Exposed Target: Sworn to Protect, #1

By Cheyenne McCray

Ciara Cruz is engaged to Niko, a man who has become her world—until she sees him murder a senator in cold blood. When she learns Niko belongs to one of the biggest crime families in the Russian mafia, she hands over documents that will put him behind bars forever. The U.S. Marshals Service hides Ciara in WITSEC, but witness protection can't keep her safe from herself.

 

U.S. Deputy Marshal Beck Richardson's new assignment turns out to be a woman from his past, an unrequited childhood love. Somehow, the mafia has located Ciara and has her in its sights. She has a valuable piece of Russian history. Something worth millions—and they want it back.

 

With the mafia on their trail, Beck and Ciara find sanctuary in each other's arms, but not for long. The devil is close behind. Beck keeps them one step ahead of certain death…but soon that might not be enough.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cheyenne McCray LLC
• Release date: Mar 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9781956103311

Cheyenne McCray

Cheyenne McCray is an award-winning, New York Times and USA Today best-selling author who grew up on a ranch in southeastern Arizona and has written over one hundred published novels and novellas. Chey also writes cozy mysteries as Debbie Ries. She delights in creating stories of suspense, love, and redemption with characters and worlds her readers can get lost in. Chey and her husband live with their two Ragdoll cats and two small dogs in southeastern Arizona where she enjoys going on long walks, traveling around the world, and searching for her next adventure and new ideas, as well as hand embroidering crazy quilts and listening to audiobooks. Find out more about Chey, how to contact her, and her books at https://cheyennemccray.com.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Two years ago

For Natalia Sokolov, this evening was a long time coming. Months of her life devoted to her initiation, and it would all be finished. Tonight.

Pete Taylor thought he owned her, but he would soon find out who owned who.

Natalia gripped her evening bag in one hand and selected a champagne flute from a passing tray with her other. She watched the bubbles rise as she lifted the glass.

Lift. What an interesting American word. Countless ways to raise, to move, to remove.

To steal.

She let her gaze drift over the hundred plus guests in elegant attire in Pete’s private ballroom. Chatter, laughter, and gossip from many, while others held more serious conversations, and several conducted business. All while sipping champagne and sampling hors d’oeuvres.

The Zvezda Rossii took center stage in a secure case surrounded by velvet ropes and two guards. The Star of Russia was an incredibly rare set of six red diamonds in a white diamond-encrusted setting.

She moved closer to the display, drinking in the sight of the piece from her homeland.

One of the largest red diamonds in the world, the center four-carat stone glittered within a set of five one-carat red diamonds. The five-point star-shaped nest of dozens of small white diamonds once hung on a yellow gold and diamond chain. Now a broach, the Zvezda Rossii’s brilliance mesmerized many who gathered to view the piece, taken from Russia nearly a century ago.

The largest of the gems had been mined in Russia and sold privately to a collector. That first owner had placed it into its luxurious setting, including the smaller red diamonds.

Not only was it beautiful, but according to legend it was cursed. Each of the Zvezda Rossii’s owners had at least one family member die in a horrific way. It was said that the original owner presented the necklace to his wife. He later found her beneath a tree, the necklace around her broken neck. Similar stories accompanied the large red diamond over the years.

However, the sinister and sometimes bloody legend surrounding the gem made it even more attractive to buyers.

The Zvezda Rossii had passed from one private collector to another, until it found its way into Pete Taylor’s hands. Pete laughed at the legend but enjoyed telling it in detail.

Natalia tore her gaze from the magnetic pull of the display and searched the crowd for Pete. There. He had been drinking all night, making a spectacle of himself as usual.

For a man worth a billion dollars, he was a fool. Of course, the way he came into money made him a wealthy man not worthy of that wealth.

The lottery.

A $1.6 billion winning ticket with a $1 billion cash payout had made Pete Taylor one of the wealthiest men in the United States.

The fool threw millions away on whatever caught his whimsy. He had spent at least $55,000 on this party alone.

He had paid one hundred million for the Star of Russia—a bargain for the number of red diamonds in the setting.

"Chump change," he had said to her with a laugh that made her skin crawl.

