Tracking Talia Read online

  Tracking Talia

  N.J. Walters

  Companion to Tempting Tori and Lassoing Lara.

  Marshall Courage is lucky to be alive after the last mission for the clandestine government agency he worked for went sour. He’s recovered from his life-threatening wounds and is living on the family ranch, but he’s never gotten over his fellow operative and lover, Talia Koslov.

  It’s been eight long months since Talia’s seen Marshall and she’s missed him every single moment. Now all she has to do is convince him she didn’t willingly abandon him after he was injured. She wants forever, and is willing to do whatever it takes to convince him their love is real.

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Tracking Talia

  ISBN 9781419932045

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Tracking Talia Copyright © 2011 N.J. Walters

  Edited by Shannon Combs

  Cover art by Syneca

  Electronic book publication January 2011

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Tracking Talia

  N.J. Walters

  Dedication

  For all of you who love wounded heroes.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Winchester: Winchester Repeating Arms Co.

  Prologue

  “Don’t you die on me, you bastard.”

  Marshall Courage could barely hear the voice above the loud whoop whoop of the helicopter blades. He almost smiled. As usual, Talia Koslov was trying to tell him what to do. They were friends, comrades, partners and more. They’d broken the unwritten rule of people in their line of work. They’d gotten physically and emotionally involved.

  He was cold. So damn cold. He could feel his body shivering, the pumping of blood as it left his body. He’d taken two solid hits. One to his chest and the other to his leg. It didn’t look good.

  “Can’t this bucket of bolts go any faster?” Beneath the anger in Talia’s voice, he could detect a thread of fear. That alone told him just how dire the situation was. He’d been in tight spots many times. He’d been stabbed and shot before. But it looked as though he might not make it home this time.

  He licked his dry lips and tried to speak. It was appallingly hard to make them move. For a strong man, a man used to relying on this physical body to quickly respond to whatever demands he made of it, it was a frightening experience.

  He was going to die.

  “I’m finished,” he managed to whisper.

  Warm fingers brushed his hair off his forehead. “I’m here, Marshall.” Even above the stench of sweat and fear and the coppery scent of blood, he caught a light perfume. Talia. She didn’t wear any artificial scent, but there was no disguising her natural feminine essence.

  He tried to speak. He wanted to tell her he loved her. Those were words neither of them had ever uttered, but it was there between them with every look, every touch.

  “Talia,” he groaned.

  “Shut up, Courage, and save your strength.” She turned away from him to yell through her headset at the pilot. “What’s our ETA?”

  Marshall could have told her that, no matter their estimated time of arrival, it would be too late. His life’s blood was pumping out of his body at an alarming rate.

  He’d always known it could end like this. He wasn’t a man given to regrets but, right now, he regretted what he hadn’t told her. The words hovered on his lips. He needed to say them to her before it was too late.

  The helicopter hit a wind pocket and his body was jolted. Pain surrounded him, encasing him in a prison of darkness. Then there was nothing.

  Chapter One

  Eight months later

  Marshall Courage stood on the front porch of the two-room shack and stared out over the arid, open range and rocky hills. West Texas. Home. He still couldn’t believe he was here even though it had been eight long months since his life-saving surgery and his “retirement” from the clandestine government organization he’d worked for.

  Taking the three steps one at a time, he slowly made his way down to the ground. He would always walk with a limp but it was getting better. He absently rubbed his chest and the scar beneath his shirt, a permanent reminder of his brush with death.

  He was lucky to be alive. A fact he reminded himself of daily. It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful to be alive. It was that he hadn’t figured out what in the hell he was going to do with the rest of his life. He’d had it all mapped out until he’d been blown to hell and back.

  His cell phone rang and he resigned himself to answering it. If he didn’t, one of his brothers would show up out here at the old line shack where he’d taken refuge as soon as he was fit to be on his own. And, right now, he just wanted to be left alone. “Start talking.”

  “Is that any way to answer the damn phone,” his younger brother J. T. scolded. “What if it had been Tori on the phone?” Tori was J. T.’s wife and he doted on her. They all did. He’d been happy when his brother had married their former housekeeper.

  “If it had been Tori,” he drawled, “I’d have been nicer.” He paused for a second, letting his eyes scan the horizon. A slight glint of something in the distance caught his eye. He kept his gaze moving, knowing he’d check out that spot later. “Is there a reason for this call or is it just a daily check-in?”

  “You know damn well if I didn’t talk to you every day Tori would nag me until I dragged your butt back home.”

