Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
P arker paced his small living room. Right then, he wished it was bigger because just a few strides kept bringing him to the wood log wall. He swiveled and paced back.
Night had fallen, and a bird was hooting somewhere outside.
All he could think about was Kyle Olson.
He had a clear image of the guy from their time in Ghost Ops. Olson had reddish-brown hair, a short beard, and an unmemorable face. He just looked like a regular guy.
But he wasn’t. He was a killer.
The man was out there. Somewhere . A danger to anyone he had contact with.
The man had been an asshole when Parker had known him. Rude, aggressive, violent. Vander had been instrumental in getting him removed from Ghost Ops.
And now he’d turned into a rapist and killer.
Fuck .
Park pressed his hands to the back of his neck and stared out the window at the dense darkness. The marshals wouldn’t catch him. He’d been caught once and he wouldn’t let it happen again.
The thought of Jenna Sheridan anywhere near Olson froze Park’s blood.
She was tough, but Olson wouldn’t follow the rules.
Park could find him. Jenna was right about that. He could think like Olson, predict what he’d do next.
Annoyance cut through him. He didn’t want to get involved.
When he’d woken up in a hospital bed after he’d escaped his captors, he’d known it was time to get out. Good soldiers had died, Park had failed to save them, and then he’d endured weeks of torture. Weeks of being beaten, cut, and burned. His head was too full of dark shit for him to continue as a soldier.
Maybe if he’d stayed in, he would’ve turned into a Kyle Olson.
He growled. He wasn’t anything like fucking Olson.
On the table, his cellphone vibrated. He glared at it. He got the odd call, but mostly he ignored them.
With a growl, he snatched it up and when he saw Vander’s name, his gaze narrowed. He stabbed the screen. “You sicced the US Marshals on me.”
There was a beat of silence. “No, just one marshal who needs your help.”
Park made a sound. “I’m out. Retired. I just want to be left in peace.”
“You’re brooding. Stewing in survivor’s guilt and what happened to you.”
“Yeah, well, when you get tortured for three weeks, I think you earn the right to tell the world to fuck off.”
“I’ll never give up on you, Park. You’re one of mine.”
Dammit . There was an iron thread in Vander’s voice. He never left any man behind. Even though he’d left Ghost Ops a few years ago, Park knew he’d been pulling strings behind the scenes when Park had been captured. Rattling cages to ensure he was found and rescued.
“I can’t do it, Vander.”
“Yes, you can. You’re one of the strongest men I know, Park. I know what you endured. I know it was a nightmare, but you made it. You survived. And you have the skills to stop Olson. More importantly, you have the instincts. He’ll outthink the marshals, but you…he can’t escape you.”
A muscle ticked in Park’s jaw. He could feel himself getting sucked in.
“Jenna is stubborn, dedicated, and dogged,” Vander added. “She won’t stop until she’s found Olson. She needs your help.”
“Shit, I am so annoyed at you right now.”
“You’re one of mine and I’ll always have your back. Now, it’s time to get out of limbo, Park. Quit dancing around and pick a side. You need me, call.” Vander ended the call.
Quit dancing around and pick a side.
Dammit . He grabbed his flannel shirt off the back of his chair and pulled it on over his T-shirt, then he grabbed his keys.
In his head, he mentally called Vander a bunch of names as he headed for his truck. He slid into his black Dodge Ram and headed for Fairbanks.
When he pulled up in front of the Frontier Inn, he’d decided to try and quit talking himself out of this.
He was going to help Jenna hunt down Kyle Olson.
He pulled into a parking spot and was about to call her, when he saw a young African-American man step out of the bar next door. He was talking on a cellphone, and the way he was dressed—neatly-pressed trousers and a fancy jacket—had Park pegging him as a marshal. Definitely not a Fairbanks local.
Climbing out of the truck, Park headed for the bar. As he neared, he spotted Jenna through the front window. She was sitting at the long, wooden bar, and at a table nearby, were several more men he guessed were law enforcement.
He headed in, then sat on the stool beside her.
When she looked up, relief covered her face. “Drink?”
“Yeah. Beer.”
She waved at the bartender. She had the remains of a burger sitting in front of her, along with a glass of red wine. “A beer, please.” Then she swiveled toward Parker. “You changed your mind.”
“You can’t do this alone.”
Her chin lifted, a glint in her blue eyes. “I could, but it’ll take me longer without you.”
