Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
“ T urn here,” Owen said from the back seat.
Park turned onto a long, winding driveway. It wasn’t well-kept. There were potholes and clumps of long grass.
He drove on, maneuvering around the worst of the potholes. The entire time, he was fighting his awareness of Jenna sitting in the seat beside him. Her lush, floral perfume was buried in his senses.
He’d kissed her.
And she’d kissed him back.
Then, they’d kissed the hell out of each other.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. For the first time in a really long time, he’d wanted someone to touch him. He’d wanted her hands on his body.
They hit a deep pothole and the truck shuddered. Shit . He steered them free.
“Okay?” She shot him a look.
“Fine.” Focus on the damn mission, Conroy.
But it was harder than it should be. He’d never had a problem focusing on a mission before. He’d been known for his laser-focused intensity.
Then again, he’d never gone on a mission with someone like Jenna.
He liked her touch. He should be glad that he wasn’t as screwed up as he’d thought. But another part of him was shouting at him.
That part of him didn’t want to feel, didn’t want to get close to anyone.
His hands flexed on the steering wheel again. Jenna wouldn’t be here long. He’d help her find Olson and then his life would go back to peace and quiet.
A stand of trees came into view. There was a cabin nestled in the center.
“Nice,” Jenna said.
Her sarcasm was clear. The wooden cabin looked pretty rough. It appeared Marty Price had added on to it at some stage, and the new additions didn’t match the original cabin. It made the entire structure look lopsided. An old, wooden shed sat just beyond the cabin.
“No sign of a car,” Park murmured.
“Maybe he loaned it to Olson,” Owen suggested.
Park stopped the truck. They all got out, studying their surroundings. As they headed toward the cabin, Park thought it was quiet. Too quiet for his liking.
Jenna strode ahead—sure and steady. He was realizing how driven she was. Determined to take Olson down. To help people.
He picked up speed, scanning ahead.
Jenna knocked on the weathered front door. “Mr. Price?”
Park glanced in one window. This cabin made his place look like a palace. It looked like Price wasn’t big on cleaning. “There’s ammo on the table.” Along with dirty plates. “Looks like there are two plates on the table.”
“Maybe Price had company?” Jenna’s gaze sharpened. She tried the handle and it turned. She cautiously opened the door.
She pulled out her handgun and nodded at Owen. The other marshal did the same.
“Go left,” she said.
Park waited in the doorway as the marshals split, and cleared the small cabin in just under a minute.
“Clear,” Owen said, coming out of the bedroom.
Jenna opened and closed a small closet. “Clear.” She pulled a face, sliding her gun back into its holster. “He’s not here.”
There was no sign of Marty Price. Park checked the papers resting on the table. One was a map. There was nothing marked on it, but it was folded to display an area a few hundred miles south from there, centered on Drifter Lake.
He knew of the area. He’d looked into it when he was looking to buy his cabin. It was remote, but there was a lodge that was open in the summer, and a few cabins in the area.
“Let’s check out back,” Jenna said.
They headed back out the front door and circled the cabin. The grass was overgrown, but a path had been beaten down toward the shed. The structure was made of weathered, wooden planks that had, at one point in history, been painted red. One side of it was open to the elements, and an old truck was parked under it.
The place looked like a decent wind would blow it down.
Owen moved ahead of Park, and he kept one eye on the junior marshal, becoming more impressed with each passing moment. The kid had decent skills, and was alert and observant.
They walked along the shed and Park spotted footprints in the dirt. He slowed down, then crouched. Two pairs of boots, by the look of it. One had a distinctive looking tread.
“Let’s search the shed.” Owen reached out to pull the lopsided wooden door open.
Park heard a sound, one his brain registered in a millisecond.
A shotgun getting pumped.
Park spun and slammed into Owen.
The marshal stiffened. “What the?—?”
He knocked the young guy to the ground, just as a shotgun blast ripped through the wood of the shed.