  The corners of Marshall’s mouth tipped up. Tori was a nurturer at heart and had been a big help getting him through those first few months. He’d have never made it without J. T. and his sister-in-law. Or his other brother Brody and his wife Lara for that matter.

  He loved them all, but he needed time alone. Time to heal his body as well as his soul. Time to reconcile what he’d lost. Who he’d lost.

  “Well you’ve talked with me. Give Tori my love.”

  J. T.’s sigh was loud. “I will. You got enough grub out there?”

  “I’ve got enough canned goods to withstand a month-long siege.”

  “I’ll be out in a couple of days with more supplies.” Before Marshall could respond, his brother hung up.

  Closing his cell phone, he slipped it back into his pocket. You’d swear he was on the other side of the world rather than just a half-hour ride away. He walked toward the barn, his left leg dragging slightly. It did no good to get impatient with his body. He’d learned that the hard way while he was still in the hospital. Steady work, patie
nce and time were what was needed. And God only knew he had more than enough time.

  The soft snuffle of a horse greeted him as he made his way into the small barn. “How you doing, Molasses?” The horse put its head over the top of the stall and waited until Marshall stroked her nose and scratched behind her ears. “Want to go for a ride?”

  Molasses, so named because of her dark, rich color, was a steady horse, which was what he needed these days. No unruly stallions for him. Not with his bum leg.

  Within a short time, he had the horse saddled. Mounting was a bit of a challenge, but they were both patient and were soon on their way. Marshall liked to ride early in the morning before the day grew too hot.

  His straw cowboy hat covered his head, keeping off the worst of the sun. Boots, jeans and a long-sleeved shirt protected the rest of him. He had a saddlebag with water, some grub, a blanket and his Winchester rifle. He was ready for anything.

  “Come on, girl. I want to check out the ridge to the north.” He gently squeezed his legs around the horse’s sides and she set off at a brisk trot. The flash he’d seen might be nothing, but he couldn’t afford to take that chance. Just because he was a retired agent didn’t mean he didn’t have enemies. Not that he’d ever used his real name. But he was cynical and realistic enough to know that money was the key to getting any information a person wanted. And some of the criminals he’d gone up against had money to burn.

  It had been his last mission, uncovering the jungle stronghold of a drug lord and suspected terrorist in South America, that had almost killed him. Things had gone from bad to worse when one of his local contacts had betrayed him. The drug lord’s men had been expecting him. Marshall still wasn’t certain how he’d gotten his team out alive. He was just glad he was the only one who’d sustained major injuries.

  His team. They’d probably gone on to another mission within days of his almost-fatal injury. Knowing he was going to be of little use to them anymore, his superiors had kept him on a need-to-know basis. And as far as they were concerned, he didn’t need to know anything. And that included the whereabouts of Talia Koslov.

  He’d emailed a secret account known only to him and his team members as soon as he’d been able. An automatic message had been returned, letting him know it had been received. The first few weeks he hadn’t worried about not receiving word back from them. If the team were out on a mission, they might not be able to respond. But as time went on, the silence was deafening. Worst of all was the lack of reply from Talia. Which was, in a way, reply enough.

  He’d bitten the bullet and emailed again two months later. The account was no longer active. Marshall was truly done with the business and with the team. He was on his own.

  The rhythm of the horse was familiar and soothing. He’d grown up in the saddle on his family’s ranch. But he still couldn’t relax. The hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. Something or someone was out there watching him. If they were going to shoot him outright, he’d already be dead. The people he’d pissed off over the years could hire expert sharpshooters. That meant they had to want something else.

  Or maybe he was just being a paranoid son of a bitch. Either way, he was going to check out the rocks and hills where he’d seen that flash. Too bad he didn’t have any backup.

  Talia. She popped into his head, as she often did when he was lying in bed at night. He could still smell the light fragrance of her skin, feel her strong, lithe body over him, under him as they made love. His cock stirred, a reminder that it had been a long while for him.

  The last time he and Talia were together had been a stolen moment in a rundown motel before they’d started out on that fateful mission. She’d come to his room to check on a piece of equipment and they’d ended up tearing each other’s clothing off. He’d taken her up against the door, neither of them making a sound because the walls were paper thin and the rest of the team was next door.

  It had been hard and fast and desperate. He hadn’t wanted to let her go. Maybe it had been a premonition. He’d known in his gut something wasn’t right, but the powers in charge had wanted them to proceed with the mission anyway.

  Marshall snorted. That’s what happened when desk jockeys were in charge. Things got fucked up fast. That was all supposed to be behind him now but he truly wondered if it ever would be or if he’d be looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life.

