by Kathy Ivan
As much as she wanted to scurry away under cover of darkness, telling nobody why she’d left or where she was heading, she couldn’t do that to Ms. Patti. The woman had been more than a mentor to her since she stumbled into Shiloh Springs almost a year ago. Ms. Patti had become a surrogate mother, replacing the one she barely remembered. Her biological mother had left when she was a little girl, barely able to remember what she looked like, and her father remarried not long after and had spent all his time catering to his new wife. That is when he wasn’t sitting in Big Jim’s pocket or bowing and scraping to please his former brother-in-law.
Now it was time to say goodbye and leave the town and the people she’d come to love behind, and never look back. She closed her eyes to stop the tears welling up. Blinking rapidly, she brushed her fingers over her eyelids and took a deep breath. This wasn’t the time to fall apart. It could wait until she hit the road, leaving Shiloh Springs in her rearview mirror.
Staring through the windshield, she studied the Boudreau home. It was perfect, and she loved this ranch and everything about it. A huge white-painted house, it epitomized everything she secretly wished for with its simple, elegant style. Two stories tall, it sported huge wraparound porches, one on each level. Dark green shutters flanked the large windows on each side, their color a stark, yet inviting contrast to the brilliant white. A single-story addition had been added to the east side of the house at some point over the years and sported a rooftop deck. She knew the master bedroom suite on the second floor held French doors opening onto the rooftop escape, surrounded by a white railing which mirrored the design of the ones encircling the massive twin porches. It embodied the perfect place for early morning coffee and getting ready for the upcoming day, or to sit back with a good book and a cup of tea in the evening after a hectic day at the office.
A large red brick chimney rose over the roofline, and a long front walkway of matching brick tied everything together, painting a homey picture. Sprawling live oak trees flanked each side of the house, adding character and grace to an already perfect picture.
A wave of envy pierced her as she imagined settling into a home like this, knowing it could never happen. People like her didn’t end up with the fairy-tale ending, the handsome prince, or the happily ever after.
Climbing from the car, she walked to the front door, running her hand along the balustrade surrounding the porch. The white paint was starting to show a bit of age, its creamy patina adding another layer of warmth to the tableau tugging at her heartstrings. She was going to miss sweet tea on Saturday afternoons with Ms. Patti. They’d made it their own personal ritual, a way to catch up on everything going on in the office during the week, and spend a little quality time together.
“Don’t just stand there, girl, come on in.” Douglas Boudreau held the front door open and motioned her inside. Towering over her by several inches, and built like a mountain, most people were intimated by the blunt older man, but she’d found him to be a pussycat. A gentle giant with a heart of gold.
“Thanks, Douglas. I’m here to see Ms. Patti.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, watching the blush creep into his face at her gesture of affection. Douglas always made her feel welcomed and appreciated in his home, and from the stories she’d heard about the Boudreaus when she’d first moved to Shiloh Springs, knew he didn’t suffer fools, and was a fierce protector of his family, especially the boys they’d welcomed in their home over the years. She was going to miss him.
“She’s in the kitchen. You can head on back.” He placed a meaty hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze before heading out the front door. Steeling herself, she headed through the hallway to the kitchen and paused in the opening.
“Ms. Patti, I—”
“Sit down, hon. We need to talk.” Although Ms. Patti’s back was to her, Serena read the tension in the way she held her shoulders, and the ramrod straightness of her spine. Heck, she hadn’t even told Ms. Patti why she needed to speak with her when she’d called, but somehow the older woman knew. And she wasn’t a happy camper.
“I’m sorry for showing up early like this. But, I wanted—no, needed to tell you in person I’m leaving. I’m sorry for the short notice.”
“Serena, sit down before you fall down. I knew something was wrong when you called last night. I didn’t want to push, figured you tell me when you were ready. Now, you show up and tell me you’re leaving?”
Serena felt lower than a caterpillar crawling under a doorframe. The hurt in Ms. Patti’s voice, the disappointment in her face nearly undid her resolve. She wanted to stay, but that option was closed. If she stayed, not only would her uncle find her, she’d be putting her friends’ lives in jeopardy. Big Jim Berkley wouldn’t care about collateral damage, not if it meant catching up and eliminating Serena. As far as he was concerned, she was a traitor to her family, and deserved to be put down like a mongrel dog. The threats he’d spewed in the courtroom after the reading of the verdict still rang in her ears, and she knew to the depths of her soul he meant every word.
