“Good night, Judy.” Tara cleaned off her desk, then left the building. She walked the half block to the company parking lot.
“Miss Ford…Tara…wait a moment.” Brad stepped out from behind his car and approached her.
Total panic gripped her the second she saw Brad and heard him call to her. She stopped in her tracks, a nearly uncontrollable urge to run tempered with a curiosity about what he wanted. She took a step back, trying to put some distance between them without showing the fear that pumped through her body. Was this the culmination of her feelings that someone had been watching her? Was this man really a deranged stalker who meant to do her harm? She tried to swallow the lump in her throat without much success.
“How did you know my name?” Tara barely got the words out as her throat tightened and her mouth went dry.
Brad extended a friendly smile. “We met at the deli, remember? I introduced myself and you told me your name.”
“I never told you my last name.” She took another step back while desperately scanning the area for anyone who could help her. She fumbled with her keys, but was all thumbs as she tried to set off her car alarm and use the automatic car starter, ending up by dropping the remote on the ground. To her dismay, they seemed to be the only two people in the parking lot. She had never felt so alone, as if the entire world had deserted her. She mustered as much courage as she could find and stuck her hand inside her purse.
“Don’t come any closer. I…I have a gun and I’m not afraid to use it.” Her fingers touched everything she could find, but the only item that even remotely resembled a weapon was a nail file. Her heart pounded so hard she was sure he could hear it. Her stomach churned to the point where she feared she would become physically ill.
Brad held up his hands, showing her they were empty. “I’m not here to hurt you, Miss Ford.” He took another step toward her.
Total blind panic gripped her insides and twisted them into knots. She wrapped the shoulder strap of her purse around her hand and swung it at him. Her improvised weapon made solid contact with the side of his head. He staggered backward a couple of steps. She turned to run, but not in time. His strong grip caught her arm, then his hand clamped over her mouth before she could scream.
Chapter Two
“Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.” He shouldn’t have waited so long to make contact with her. He had wanted to wait until he had more information, could present a more reliable scenario to her, but he couldn’t put it off any longer. “Listen to me. I’m a deputy U.S. marshal. I believe you’re in danger and I’m here to help you. We need to talk.”
She felt her eyes widen in shock as she stared at him in stunned disbelief. Her adrenaline surge began to subside and she stopped struggling. He finally removed his hand.
“You’re what?” She had trouble making sense of what he’d said, but then so many things didn’t make sense of late.
He released her arm, then slowly reached into his pocket and withdrew his identification. “I’m a deputy U.S. marshal. I believe your life is in danger. Can we go someplace where we can talk in private, rather than stand out in the open in the middle of this parking lot?”
“I…uh…” She wasn’t sure what to think or say. A deputy U.S. marshal—it was the last thing she expected to hear. But could she believe him? Anyone could flash a badge and claim to be a deputy marshal. She took a step back, enough to remove herself from his immediate reach. “I think I should call my attorney.”
He took a step toward her but the panic that immediately blanketed her features stopped him. “That’s your privilege, but there really isn’t any need to do that. You aren’t being accused of any wrongdoing. I’d prefer that you didn’t call your lawyer, at least not until you’ve heard me out. You don’t need to say anything, all you need to do is listen.”
“Well…” She shoved down her anxiety, making a bold attempt to regain control of her galloping pulse rate and pounding heartbeat.
He indicated his car and opened the passenger door for her. “Shall we go?”
“Uh…no…I’d rather drive my own car, maybe meet you in a public place…a restaurant perhaps.”
“Okay. Any particular one?”
She gave him the name of a restaurant she frequented. They each took their respective cars and left the parking lot.
THE ANGRY WORDS traveled over the phone line. “I thought you told me you’d have everything handled by now. Why the delay? I don’t like surprises. Is there some problem you haven’t told me about?”
“No…no problems. I’ve already contacted Pat and said I wanted the job finished tonight. Winthrope has already been taken care of and I was assured that things would be wrapped up very quickly.”
“You waited too long. I think there may be a deputy marshal involved now.”
“You mean she’s been put under the protection of the Marshals Service?” The quaver in his voice conveyed his apprehension at the unexpected news.
“No, I don’t think so. I think it’s just one man who has made contact with her. He seems to be working on his own.”
“Then it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“You’d better be right.”
BRAD ARRIVED at the restaurant first, made arrangements for a table, then waited just inside the door. A few minutes passed and still no Tara Ford. She had been right behind him when they had left the parking lot. A moment of alarm pushed at him. Had she changed her mind? Was she out there alone and vulnerable, not knowing that someone wanted her dead? Again he mentally kicked himself for not contacting her sooner, even though he still didn’t have anything more to go on than strong suspicions and too much coincidence without any solid proof.
He wondered if she had decided to skip out on him. A hint of panic pushed at him as he reached for the door, but it opened before he touched it and she entered the restaurant. He quickly pulled her aside. “I have a table for us in a nice quiet corner.”
Her anxiety level increased as soon as they were seated. She had started to turn around and go home rather than drive to the restaurant. But then her common sense told her that he knew where she lived, so she might as well meet him. “You claim to be a deputy U.S. marshal. I don’t recall seeing you before or during the Vincent trial when I seemed to be surrounded by deputy marshals.”
“I have Special Operations Group training and I’m occasionally assigned to them for specific jobs. I was on a fugitive-apprehension mission out of state at the time deputies were assigned to protect the witnesses, so I never became involved with the John Vincent case.”
She frowned in confusion as she studied him for a moment. “Then why are you involved with it now, rather than one of the deputies who protected us during the trial?”
“Well…that’s kind of a convoluted story. I was wounded during my last mission with the Special Operations Group and was placed on recuperative leave then came back to work on light restricted duty until the doctor releases me for active duty again. Part of that light duty has been updating case files. One of those files is the John Vincent case.”