That bit of chump change had purchased what truly belonged in her homeland.

Natalia sipped her champagne and kept her expression neutral as she studied him. She gripped her glittering red clutch that matched the sequined dress Pete had made sure molded to her every curve. He had insisted on having the dress created by a famous designer and gifted it to her to wear tonight.

She came from hard-won wealth, and she would never have spent six grand on a dress.

He had also given her a necklace of diamonds and rubies. He wanted her to have something of great value that looks as gorgeous as you. The necklace was worth twice what the dress had cost him, so she alone wore $18,000.

Chump change, he’d said about that, too.

She left the display and walked up to Pete, forcing a smile. They were the same height, five-nine with her shoes off. She towered over him in her four-inch heels.

Darling, she said. He loved it when she called him that—it made him feel even more important. She leaned in to kiss his soft cheek. I’ve missed you. A shudder trailed down her spine as her lips brushed his skin.

He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her up against him again, his large belly pressing into her. He turned his mouth to hers. In front of his crowd of admirers, he tried to slip his tongue into her mouth.

Natalia recoiled and barely kept from slapping him.

She moved her lips to his ear. This is not the place, Pete, darling. It would be crude in front of all these guests.

I don’t care, baby. Pete jerked her hard against him. "I want everyone to see you are my woman."

Heat burned her chest.

Thank God, the charade would soon be over.

Show me the broach. She drew back and smiled. You know how much I love it, and how powerful it makes you look to all these people.

Pete’s chest expanded like a blowfish. "With less than five-hundred-fifty billionaires in the U.S., they know I’m important and powerful."

He tried again to kiss her. She managed to avoid his sloppy kiss while taking his fat hand in hers. Come, my darling.

Pete didn’t escort her as a gentleman would, with his hand lightly on her lower back. Instead, he hooked his arm around her waist, grabbed her buttock, and squeezed.

Natalia nearly lost it. She clenched her evening bag and almost slapped him hard enough to send his glasses flying and leave a red handprint on his cheek.

Do not touch me like that in public, Pete. She spat the words into his ear. You are treating me like a whore.

He removed his hand at once as she drew back, and crimson crept up his neck. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.

A certain amount of decorum is expected at an event like this. She met his gaze and tried hard to soften hers. Treating me like this in public makes both of us look cheap and classless.

I won’t do that again, baby. His Adam’s apple bobbed. Do you want to see the Star of Russia now?

God, she hated it when he called her baby.

I would love to. She smiled, hoping it looked genuine. Now rest your hand on my lower back and keep it there as you escort me to the broach. You can remove your hand when you open the case.

Don’t tell me what to do. He did a one-eighty and irritation flashed across his features. I own you. I want everyone to know it.

She needed him to open that case.

Yes, darling. She kissed his cheek. I did not mean to imply otherwise. But please, let us do it with more class.

Before he could say anything more, she took his hand and gently tugged him in the direction of the display. Everyone knows I belong to you. Show them now.

Yes. Pete straightened his shorter frame. Yes, I will.

They reached the display and a guard unlatched one of the red velvet-covered chains to allow Pete and Natalia through.

Pete puffed up, looking more like a blowfish than ever.

It was time.

Natalia held her clutch and unlocked the clasp. Her whole body felt as if a livewire sizzled inside her.

She slipped her fingers inside and lightly caressed the duplicate broach.

Her pulse raced.

She worked to calm her breathing.

This would be it. The moment all their lives would change.

Pete used the fingerprint sensor on a bio-protected electronic lock at the base of the glass door. It clicked and the lock disengaged.

Pete, the fool, took the Zvezda Rossii out. He raised the broach to present it to the crowd.

Light applause and loud murmurs filled the room.

A treasure.

Magnificent.

May I hold it, darling? Natalia rested her fingertips on his forearm. The diamond’s radiance electrified the audience. Even Natalia, who had seen the diamonds up close once before, was enthralled with its beauty.

Heady, with a sense of power far greater than Pete’s, her body thrummed. A heist always made her feel invincible. This one would be all the sweeter.

Of course. Pete grinned and held it out to her.

