Marked By The Marshal. Julie Anne Lindsey

crossed fingers in a show of sarcasm.

      “Let’s find out.”

      Kara raised her chin in agreement. “Okay.” She opened her hand to him. “Let’s see it, then.”

      Ryder turned the little screen to face her. “Do you recognize him?” The photo of Sand was nearly two years old, and the most recent surveillance the US Marshals had. He wore a bushy beard and full head of hair in the picture, nothing like the description she’d just given him.

      “That’s him.”

      Ryder’s gaze jumped to hers. “You sure?” His heart pumped strong and hard against his ribs. “This is the man who bothered you today? You said he was clean-shaven and wore a hat. How can you tell with the big beard and wild hair?” He even had sunglasses in the gas station photo.

      Kara set one pale pink fingernail on the grainy image. “There.”

      Ryder turned the screen to him for a closer look.

      The photo showed Timothy crossing the parking lot, legs extended in midstep, tucking cash into his wallet. One wrist in full view of the camera, with a small black spot marking him for the marshal.

      She leveled Ryder with a no-nonsense look. “I’m willing to bet you’ll see that’s a heart if you blow up the image. Now, it’s your turn.”

      Ryder stared at the photo. Sand didn’t have a tattoo. Did he? If so, he’d gotten it since the last time Ryder had laid eyes on him, and he hadn’t noticed it in this photo until now. Because he hadn’t expected it, the spot had seemed to him like nothing more than a digital blemish, but Kara’s description and the placement of that mark were too coincidental.

      Ice rolled through Ryder’s veins. Timothy Sand was in Shadow Point, and he knew who Kara was.

      “You want to tell me exactly who that man is?” she asked, arms folded on the table. “And why a federal fugitive whom you’re hunting sought me out in a park bursting with people?”

      Ryder pulled in a deep steadying breath. “I can only guess at how to answer that last question.”

      “And the first?”

      Ryder dropped the phone between them. “This man is Timothy Sand.”

       Chapter Three

      Kara’s eyes bulged. Her heart lodged in her throat. “No,” she said, unwilling to allow the vile statement to be true. “He can’t be.” She pressed her pointed finger against the tabletop. “No.”

      Ryder rubbed his mouth and lightly stubbled cheeks, a look of apologetic desperation in his eyes. “Kara,” he began.

      She shook her head, cutting off whatever he’d planned to say. “Unless the next words out of your mouth are going to be ‘Just kidding,’ then keep ’em to yourself.” Her traitorous lip quivered and tears stung her tired eyes. There had been far too much drama today. Too many men. They were ruining the peaceful, predictable, nearly perfect life she adored. She and Casey were supposed to be safe in Shadow Point. Supported by the community. Surrounded by a tight network of moms she’d met in Lamaze and Stroller Fit classes. Things were going really well, and now...her gaze fell on Ryder’s handsome, bunched up face. “You can’t come strutting back into my life after years of doing who-knows-what and mess it all up. I won’t allow it.”

      His jaw dropped. The startling blue of his eyes seemed to darken in disbelief. “What do you mean? Who-knows-what? What do you think I’ve been doing?”

      She crossed her arms in a show of defiance, but fear was already sliding over her, jarring her composure. “I can’t do this.” She dropped her tone and petulant posture. “Not anymore. I put you and your Sand obsession out on the curb. You can’t just pop back up. My heart can’t take it.” She rubbed her chest. She shouldn’t have to worry about protecting her infant from a fugitive, and she shouldn’t have to endure the pain of watching Ryder walk away again when his business in Shadow Point was done.

      Her arms found their way back around her middle, uselessly trying to hold herself together while a tornado of emotions spun in her scrambled head. How stupid of her to feel heartbroken all over again. The sight of Ryder Garrett shouldn’t do this to her. It wasn’t right. Wasn’t fair. She bit into her lip and forced herself to think rationally. Ryder wasn’t back for her. He was back for Sand. He’d landed on her doorstep dragging the same baggage he’d left with. Only this time everything was worse. The fugitive was in town. And she had a baby to think about.

      She narrowed her eyes at Ryder, measuring what to say next. She should never have let his clear expression and sensible words fool her. He wasn’t reformed. Ryder was still a junkie. He might not be hooked on anything illegal, but his drug of choice was every bit as lethal.

      * * *

      RYDER WATCHED HELPLESSLY as Kara’s wide eyes brimmed with tears. Never one for a big show of emotion, she shoved away from the table and turned her back on him. He followed her to the living room on instinct. “Kara.” This was 100 percent his fault. He’d somehow allowed the monster he’d chased for so long to wind up on her doorstep. Whether or not Sand had made a personal appearance at her home, he’d found her at the park, and that meant he knew her routine. He’d likely been watching since the first day he was set free. “I’m sorry.”

      She stopped midstep and turned on her toes to face him. A solitary tear rolled over her cheek, but she made no move to catch it. Instead, her stubborn chin inched higher. “Why?” she snapped.

      “Why what?” Ryder froze, mentally flailing. “Why is Sand here? Bothering you? I don’t know, but I promise you, I will stop him this time.”

      She puffed out her cheeks, sending air into her bangs and setting them to flutter. “Why are you sorry?” She dragged the question into long, pointed words.

      Ryder rocked back on his heels. A boulder of regret settled in the hollow of his chest, flattening his lungs and strangling his breath. He slid his fingers into the front pockets of his jeans. When he’d followed her to the living room, he’d intended to hold her, to cradle and comfort her, but the look on her face said he’d likely lose a hand for trying, and he’d better start talking or he was going back to the curb, fugitive or not. “I’m sorry for everything.” He cringed at the lame answer. He knew it wasn’t what she wanted, but it was true anyway.

      “Keep talking.”

      “All right.” Might as well start with the most obvious and pertinent reason. “I’m sorry my position as a US marshal has upset your life and possibly endangered you and your baby.”

      Her eyebrows rose in unison. A perfect expression of You think?

      She turned to pace the room, aimlessly righting toppled piles of plastic toys and stacks of small pink blankets. “Anything else?” she prompted, suddenly abusing a frilly pillow.

      “Yeah, but I don’t think this is the right time to talk about that.” In other words, he didn’t know where to begin, and he’d rather not. He’d imagined contacting her a thousand times, even rehearsed in the shower what he would say to her, and, embarrassingly, once to his therapist at work. It hadn’t been his intent to talk about Kara, but there was only so long he could discuss punching his coworker in the face.

      Kara snapped upright, dropping the little pillow onto the couch. “Now’s not good for you, huh?” She nodded slowly, baiting him. “Well, a better time, then.” She glided around the coffee table straightening magazines. “I wonder when that will be?” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Maybe two or three years from now when you turn up without notice again? Will that work for you?” She smiled, tight and bright. “I can’t imagine what the reason will be next time. Maybe a crime boss on the run will be posing as my daughter’s preschool teacher.”

      Ryder’s