nothing would ever trump their loyalty to each other.
“All right,” Preston said at last. “I’m in.”
Kendra nodded, and with a steady voice began. “The shooter who came after me tonight may be linked to a case I was working before coming here. He and Miller may even be working together.”
It took her a moment to gather her thoughts, but no one interrupted the silence. Grateful, she considered her words carefully. The colonel and the marshals service had taught her to present facts as clearly and as succinctly as possible, leaving emotion—in this case her fears and sense of betrayal—out of the narrative.
“Before I was sent here to search for Chris Miller, I was working a different fugitive retrieval case. The felon I was after, John Lester, is a convicted gunrunner and a suspected member of the Hawthorn cartel. He served six months, then broke out of a Texas lockup. Since then he’s always remained a step ahead of us. Last time we got a lead, I prepared for the takedown by restricting information to our office only. I also held off filing any reports that would give away the salient details. There was no way Lester could have guessed our next move, yet somehow he was tipped off. By the time we got to where he’d been staying, the only things left were his fingerprints.”
Paul, Daniel and Preston exchanged glances again, but remained silent.
Kendra continued. “That’s when I began to suspect we had an informant in our offices, someone inside the service,” she said. “In view of what’s happened, I think it’s possible I was taken off that case because someone wanted me out of the way. Miller is the Hawthorn cartel’s wet-work specialist, and Lester is a gunrunner for them. That connection may explain why I’m now a target.”
“But what you’ve said also leads back to me,” Paul said. “The judge my partner and I were protecting was presiding over Mark Hawthorn’s trial. He’s Garrett Hawthorn’s brother, the leader of the Hawthorn cartel. I’m in the crosshairs because I prevented the death of the judge, and Mark was eventually convicted of murder.”
“Do you have any evidence that proves the Hawthorn cartel has an informant inside the marshals service?” Preston asked.
Kendra shook her head. “All I’ve got is this. Right before I was sent here, while I was still hot on Lester’s trail, I spotted someone tailing me after hours. I tried to double back more than once to catch the guy, but he was good, and I never did get a look at him—or her. I finally fell back on procedure and reported it.”
Preston nodded approvingly. “Sometimes following protocol is the only way to go.”
She shrugged. “Evan Thomas, my supervisory inspector, put two deputy marshals on me, but they couldn’t find any evidence that I was being followed. Neither did I. Eventually I was called to Evan’s office. The consensus that came down the chain of command was that I’d been working the Lester case too long and hard. I was given a choice. I could take leave and see the shrink, or accept another case, like the hunt for Miller.”
“You were making certain people nervous,” Paul said.
“Yeah, that’s the way I saw it, too, but all I had was a gut feeling and a few random glances at a careful stalker—a man.”
“Could it have been Miller?” Paul asked.
“Maybe, I only got a glimpse or two. Without solid evidence, there was no way for me to prove any of it. But the guy had some serious training. Three of us couldn’t work him into a corner.”
“And now your supervisory inspector is assuming you’re paranoid,” Preston said. “But based solely on the facts, his theory about tonight’s shooting at least has some merit. In the shooter’s eyes, Paul’s an easier target once his backup is taken out.”
She shook her head. “Experienced snipers learn to focus and filter out distractions. If Paul had been his target, the bullets would have been directed toward him first. He
“All right,” Preston said at last. “I’m in.”
Kendra nodded, and with a steady voice began. “The shooter who came after me tonight may be linked to a case I was working before coming here. He and Miller may even be working together.”
It took her a moment to gather her thoughts, but no one interrupted the silence. Grateful, she considered her words carefully. The colonel and the marshals service had taught her to present facts as clearly and as succinctly as possible, leaving emotion—in this case her fears and sense of betrayal—out of the narrative.
“Before I was sent here to search for Chris Miller, I was working a different fugitive retrieval case. The felon I was after, John Lester, is a convicted gunrunner and a suspected member of the Hawthorn cartel. He served six months, then broke out of a Texas lockup. Since then he’s always remained a step ahead of us. Last time we got a lead, I prepared for the takedown by restricting information to our office only. I also held off filing any reports that would give away the salient details. There was no way Lester could have guessed our next move, yet somehow he was tipped off. By the time we got to where he’d been staying, the only things left were his fingerprints.”
Paul, Daniel and Preston exchanged glances again, but remained silent.
Kendra continued. “That’s when I began to suspect we had an informant in our offices, someone inside the service,” she said. “In view of what’s happened, I think it’s possible I was taken off that case because someone wanted me out of the way. Miller is the Hawthorn cartel’s wet-work specialist, and Lester is a gunrunner for them. That connection may explain why I’m now a target.”
“But what you’ve said also leads back to me,” Paul said. “The judge my partner and I were protecting was presiding over Mark Hawthorn’s trial. He’s Garrett Hawthorn’s brother, the leader of the Hawthorn cartel. I’m in the crosshairs because I prevented the death of the judge, and Mark was eventually convicted of murder.”
“Do you have any evidence that proves the Hawthorn cartel has an informant inside the marshals service?” Preston asked.
Kendra shook her head. “All I’ve got is this. Right before I was sent here, while I was still hot on Lester’s trail, I spotted someone tailing me after hours. I tried to double back more than once to catch the guy, but he was good, and I never did get a look at him—or her. I finally fell back on procedure and reported it.”
Preston nodded approvingly. “Sometimes following protocol is the only way to go.”
She shrugged. “Evan Thomas, my supervisory inspector, put two deputy marshals on me, but they couldn’t find any evidence that I was being followed. Neither did I. Eventually I was called to Evan’s office. The consensus that came down the chain of command was that I’d been working the Lester case too long and hard. I was given a choice. I could take leave and see the shrink, or accept another case, like the hunt for Miller.”
“You were making certain people nervous,” Paul said.
“Yeah, that’s the way I saw it, too, but all I had was a gut feeling and a few random glances at a careful stalker—a man.”
“Could it have been Miller?” Paul asked.
“Maybe, I only got a glimpse or two. Without solid evidence, there was no way for me to prove any of it. But the guy had some serious training. Three of us couldn’t work him into a corner.”
“And now your supervisory inspector is assuming you’re paranoid,” Preston said. “But based solely on the facts, his theory about tonight’s shooting at least has some merit. In the shooter’s eyes, Paul’s an easier target once his backup is taken out.”
She shook her head. “Experienced snipers learn to focus and filter out distractions. If Paul had been his target, the bullets would have been directed toward him first. He
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