“Ms. Patti, you know I’ve loved working in Shiloh Springs, and you’ve been the best boss I’ve ever had, but it’s time for me to head out.”
“What are your plans, hon? You know I’ll give you a reference. You’ve been an asset to the office, at least until you’ve thrown this monkey wrench into the mix. I can tell something’s wrong.” Ms. Patti placed her hand atop Serena’s, leaning in closer. “You can talk to me, you know, right? Anything you say, I’ll never repeat. You’re white as a sheet, and shaking like a leaf. Tell me what’s wrong, and I’ll fix it.”
Serena gave a shaky laugh. Ms. Patti did love to fix things for the people she loved. If anybody had a problem, all they had to do was tell Ms. Patti and poof, problem solved. Only this wasn’t a problem she could wave her magic wand at and make it go away. So, she did the only thing she could do. She lied.
“Nothing’s wrong. I told you in the beginning, when you hired me, I’m a nomad. A gypsy who doesn’t put down roots. Staying in one place too long gives me the heebie-jeebies. My itchy feet tell me it’s time to move along, start a new adventure.”
Ms. Patti studied her intently, her stare seeming to see straight into her soul. The feeling she was being weighed in the balance. After several excruciating long seconds, Ms. Patti smiled.
“There are a lot of ways to curb wanderlust that don’t involve uprooting your life. Taking a vacation. Going on an adventure. Start a new hobby. Don’t lie to yourself or to me about why you’re leaving. You’re scared. Running from something or somebody in your past. I’ve known it from the start. I recognized all the signs and hired you anyway, even with your lack of experience because I could tell, deep down, you needed someplace to call home.”
Serena opened her mouth to deny Ms. Patti’s words, then closed it because she was right. She didn’t know who or what Serena was running from, but the desire to find one place where she could stop, even if for a short time, had tempted her like a siren’s song. Her fake ID gave her a realtor’s license, and on a whim, she’d walked through the doors of Boudreau Realty, and met the amazing woman across from her, who’d taken a chance on her.
“Home is wherever I lay my head at night.”
Ms. Patti leaned back in her chair, a curious smile on her lips. “You remind me so much of my boys. Every one of them came here with the same attitude, the same ‘I don’t need anybody or anything to be happy’ mentality. Like them, you’re struggling to find your place. You’re scared of opening up and caring about other people because you’ve been hurt. Serena, we’ve all been hurt at one point or another. I could tell you stories about my past that would have you bawling like a baby in five minutes. Every one of my sons have pasts, some more horrific than others, but they all needed a soft place to land. A place where they could find their balance, and be able to grow roots and hold their heads up.”
Serena crossed her arms across her chest, bracing herself against the words. She couldn’t fall into th
is trap, because it was one. A deep cavern of sharp, pointy rocks waiting to devour her if she took one wrong step. Someone had befriended her when she first went into witness protection, and she’d believed she was safe to start a new life, have friends, maybe even find love. He’d ended up with his throat slit, simply because he was her friend. Ms. Patti, Douglas, all of the Boudreaus meant even more to her. If she listened, if she stayed, the possibility of them being in danger was an intolerable thought. She was making the right decision.
“No, you’re making the wrong decision,” Ms. Patti answered, as if reading her mind. “Whatever inner demon is chasing you will never stop, not unless or until you take a stand. Face it head on and don’t give in. I am here, and I’ll stand by your side, and help you fight. Douglas will too. You’re not alone.”
Could she do it? Staying in Shiloh Springs held a greater appeal than setting out on the road, looking for a new place to hide. Always looking over her shoulder, wondering if the next person she met might be the last. She wasn’t even certain her uncle knew where she was; there hadn’t been any indication he’d read the article or seen the photo.
It was a risk, but at the end of the day wasn’t the reward worth taking a chance? Antonio’s face popped into her thoughts, with his handsome dark looks, the Italian elegance of his profile and his cocky smile. Leaving him behind would be leaving a piece of herself behind too, because she’d come to care about him more than was safe.
