The Marshal's Hostage. Delores Fossen

the past, but she owed him something. “I just wanted you to have a fresh start.”

      That didn’t ease the anger in his eyes. “And that couldn’t have happened if you’d stayed?”

      “No.” And Joelle had no doubts about that. “You always talked about making something of yourself. About how important that was—”

      “I could have made something of myself without you breaking things off.”

      “Not true,” she argued. “You would have given me the time and energy you needed to devote to getting your life together. You’d been at Rocky Creek for nearly five years, you were about to turn eighteen and you’d just gotten a scholarship to college. I had another year of high school that I’d spend with a foster family over a hundred miles from where you’d be. I didn’t want to hold you back.”

      “Admirable,” he said, his tone stinging with bitterness.

      “Not really. It was a fresh start for me, too.” She met his gaze when she said that. “And I did come back, to try to mend fences with you.”

      A horrible idea. She’d visited him the summer of her freshman year of college. Why, she didn’t know. Wait. She did know. She had missed him and wanted to say how sorry she was for the way things had turned out. Joelle had planned on using the young and stupid defense.

      “It was too late to mend anything. I’d moved on by then,” he grumbled.

      “Yes, her name was Sandy if I remember correctly.” And she hated that pang of jealousy even now. Hated that she was reliving things best left in the past. “You started this conversation, but is this really something you want to discuss?” Joelle challenged.

      His jaw muscles stirred. His mouth tightened, and Dallas finally shook his head.

      Good.

      Because Joelle wanted it dropped now. It was hard to defend the decisions she’d made when she was seventeen.

      “Even if Owen somehow managed to fake the evidence on that knife,” she said, getting them back to what they should be discussing, “he would use it against you. Against me, too.”

      “You?” he snapped.

      “Because I concealed the lab report. I didn’t intend to conceal it permanently,” she added quickly. “Just long enough so I could figure out who really did kill Webb.”

      “And who did?” Dallas pressed.

      She had to shake her head. “I honestly don’t know. But I worked out a deal with Owen,” Joelle explained. “If I marry him, I can’t be forced to testify against him regarding anything I learned during my investigation. And he won’t testify against me for delaying the release of any evidence I found.”

      Dallas looked down at her. He didn’t have to voice his displeasure. She could feel it in every solid inch of him. He started cursing again, and he jabbed the keys into the ignition of the four-wheeler and started it.

      “You were a fool to trust Owen,” she heard him say even over the roar of the engine.

      They barreled out of the shed and onto the trail that she figured would take them back to town. Dallas was obviously still determined to get her to the hospital.

      And then arrest Owen.

      Then Owen would have Dallas arrested.

      That would mean she would be exactly where she’d fought so hard not to be—with Dallas in jail and Owen pretty much calling the shots about the release of the knife and evidence.

      “The knife looked familiar,” she said, but she wasn’t sure he heard her. Later, she’d have to make him hear.

      She’d also have to put a stop to his plans to arrest Owen.

      Somehow.

      And maybe she could do that merely by describing the knife, by telling Dallas her suspicions about whose it was. Except it was much more than a suspicion.

      Joelle was fairly certain, and if she was right, then all the evidence would only lead to multiple arrests.

      “You have to stop this,” she begged Dallas.

      He went board stiff, and for a moment Joelle thought she’d gotten through his thick skull. He threaded the four-wheeler into a cluster of trees on the banks of a stream, then stopped and killed the engine. When she opened her mouth to ask why he’d done that, he touched his fingers to his lips in a stay-quiet gesture. He also shoved her behind him on the seat and drew his gun.

      Alarmed at both the gestures and the concerned look in his eyes, Joelle followed his gaze back to the cabin.

      And that’s when she saw the two men.

      They were dressed in dark clothes, and both were carrying rifles. It definitely wasn’t Owen or the armed assistants he’d had with him back at the church, but Joelle had no doubts that they worked for Owen. They’d come looking for Dallas and for her.

      One of the men looked directly at them, and she sucked in her breath, waiting for them to demand that Dallas drop his gun so they could take her back to Owen. Instead, the man said something to his comrade.

      And then they both trained those rifles on Dallas and her.

      Chapter Five

      Hell. This was not how Dallas wanted this to go down.

      Joelle was still half-dazed, and they were miles from town with no phone service for him to call for backup and help. Now he had to deal with two armed bozos who no doubt worked for the very man Dallas wanted to arrest.

      After what Joelle had just told him about Owen blackmailing her, it wasn’t a surprise that her fiancé had wanted to stop her from talking.

      Or stop her from backing out of the marriage.

      But Dallas was a little surprised that Owen would order his men to aim rifles at a federal marshal, especially when that marshal knew exactly what a dirt wad Owen really was.

      In hindsight, he should have already gotten Joelle out of the woods and back to town, but Dallas had been so anxious to hear her explanation as to why she was marrying a weasel that he’d now let that weasel get the drop on them.

      Later, he’d kick himself for that Texas-size mistake. But for now, he had a situation to contain.

      “Put down your gun,” one of the bozos warned. He was lean and mean-looking like his partner, but they weren’t the men who’d been back at the church. “And drop those keys for the four-wheeler.”

      If he’d been alone, Dallas wouldn’t have considered giving up without a fight, but he didn’t want Joelle in the middle of a shootout.

      “You do know who I am, right?” Dallas pointed toward his badge just in case their boss hadn’t filled them in on who they were dealing with.

      “You’re a rogue marshal,” the man answered. He took a step closer. “And you’re to hand Ms. Tate over to us.”

      Dallas couldn’t argue with the rogue part, but he sure as heck could with the rest. “Not a chance. She’s in my protective custody.”

      Well, almost.

      After everything she’d told him, Joelle certainly needed some kind of protection from Owen. Of course, Dallas had his own issues to work out with Owen and that blasted knife.

      “I’ll go with them,” Joelle mumbled. “I don’t want any trouble.”

      “Too late, trouble’s here,” Dallas told her. “And you’re not going anywhere with them.”

      “Remember, Owen can have you arrested,” she tried.

      “Not if I arrest him first.” That was the plan, anyway, but Dallas had to accept that he, too, could be taken into custody until all of this got sorted out. Still,