Watched from a Distance
by Allison B. Hanson
Copyright © 2018 by Allison B. Hanson. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Chapter One
Outside Denver, Colorado
No one in the history of the world had ever been this nervous at a child’s soccer game. U.S. Deputy Marshal Dane Ryan knew he shouldn’t be here. He’d taken every precaution, but it still wasn’t safe.
Not only was he at risk of being discovered, but he was sure the fake mustache made him look like a 70s porn star.
The mothers sharing the bleachers stared at him and murmured to each other. He was a stranger, and mothers protected their young with a vengeance. Especially from men who looked like they made a living playing the part of Hot Copier Repairman.
The truth was, Dane wasn’t even watching the game in the field where he was seated. His interest was in the game in the neighboring field where the ten-year-olds played with slightly more skill.
His son, Tobey, was number twenty-one. Tobey needed a haircut, and the lace on his left shoe was coming untied. Dane knew all those things, but he didn’t know his son’s favorite flavor of ice cream. Did he really like playing soccer, or did he feel obligated to join because his friends did?
At the other field Dane’s wife, Caroline, sat next to her new husband, Randy, and cheered for their son’s team. Technically, she was still his wife. Not his ex-wife. Although, since she’d been told he died in a fire, he couldn’t blame her for moving on with her life. Legally, their marriage ended when his death certificate was filed five years ago.
Five years ago, when David Ryan ceased to exist, and Dane Ryan was born from the ashes.
Just then, Tobey scored a goal, and Dane yelled out. “Good job!”
Except, at the field where he was seated there was a time out for a crying child.
Shit.
He gauged the spectators. The lionesses were uneasy. He should go. This was too risky. Worse, it was becoming a habit.
He’d stayed away from his old life for years, but recently, while on medical leave recovering from being shot in the leg, he’d become restless.
Restlessness had given way to curiosity, and curiosity—along with a strong wave of missing what he’d lost—had brought him here. Three times.
It wasn’t healthy. This wasn’t his life anymore. He’d given it up so Tobey and Caroline would be safe. So they wouldn’t have to uproot their lives and start over because of his mistake.
One of the women had pulled out her phone and had it pointed in his direction.
Time to go.
With one last look at his son running down the field, Dane let out a sigh and slid out of his seat. He needed to leave before his photo ended up all over Facebook. No doubt these women would recognize him if he came back. Which meant he couldn’t come back.
He’d tried to stay away but hadn’t been able to. Now he had a compelling reason.
He was dead. It was time to start acting like it.
His leg was stiff from sitting for so long, and the dampness from the late-April day didn’t help much. The familiar pain throbbed though his left thigh as he limped away.
He paused behind a tree to see Tobey run over to Caroline and Randy. It was obvious his son was happy and loved. That was all Dane needed to know.
It was time to move on.
This time for real.
Chapter Two
Miles and hours away from the soccer field, Dane decided it was safe to stop for the night. He chose a hotel with a bar across the street, knowing he didn’t want to be alone.
In his past life he had been a people person. He’d had clients and meetings. There had been daily interactions with people. As a U. S. Deputy Marshal assigned to Task Force Phoenix, he sometimes went days without speaking out loud.
After seeing the happy family that should have been his, he needed to feel connected to someone. If only for a night.
The usual twinge of disappointment washed over him at the idea of sleeping with a stranger. He could forgive Caroline for getting married and moving on. She thought he was dead. But Dane didn’t have the luxury of that freedom. In his mind, he was still married. Regardless of how tense and strained that marriage had become before it ended with his fake death, he wasn’t the type of man to walk away.
Tonight, he granted himself permission from his list of reasons. Not only was he no longer legally married, but he was not the same person Caroline had married eleven years ago. He had a different identity, a different job, and lived a much different life.
No longer the young executive who was eager to please, he was now a hardened thirty-five-year-old marshal who’d been trained to kill, and had used that training six times in the last five years.
Time had moved on, and they’d both changed.
As much as it bothered him, he knew deep in his heart that if he’d stayed, they wouldn’t still be married. They’d been headed for divorce; he’d just been too stubborn to say it, and she’d refused to give up her pretense of living the perfect life. It didn’t matter that they were miserable. If they appeared happy, they were.
The walls of the bar were covered with the normal sports memorabilia. It appeared hockey was the owner’s favorite. The place was crowded, but naturally there were no lone women at the bar waiting for him to walk in. That would have been too easy.
He sat next to a group of people and nodded in greeting. A few minutes later, he had inserted himself into their conversation and was having a good time.
Feeling someone brush up against him from the other side, he turned to see a gorgeous brunette sit down.
“Was someone sitting here?” she asked when she noticed him looking at her. Dane had tossed the mustache as soon as he was out of town, but the residue from the adhesive pulled as he smiled.
“No. Help yourself.” There was only one seat available next to him, which meant she wasn’t expecting anyone to join her.
Digging through her purse, she smiled at the bartender. “Can I get a beer? The special would be great.” She pulled some money out and stacked it on the bar in front of her, the international sign she planned to stay awhile.
In a matter of minutes, they were chatting easily, and she had shared her story—divorced, not looking for anyone. Lena Scott was focusing on her career in design, and she was in town for a meeting. It had gone well, but now she was second-guessing everything because they hadn’t called her back yet. She took a sip of her beer and looked at him expectantly.
Right. She wanted him to share. Normal people expected a person to reciprocate. He swallowed down the urge to tell her the truth, and pushed the lies out of his mouth.
“I’m in sales. Just passing through.” That was the extent of his story. He kind of blanked out while studying her eyes. They were multi-colored. Gold, green, blue, and gray all mixed together in a kaleidoscope of colors.
“Are you married?” she asked.
He shook himself from the hypnotic trance so he could focus.
“No. No, I’m not,” he answered with a smile.
Things were definitely looking up.
