Chapter 14 #2
We start the hike back with Haywood zip-tied and stumbling between us. He's exhausted, no conditioning for backcountry travel, slowing us down with every step. By the time we reach the trailhead, he's barely keeping his feet.
Finn's waiting with local FBI. They take custody, read Haywood his rights. Calder coordinates transport to Anchorage.
"DOJ wants him in federal lockup immediately," she says. "Full isolation, no contact with anyone until arraignment."
"Good." I watch them load Haywood into the transport vehicle. "Make sure he survives long enough to testify."
"Already coordinated with Marshals Service. He'll have protection."
The vehicle pulls away, red lights disappearing down the mountain road.
It's done. Haywood's in custody. The evidence is secured.
But The Marshal's still out there.
Sela's beside me, watching the empty road. "You think Haywood will flip?"
"Depends on what DOJ offers him. And whether he believes they can actually protect him from The Marshal." I turn to her. "Either way, we got him. That's what matters."
She looks at me, really looks. Her face softens.
"What?"
"You could have killed him in that cabin. He had a gun, he was making threats. Self-defense would have been justified."
"He's worth more alive."
"That's not why." She steps toward me. "You wanted him to face justice. Real justice, in a courtroom where Emma's death means something."
She's right. And she sees me clearly enough to know it.
"Come on," I say. "Let's get out of here."
Finn drives us back to the main road where my truck is waiting. The drive to my cabin takes time, winding mountain roads in near darkness. Sela's quiet, processing everything. I don't push. Give her space to work through what happened.
By the time we pull into my driveway, sunset's painting the mountains red and gold. The cabin's warm when we step inside, fire still smoldering from this morning.
Sela sets her med kit on the table, starts stripping off the tactical vest. She's shaking slightly. Adrenaline crash.
"You did good today," I say.
"I didn't do anything. You made the arrest."
"You tracked through backcountry for hours, kept pace, stayed alert. That's not nothing."
She looks at me directly. "I was terrified the whole time."
"Fear's normal. You used it right."
Silence stretches between us. Different from the tension in the field. Something's been building between us for days.
"Marc—" she starts.
I cross to her, slide my hands into her hair. "You're safe. Haywood's in custody. You can breathe now."
"I don't want to breathe." Her voice drops. "I want you."
The words hang between us, honest and raw.
I kiss her.
She responds immediately, fists my shirt, drags me closer. Her mouth opens under mine, hot and demanding. I taste coffee and something sweet underneath, uniquely her. The kiss deepens, becomes desperate. All the fear and tension and need we've been holding back crashes through.
I walk her backward toward the bedroom, never breaking contact. She's tugging at my clothes, impatient, working buttons. I help her, strip off my shirt, my undershirt. Her palms slide over my chest, exploring scars and muscle.
"Marc—" Her voice is breathless.
"I know." I strip off her fleece, the thermal underneath. She's wearing a simple sports bra, nothing sexy, but the sight of her hits me hard. I drag her against me, skin to skin, and the contact makes us both groan.
We stumble into the bedroom. I get her bra off, fill my hands with her breasts. Perfect handfuls, nipples already tight. I lower my head, take one into my mouth.
She gasps, arches into me. She threads her fingers through my hair, holding me there. I use my tongue, my teeth, gentle at first then harder when she moans. Switch to the other breast, give it the same attention while my hand works the first, rolling and pinching until she's trembling.
"Too many clothes," she breathes.
I straighten, work the button on her tactical pants. Slide them down her hips along with her underwear. She kicks them off, stands naked in front of me.
Beautiful. Curves and soft skin, a small scar on her hip, freckles across her collarbone. I take a moment just looking, committing every detail to memory.
"Your turn," she says, reaching for my belt.
I let her work it open, push my pants and boxers down. She stares when she sees me fully hard, already leaking. She reaches out, wraps her hand around me.
I hiss at the contact. She strokes once, twice, learning the weight and feel of me. Her thumb sweeps over the head, spreading wetness.
Then she drops to her knees.
"Sela—"
She looks up at me, eyes dark with want. "Fair's fair."