His beer arrived. He sat there, silent. Jenna didn’t say anything, and he liked that she didn’t feel the need to fill the silence.
“I need everything you have on Olson,” he said.
“Done.”
“Where he’s been staying. Friends, acquaintances, places he’s frequented. I also need to see the location where he escaped.”
She nodded. “Can you track him? We tried a dog, but with no luck.”
“I can try. Or I can at least get an idea of where he’s headed.” Park sipped his beer. He barely tasted it. “He has to be stopped.”
“We can both agree on that.”
He turned her way and eyed her. “How did you end up a marshal?”
“I always wanted to catch the bad guy. As a kid, I chased the boys in the playground, not to kiss them, but to bend their arm behind their back and arrest them. Sometimes, they cried.”
Park smiled. Shit . It had been a long time since he’d done that.
“You look surprised you did that,” she said. “Not much to smile at lately?”
An itchy feeling made him hunch his shoulders. “Something like that. So, playing marshal in the playground was your inspiration?”
Her smile died away. “No. My father committed a terrible crime and was arrested.” She looked back at her drink. “The day he went to prison, I vowed I’d be on the right side of the law and help put people like him away.”
Shit . Park knew he’d stepped somewhere very personal for her. He wondered what her father had done.
“Why did you join the military?” she asked.
“My dad was in the Army.”
“So you followed in his footsteps?”
“I never knew him. He and my mother were killed in a car accident when I was a toddler.”
Her expression changed. “I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault. I ended up in foster care. No complaints. I had some good homes, and got adopted by a good family when I was twelve. I guess joining the Army was my way of honoring him.”
“And then Ghost Ops.”
“And then Ghost Ops. Which you know more about than most people.”
“I have clearance. I needed intel so I could understand Olson.”
“I’m not sure we want to fully understand Olson.”
She sipped her wine. “Agreed, but to find him, we need any advantage.” She paused. “You miss Ghost Ops?”
“No.”
She cocked her head. “Are you going to handle being back in the field?”
He took a long sip of his beer. “Yes.”
“I need more than that, Parker. I’m guessing from your…scars, that your military career didn’t end the way you hoped.”
He locked his gaze on hers. “You aren’t shy about asking any questions, are you?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “No. Being shy doesn’t help me catch the bad guys.”
“No one’s just outright asked me about my scars.” He paused, a part of him not wanting to share anything. “Why did your father go to prison?”
Something flashed in her eyes. “He murdered innocent people.”
Shit . That was heavier than he’d guessed. “My Ghost Ops career ended with three weeks of captivity. The Taliban aren’t the best hosts.”
She sucked in a breath.
“Yeah, it was as bad as you’re imagining, but I assure you, I can help you track down Olson.”
She watched him for a beat, then nodded. “We have a command post set up in the conference room at the hotel next door. We’ll meet in the morning.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll take you to the accident site then, as well. You can meet my team. I have several other marshals here, and we’re planning a full-scale search with the help of the state troopers. They’re as pissed about this as we are.”
Park made a noise.
She frowned. “What?”
“You won’t find him.”
“We have to try. And now, I have my secret weapon.” She tilted her head. “You. You can help me narrow down search locations.”
“Did Olson have any friends up here?”
Her frown deepened. “Not that I know of. I’ll look into it.”
“He needs resources, and then he can disappear. He could steal them, but that would attract attention he doesn’t want right now.”
“So it’s better if he has a friend who gives him what he needs.” She toyed with the coaster her drink was resting on. “If he gets away, Parker, and disappears into the wilderness, we’ll never find him.”
Park set his glass down. “We’ll find him.”
There was no way in hell that Park would let a killer run free, especially one who’d left a stain on the teams that meant a lot to him. A stain on the memories of the men who’d given their lives fighting for their country.
“You’ll be at the hotel in the morning?” Jenna asked.
“I’ll be there.”
Jenna was already on coffee number two.
She was sitting at her spot at the head of the conference table, surrounded by maps and papers. The other marshals were working in the adjoining conference room. She was waiting for Parker to arrive, and figured he would be here soon.
Owen walked in and set more files down. “Lieutenant Dunford checked in. No sign of Olson.”
She figured as much.
Owen crossed his arms. “You sure this Conroy guy can help?”
“Yes.”
Her partner sat. “We already have marshals and the state troopers. I don’t think we need someone else getting involved.”
“We do. Parker Conroy served on the same teams as Olson. He’ll be exactly what we need to catch him.”