More blasts reverberated, and wood splinters rained over them.
“Stay down,” Park growled.
He lifted his head and saw Jenna running, gun in hand. She was headed for the open end of the shed.
Fuck this.
Park moved into a crouch. He waited. There was another shotgun blast, and he felt a chip of wood clip his neck.
After a pause, he knew Price was reloading, and Park launched himself through the ruined wood panels.
He crashed into the shadowed shed, he saw the older man instantly. Price stood with his feet spread, shotgun in hand.
Park charged him. He kicked the man, then wrenched the gun away. Price reached for his belt and pulled out a long, hunting knife.
“That’s a bad idea,” Park said.
“This is my place. You’re trespassing!” The old man’s thin, gray hair fell in straggly strands around his weathered face. “Man’s got a right to defend himself.”
“We’re US marshals, and you know why we’re here.”
Marty Price lifted the knife and moved to the left. “We don’t like pigs or feds around here.”
Park shook his head. “Just put it down. I don’t want to hurt you.”
The old man snorted. “You can try, boy.” He darted forward, slicing out with the knife.
The man was faster than Park had given him credit for. Park dodged, and chopped a hand to Price’s back. The man grunted.
“Last chance, old man.”
“Fuck you!” He swung fast.
Park didn’t really want to hurt the guy. He whirled, and felt a lick of heat on his side. He ignored it, then rammed a blow to the man’s arm. Price cried out and dropped the knife on the dusty floor.
Park yanked the man’s arms behind his back, and kicked his legs out from under him.
Just as he dropped to his knees, Jenna appeared. She had her Glock aimed at Price’s head.
“You okay?” she asked Parker.
“Fine.”
She put her weapon away, then pulled her handcuffs off her belt.
“Martin Price, you’re under arrest for attacking US Marshals. We’re taking you into custody.”
The man got a mulish, sullen look on his face.
Owen stepped inside. “Everyone okay?” He had a cut under one eye and looked a little pale.
“Yes, everyone’s all right,” Jenna said. “What about you?”
“I’m alive.” The younger man cleared his throat and looked at Park. “Um, thanks.”
Park gave the man a chin lift.
Jenna stepped in front of Price. “Where is Kyle Olson?”
Price sniffed. “Who?”
“Don’t play games with me. The man is dangerous. We know that you’re friends with him. Did you help him escape?”
Price sniffed again.
Jenna grabbed the man’s gray hair and yanked it back. He hissed out a breath.
“He’s a killer. Is that the kind of man you are, one who protects a killer?”
“He said you made it all up,” Price yelled. “The cops framed him and are out to get him.”
“It’s not made up,” Park said.
Price glanced at him. “You’ve got the same look as Olson.”
“Except I don’t kill for fun.”
“Or rape,” Jenna added.
Price jerked. “Rape?”
“Oh, did your buddy forget to mention that bit?” Jenna said. “How he ties men up, makes them watch while he rapes their girlfriend or partner.”
Price’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I don’t approve of hurting women.”
“Then tell me where he is.”
“You won’t find him. He’s long gone.”
“You gave him supplies?” she asked.
The man nodded. “Food, camping gear, and clothes.” He paused. “Weapons and ammo.”
“Dammit,” she muttered.
“He left on foot?” Park asked.
Price nodded again. “The one thing he wanted more than anything was the damn boots he’d ordered.”
“Boots?” Jenna prodded.
“A pair of Anvil tactical hiking boots. Olson swears by ‘em. Had to special order them for him.”
“Where is he going?” Jenna demanded.
“I don’t know.”
“If I find out?—”
“I don’t know! He wouldn’t tell me.”
“There’s a map inside,” Park said. “It shows an area around Drifter Lake, south of here.”
Jenna’s mouth flattened. “What do you know about it?”
“It’s remote, but there are some people who live there, a lodge. and a public camping ground. It would be easy for him to get his supplies.”
“He’s been there before,” Price said suddenly. “Hunting. He mentioned it once.”