She leans in, drags her tongue along my length. Slow and exploratory, the way I explored her. When she reaches the tip, she swirls her tongue around the head.
My breath catches. She takes me into her mouth. The heat of her, the slickness—fuck, it's incredible. Starts working me with lips and tongue, finding a rhythm that makes my knees weak.
I thread my fingers through her hair, anchoring myself. She takes me deeper, relaxes her throat. The sight of her on her knees, mouth full of me, nearly undoes me right there.
"Stop," I manage. "I'm too close."
She pulls off with an obscene sound, lips swollen and wet. "Good."
"Not yet." I haul her to her feet, kiss her hard. Taste myself on her tongue.
I walk her backward to the bed. We fall onto the mattress together. I pin her beneath me, settle between her thighs. She's wet already, I feel her against my cock. Takes everything I have not to just thrust inside her.
Not yet. Want her desperate first.
Kissing down her neck, her collarbone, I take my time with her breasts again. She's squirming now, hips lifting, seeking friction. Lower, over her ribs, her stomach. Bite gently at her hip.
"Marc, please—"
"Tell me what you want."
"You. Your mouth. Please."
Spreading her thighs wider, I settle between them. She's pink and glistening, swollen with arousal. I lean in, drag my tongue through her folds.
She cries out, grips the sheets. I do it again, slower this time, learning her taste. Salt and musk and something sweet. I find her clit, circle it with my tongue.
Her hips buck. Holding her down with one arm across her stomach, I keep working her with my mouth. Lick and suck and tease until she's panting, making desperate little sounds. I slide two fingers inside her, feel her clench around them.
"Oh god—" She's close already, trembling on the edge.
Curling my fingers, I find that spot inside her that makes her see stars. I work it while my tongue flicks over her clit, fast and steady.
She shatters. Comes hard, crying out my name, inner muscles pulsing around my fingers. I work her through it, gentler now, until she goes limp and boneless.
Kissing back up her body, I settle my weight on her. She's flushed and gorgeous, lips parted, eyes heavy-lidded.
"That was—" she starts.
I kiss her, let her taste herself on my tongue. She moans into my mouth, wraps her legs around my hips.
I reach between us, line myself up. The head of my cock presses against her entrance, slick and hot. I push inside slowly, inch by inch, feeling her stretch around me.
So tight. So perfect. I grit my teeth, fight for control.
When I'm fully seated, we both go still. Just breathe together, overwhelmed by the sensation.
"Move," she whispers.
I pull back, thrust in again. Slow and deep, watching her reactions. She closes her eyes, parts her lips on a sigh.
I set a rhythm. Long, steady strokes that make her gasp every time I bottom out. She meets me thrust for thrust, nails digging into my shoulders.
"Harder," she breathes.
I give her what she wants. Drive into her faster, deeper, the headboard hitting the wall with each thrust. She's making these incredible sounds, half-moans, half-gasps, completely uninhibited.
My orgasm builds at the base of my spine, pressure coiling tighter. Not yet. Need her to come again first.
I shift the angle, hit that spot inside her with every thrust. She goes wide-eyed.
"Oh—Marc—I'm—"
I reach between us, circle her clit with my thumb. "Let go. I've got you."
She breaks. Comes apart on a scream, clamping down so hard I nearly lose it. I fuck her through it, chasing my own release, until pleasure slams into me like a freight train.
I bury myself deep, emptying inside her, groaning her name against her neck.
We collapse together, sweating and gasping. Her legs are still wrapped around me, keeping me inside her. I don't want to move. Want to stay joined like this, feeling her heartbeat against mine.
Eventually, I ease out of her, roll to the side. Pull her against my chest. She fits perfectly there, head tucked under my chin.
She traces patterns on my chest, lazy and satisfied. I stroke through her hair.
"Stay," I say quietly.
"I'm not going anywhere."
"I mean after this case. After everything settles." I look at her directly. "Stay with me."
She searches my eyes, reading what I'm offering. Not just tonight. Not just until the danger passes.
Something permanent.
"Yes," she whispers.