Owen pulled a face. “I know whatever these guys did in the military is classified, and you can’t tell me about it, or about this team—” he made air quotes with his fingers “—but it can’t be that good.”
“It is.”
Her cellphone rang. When she saw Vic’s name on the screen, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling and counted to three. Then, steeling herself, she stabbed at the phone. “Vic.”
“You found him yet? I need an update.”
“You know this guy’s highly trained, so no, we haven’t found him yet. We’re working on it.”
Her ex’s ripe curse cut across the line.
Vic was clearly feeling the heat. It was his cost-cutting initiative and arrogant attitude that had caused this.
“You should have assigned more people to the transport detail, Vic.”
He made a sound. “I thought you were exaggerating this guy’s skills. He’s not the only fugitive we’re after.”
Vic just didn’t like to think anyone was better than him.
“You think of screwing me over and making me look bad, Sheridan, then?—”
“Vic.” Her voice was sharp. “You never actually factor into any of my decisions.” Not since she’d dumped him. “I will do my job because I want a criminal like Olson in prison.”
Vic was silent. “Sorry, I’m just feeling the pressure. I know you’re good at your job, Jenna.”
“I am.”
He was silent for a moment. “I miss that gung-ho drive of yours.”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I’ll call you when I have an update.” She ended the call.
“What did you ever see in him?” Owen asked.
“I can’t remember.” At first, they’d had a camaraderie. She thought they’d worked well together, even if he was often impulsive, and had a habit of hogging the limelight. He was good-looking, he’d showered her with compliments. He’d told her that he liked her strength and intelligence.
Of course, after she’d broken off the relationship, that had soured. Suddenly, she was a ball buster.
No man wants to be emasculated, Jenna. You’re not feminine enough. I needed softness. I needed someone who needed me.
She shook her head and thoughts of Vic away.
“Morning.”
She glanced up. Parker stood in the doorway.
He looked good. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt that fit his hard chest like a glove. She was well aware of what that chest looked like without the cotton.
Crap, how much had he overheard of her phone call?
“Morning.” She stood. “Parker Conroy, this is Deputy Marshal Owen Briggs.”
Owen was polite, but she could tell he was still unconvinced. He held out a hand, but Parker just nodded and didn’t take it.
“Nice to meet you,” Parker said.
She remembered when she’d touched his hand yesterday.
He didn’t like to be touched.
Jenna’s stomach contracted. Knowing now that he’d spent three weeks in Taliban captivity, it made sense. What the hell had they done to him?
She stood. “Owen, Parker needs to go over everything we have on Olson. Then we’ll go and take a look at the accident site.”
“We’ve gone over it already,” Owen said. “And the state troopers took the vehicles away. It’ll be a waste of time.”
“I haven’t gone over it.” Parker started flipping through a file on the table.
Owen crossed his arms. “I thought you jarheads were allergic to paperwork.”
Parker raised a brow. “Look, kid, I’m not here to step on your toes. I’m here to help.”
Owen looked like he wanted to argue about the kid comment, but when Jenna shot him a hard look, he just nodded.
“Olson was living in Markell.” Parker kept scanning the document.
“Yes. It’s a tiny speck of a town, about three hours from here.” Owen sat in one of the chairs. “He apparently stuck to himself, but made occasional trips into town. He frequented the bar, and the local store for supplies and ammo.”
“Markell is known as a place where people hoping to disappear live,” Jenna said. “When law enforcement come to town, many of the residents dissolve into the hills.”
Parker flipped a page. “A lot of places in Alaska like that. Olson must have been staying somewhere outside the town.” He tapped the page. “But he likes his weapons. The store in town is the only source of ammunition. We need to talk with the store owner.” He eyed both of them. “We need to go in quietly, not pull up with sirens and lights and spook people.”
Owen straightened. “We know how to blend.”
Parker met Jenna’s gaze. She bit her lip. She knew Owen didn’t blend at all, not with his fondness for designer jackets and tailored pants.
“Okay, let’s hit the accident site, then pay—” she checked the file “—Marty Price, proprietor of the Markell Trading Post, a visit.”
“It’s a three-hour drive,” Owen said.
“You don’t have to come, kid,” Parker said.
Owen straightened. “I’m coming. And I’m not a kid.”
Jenna glanced at Parker. “You armed?”
“Yes.” There was a faint twitch of his lips. “And yes, I have a permit to carry concealed.”
She stood. “Let’s go. Every second Olson is out there, he has a better chance of getting away for good.”