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Chapter Two

“What do you mean, you’ve lost her?” United States Marshal Trent Nielsen couldn’t contain his frustration. Despite the fact that there’d been some interesting and complicated cases in his career that spanned a decade, this case was different. He knew the witness. It mattered like no case had mattered before. And he’d admit that to no one, not even to Jackson, a man he called friend. Going in, he’d been anxious to keep her safe—now it appeared she was far from that.

“Damn it, I should have been notified sooner.” His impatience wasn’t so much for the obvious reasons but something far more personal. Something that had had him volunteering for this assignment.

“Or what, this wouldn’t have happened?” asked Jackson Vidal, federal agent. “No one could have predicted this.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or is it something else that has your back up?”

“Having witness protection in place would have stopped her. You know it. This one’s on you,” Trent said. He took a breath. Anger couldn’t change any of what had happened. He needed info and he needed to get on the road after her. What was done couldn’t be undone.

Jackson leaned forward, his look dark, his eyebrows drawn together. “She disappeared before we could get her properly interviewed. At the time of the incident, she was in a state of panic and could remember little. If I’d been asked, I wouldn’t have disagreed with the course of action. In hindsight, you’re right, it was a screwup.”

“More than a screwup. We have a witness who actually saw one of the thieves’ faces unmasked.” Trent shook his head. “What’s the body count now for this gang?”

“Ten,” Jackson said grimly. “Across two states and over as many months as there are bodies. But initially, the witness couldn’t remember squat, she was so scared. That was the reason we put off getting her report until this morning. But when the deputy arrived with the sketch artist, the house had been broken into. Further investigation determined that she’d been gone before the break-in. She literally packed her bag and fled.” He eyed Trent. “But you, you’ve got an inside scoop on the witness.”

“Do I?” Trent asked but he knew exactly what Jackson meant. Still, he didn’t want to reveal his true connection to Tara. He wanted Jackson to know as little as possible. The fact that they’d once been a couple might have him punted from the case as quickly as a slight connection had given him his in. His slight connection to the witness—they’d gone to the same high school. It was enough to give him an edge and be considered advantageous. Any more, and it might be considered trouble. Clearly, the fact that he’d once dated her had not come to light, for if it had, he would never have been assigned the case. And if it came to light, it would be considered detrimental and he could be pulled from the case. He hoped that never happened.

“You can’t put much past me, Nielsen.”

Trent met his dark gaze with one of his own. He wasn’t sure how much Jackson knew.

“You went to high school together in Pueblo. At least for a year. And I’m guessing that’s why you volunteered. You don’t do much witness protection anymore. I was under the impression you dodged it when you could. So why this case over any other?” Jackson frowned and looked closely at Trent. “Is it all because you know her?”

“Partly,” Trent agreed. It was true, he knew Tara or at least he’d known her as a girl. One thing was certain, he’d never forgotten her.

“Is she a friend?” Jackson asked.

“No,” Trent said, knowing that kind of relationship could have him pulled from the case. But they weren’t friends. They hadn’t been in touch for years. “It’s complicated.”

“Uncomplicate me,” Jackson said.

“I took her out a few times and then it fizzled,” he admitted, knowing it was safer to reveal a scaled-down version of their relationship rather than try to get it all past Jackson.

“But you dated her?”

“Like I said, a few dates in high school.” Tara. She’d caught his eye from the beginning. She’d been more mature for her years, at least to his seventeen-year-old self, she’d seemed so. Now he had nothing left but memories. Regrets that never left him.

He needed this assignment. He needed to find her and keep her safe like he hadn’t all those years ago.

He met Jackson’s doubting gaze. He hoped the truth didn’t show in his face. That it had been more than a few dates, that he’d never forgotten her. Not that he held a torch for her; it was nothing like that. He’d gone on with his life, dated other women and was currently solidly single and happy.

But Jackson wouldn’t believe that Trent’s volunteering for this assignment didn’t mean something else. Jackson was cynical that way, which might be why he was still a bachelor. He didn’t understand that you could care for someone without being in a relationship.

