Let the Hunt Begin Read online

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  Watch for more at Alex Ander’s site.

  Let the Hunt Begin

  Jessica Devlin - U.S. Marshal

  Action & Adventure (Book #3)

  By Alex Ander

  .

  Fast-paced action.

  Characters you’ll love.

  Clean language.

  I write what I enjoy reading – globe-trekking action thrillers packed with fistfights, gunfights, lovable main characters, and heart-pounding excitement and adventure...all with no vulgarity and no graphic sex scenes.

  With more than 20 of my published works available to you, each book focusing on a protagonist from the military/law enforcement arena (U.S. Marines, Army Rangers, FBI, U.S. Marshals Service), you’re sure to find your next great Alex Ander novel at your favorite bookseller.

  To see my complete library of action thrillers, visit my website at...

  AlexAnderNovelist.com

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  Let the

  Hunt Begin

  Jessica Devlin – U.S. Marshal

  Action & Adventure

  .

  This story proudly

  Made in the U.S.A.

  Copyright ©2021 Jason A. Burley

  All rights reserved. No portion of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be published in a newspaper, magazine or electronically via the Internet.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to real events or locations or actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  “A thief comes only to steal and slaughter and destroy...”

  —John 10:10

  *******

  “For the love of money is the root of all evils, and some people in their desire for it have strayed from the faith and have pierced themselves with many pains.”

  —1 Timothy 6:10

  .

  Chapter 1

  Sixty Seconds

  13 MAY—4:34 P.M.

  EUGENE, OREGON

  Swinging an AR-15 rifle to his left, a six-five, muscle-bound man dressed in black tactical clothing—including helmet, goggles, black balaclava, and a chest rig loaded with spare magazines—glimpsed the watch face on his inner wrist. “Sixty seconds!”

  Standing on Six-Five’s three o’clock, also wearing tactical clothing and gear, a short and slim black-clad individual pivoted right while scanning the prone customers from behind the sights of an identical AR-15.

  *******

  FIFTY FEET AWAY...

  Her right cheek pressed against the cold tile, her palms flat to the floor on either side of her head, her eyes wide, Julia Witten stared at her boyfriend, her mental voice bouncing off the inside of her skull. Don’t. Don’t do it, Todd.

  In a mirror opposite pose from Julia, Todd spied her and clenched his teeth while sliding his right hand across the tile and down to his right ankle.

  The terror she had felt a minute ago when the gunmen had entered the bank was now eclipsed by a newfound fear. She managed to shake her head at him while mouthing the word ‘No’ multiple times before she mimed ‘This is not your fight’ to him.

  Fifty feet away, Six-Five’s voice: “Thirty seconds!”

  *******

  FIFTEEN SECONDS LATER...

  In clothing and gear matching that of their companions, two men carrying bulging duffle bags over their shoulders hurried from the back of the bank and into the main lobby.

  Spotting them, Six-Five twirled an upturned index finger in the air. “Let’s go! Let’s go!”

  The newcomers and the short, slim operator headed for the sliding glass entry doors.

  Six-Five backpedaled toward the entrance while keeping the muzzle of his rifle trained on the patrons.

  “Freeze!”

  Their backs to a commanding, unfamiliar voice, the men with duffle bags stopped.

  Six-Five whirled around and brought his weapon to bear on a man already pointing a pistol at him.

  Todd: “Drop your weap—”

  ‘Slim’ rotated right and sent a barrage of gunfire downrange.

  Ten 55-grain, 5.56mm bullets perforated Todd’s chest and neck.

  His torso convulsed, then twisted clockwise, as his trigger finger twitched, and his Glock 43 fired once, sending an errant shot into the ceiling.

  The eleventh 5.56mm projectile from Slim’s rifle sped by Todd’s face, exited the building through a window, and struck a woman in her right thigh. She grabbed her leg and went to one knee before collapsing onto the sidewalk.

  Todd fell to the floor.

  “Todd!” Her screams rising above those coming from panicked customers, Julia pushed away from the floor and scrambled on hands and knees to her fallen man. “No—no—no,” she slipped her left arm under his head and neck while covering his many bullet wounds with her free hand. “Hold on. You’re,” she quickly shifted her now bloodied palm from one dark splotch on his chest to another, “you’re going to be all right. Just stay with me, baby. Just...”

  His arms lying limp on the floor at his sides, his right hand still clutching his Glock pistol, Todd looked up at Julia. “Jewel, I lov—” a gurgling sound accompanying his words, he swallowed.

  “Save your strength, sweetie. Help is on the way.”

  The robbers bolted out of the bank.