She took it from him, the setting cool in her grasp. She gazed at him, doing her best to look as if she worshipped him. You are the most amazing man I have ever known.

He looked so filled with pride and self-importance that the next moment would be her crowning glory.

The second their lips met, she moved in closer, the opening of the clutch away from the crowd. She used a slight-of-hand she had practiced most of her life to slip the Zvezda Rossii into her clutch and replace it in her palm with the duplicate that looked equally as stunning and would fool all but experts.

She drew away and smiled at him.

Pete looked at her with adoration. I have an announcement I will make next, he said as he took the fake from her grasp. He returned the Zvezda Rossii to the case and locked it.

Natalia’s skin grew tight. She had a feeling he planned to propose in front of everyone. What if her family thought it would be a good idea to put her into place permanently, to better control Pete Taylor?

A scream tore through her mind like a falcon’s cry. She wouldn’t survive if that happened.

No, she wouldn’t allow it.

She grasped his hand and whispered in his ear. "I want you, Pete. I want you now."

He seemed to forget everything but her words. She could lead him by his penis, and he would follow her anywhere. As they walked from the exhibit, Pete picking up speed, she looked over her shoulder and gave a nod to the two guards on either side of the Zvezda Rossii.

They slipped away from the party. Oblivious to everything but his own need to rut, Pete had no idea the guards discretely followed them. She nodded to two more guards on the way.

She led him into his private library, down the hall from the enormous ballroom. She left the door unlatched.

Before you say anything, I have something to tell you. She moved her lips to his ears. You just put away a replica of the Star of Russia.

What? He blinked, his expression confused.

Do not think to say a word. Or you will die. She spoke as sweetly as possible.

What are you talking about? Not the sharpest tool in the shack.

She leaned in close. "I. Stole. The. Zvezda Rossii."

His face froze in a grin, but it looked forced. Funny joke, baby.

"No joke, baby. She ran her manicured fingertip along his jawline. I have been playing you since the moment we so conveniently met at the tennis match. You will be giving me the official ownership papers for the sum of one dollar."

He stared. It clearly wasn’t sinking in.

Let’s make this clear. You don’t own me. She put her finger on his chest. We own you.

It finally reached him. He grabbed her finger and started to bend it as he ground out the words, You bitch.

Oh, yes, she whispered. Somehow, she withstood the pain. I am. She cocked her head toward the door. Did you not see we have company?

He looked up, releasing the pressure on her finger as he saw the four guards inside the room with them. Clearly, he hadn’t noticed as she’d been giving her confession to him.

You have four weapons trained on you now. She withdrew her hand. "If you’ll remember, you hired our security staff."

You can’t do this. He sounded disbelieving and panicked as Yuri approached and put a gun in his face.

The Russian mafia can do anything, she said with a slow smile. "The bratva owns you."

1

Present Day

Sweat trickled between Beck Richardson’s shoulder blades as the late June humidity soaked his clothing. He peered from around the rocky outcropping and squinted.

A shaft of sunlight glinted off the spotter’s sunglasses.

Amateur.

One second later and the spotter would have caught sight of Beck instead of the other way around.

Beck shifted in time to avoid being seen by him or the sniper, both no more than two hundred feet away.

The sniper kept her attention on her Colt M4 rifle with the detachable suppressor and adjusted her sights. The spotter’s lips moved as he spoke quietly to the gunman.

The pair should never have allowed Beck to get this close, but of course they didn’t know. He’d make his way behind the team and soon it would be all over.

For them.

Beck started to move again.

The sniper’s body tensed, as if sensing something.

Beck froze.

The spotter vanished from view.

A moment later, the sniper swung her sights on Beck.

Shit.

He ducked a fraction before the crack of a rifle cut the air. Dirt kicked up only inches from him. He scrambled back, needing to find a location where he could take up a new position.

He kept low and moved in the same direction he had come from. He made it all of ten feet before someone pressed a gun barrel against the back of his head.

Bang. You’re dead.

Beck rolled his eyes and looked over his shoulder. Bang? Really?