Trent pushed the thoughts from his mind. None of that mattered. What mattered was Tara and keeping her safe.

While they hadn’t spoken in the years since she left Pueblo, he knew where she’d been and much of what had happened to her. He knew that she’d returned to Pueblo after taking classes toward a general arts degree with a minor in admin from a state university. He knew, too, that she’d never finished that degree. He knew a lot more than he wanted to admit.

“Unfortunately, none of that is relevant. Due to the fact that she’s on the run, we need a change in protocol. What we need,” Jackson said, staring Trent down, “is someone who can get inside her head. Fortunately, she didn’t cover her tracks well. We were able to learn where she was headed from the note left by her phone. She took a flight from Denver to Mexico City.” He looked at his smartwatch. “She should have landed over six hours ago.”

“I don’t like the sound of any of this. Old-school as a bank robbery is, these people have proved to be vicious. They’ve left a trail of bodies across two states in the last year. And there’s nothing to say they weren’t the ones who broke in looking for her.”

“Exactly. And they’re still on the loose. As far as Tara goes, we’re finalizing the setup of a safe house,” Jackson said. “I will send you the details once it’s complete. Unfortunately, we have no witness to put there.”

“I’ll rectify that,” Trent said with determination. But fear rode in his gut. She was alone and in Mexico with a killer who could be hot on her trail. And if he wasn’t, there could be contacts, people deployed—unknowns. He was in a race to find Tara.

“Let’s get you on a flight out. Your history may make it easier to establish trust with her,” Jackson said. “That is, once you locate her.”

“I’ll find her,” Trent said as if to reinforce the confidence Jackson had in him.

“I’m counting on it. I’ve a moratorium on body bags. This gang has to be shut down—fast. This has been a bad year for murders. I don’t need these yahoos carrying on and making it worse than it already is.”

Trent nodded but he was buried in his thoughts about how effective he was going to be. The wild card was Tara. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been in tears. Then he’d considered it unnecessary drama. He’d acted like a typical teenage boy—without empathy, without much feeling of any kind. He’d turned his back on her tears but not before telling her that she was acting like a baby.

Despite his youth at the time, the memory still disturbed him. It was his one regret in life. Her tears were ones that he had caused. On hearing that her family was moving, instead of comforting her and offering ways that they could remain in touch, he’d broken up with her. It had been a completely defensive reaction. Walking away, acting macho had somehow cloaked his own hurt.

He wished he could go back and tell that self that he needed to grow up. He wished that he could have prevented the whole scene. Prevented everything that happened to her immediately after.

But at the time, he had been too busy hiding his feelings when he’d heard that she was moving. Too busy trying to be tough to realize the pain he had caused her. He hadn’t understood what he was losing when he’d thought it wise to break up rather than go long-distance. And then it had all gotten worse when her father had been shot by someone assumed to be criminally involved with the very suspect he was to testify against.

But that was the past. He could see why Tara had run. She had a bad history with authorities. She was walking proof that the law couldn’t always do what it promised. Her father was promised protection, and he’d believed. Now he was dead.

She’d not be happy to see Trent. The last thing she’d said to him was that she’d never forgive him. They’d been young then but the words haunted him even now. They were words that told him she’d have none of his presence shadowing her and that she wouldn’t be apt to take his counsel.

What she’d need to know was that there was no choice. He was her shadow until this was over. He’d keep her safe. He could only hope to hell that she stayed safe until he found her.

His thoughts flipped to the threat. This group was as yesteryear as it was violent. Bank robberies were passé. It was only the number and violence associated with their crimes that was taking them up the ladder of Most Wanted. The fact that there’d not only been a witness in their latest robbery, but they’d gone after her changed everything. The break-in at her house, combined with the fact that the witness had disappeared, had turned the case on its head.

He thought of how gutsy she was, returning to live alone in Pueblo, forging ahead with her life. Not only that, but she’d come face-to-face with a bank robber. Now she was alone and confronting a danger no civilian should have to. He had to find her and quickly.