  Julia whipped her head toward the other patrons and yelled, “Somebody call an ambulance,” before coming back to her man. “We’re going to get you to a hospital. You’ll see. Everything will—”

  “I,” he coughed, and a line of red shot out of his mouth and landed on his chin. “I,” he gasped, “love...”

  “It’s okay.” She wiped away the blood. “It’s okay. You’re going to be—”

  His eyelids drooped.

  “No—no. Stay with me. Stay with me.”

  He closed his eyes, “...you.” His head lolled away from her a tick later.

  Seeing the life flow out of him, her lower lip quivering, her eyes filling with moisture, Julia brought his face to her chest and squeezed him. Three whimpers later, she threw her head back and wailed at the ceiling.

  ∞=∞=∞=�
��=∞=∞=∞

  .

  Chapter 2

  Would You Like Some?

  THREE DAYS LATER...

  16 MAY—8:11 A.M.

  ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA

  Bare chested and wearing black jeans, Noah Randall twirled a white, short-sleeved dress shirt around his body and slid arms into the covering to conceal the Walther PPQ45 on his right hip.

  The apartment’s doorbell rang a second time.

  His bare feet slapping the wood flooring, “Keep your pants on,” he mumbled, as he approached the front door. “I’m com—” he peeked through the peephole and recoiled a heartbeat later. A frown materialized on his face. What is... he twisted the doorknob and swung open the barrier. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hello to you, too.”

  Randall let a meager smile come and go. “Sorry. I’m just a little surprised. I thought you would have left by now.” He softened his tone. “Hello.”

  The visitor went to tiptoes and peeked over his shoulder to see into the residence. “Do you have company?”

  He shook his head.

  “Would you like some?”

  The newly deputized thirty-six-year-old, five-eleven, one-seventy United States Deputy Marshal gave his caller a quick down-and-up, taking in her physical qualities: Late twenties. Long blonde hair. Full breasts pushed the limits of a white, low-cut blouse under an open black leather jacket. Long legs rounded out her five-ten athletic figure.

  She swayed her hips to her right.

  He lifted his gaze and admired the pose—weight shifted to one foot, fingers shoved into back pockets, head slightly cocked to one side.

  Following her own once-over of his handsome features—black, well-manicured eyebrows above brown eyes; dark ‘ten o’clock shadow’ covering a tanned face; sculpted pectoral muscles—she snaked her right hand into his open shirt, touched fingertips to his hairy chest, and nudged him further into the dwelling.

  Randall took two steps backward.

  Lifting her free hand to cradle the back of his neck, she tested the waters with a soft peck on his lips.

  He laid hands on her waist.

  Unsure if the gesture was meant to be an obstruction or an invitation, she listed away and regarded him. Seeing the same desire in his eyes that burned in hers, she shut the door with an outward turn of a brown hiking boot and went in hard and fast with her next lip-lock.

  In between kisses, Randall stripped her of her jacket and blouse, tossed the garments, and mashed his mouth against hers.

  She peeled the shirt off his shoulders while driving him backward.

  He hit the wall.

  She pressed her belly to his.

  Their arms entangling, their tongues commingling, they kissed each other.

  Randall slid hands to her waist and tugged on pants that held firm.

  She unbuttoned and unzipped her blue jeans.

  He pushed the attire down over her backside and cupped bare skin where he had anticipated touching underwear. His heart rate doubling in an instant, he hesitated before conducting a tactile search higher up on her body.

  She smiled when his fingers encountered the ‘Y’ shaped intersection of narrow strips north of her tailbone. “Not what you were expec—”

  He pitched forward and continued his oral assault.

  She kissed him and pulled back. “Not what you were expecting, was it?”

  He slipped his left hand under the thong’s waistband, “Not really,” and glided fingertips up her right side, his wrist taking her sexy underwear higher.

  Her breath hitching a bit at the upward pressure, she raised her right hip an inch and went to tiptoes before lunging toward him and taking his lower lip into her mouth.

  But after, his free hand fiddling with the bra clasp between her shoulder blades, he scrunched his eyebrows. But after what happened a few days ago, I wasn’t expecting anyth— his scowl deepened, and he envisioned his work partner.

  Panting, brushing her cheek across his, “Oh,” the blonde woman tilted her head and drew his face deeper into the side of her neck, “Noah, I—”

  He grasped her shoulders and pulled away.

  Her brows bunching together, she spied him. “What’s wrong?”

  “This can’t happen. I made a promise,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “a promise that this wouldn’t happen.”

  “So did I, but,” Faith Mahoney grabbed a few quick breaths, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since you left Jessica’s place that night.” She pulled up her pants, turned around, and squeezed her temples between her palms while eyeing the floor. “I’ve...”

  Randall glanced at the red thong he had tugged on; the string now arched over her waist, well above the waistline of her jeans. He grimaced. I might’ve gotten a tad overzealous there.