I kiss her again, slower this time. Sealing the promise.
We drift into sleep wrapped around each other, safe for the first time in days.
Dawn breaks cold and clear outside, frost glittering on the window. Sela's sprawled across my chest, one leg hooked over mine, her hair a dark tangle against my shoulder. Her breath ghosts warm against my collarbone. The weight of her grounds me in a way I didn't know I needed.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Calder. I ease out from under Sela, grab the phone, step into the main room.
"Wells."
"Marc. I need you to sit down."
My blood goes cold. "What happened?"
"Haywood's dead. Murdered in federal custody last night."
The words hit like a gut punch. "How?"
"Marshals found him in his cell this morning.
Poisoned. Autopsy's pending, but preliminary assessment suggests ricin or something similar.
Fast-acting, delivered sometime after dinner.
" Her voice is tight. "DOJ had him in isolation.
No contact except his attorney and one meal delivery from a vetted service. Someone still got to him."
I grip the phone harder. "The attorney?"
"Checked out. Public defender, no known connections to organized crime or trafficking networks. Meal service is under investigation, but Marc?" She pauses. "Whoever did this had access to federal facilities. This wasn't some outside contractor. This was inside."
"The Marshal."
"Has to be. Haywood threatened to burn the network down if he didn't get extracted.
The Marshal made sure he never got the chance.
" Another pause. "Cara pulled data from Haywood's encrypted devices before he died.
Communications going back years. He was telling the truth about never meeting The Marshal directly.
Everything's coded, routed through dead drops and burner accounts. "
"Can you trace them?"
"Working on it. But the data confirms there are other agents in the network.
Several more, maybe dozens. All using code names, all taking orders from The Marshal.
" Her voice drops. "Haywood was middle management.
These communications suggest The Marshal has authority to move federal investigations, reassign agents, bury evidence, and apparently eliminate witnesses in federal custody. "
The implications settle over me like ice water. "We're not hunting one corrupt FBI supervisor."
"No. We're hunting someone who controls the entire system. Someone with reach into the Marshals Service, federal lockups, maybe DOJ itself." Pause. "Someone who can kill a witness in isolation and walk away clean."
"Send me what you've got. We'll figure out next steps."
"Be careful, Marc. If The Marshal killed Haywood in federal custody, none of us are safe. They're cleaning house, and we're on the list." She pauses. "Watch your back."
She hangs up. The line goes dead.
Sela appears in the bedroom doorway, wrapped in my shirt. "What is it?"
I turn to face her. "Haywood's dead. Murdered in federal custody last night."
Her face goes pale. "How?"
"Poison. Someone got to him even in isolation." I set the phone down. "The Marshal's cleaning house. Eliminating anyone who can talk."
"But we have the evidence. The encrypted drives, the communications—"
"All of it is coded. No names, no direct connections to The Marshal.
Just proof that the network exists and someone at the top is pulling strings.
" I walk over to her, grip her shoulders.
"Haywood was our best chance at identifying who's running this operation.
Without him, we're back to chasing shadows. "
She's quiet for a moment, processing. Then her jaw sets. "So what do we do?"
"We keep working the evidence. Find the pattern in the communications, trace the dead drops, follow the money." I pull her close. "And we watch our backs. The Marshal knows we're coming. Knows what we've found."
"You think they'll come for us?"
"Eventually." I hold her tighter. "But we're not alone. Cara's working the data, Calder's coordinating with DOJ, Finn knows the territory. We've got resources Haywood didn't have."
She looks up at me, reads the determination in my face. "You're not backing down."
"Are you?"
"No." Her voice is steady. "Emma died because of this network. All those women deserve justice. If The Marshal thinks killing Haywood will make us quit, that’s wrong."
That's my girl.
"Then we keep going," I say quietly. "Careful, smart, but we keep going."
She nods, slides her arms around me. We stand there together, holding each other in the morning light.
Haywood's dead. Our key witness is gone.
But The Marshal made one mistake. They showed us how far they'll go to protect the network. How much power they have. How scared they are of being exposed.
And scared people make mistakes.