“By the way, if you hadn’t volunteered, I would have asked for you,” Jackson said. “You might not like witness protection, but you haven’t failed once. We’ve lost no witnesses under your watch. And this—I admit, I hesitated because of the personal connection. I’d hate to see—”

“Like you said,” Trent interrupted. “I haven’t lost a witness yet and I won’t start now.”

“The file is fairly concise right up until she boarded that damn plane,” Jackson said.

Trent nodded. He’d read it. She’d driven to Denver, and from there she’d boarded a flight to Mexico City. That was where her trail dead-ended.

“You had her in the palm of your hand. Now she could be anywhere,” he said, annoyed that she hadn’t been stopped, that this hadn’t been foreseen. “Why wasn’t she offered witness protection immediately?”

“There was no indication that she would run. She was in her own community, her own house. The thought was that she was safe, that we had time—if needed—to get witness protection in place. The perps were believed to have left town, as they always do. And there’s no evidence that didn’t happen.”

“Except in the case where they hunted down two witnesses before ever leaving the area.” He referenced a robbery that had occurred recently in Fort Collins, Colorado.

“That was within minutes of the robbery and just outside the bank.”

“But it happened,” Trent said darkly, not liking any part of what he was hearing. “And this time, they were after her. Damn it!”

“There’s no proof of that,” Jackson said.

“That was what frightened her.”

“That was our initial thought but that wasn’t the case. She was gone long before the break-in. Her flight reservation was made in the early hours of the afternoon. Unfortunately, that information was on her kitchen counter. It was fair game for anyone in her house.”

“Unbelievable,” Trent said.

“We’ve got what little we could gather from the neighbors,” Jackson continued. “A dog was barking around eleven o’clock last night. A neighbor looked out and saw a strange car cruising the area. She thought she saw two men but no description.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t enough to put in an emergency call and she let the incident go unreported.”

“You’re thinking the guy Tara can identify came after her?”

“Possibly, but that’s only speculation.” Jackson pushed the file aside. “Something else. Years ago, her father was killed while in witness protection. He witnessed a notorious drug dealer shoot a rival gang member. We had him in witness protection. It was to no avail. Two months later he was shot crossing a street and pronounced dead at the scene.”

“Doesn’t give her much trust that the system will be there for her,” Trent said.

“No, it doesn’t. But I don’t know why I’m repeating this. You knew all that,” Jackson said and shrugged as if that didn’t matter. “Add to that the fact that no one spoke to her about protection of any kind.” He smacked the desk. “By the time we sent a man to interview her, it was clear that someone else had been there first. The back door had been broken in. And the porch door was open. Interesting thing was that there was nothing taken. At least that’s what we assume, as everything was in place.”

“I can see why she might have run but son of a—” Trent bit off the expletive. “This makes things difficult.”

“Between us, we’ll get her back,” Jackson said.

“Us?” Trent repeated with just a hint of sarcasm.

“You,” Jackson stated with finality.

Ten hours later

IT HAD ALL sounded so easy then. But it was early morning the next day before Trent was on the last leg of his journey to Mexico City. An hour before the plane landed, he called Enrique Gonzales. Despite the time, the second in command of the Mexican Federal Police was already up and on his second cup of coffee. An hour after the plane landed, Trent was in a cab and heading for the coffee bar Enrique had suggested for them to meet at.

“I’ve found nothing,” Enrique said with a grim look. “We know she landed here. We know that it was a late-afternoon flight. She didn’t rent a car at the airport. We interviewed everyone in the vicinity. Only the man at the concession stand had any information. He got the impression that she wasn’t planning to stay long, at least not in Mexico City.” He shook his head. “Don’t forget the guy’s grasp of English is poor to say the least. He could have misunderstood. So, other than that, there’s nothing. But you know how it is. That’s the downfall of a city this large. There’s too many people, even the tourists disappear into the chaos.” He shrugged. “That doesn’t mean that I’ve given up. That’s the status for now.”

Trent nodded. Everything that Enrique was saying made sense. Coming down here was a long shot. Now he wondered if he’d been overly optimistic in thinking that finding her might be that easy.

“Anyway, I did a little more digging based on what you told me,” Enrique said. “The fact that she’s an artist got my interest and also got me thinking. Now, this is only a guess. But I wondered, would she go to San Miguel de Allende?”