Jenna straightened. “Owen, call the state troopers. Mr. Price here needs processing. He shot at US Marshals.”
Price’s shoulders sagged.
“What’s the plan?” Park asked.
“The plan is that we map out a search of the Drifter Lake area and find our guy.”
Park nodded. Preferably before Olson hurts anyone else.
Jenna was fighting off tiredness when Parker pulled into the parking lot in front of her hotel.
The state troopers had taken Marty Price into custody, and Owen had gone with them. She and Parker had pulled Price’s place apart. The map was the only useful clue they’d found.
“You really think Olson has gone to the Drifter Lake area?” she asked.
“Yeah, I do.” Parker pulled to a stop and cut the engine.
“Thanks for your help today. And for saving Owen.” It had been Parker’s quick actions that had saved her marshal’s life.
“He’s cocky, but he has good instincts. I wasn’t going to let him get shot.”
“He’s learning.” She eyed him. “Let me buy you dinner? There’s a decent Chinese takeout down the road. We can eat while we scour the map and plan our search for Olson.”
Parker was quiet a second, then he nodded. “I like Chinese. Used to miss it when I was deployed.”
Soon, they were sitting in the conference room eating fried rice and Kung Pao chicken out of takeout boxes.
“It looks like the Drifter Lake Lodge gets a fair number of tourists in the summer,” Jenna said. “Surely Olson wouldn’t risk going there.”
Parker ate a forkful of food. “Agreed, but there are cabins close by.” A groove formed on his brow. “And possible victims, if he gets the urge to kill again.”
She hoped he didn’t. “I will find him before that happens.” She had to.
Memories of her father hit her. Mostly, she tried not to think about the man, but old memories liked to blindside her, especially when she was tired.
There were the images of the kind, loving man who’d thrown her in the air, read to her, and taken her on endless trips to the zoo.
But they were overlaid with the crime scene photos of his victims. The poor women he’d mutilated and killed.
Parker leaned back in his chair. “This job’s in your blood.”
More than he knew. “It is. I love it. I love knowing that I’m helping and making the world a little safer.” Making up for the terror her father had caused. “And I’m good at it.”
“I can tell.”
“You were good at Ghost Ops. Vander told me that you were one of the best.” And she’d seen some of his skills up close and personal. Watching him read the accident site and save Owen at Marty Price’s place. It went beyond training. He had instincts most people didn’t.
“I felt the same about it as you do about your job,” he said. “But sometimes you get used up, burned out.” He set his fork down.
“I’m sorry, Parker, about what you went through.”
He was quiet for a beat. “My friends call me Park.”
Her lips quirked. “Park.”
“I came back alive. On the mission when I got captured, good men and women lost their lives. Young people who had their whole lives ahead of them.”
Her heart squeezed. “I’m sorry.”
He nodded. “I know you lost men this week.”
“Yes. I understand. It isn’t just the grief, but the feeling that you failed them. If I’d just been faster, or done something different, that I could have saved them…”
A flash of dark emotion crossed his face and was quickly gone. “Yeah.”
She cleared her throat. “Your scars…they don’t hurt anymore?”
“No.” He touched his neck. “It took the docs a while to put me back together, but I was one of the lucky ones.”
She knew his torture had changed him. Knew that it haunted him. It was why he’d come to Alaska.
They finished eating, then Parker rose, stacking their empty boxes. She spotted a dark patch on his black T-shirt.
“Is that blood on your shirt?”
He looked down. “It’s nothing.”
She popped to her feet and circled the table. “You’re bleeding. That’s not nothing, Park.” She pulled the hem of his shirt up. “Let me see.” Then her eyebrows winged up. “You did this?”
“It stopped the bleeding.”
She stared at the wad of tissues held in place with some duct tape.
“Jesus.” She pulled the makeshift bandage off and ignored his wince. There was an ugly cut underneath. “This needs proper treatment, Park. Not whatever this half-assed mess is.”