  The horse’s ears perked up and he patted her neck. “I know, girl. You can sense them too, can’t you?” The horse’s hooves kicked up dirt as she picked her way across the dry ground. He glanced up at the storm clouds moving in. “Looks like we’re going to get some rain.”

  That meant he couldn’t take long to check out the rocky hills. Only a fool would be caught on an open plain with a thunderstorm rolling in. Marshall wanted to be back at the line shack before the first raindrop hit.

  When he reached the base of the hills, he dismounted and removed his rifle. He knew it was loaded and ready to shoot. He checked his weapon before he left the barn. Habit mostly. One he’d never break. He had a knife tucked in his right boot as a backup.

  Taking the reins in his left hand, he led Molasses up the narrow trail. “Come on, girl.” The horse followed easily, trusting him to guide her.

  Marshall kept his gaze moving over the ground in front of him, searching for signs. He scanned the rocks, not letting his eyes settle on any one thing in particular. He hoped for a movement, a reflection. Anything.

  When he reached a copse of scraggly bushes, he tied the reins to them and gave the horse a pat. “Be back in a bit.” Molasses blinked at him, totally unconcerned.

  He left the horse and started out at a lope. Because of his weak leg, he had to be careful. Last thing he needed to do was twist an ankle and make matters worse. Keeping low, he worked his way closer to the area where he’d seen the flash earlier. He slowed his pace, studying the ground.

  There. Several rocks had been disturbed. He could tell because of the empty indentations in the ground from where the stones had been dislodged. Could be an animal, but he was banking on a human.

  Maybe it had nothing to do with his former work. There was oil on their land and valuable horseflesh. One couldn’t overlook disreputable folks sniffing around. It didn’t happen often, but it had occurred at least twice in his lifetime. When he was just a boy, his father had caught some crazy guy trying to steal some of the drilling equipment on the land. And just a few years back, a group of several men had attempted to steal several of J. T.’s prize thoroughbreds. Neither attempt had been successful.

  But this far out, Marshall had no idea what they’d be searching for. There were no mineral deposits that he knew of. Could be a camper who didn’t realize, or didn’t care, he was on private land, but he didn’t think so.

  He found part of a track. Ignoring the pain in his left leg, he crouched and studied the print. It was a boot heel. It was impossible to tell the size with so little to go on but there was no denying that someone was out here.

  Marshall glanced at the sky. The storm clouds were moving in fast. He didn’t have much time before it hit full force.

  Standing, he moved silently through the rocks. They had to be camped up here somewhere. He’d walked and ridden this land all his life and knew the best place was about five minutes from here. He’d take one quick look and head for home. Maybe he’d get J. T. to do a flyover tomorrow in the ranch helicopter and check things out if he didn’t find anything.

  Moving as fast as he could, he stealthily made his way toward a circle of rocks. It was an open area about fifteen feet in diameter that was ringed by high, jagged rocks with only one way in and out.

  Back to the rocks, Marshall crept toward the opening. Rifle raised and ready, he listened for any sound. The wind had picked up substantially in the last few minutes making it difficult to hear anything else. Swearing under his breath at his own stupidity, he kept going. He paused as the natural doorway appeared. He could see to the left and it was clear.
>
  Easing his body to the other side, he froze when a person came into view. The rifle was rock steady in his hand, his finger caressing the trigger. Marshall was mildly surprised his hands weren’t shaking. He walked slowly into the circle, his gaze never leaving the other person.

  “Aren’t you going to say hello?”

  He tilted the barrel of the rifle downward. His heart was pounding. His mouth was dry. Anger, hot and potent, flooded through his veins. Why now? It had been eight long months.

  “Hello, Tabby.” He used her nickname intentionally. She usually hated to be called that, but he had whispered it in her ear a hundred times when they made love.

  She looked as good as ever. Better, because he was starved for the sight of her. She was tall for a woman, coming in at about five-ten. Her body was lean and she had legs that went on forever. Her hair was brown with reddish highlights and still cut in a shaggy style that somehow suited her. Green eyes, tilted slightly at the corners, gave her the appearance of an inquisitive cat. Her narrow, pointed chin completed the feline look.

  Code name “Tiger”, she was as lethal as she was beautiful. And she was standing ten feet away from him, hands on her hips, waiting for him to finish his perusal.

  “You just about done looking, Dillon?”

  Marshall smirked as she called him by his code name. Because of his first name, early on in the game, the other guys had started calling him Marshall Dillon and it had stuck.

  “Oh, I’m far from done, Tabby.” Just the sight of her had his dick at attention and his arms aching to hold her. But he wasn’t stupid. There had to be a reason she was here. Now. After all this time. “What the hell are you doing on my land?”