Fatal Judgment (Guardians of Justice Book #1) , livre ebook

Baker Publishing Group - Irene Hannon

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156 pages

English

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Extrait

Description

U.S. Marshal Jake Taylor has seen plenty of action during his years in law enforcement. But he'd rather go back to Iraq than face his next assignment: protection detail for federal judge Liz Michaels. His feelings toward Liz haven't warmed in the five years since she lost her husband--and Jake's best friend--to possible suicide. How can Jake be expected to care for the coldhearted workaholic who drove his friend to despair?As the danger mounts and Jake gets to know Liz better, his feelings slowly start to change. When it becomes clear that an unknown enemy may want her dead, the stakes are raised. Because now both her life--and his heart--are in mortal danger.Full of the suspense and romance Irene Hannon's fans have come to love, Fatal Judgment is a thrilling story that will keep readers turning the pages late into the night.

Sujets

Thriller

Informations

Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	01 janvier 2011
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781441214225
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0432€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Guardians of Justice #1
Fatal Judgment
A Novel
Irene Hannon
© 2011 by Irene Hannon
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com
E-book edition created 2010
Ebook corrections 06.04.2013
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-1422-5
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
Published in association with MacGregor Literary.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other Books by Irene Hannon
Back Ads
To Sister Marie Blanche Marschner,
who taught me freshman English.
Thank you for inspiring me, encouraging me
and teaching me how to diagram a sentence!
Your enthusiasm, appreciation, and respect for language
opened my eyes to the power, the passion,
and the possibilities of words.
1
______
At the vibrating summons from his BlackBerry, Deputy U.S. Marshal Jake Taylor clenched his hands on the steering wheel and stifled a groan. Except for the two hours of semi-restful downtime he’d enjoyed during the flight back to St. Louis from Denver, he’d been operating for almost twenty-four adrenaline-packed hours on high-alert status. His plan had been to head straight for his rented condo, ignore the boxes waiting to be unpacked, and crash.
But a quick glance at caller ID told him that plan was probably toast.
Taking a deep breath, he pressed the talk button and greeted his boss. “Hi, Matt. What’s up?”
“Sorry to call so late. Did I wake you?”
“No. The flight was delayed. I’m on my way home from the airport.”
“You might want to pull over.”
Not good.
A drive-through coffee shop came into view, and Jake swung into the parking lot, grateful for the providential timing and the establishment’s late hours. Since the LED dial on his dashboard clock was inching toward midnight and he suspected sleep wouldn’t be on his agenda in the foreseeable future, a hefty dose of caffeine was in order.
“I’m stopping for some coffee as we speak.” He pulled behind the car already at the order window.
“Good idea. Everything go okay?”
“Yeah. We had it covered. He didn’t even get off a shot.” Arresting a person on the U.S. marshals’ most-wanted list was always dicey. And as Jake had expected, Ray Carlson whose string of warrants included murder, arson, narcotics trafficking, and firearms and explosives violations had merited the deployment of a full contingent of deputy marshals from the service’s elite Special Operations Group.
“Good. That’s the way we like arrests to go down. Listen, I hate to pull you into another tough situation before you catch your breath, but Todd just left for Beauregard for some sniper training.”
Meaning Matt thought this job warranted SOG attention. Todd was the only other St. Louis–based member of the select tactical group headquartered in Louisiana.
“What’s the problem?” Jake extracted a small notebook from his pocket and balanced it on the steering wheel, keeping an eye on the car ahead of him.
“There was an attempted murder earlier tonight at the home of a federal judge. The judge’s sister was shot. She’s alive, but it’s not looking good. Until we have a handle on what happened, I want a protective detail on the judge 24/7. I’d like you to head it up.”
Not for the first time, he wished he’d had more time to prep before his transfer to St. Louis. Jake knew few of the judges here that the Marshals Service was charged with protecting. But no sooner had he arrived in town two weeks ago than he’d been called away to work the Carlson arrest. And during his prior six-month deployment to Iraq, he’d been focused on improving that country’s judicial and witness security and staying alive. Future assignments back home hadn’t been on his radar screen.
“Who’s the judge?” Pen poised, Jake figured he could get the basics from Matt now and fill in the rest later.
“Elizabeth Michaels.”
He stopped breathing.
Liz Michaels? Doug’s wife?
No. It couldn’t be the same person.
Could it?
Even as that question echoed in his mind, he had a sinking feeling he knew the answer.
“Jake? You there?”
“Yeah.” He took a breath. Kept his inflection neutral. “I haven’t done my homework on the Eighth District judges in this area yet, but the name is familiar. I knew an attorney years ago from Jefferson City named Liz Michaels.”
The car in front of Jake pulled away from the drive-through window, and he eased forward to place his order.
“Same person. She was in private practice there for quite a while, then served as a state circuit court judge for three years. She was appointed to the federal bench four months ago.”
A muscle in Jake’s jaw clenched as he pressed the mute button on his phone and addressed the barista. “Large Americano. And throw in an extra shot of espresso.”
The silence lengthened as he dug for his wallet, and when Matt spoke again he could tell from his boss’s tone that the man was frowning.
“Is there a problem?”
Yeah. A big one.
He’d rather go back to Iraq than head Liz Michaels’s protective detail.
But there was only one response a professional could give.
“No. No problem.”
“Good. I’ll get you some relief as soon as this thing is sorted out. But I’d like you to stick close for the first twenty-four hours. I’ll send Spence over to assist.”
“Okay. Where is she?”
“St. John’s. It was the closest Level I trauma center. Two police officers are with her in the ER. They’ll stay there until you arrive. What’s your ETA?”
Jake exited the drive-through and headed toward westbound I-64.
“Ten, fifteen minutes tops.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
The line went dead.
After slipping the BlackBerry back onto his belt, Jake reached for his cup and took a swig of the potent coffee. Then another.
It was going to be a long, unpleasant night.