His expression turned stubborn. “I’m not going to the hospital.”
She rolled her eyes. “Stay. I have a first aid kit in the SUV.”
She hustled outside, and grabbed the first aid kit from the Tahoe. He was still sitting with his ass against the table when she returned.
“Shirt off,” she ordered.
“Yes, ma’am.” He pulled his shirt over his head.
She’d thought about that muscled chest and abs a few times over the last day. His hard muscles tempted a woman to touch. She pulled open the first aid kit and got out some wipes and started cleaning the blood off his skin.
He hissed.
She glanced up. “Does that hurt?”
“No.”
Stubborn man . “It’s not too deep.”
“Price got lucky. Nicked me.”
“You should’ve told me.”
“It was fine.”
She realized they were standing close together. She felt the heat pumping off him and smelled the scent of his skin. It wasn’t cologne, just soap or shower gel. Park didn’t strike her as a man who wore fancy cologne.
“I’m going to put a bit of glue in it.”
He grunted. She figured it wasn’t the first time he’d been glued back together. Her gaze moved over his scars. She saw a circular scar that had to be a bullet wound, along with the healed cuts and burn marks.
Sympathy moved through her. His torture must have been agony. Three weeks of pain, not knowing if anyone was coming for him. Her chest was so tight it was hard to breathe. She knew he’d hate any pity.
She focused on treating his new wound. When she was done, she placed a bandage over the cut. Her fingers brushed his skin.
She heard him draw in a sharp breath and looked up. He was watching her with his dark gaze.
She let her hands drop to her sides. “Sorry.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “It’s fine. Like I said, haven’t liked anyone close to me for a long time.”
A part of her brain screamed at her to step back, but she couldn’t move. She couldn’t look away. Electricity seemed to fill the air. It was just the two of them. Alone.
She remembered the kiss in the bar and flutters filled her stomach. She wasn’t used to flutters. She liked control. “In the bar, when we kissed…”
“I liked that.” His voice was low and gritty.
She sucked in a breath.
“I liked you touching me, Jenna.”
She swallowed. “Look, I have to stay focused on my job, on hunting down Olson.”
“It’s always a job with you?”
She lifted her chin. “Yes.”
“I have no plans to stop you from doing your job.” He slid his hand around the back of her neck. “You smell too damn good.”
She closed her eyes, trying to fight it.
His head lowered, his mouth hovering over hers. “I don’t want this either.”
“You trying to convince me or yourself?”
He groaned, then he pressed his mouth to hers.
She didn’t pull away. No, completely ruled by instinct, she leaned into him and kissed him back. The taste of him was intoxicating. His lips moved over hers, the kiss hot and deep and oh-so-good. With just the touch of his lips and tongue, he owned her. There was no escape. She didn’t lie to herself. She didn’t want to escape.
His tongue tangled with hers and hot desire ignited in her belly. She wanted so much more than a kiss. Not once had she felt like this with Vic.
The reminder of that debacle crashed through her.
Jenna stumbled back, gripping the waistband of his jeans to stay upright. “This isn’t happening.” She hated that her legs felt weak.
“Agreed,” he bit out. “Neither of us want this.” His intense gaze was locked on her, his chest rising and falling.
Then she went up on her toes and pressed another kiss to his mouth. Her hands pressed to his side, and she felt muscles and scars under her fingers.
They broke apart again, both of them panting, and short of breath.
“Catching Olson has to be my number one priority,” she said.
He nodded. “And I haven’t got anything that’s good for you. For anyone. I’d better head home.”
He pulled away and walked past her. And against their control, their hands shifted, their fingers brushing.
She saw his chest hitch. “Goodnight, Marshal Sheridan.”
“Goodnight, Park.”
Jenna stood there, alone, trying to process what had happened. She closed her eyes. She was pretty sure she was in trouble and it had nothing to do with the dangerous fugitive she was hunting.