twenty miles from here. I know. I’m sure your uncle knew. Your brother. Your sister.”
“I feel like you’re trying to make a point, so how about you just get