Trent wasn’t surprised to hear the name. It was a popular haunt for many in the arts community. “She’s been there before. Twice. I saw it on her Facebook feed from a few years ago.” In fact, he’d done a search on the city on the flight here, thinking that it might be a possibility. She’d been a gifted artist as a girl. But it was a clue that might have struck gold.

“The arts community is tight. Someone there may know something. I’d say it’s worth a shot.”

“I planned to search here first,” Trent said. “There’s no guarantee that she’s left Mexico City.”

“Good point, but we can save time if I keep my nose to the ground here and you check out San Miguel. If I find anything, I’ll let you know.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he said. “Thanks, man.”

An hour later, Trent was heading for a car rental agency. Whether Tara was in San Miguel de Allende or whether she was somewhere else in Mexico was anyone’s guess. The only thing he knew for sure was that she hadn’t boarded another plane out of Mexico City.

Chapter Three

Tara leaned back on the ornate white metal chair that was already well warmed by the morning sun. She was in a small courtyard that faced the main cobbled street where vendors congregated. The courtyard fronted the arched alcove of the heritage building. It was there where she’d rented a tiny apartment. The landlords—Carlos and his wife, Francesca—specialized in housing artistic types from all over the world. Their rates were good, or in better terms cheap. She’d stayed there before on her last visits. But this time around it seemed empty and worn and more than a little sad. Things seemed a little more run-down, like business hadn’t been so good.

She watched as a stooped and withered woman wheeled a wagon full of red, yellow and blue baskets down the street. The wheel of the barrow bounced on the cobblestones. A young boy ran behind her, dashing to one side and then the other.

Tara smiled as she leaned forward, watching the scene, taking in the details. She held a sketching pencil in one hand, and a strand of blond hair slipped free of the braid that hung down her back. From the first moment she’d discovered San Miguel de Allende, she’d felt at home. Even now, after all that had happened, she felt safe.

The place she rented was in the heart of the city. Here, one historic building after another butted against each other. The city was founded in the early-sixteenth century and much of the architecture from that time still existed.

She glanced over and caught a glimpse of Siobhan O’Riley coming out a side door. Siobhan worked in the small café that was part of the property and run by her landlords. Tara had met her on her first visit to the city and since then, they’d stayed in touch. On that visit, when Tara had left to go home, Siobhan had stayed, putting down roots and swearing that she’d never return to the rains of Ireland.

“Here’s your coffee,” Siobhan said. “With a touch of milk. Toast. Butter and jam on the side.” She set the breakfast down.

“Thanks.” Tara closed her sketchbook and put her pencil down.

“You here for long this time?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, unable to hide the pensive note she knew was in her voice. She was running on cash and she wasn’t sure what she was going to do when that ran out. There was a lot she didn’t know, like the legalities of working here should she need to. But if staying meant finding a job, whether it was legitimate or under-the-table, she’d do it. She’d do whatever it took.

The memories of what she’d witnessed haunted her sleep and potentially threatened her life. Money seemed such a small thing in comparison. She had bigger things to worry about, like not being found, possibly changing her name. Eventually, she knew she’d go home and testify. When it was safe, when she was needed, just not now.

Tara ate her toast as she watched the activity on the street. Sellers’ stalls lined the street for as far as she could see. The smell of cooking food filled the air. She reached down to scratch the ear of her landlords’ small dog. He was a true mutt, so mixed that she wasn’t sure what breed might dominate.

“Ah, Maxx, if only every man were like you. Adoring and patient,” she said with a laugh and another scratch behind his ears. A door opened. The dog turned.

She waved at Francesca, who gave her a smile and waved back. She felt safe here, the older couple who owned the rental units were kind, and it made her feel safe to know that Carlos was a retired police inspector.

“Maxx,” Francesca called. The dog got to his feet and ran toward her.