  “...I’ve never felt this way for anyone else, Noah.” She rubbed her forehead. “This is all so new, so strange...these feelings I have running through me.” She spun left to face him. “I...”

  Having managed to unhook her red bra, he watched the lingerie’s right strap drop to her elbow while the lace cups stayed in place.

  “...I can’t let this go. I can’t let you go...at least not without knowing where I stand. With you. With each other. Us.” A beat. “You must feel the same about me.” A moment passed. “All the time we spent together...the cramped cabinet, the looks, the verbal exchanges. I saw it in your eyes. I heard it in your voice. I know you want me, too.”

  Randall planted hands on hips and gawked at the floor, his mind taking him back to that under-the-sink cabinet they had shared in Seattle...

  “Is there any way you can reach the magazine pouch on my belt?” Randall eyed his Walther. “I want to top this off.”

  Trying to stay quiet, Faith finagled her hands down his shirt while wriggling her body.

  He sucked in his flat stomach to give her more room. “It’s on the lef—” he flinched and pressed his back against the wall a little harder. “That’s not a magazine.”

  “Oh, isn’t it?” she whispered.

  He heard a smile come through in her reply. “I said on my belt...not below it.”

  “Well, in my defense, it does have the same size and firmness of a magazine.”

  Randall grinned inwardly at the humorous moment. She was dirty and grubby that day. Her hair was greasy and stringy. Her cheek was bruised. Caked-on blood clung to her neck. And yet, his mind’s eye saw her in that hideaway’s subdued lighting, she was beautiful.

  “Tell me I’m wrong, Noah. Tell me I’m wrong, and I’ll,” Faith lifted her right arm straight out to the side and pointed, “walk out that door, fly back to Seattle, and you’ll never see me again.” She folded arms below her veiled breasts. “Is that what you want?”

  He glanced at her before continuing his staring contest with the floor.

  Giving him ample time to reply but only receiving silence in return, she cozied up to him and gently clutched his upper arms. “That’s what I was,” her voice was calm, “hoping you’d say.”

  Randall squinted at her. “What about Jessica? I,” he looked down and shook his head, “I don’t want to betray her,” before lifting his eyes to take in Faith’s attractiveness a moment later.

  “Just let me handle my sister...while you,” she pushed her pants down to her upper thighs and guided his hands to her bare butt, “handle me.”

  Feeling her smooth skin, his blood pumping harder, the front of his jeans growing tighter, Randall regarded her. I don’t know where this is going. But I do know one thing, Miss Mahoney. You’re an incredibly sexy... he hoisted her into the air.

  Faith wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

  ...vibrant woman. And I really...

  She locked her ankles behind his back and dipped her head to kiss him.

  ...really want to get to know you. French-kissing her the whole way, Randall carried Faith across the living room and into the bedroom before donkey kicking the door
shut.

  ∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞

  .

  Chapter 3

  Good Timing

  8:15 A.M.

  Out of breath, her bare chest heaving, Jessica Devlin trundled away from her husband, flopped onto the mattress on his port side, and put a hand to her forehead. “Whew. That was,” she grabbed another breath, “very nice, Mr. Ashford.”

  A vibrating noise came from her nine o’clock.

  “Yeah, well,” Curtis Ashford ran his right hand down his face then laid interlaced fingers onto his pectoral muscles, “I do aim to please.”

  She snatched her phone from the nightstand and eyed the screen: Thorn. “You have good timing, too.” She raised the mobile a bit higher. “I have to take this.”

  “If by good timing you mean...I can’t keep my foot on the brake pedal any longer, and it’s time to,” he grinned, “punch the accelerator...then thank you.”

  Smiling, Devlin went to her right elbow and hovered above him.

  Feeling her left breast on his knuckles, he lifted fingers to graze the soft skin.

  “No. Thank you...for punching my accelerator.” She plopped a quick kiss onto his lips, rocked away from him, and slithered out of bed while bringing her phone to her left cheek. “Marshal Devlin.”

  Ashford propped himself onto his left elbow to get a better view of her five-ten nakedness, pausing to admire her pillow-tousled, medium-length raven black hair, as she sauntered by the foot of the bed.

  “That’s okay, Deputy Director. Curt and I were,” her mind replaying the last twenty minutes, Devlin peeked at the blanket covering Ashford’s lower half then sent him a playful glance, “up anyway.”

  Grinning and nodding, he whispered, “That’s right,” then jabbed a thumb toward the ceiling.

  “What can I—”

  “Way up.”

  Faking a cough to stifle a giggle, she flailed her free arm at him and hustled across the room toward the master bath. “Sorry about that, ma’am. I just had a little tickle in my throat. What can I do for you?”