“How long have you been a marshal?” It was a roundabout way to guess his age.
“Two years.”
“Do you like it?”
He paused as if no one had ever asked him that before. “Yes, ma’am, I do.”
I nodded. “That’s good.”
Obviously, he was a man of few words. Yet when I looked deeper, I got the impression he wasn’t some eager-to-play-cowboy kid. This man was serious. Sharp and calculating. And he was older than he looked.
“Do you do a lot of these? Protection details?”
“No, I’m mostly high-risk prisoner transport.”
“What’s that like?”
“It’s boring, most of the time. But it can be dangerous,” he said, nonchalant. “During transport, you’ve got the greatest risk for escape.”
It felt like he wanted me to ask. “Does that happen?”
“A guy tried once.” He shrugged. “People tend to underestimate me. I guess because I look young or something.”
There weren’t any more photos to look at since I’d identified Frey, so I excused myself and went back to my room, intent on practicing. It was far from ideal, but it was better than nothing, and losing myself in the work was all that mattered. I pulled the shirt over my head, cast it on the bed, and then popped the button of my pants?—
Derrick’s voice boomed from down the hall. “Jason, get her secure now!”
What?
There was a deep thump next door, like feet hitting the ground. Furious footsteps approached and my door burst open. A shirtless Jason stormed in, gun at his side and his face full of determination.
I was too startled to do anything as he grabbed me around the waist and pulled me with him toward the closet. He threw open the door to the small, empty space and yanked at the corner of the carpet. It was a false floor hiding a ladder that led down into darkness.
“Go!” he said.
I didn’t question him and descended the ladder as fast as my nervous hands would allow. He came down right behindme, cutting off any light to the room as he pulled the trap door closed.
It was pitch black.
The concrete floor was cold under my bare feet, but I didn’t dare move.
There was a small click as he turned on a flashlight, illuminating the space immediately around us. We stood in an unfinished basement, pipes and ducts snaked across the ceiling. In the center of the room was a staircase that led up to... nothing. It had to be where the oddly placed linen closet was, converted to conceal the location of this basement. I would never have known it was here.
He didn’t say a thing, didn’t even look at me. Instead, he moved to a wall with a monitor and switched it on. Black-and-white images glowed on screen and cycled through the different camera angles. The front porch, the back yard, the living room.
I took a deep breath when I saw Derrick flattened against a wall, wearing a bulletproof vest and cradling a shotgun. The cameras repeated their sequence, but I didn’t see anything to explain what had set him on high alert.
Jason produced his phone from a pocket, tapped the screen, and brought it to his ear.
“Where’s the car now?” He listened to the other side’s answer and rechecked the monitor. “No, I don’t have a view of it.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off him, backlit by the television while my heart banged out a furious tempo.
“Understood.” He ended the call and finally turned his full attention to me. “We’ve got a car that’s done two drive-bys of the house in the last twenty minutes. It’s gone now, and we’ve got someone on it. But we’re going to stay put, just in case.”
“Is it him?” I asked.
“No.”