Tara had to laugh at the speed the dog moved. She guessed that it might be mealtime. Her smile stayed as her attention went back to the bustle of commerce on the street just below her. For the courtyard was raised above the street level by a flight of stone steps. It was a busy and entertaining sight. The colors alone could keep one’s attention. The awnings over the storefronts and the vendors’ stalls were numerous hues, all of them vibrant. They added to the collage that was only enhanced by the merchandise. Color was the theme reflected everywhere.

She loved the market. Each of the vendors had their stories if you had time to listen. The first time she’d been here, she’d celebrated her thirtieth birthday. That had been four years ago. The event had felt huge as if her entire life had shifted. Birthdays were about that, but getting out of her twenties had her considering what it was she was dedicating her life to. It was a strange and too-serious thought for a birthday celebrated on a vacation in Mexico.

Despite the serious thoughts, she’d had fun. It was the youthful fun and her first taste of adventure that had fed her artistic side and made it so easy to bring out a feeling in a painting.

She’d come back again one year later but that trip had been very different. She’d been recovering from the tragic end to a relationship.

She should have broken up with Mark months before but he’d been persistent that they were made for each other. She’d never been too sure. Mark had been steady. He had liked to say he was her rock. But he was also dull and for the last months before the car crash that had killed him, she’d flirted with breaking up with him. When he’d died and the ring had been found, she’d known that he was about to propose and that only made the guilt of her true feelings that much more difficult to bear.

After his death, a trip to San Miguel de Allende had been an escape. In a way it had freed her from the guilt that plagued her. She’d met others like her, some she’d met the year before, all people involved in the arts in some way. It had been the best place to heal and to begin to celebrate life again.

She took a last swallow of coffee and got up, heading down the street to get a closer look at the vendors’ goods. She could almost trick herself into believing that this was a vacation, that she wasn’t here because she was afraid for her life. She wondered when it would be safe to return and how she would ever know if and when that was.

She pushed the thoughts away as she checked out a produce vendor and then a number of vendors with handicrafts. She admired a vividly hand-painted bag from another vendor. The vibrancy of the bag and the fact that it was hand done made it almost impossible to resist. But her money situation put that internal debate to rest. She still had a beautiful bag she’d purchased on that first trip four years ago. She left the vendor with a smile of admiration.

After an hour, she decided to head back to her room, but a block away she sensed something was off. Her intuition had been bang on since she was a child. It was something she’d inherited from her mother, or at least so her mother claimed. She could sense change.

She could only pray that what she was sensing was a change for the better. She wasn’t sure she could handle worse.

TRENT HUMMED A popular song he’d heard half a dozen times since he’d landed. Except for getting out of Mexico City’s chaos, it had been an easy drive to San Miguel de Allende. It was a relief to be on the open road without a lot of traffic. After the insanity of a city the size of Mexico’s capital, this was a balm to his soul. He’d bought a Coke midway at a dusty little store on the edges of a village whose name he’d already forgotten. He’d hit the outskirts of San Miguel de Allende shortly after lunch.

The city was gorgeous even from its outer edges, where the beauty of its historical architecture surpassed everything he could imagine. There wasn’t the usual ugly industrial area or bland box stores fringing the outskirts like one might see in other cities. That didn’t surprise him. He’d done his research on the flight from Denver. But even with a heads-up, the history of the city was amazing, not just preserved in a plethora of century’s old architecture, but vibrant, almost alive.

The red spires of a church seemed to push through the cluster of stone that, from what he could see from the outskirts, made up the center of the town. He passed a more modern inn with a waterslide and, just behind that, another heritage stone church. His plan was to get as close to the city center as possible before parking. That was what Enrique had recommended after stating that the streets were narrow and congested.

Twenty minutes later, Trent learned that Enrique knew what he was talking about. The streets were tight and crowded with an assortment of pedestrians and vendors. He’d already hiked past a half dozen vendors, a man with a donkey and a trio of stray dogs.

He needed to find people who fitted the profile in his head. People who might have spoken to Tara. He needed to ask them questions that would help him find her. But the vendors seemed too caught up in their transactions and he’d have to queue up to get near any of them.