Rory Carter laughed and reached out to Beck, offering his hand. Come on, old man. Don’t be a bad sport just because we got the drop on you.

Beck grasped Carter’s hand. Smart ass.

The smartest. Carter pulled Beck to his feet.

Not so smart. Beck holstered his Glock 19, 9mm handgun. I would never have known you were there if you weren’t wearing those stupid-ass sunglasses. A piece of advice, Carter. Ditch the $300 Ray-Bans.

Carter winced.

Sadie Connolly came from behind Beck, carrying her rifle loaded with Simunitions, a special munition used in training—live rounds with a colored soft tip.

She wore a smirk. Getting slow in your old age.

Beck began to wonder if he was getting old. Go back to your class before I have instructor Markham fail both you youngsters.

Carter and Sadie laughed and returned to the group of trainees working toward getting their Deputy U.S. Marshal badges at the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center in Glynco, Georgia. They were all of ten years younger than Beck, but sometimes he felt a hell of a lot older.

His phone vibrated at his hip as he strode across the FLETC campus. He glanced at the screen. The phone auto answered as he brought it to his ear. Marshal Dillon, how’s Miss Kitty?

Deputy Marshal Arness Dillon never heard the end of jokes in relation to his last name, which was the same as the hero from Gunsmoke, the longest-running TV western in history. The show went off in 1961 but the reference still cracked people up. He tried to be a good sport about it. He should be, considering he’d chosen a career in the Marshals Service, even though Gunsmoke had been his grandfather’s favorite show, and a long-running family joke.

As for Miss Kitty, the television marshal’s main squeeze, she’d be hot in any time period.

Miss Kitty had become code for Claudine King, Supervisory Deputy U.S. Marshal, who oversaw the Washington, D.C. office.

Claudine is on a tear. Arness blew out his breath. She wants you to come to her office first thing in the morning.

Beck glanced up at the clear Georgia sky. Closing in on noon. Why didn’t she call me herself or have Tabitha do it?

She’s locked up in meetings all day and Tabitha is out sick. So, you’ve got me, buddy.

Lucky me. Beck started walking toward the main building. Do you know what it’s about?

Nope. A creak sounded in the background, as if Arness had shifted his weight in his chair. Just get your ass home.

Lee’s tonight? Beck asked. I’ll even let you try to beat me at pool.

Arness snorted. "You mean, I might let you try to beat me."

Beck reached for the glass door handle. See you around eight.

If you’re lucky, I’ll be there.

Beck disconnected and blew out his breath. What the hell could have Claudine worked up enough to have Arness call him?

Rick Derringer’s Rock and Roll, Hoochie Koo blared over speakers in the background of Lee’s Bar and Grill, a dive on Pennsylvania Avenue. Beck strode inside, trading the unusually warm D.C. evening for the moderate temperature of the packed bar. While he worked his way toward the back, he checked out the occupants out of habit and to see if he knew anyone there.

Mostly lawmakers, lawyers, and law enforcement officers frequented the down and dirty bar. No doubt a good number of lawbreakers too, many of them pulling double duty—both making and breaking laws.

Lee Dansby, the seventy-year-old proprietor, liked his 70s rock and roll, and he liked it loud. But in the corner near pool table one, it was possible to get in a word without having to yell it. Beck made his way back to the pool table, nodded to a couple of FBI agents, three police officers, and an assistant district attorney, all he’d worked with in one capacity or another over the two years he’d been stationed out of the D.C. office.

Lee’s gained more popularity by the minute. Beck figured soon he’d have to find another dive to frequent in a different part of town. But he liked Lee, liked the music, and the burgers tasted like sin.

When Beck reached the pool table, Daniel Parker grabbed a cue stick off the wall rack while Arness Dillon chalked his.

’Bout time you got here, Beck. Daniel nodded to Arness. Our boy tells me you’ve been playing with the kids down at the training center.

Beck shook his head. A couple of those ‘kids’ kicked my ass today.

Arness set down the chalk. Getting old?

That’s what I hear, Beck said dryly.

When are you going out in the field again? Daniel asked.

He shrugged. This instructor gig is going just fine.

