Randall glanced beyond her shoulder at the casket holding the body of Blake Hawkins, Devlin’s former partner, “Thanks,” before facing her. “I might just take you up on that offer.”
“After all,” she noticed his mood darken, “I can’t have my newest deputy marshal living in some dump. I need you fresh and ready to go.”
He flashed a disappearing grin, glimpsed the grass between his black shoes, looked up at her, and laid a gentle hand on her left shoulder. “Again...I’m sorry for your loss. And I’m sorry for my part in all of it.”
“I don’t blame you for,” she half pivoted to take in the flag-draped coffin, “for what happened to Blake.”
ONE WEEK AGO...
Hawkins engaged the gunmen, firing one handed. He felled one and sent another sprawling to the ground. The slide on his Glock locked to the rear.
Two bullets penetrated his upper chest.
He twitched twice, thumbed the 22’s magazine release, and reached for the left side of his belt.
Another bullet struck him in the belly.
He staggered backward, his left hand slapping at his magazine pouch.
As round after round entered her close friend’s body, Devlin watched Hawkins jerk and convulse. She shut her eyes as the men rounded the Suburban, their guns aimed at Hawkins’ prone, still form.
Turning back toward Randall, Devlin envisioned herself screaming at him in a clearing in Mexico shortly after witnessing her friend being gunned down...
“You think this is some damn game?” She thrust a finger behind her. “Three agents were killed back there, protecting you.” Her voice grew louder. “One was a close friend of mine. He leaves behind a wife and newborn baby. He did his job. He gave everything, so that...” she jammed her finger into Randall’s chest, “...you could live.”
“Okay, so I,” Devlin bobbed her head from side to side, “don’t blame you anymore.”
Pressing his lips together, Randall looked down.
“So you need to stop blaming yourself, Noah. You were following orders from your agency. The plan went sideways. And,” she paused, “well...we know the rest.”
He nodded several times while biting his lower lip. “You’re right. This isn’t about me. It’s about you. You’ve suffered a terrible loss.” He offered her the warmest smile he could muster. “If there’s anything I can do to help, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Now that you say that...there is something you can do for me.”
“Name it.”
Without breaking eye contact with him, she sent an index finger toward the parked cars. “Go scope out somewhere nice to live, will you?”
He smiled.
She matched his expression. “The sooner the better, so we can start focusing on our first assignment.”
He dipped his chin once, “Will do,” and regarded her, admiring her courage amid a time of sorrow. “Take care, Jessica.” He patted her arm and drifted away, “I’ll be in touch,” before turning his back on his partner.
*******
THREE MINUTES LATER...
Lifting the hem of her tight fitting, long-sleeved black dress an inch, Devlin planted a high heel on the passenger side running board of her black cherry Ford F-150, climbed inside the truck, and shut the door. She affixed her seatbelt and stared through the windshield before flicking her eyes toward Blake Hawkins’ ultimate resting place.
“How are you doing?”
Her focus shifting further left, she gave her driver, her husband, a feeble smile. “Meh. All right, I guess.”
Twenty-seven-year-old former FBI agent Curtis Ashford laid his right forearm on the center console, his palm facing upward. “Anything I can do?”
“Yes.” She clasped his hand. “Take me home and hold me in your arms.”
“Heck,” he raised the console and scooted closer to her, “I can do that right now.”
She met him halfway, buried her left cheek into his chest, and hugged him.
Enveloping her in his arms, Ashford squeezed her shoulder and kissed the top of her hair. “You’re a strong woman, Jess.” He rubbed her upper arm. “You’ll get through this.”
A minute later, after having breathed in the aroma of his body wash through his dress shirt, she righted herself and stared at her mate of six months. Her gaze darted over his black hair, dark eyes, long eyelashes, and square jaw, rugged good looks that had caught her attention the first time she laid eyes on him. “I love you, Curt. Thanks for...”
Her purse vibrated.
“...being there for me.”
He kissed her. “Anytime.”
“You’re right. I’ll get through this. But,” her purse shuddered again on the tops of her thighs, “having you by my side will make it much easier.”
Hearing the buzzing sound for the third time, Ashford glanced down and came back to her. “That might be important.”
“More important than you?” She plastered a more romantic kiss on his lips. “Never.”
He smiled. “I can’t argue with that, but...”
She grinned.
“...you might want to take it all the same.”
Sighing, “Fine,” Devlin uncurled her arms from around his waist and retrieved her cell phone. “But,” she swung an index finger back and forth between the two of them, “this isn’t over, Mister Ashford.”
He spread his arms as wide as they could go in the confines of the cab. “I’ll be here waiting for you.”
She hiked her lips at him while putting the mobile to her right ear. “Deputy Marsh—” the newly promoted federal agent caught her mistake, “Marshal Devlin speaking.” She shook her head. It’s going to take a while to get used to saying that.
“This is Detective Tom Harker.”
Frowning, Devlin dug fingers into a spot above her left eyebrow.
“Seattle Police Department? We met when you were...”
“Oh, yes...”
“...here visiting your sister?”
“...of course,” Devlin nodded. “I apologize, Detective Harker. My mind’s on something else right now. What can I do for
