Page 5 of Dark ’N’ Deadly

“Let’s do this.” After one hugely deep breath, she turned off the engine and threw her keys into her leather shoulder bag. The plan was to get more information on the charges Jesse faced, then find a way to pay his bail so he didn’t have to spend a single night in jail. I owe him that much.

She was about to lock up the car but turned at the last second to dig out the heavy black metal pen she kept with her at all times. One half was an actual ballpoint pen, while the other housed a small blade that could be whipped out at a moment’s notice. It probably wasn’t legal to carry it, but the risk was worth it. At five-foot-two, she’d learned the hard way that people tried to take advantage of women, particularly ones so petite.

Better to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission.

Figuring she’d have to go through a metal detector, she stowed the pen in the console, then locked up the car and slung the bag over her shoulder.

Strands of beads and crystals attached to the bag made comforting clicking and clacking sounds as she crossed the street and stepped onto the curb. She dug her fingers into her skirt pocket and tightened her fingers around the three-inch Herkimer diamond quartz crystal, the one she kept there for good luck.

Lord knows we need it. Jesse and her.

Between the handgun and whatever was in those drums, he faced serious legal problems. Her issues were far less pressing at the moment, yet they were totally screwing with her chi.

She nearly stumbled, catching herself before plowing headfirst into a mailbox.

Like it or not, she was about to face her past, one she’d worked damned hard to put behind her.

Her life paths were not only on the verge of crossing but crashing at the intersection. Of all the people who could possibly stand between her brother and serious jail time, why, oh why did it have to be Eric Miller?

Special Agent Eric Miller, to be precise.

It had been nine months since she’d seen Eric. It had been for the absolute best that nothing had ever happened between them, but the prospect of coming face to face with him again was enough to make her heart beat faster and her belly twist into knots.

She gave the Herkimer diamond in her pocket one last squeeze then tugged on the courthouse’s massive door handle.

Once inside, she showed her ID to a guard in a navy blue jacket who directed her to place her belongings in a plastic bin then walk through the metal detector. She did as instructed and the machine remained silent. No bells, no whistles, and no flashing red lights. After collecting her bag, she hastily made her way to the U.S. Marshals Service office on the second floor. Her sandals made flopping noises that echoed in the cavernous granite corridor. Christ, this place really is like a mausoleum. Inside and out. Along the way, she began questioning her decision not to ask for help.

When she’d left Springfield that morning, it had been too early to wake her boss and best friend, Andi, so she’d left a cryptic message on the Dog Park Café’s voicemail, notifying Andi that she wouldn’t be in for a couple of days due to a family issue. Beyond that, she’d said nothing.

Tess liked Andi’s new husband, Nick, but he was a Massachusetts State Police sergeant, and the last thing she’d needed was another cop getting involved in her family issues.

My family issues would choke a wild boar.

Besides, the last time she’d gone to a cop for help, things hadn’t gone well. Granted, that was a long time ago, but the betrayal still stung.

A woman behind a thick glass window directed her to an uncomfortable-looking row of plastic chairs. Tess sat then looked around the waiting area at the many police emblems on the wall and the clock. With every turn of the second hand around the dial, she gripped her bag tighter. Eventually, her fingers cramped, and her palms began to sweat.

Heavy-booted feet echoed on the other side of a metal door. She sat rigid, staring at the door as it creaked open. A man wearing khakis, a navy-blue polo, and a gold badge clipped to his belt came through. He was short, stocky, and with brown hair. Not blond, blue-eyed, and Viking-size. Like Eric.

The breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding whooshed from her mouth. Pent-up adrenaline ebbed from her veins like a receding tide, leaving her exhausted, and this ordeal had only just begun.

“Miss McTavish?”

Good guess, considering she was the only person in the waiting room.

Don’t be snarky.

“This way.”

The cop—a deputy U.S. Marshal—held the door for her, then indicated she should follow him down the dingy gray hallway. Behind them, the heavy metal door closed with a resounding thunk. Her entire body tightened.

So, this is what a caged animal feels like. Trapped and helpless.

More booted feet clumped at the end of the hallway, then several uniformed officers rounded the corner. Not Eric. She was both relieved and disappointed. As the arresting officer, he had to be skulking around somewhere.

“Where is Special Agent Miller?” she asked the deputy.

“Out getting a sandwich.” He stopped to open a door then waited for her to go in the room.