Arness racked the balls. You were never cut out for office duty.

It’s hardly office duty. Beck inclined his head toward the bar. I’m grabbing a drink. Need anything?

Daniel raised his Heineken bottle. I’m set.

Arness gestured toward a glass on a nearby high-top, a thick head of foam on the draft. Just starting mine.

Beck headed to the bar, dying to get something to relax with.

Lee manned the bar regularly and he greeted Beck while filling a glass from a bottle of whiskey. The usual. Lee’s gruff voice sounded like sandpaper on wood as he slid the glass down the bar to rest directly in front of Beck.

Beck plopped a bill on the bar, enough to cover the whiskey and a generous tip. He raised the glass in a salute to the proprietor before turning around to head back to the pool table.

When Beck returned with the glass of whiskey, Arness and Daniel had started the game, and Reno McGuire stood at the foot of the table. The four of them, including Beck, worked out of the D.C. office. However, they were rarely all in town at the same time.

When did you get in? Reno leaned against the wall, a glass of amber liquor in his hand. Like Beck, he preferred whiskey. Heard you’re working at FLETC. He dragged out the pronunciation of flet-see in his slow, Texan drawl.

Yep. Claudine ordered me back from Glynco earlier today. Beck shifted his gaze and watched Daniel and Arness play pool. She has something she wants to talk to me about in the morning. He focused on Arness. Any idea what this is about?

Two in the corner. Arness called the shot and shifted his position at the pool table to take an angle shot. No clue why she wants to see you.

Beck shrugged. He’d find out soon enough.

Arness made the shot and called the next one. Four in the side. This time the ball hopped, and he missed the play. He cursed beneath his breath and stood back so that Daniel could take his turn.

With a shake of his head, Arness moved next to Beck. Been up to see your folks lately?

Beck held back a groan. He liked to keep some distance between himself and his highly dysfunctional family.

I haven’t made it home since the holidays. Beck rubbed the back of his neck. Mom’s been asking me to go for Dad’s birthday later this month. Six months seems like too soon.

Arness chuckled. I know the feeling. I need at least that long to recover from the Christmas family gathering.

And then it’s damn near time to go through it all over again, Reno said as he joined them.

You’ve got that right, Arness said.

Daniel made a smooth combination shot before pointing his cue stick at the pocket and calling out, Ten in the corner.

A touch on Beck’s forearm caused him to glance to his side. Darlene.

He shifted so his back was to his buddies. He barely kept from looking up at the ceiling and asking, Why now? Why her? Why me?

Beck. The petite blonde’s voice slid whisper-soft over him. He remembered when the sound of every syllable she made warmed him through.

Now he felt nothing but a deep irritation, like a burr beneath his skin.

Let’s talk. She smiled. A sad smile that almost melted him. Almost.

We’ve got nothing to talk about. Dream Weaver by Gary Wright played from the speakers, and Beck didn’t have to raise his voice to be heard. We crossed that bridge long ago.

But we didn’t burn it. Her lips quivered. Give me another chance, baby.

The sight of her trembling lips brought back images of times she’d lied to him, promising nothing had ever happened with her boss. Or the promises she wouldn’t come home wasted yet again.

Promises that were nothing more than lies.

Time after time after time.

Beck removed her hand from his arm. No.

Her face crumpled and tears rolled down her face. I’m so sorry. You don’t know how sorry I am.

He wasn’t going to let her crocodile tears affect him. He turned and braced one hand against the wall as he stared down at her. We’re not going there, Darlene. We are done, and you need to get it through that head of yours. Move on.

Bigger tears rolled down her cheeks. I can’t.

Beck dragged his palm down his face. Jesus. Yeah, he would be looking for a new dive to haunt—one where Darlene couldn’t track him down. Although she could have given a good private investigator a run for his money, so Beck wouldn’t put it past her to locate him.

I don’t want to discuss this. He heaved out a sigh. We’ve done that too many times. I’ve said all I’m going to say.

I’m sorry for everything I did. Mascara streaked her cheeks like train tracks. I didn’t mean any of it.

That’s your defense? He ground his teeth. Ignore her. She was sucking