The Marshal's Hostage - By Delores Fossen Page 0,3

would be the law,” she snapped.

“To hell with the law.” Dallas nearly winced at his own words. He was a federal marshal, sworn to obey the very laws that might take his father from him.

He forced himself to regain what little composure he could. “My father’s not in good health and might not survive something like this.” That caused the anger to roar through him again. “You can stop it now.”

She shook her head, and yet something different went through her eyes. Not emotion exactly, but she got a weird glazed look.

Joelle touched her fingers to her forehead, and the plastic cup slipped from her hand and clattered onto the hardwood floor. “You have to go.”

Like the please, that was all breath.

Dallas looked at the cup on the floor. At the dress. And then at her. “What’s going on?”

“I’m marrying Owen,” she said. Still whispered, except this time there was a tremble in her voice. Her hands were shaking, too.

Dallas caught her arm. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, and her eyelids fluttered down. “I think someone drugged me.” Her words were so slurred that it took him a moment to realize what she’d said.

“Drugged you?”

Ah, hell.

What the devil was going on here?

“It’s not safe for either of us,” she mouthed through those trembling peach-tinged lips.

And with that, Joelle crumpled right into his arms.

Chapter Two

Joelle couldn’t stop herself from falling. The dizziness hit her hard and fast, and if Dallas hadn’t caught her, she would have dropped to the floor.

Oh, mercy.

The drink had been drugged with something. She was sure of it. But she couldn’t take the time to berate herself for downing it like water.

She had to get Dallas out of there now.

“You have to go,” she repeated. Except she hardly recognized her own words. She sounded like a drunk. Felt like one, too.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Dallas snarled, and he scooped her up in his arms.

Joelle shook her head and prayed she could convince him to leave. Unfortunately, her mouth was partly numb, and the words didn’t come.

“Who drugged you?” he demanded. “Why did you say it wasn’t safe for either of us?”

She’d said that last part because her suddenly fuzzy brain had let it slip. As for the first question, she knew who was responsible for this, but telling Dallas that would open a Pandora’s box that should remain closed.

Joelle prayed that whatever drug she’d been given would wear off quickly and that it wouldn’t be harmful.

Dallas carried her across the room, deposited her on the love seat and took out his cell phone. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No!” Joelle used every bit of her strength, which wasn’t much, to latch on to his wrist. “You can’t. I’ll be okay. Just give me a second to catch my breath.”

He stared at her, those intense blue eyes drilling holes in her and with the familiar star badge on his belt right in her face. Both Dallas and the badge were swimming in and out of focus, but Joelle knew that neither was going anywhere until she gave him some kind of explanation.

Or rather until she gave him a lie.

It had to be a quick one since she figured Owen would be there in ten minutes or less.

“I’ve been having anxiety attacks,” she said, and the lie began. “Lindsey probably saw one coming on and gave me my meds in the drink.” To add some detail to the lie, she dropped her head back on the love seat arm. “I need a quick nap before the wedding.”

But more than that, she needed Dallas gone.

He still didn’t budge. Dallas stood there, all six feet three inches of him. A real Texas cowboy cop as his name implied, in his jeans, white button-down shirt and cowboy boots. Oh, and the midnight-black Stetson that was the same color as his rumpled hair.

Because she’d seen him stark naked, she knew that black hair was sprinkled on his chest. She also knew he had a body that could make her go all hot. His body hadn’t been the issue when they’d been together as teenagers. Nor the sex. With Dallas, it’d been powder keg and fireworks.

The problem had been with, well, everything else.

Dallas glanced at her wedding dress again, the cup on the floor and then his lethal stare came back to her.

No.

Even through the whirlwind in her head, Joelle could see that he was piecing together things that should never be pieced.

“Why are you marrying Owen?” He used his marshal’s voice, the one that had