He began his queries at the first outdoor café where a couple sat sipping coffee. Trent guessed he’d have better luck here, speaking to people like these, people like Tara. People who had more in common with her, as artists and foreigners. That group stuck together here in this town. There was a whole enclave and a new member to that group would be news. They’d be the ones who might be familiar with a beautiful young artist from Colorado.

With that in mind, he saw a woman with a pencil in her hand and a sketching pad in front of her. Her partner’s Hawaiian-themed T-shirt was only a bonus. They were as good a place to start as any.

It was on the sixth try that he hit the jackpot. The woman he asked had not only heard of Tara but she had spoken to her only an hour ago. Within minutes, he was heading toward the sun-faded red stone building where the woman had directed him.

He couldn’t believe it had been this easy. He always felt that easy meant trouble. He walked along the uneven and narrow cobblestone street. It was crowded with merchants, shoppers and even the occasional donkey. As he did, he worried that there was something he had missed.

Five minutes later, he stopped on the edge of a yellow brick building at the junction of two streets. He saw the long blond hair first. It streamed freely down her back. He headed in that direction, going up a short flight of stairs to a small courtyard with a half dozen white metal tables and chairs to where the blond-haired woman was wiping a table.

“Excuse me,” he said.

She turned but it wasn’t Tara and disappointment bit deep.

“I was looking for Tara Munroe,” he began.

“Tara,” the woman said with a bright lilt to her voice. She held out her hand, her eyes alight with an admiration that was impossible to miss. “Siobhan.”

He gave her the briefest of handshakes and didn’t offer his name.

“Is she here?”

The smile she gave him was slightly flirtatious, but her eyes went somewhere over his shoulder.

“Tara,” Siobhan called. “Someone to see you.”

He felt someone else, someone watching from behind. He turned as a door leading away from the common area swung open and another blonde stood there. But this one was familiar.

He knew those high cheekbones. He knew that slightly rounded face. And he knew the dark brown eyes that now held a combination of curiosity and fear. He’d know that face anywhere. He’d looked at it enough times during the flight here, and he’d remembered the girl she’d been, of course. Still, he was stunned by the woman she’d become.

She gave an air of both confidence and fragility. She had matured into a soulful combination of beauty and innocence. If he’d been able to paint at all, he’d paint her, he’d...

She’d been the one who painted, not him.

Siobhan moved around him, standing slightly to his left as she looked from one to the other.

“You know each other?”

He couldn’t take his eyes off Tara.

“Trent,” Tara murmured.

His name on her lips was like a seductive whisper. He felt frozen in time. He stared at her, noticing how her hair moved in the light breeze. She was staring back. She looked shocked, as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. He couldn’t blame her. After all, he’d arrived on her doorstep, a memory of her past, without warning.

She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. “Is it really you?”

“It is,” he said and only wanted to hug her, to touch her. To tell her how sorry he was to have left her the way he had all those years ago. He’d apologized for none of that. Even when her father had died, he hadn’t contacted her. Now he stood and waited for her to decide on what the next move would be. He wondered if the past could be redone whether he would have done any better.

She took a step forward. Her beautiful brown eyes were dark, almost stormy, like she sensed trouble. “What are you doing here? Why—”

He glanced at Siobhan. He didn’t want to admit why he was there. Not in front of the woman who seemed determined to protect her.

“It’s all right, Siobhan,” Tara said. “You can leave us alone to talk. I know him.”

As Siobhan left, he pulled out a chair for Tara.

“I can’t believe you’re here and I can’t imagine why,” she said as she accepted the seat he offered.

“I’m a US marshal,” he said.

Her face became pale beneath her light tan. “Like you always wanted to be,” she whispered.

“I did, didn’t I,” he said with some relief at the temporary diversion.

She laced her fingers and her lips pinched together. She refused to meet his eyes as she asked, “Why are you here, Trent?”

“You witnessed a bank robbery in Pueblo, Colorado.” This time it was his official voice speaking.

She looked at him with eyes that seemed weary and doubtful at the same time. Their sheen only reminded him of all she’d been through. He was grateful that he’d put himself forward for this. Grateful that it was him here and not someone else who didn’t know her as he did. Seeing her like this only told him that she needed him.