The Marshal's Runaway Witness. Diane Burke

      His mind’s eye immediately captured the memory of long thick black hair framing a heart-shaped face. Twinkling sky-blue eyes. Natural blush-tinged cheeks. Lips, touched lightly with red, smiling back so mysteriously, she could give the Mona Lisa a run for its money.

       His Angelina.

       His nightmare was more like it.

      He’d had one job to do. Keep his witness alive and hidden in protective custody until the upcoming trial of Vincenzo Baroni, New Jersey capo. Head of one of the strongest arms of organized crime to hit this area since the olden days of Capone and Luciano.

      Ruthless.

      Elusive.

      Untouchable.

      He had had Vincenzo dead to rights. His own daughter Angelina was going to testify against him. But Dylan had broken a cardinal rule—never get involved with a witness.

      He’d trusted Angelina, after all he’d known her since grammar school, but he should have known better. He’d been burned once before by trusting a witness. The bad information had led to a shoot-out that killed his partner and had almost cost him his life, as well. He couldn’t believe he’d allowed his tendency to trust to burn them again.

      Angelina had proven without doubt that she was her father’s daughter. She’d played him. Made a fool out of him. Disappeared without a trace. Almost ruined his career. Definitely ruined his case.

      Thankfully, there had still been enough circumstantial evidence for the grand jury to indict. Now, after three long years and multiple attempts of the defense attorneys to delay, the case was finally going to trial.

      With his star witness missing and the trial starting in six days, he’d been unable to sleep, eat or do anything else these past few weeks but pray.

      God had cut it close answering those prayers. But He’d answered. Angelina was on the other side of that door.

      His heart thundered against his chest. He shot a glance at Bear. “What happened? How is she?”

      Dylan wanted to push past his partner into the room and find out for himself but he steeled himself to remain professional and in control. Something he should have done three years ago and hadn’t. He’d put his heart on the line and he’d been burned.

      “She took a couple of bullets. One in the right arm. One grazed her head.”

      His stomach clenched as if he’d been sucker punched. No matter what had happened between them he couldn’t bear the thought of anyone hurting her.

      “She probably has a concussion. We’re waiting for the doctor to brief us.” Bear stepped away from the door. “She’s one blessed lady. The woman with her was brought in dead on arrival.”

      Again, Dylan winced, offered a prayer of gratitude that Angelina hadn’t died and offered a brief prayer for the woman who had.

      “Did they nab the shooter?” Dylan placed his hand on the door but paused for the answer.

      Bear shook his head. “So far no witnesses. We have our suspicions but you know how that goes.”

      Dylan nodded and pushed open the door.

      The room, illuminated only by the night-light over the bed, revealed a small female form lying beneath the blankets.

      Dylan stepped closer.

      Short errant strands of hair peeked from beneath the gauze bandage across her head.

      Red hair?

      Who would have thought?

      A smile touched his lips. Cute, though.

      Almost as if it had a mind of its own, his hand brushed a wisp from her forehead.

      He’d forgiven her years ago as God asks everyone to do. Forgiveness was the easy part.

      It was forgetting he was having trouble with.

      She stirred beneath his touch.

      His hand froze. The warmth of her smooth, velvety skin seared his skin. His pulse skipped a beat. His eyes strayed to her slightly parted lips. She’d been his best friend in grammar school and their relationship had become full of teenage angst in middle school. Gazing at her now stirred those memories.

      He took a deep breath, stared at the sleeping woman for another minute, and then lowered his hand to his side.

      Once upon a time he’d believed he was falling in love with her. Until...

      A slow, steady burn rose from his gut and he allowed the anger to flow like molten lava through his veins.

      Anger would help him remain professional and keep his personal feelings at bay. Anger would keep him sharp and focused. Anger would prevent him from falling for her lies or betrayals ever again.

       TWO

      Pain.

      Deep, throbbing pain.

      Angelina raised a hand to her forehead. A thick gauze bandage made her pause.

       What?

      She opened her eyes. A lightning bolt of hurt shot through her head and she squeezed them closed again.

       Okay. Stay still and think. Where are you? What happened?

      It didn’t take long for her mental fog to lift. Everything came rushing back and she wished it hadn’t. The shooting. Her best friend, Maria, dead.

      She shot up in bed and instantly regretted it. The room spun like an amusement park ride out of control. Her stomach turned over. She held her head with both hands and groaned aloud.

      “Good. You’re awake.”

      Angelina froze like a person who had stumbled upon a deadly rattler. She’d recognize that voice anywhere.

       Dylan McKnight.

      How had he found her? The last time she had seen US deputy marshal Dylan McKnight he was conspiring to have her killed.

      She hadn’t wanted to believe it. Wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t witnessed it with her own eyes.

      Angelina had been sitting in a holding room waiting to testify before the grand jury. She knew her testimony would go a long way in helping them determine whether there was enough evidence to indict her father for murder.

      Nerves had skittered up her spine. Her legs had bounced up and down and her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Unable to sit still another second, she sprang up from her chair and paced the room. On one of her passes she glanced out the door into the hall and saw Dylan slip the bailiff a piece of paper. Minutes later the bailiff, who had a sinister look in his eyes and a sneer on his lips, passed that note to her.

      Do you really think you will live to testify? I own cops. I own judges. I own the marshals that pretend to protect you. You will never be able to hide from me.

      The note had broken her heart. If she hadn’t seen the exchange she would not have believed it. During the few short months they were together in the witness protection program before she fled, she’d started to have feelings for Dylan and had believed they were returned.

      How could she have been so wrong?

      She’d tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe Dylan had given the bailiff a different note. Or maybe Dylan hadn’t read the note and was just a go-between passing it from an outside source to the bailiff.

      Maybe.

      But could she trust her own judgment anymore? She’d trusted her father, believed him when he claimed to be a successful businessman who was the brunt of vicious rumors by envious competitors. She’d believed Dylan when he told her he cared about her and