Fourteen minutes later, the buzz from the espresso beginning to dent his fatigue, Jake found a parking spot near the ER and walked past the media vans. He drew no more than a few disinterested glances from the news crews milling about in the chill of the October night. Dressed in jeans, a wrinkled cotton shirt, and a scuffed leather jacket, with twenty-four hours’ worth of stubble roughening his jaw, he assumed the reporters didn’t consider him anyone worth noticing.
They might have revised their opinion if they’d seen the SOG-issued .45 caliber Springfield tucked in the holster on his belt.
Unlike the media, however, the police officers at the door gave him their full attention as he approached.
Hand hovering near his holster, the older of the two officers stepped forward. “May I help you, sir?”
“Deputy Marshal Jake Taylor.” He’d already withdrawn his credentials from his pocket, and he flipped them open.
The officer examined them, then nodded. “We were told you were on the way. Your brother is waiting to brief you. I’ll take you back.” He led the way inside, motioning for another officer to take his place at the door.
So Cole was on this case. Meaning the crime had happened in the jurisdiction of the St. Louis County PD. That was one piece of good news, at least. His brother was an excellent detective. But he’d have preferred a different venue for their first get-together since his homecoming. One that included a loaded pizza and a few laughs.
A midnight rendezvous in an emergency room didn’t even come close.
As Jake followed the officer down a brightly lit corridor, blinking against the glare while his eyes transitioned from real-world darkness to a world that never slept, the acid from the coffee gurgled in his stomach, sending a vague wave of nausea through him.
He hated hospitals. Had for four years. If he could have avoided this one, he would have.
For a lot of reasons.
He caught sight of one of them as he passed a doorway flanked by two more officers. While his glimpse through the half-ajar door was fleeting, and though he hadn’t seen her in five years, Jake had no problem recognizing the sole occupant of the room.
One quick, assessing sweep was all he needed to conclude that Liz Michaels hadn’t changed much. She had the same long, honey-blonde hair parted to one side. The same lithe figure, bordering on too thin. The same preference for classic, elegant attire. Except tonight the silky, cream-colored open-necked blouse tucked into her dark brown slacks had maroon stains at the cuffs and splotches of the same color on the front.
Blood.
Her posture also suggested uncharacteristic defeat. He remembered her as the chin-up, look-the-world-in-the-eye-with-confidence type. Tonight, no hint of that self-assurance was evident. She sat head bowed, eyes closed, her fingers laced as she rested her elbows on the arms of the plastic chair. There wasn’t a trace of color in her cheeks.
He almost felt sorry for her.
“Detective . . . Marshal Taylor is here.”
Realizing he’d slowed while passing the room where Liz sat, he picked up his pace to join his brother a few yards away.
Cole raised his disposable coffee cup in salute and gave him a wry smile as the escorting officer returned to his post. “Welcome to St. Louis.”
Sarcasm twisted Jake’s lips. “Thanks a lot. I’d rather be home in bed.”
“Join the club.” Cole gave him a sweeping appraisal. “But I must admit you look like you need the sleep more than I do. A lot more, in fact. Must be your advanced a