“Okay, Ms. Patti. I’ll give it a shot, but I can’t make any promises. I’ve always given in when the urge to move on hits. It might become too much, and I’ll head out for parts unknown. I’ve always wanted to travel abroad, maybe I’ll look into going to Italy.”
Why did I mention Italy? I need to stop thinking with my heart, and listen to my head.
A tiny smile curved Ms. Patti’s lips, and Serena knew she hadn’t fooled the older woman one iota. She’d gotten her way, and Serena hoped nobody ended up paying for her decision.
“Good, it’s settled. Now, let’s get down to business. What’s going on with the Rudiger place? Any prospects?”
And just like that, Serena’s world felt right again. She prayed Big Jim never found out about Shiloh Springs.
CHAPTER THREE
“Glad to have you here, Boudreau.” Special Agent in Charge Derrick Williamson leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped across his stomach. Antonio studied the man, took in the freshly pressed shirt, suit pants. The top button of Williamson’s shirt was undone and his tie loosened, giving off a casual vibe, but Antonio didn’t buy it, not for a second.
At first glance, Williamson portrayed the easygoing, overworked FBI agent to a tee, but Antonio never went with what was obvious to the naked eye. He’d long ago learned taking things at face value often led to big mistakes, a lesson he’d vowed never to repeat. Williamson appeared fit, his sandy-brown hair cut short in a businessman style. He looked like he worked out regularly, and didn’t have the paunch across his middle most pencil pushers seemed to gain working in an office.
An off-white cowboy hat lay on the credenza behind Williamson, as though it had been taken off and tossed onto the surface cluttered with papers and files. Now that he could believe. Most everybody in Texas wouldn’t be caught dead without their hat.
“Happy to be here. What can you tell me about the case?” He eased onto the chair opposite the desk, and propped his foot on the opposite knee, resting his own cowboy hat there. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full down here.”
Williamson sighed. “You’ve got no idea, Boudreau. Two agents out with gunshot wounds. One on maternity leave. One ruptured appendix. And two more who relocated to different cities. Leaving us in a mighty big hole we’re still trying to dig our way out of. Which is why I’m glad you’re here, even if it’s temporary.”
Looking closer, Antonio noted the dark circles under Williamson’s eyes, the slightly grayish pallor to his skin. The man was obviously running on fumes, never a good idea when dealing with high profile cases or even the small stuff. A tired agent missed things.
Williamson tossed a folder across his desk. “This one’s been a pain in my backside for months. How familiar are you with James “Big Jim” Berkley?”
Antonio’s brow rose at the mention of the name. Big Jim Berkley’s case had been on the FBI list for years, until he’d finally been arrested, tried, and convicted two years earlier. Headline on the nightly news on every news station for months, the scandal of infighting within his family, plus the nature of his crimes provided fodder for the press, and the viewing public ate it up, spreading it across television stations until you couldn’t change the channel without somebody talking about the bombings.
“I remember when he was arrested. Wasn’t he caught in San Antonio? Liked to bomb synagogues, mosques, any place where minorities and people with different ideologies congregated.”
Williamson leaned back in his chair, and ran a hand through his hair. “That’s him alright. The man is charismatic and has a following still active to this day. Most members of his family are part of his whacked out cult. Has a bunch of rabid believers who hang on every word the idiot spouts.”
Cocking his head, Antonio opened the file, and stared at the picture of James Berkley. The man was big, at least six three, maybe six four, two-hundred and fifty pounds, and it looked like it was all muscle. Salt and pepper hair. He couldn’t tell from the black-and-white picture what color his eyes were, but they were cold. Empty.
“Why is the FBI looking at Berkley again? Isn’t he in federal prison serving multiple life sentences?” Antonio’s eyes scanned the front page of the file, and he straightened when he noted the words “appeal granted”. “This can’t be right. He’s getting an appeal? There was a ton of evidence against him. No way does this guy walk.”
“His attorneys found some loophole, and he’s trying to scurry through it like the filthy little weasel he is. At least the courts are keeping him in prison for now, until the appeal’s been heard. But we’ve got another problem.” Williamson’s tone filled with disgust. “Berkley’s niece was the backbone of the government’s case. She provided a good chunk of the evidence used to convict Berkley. Her testimony nailed his coffin good and tight. Before the trial, she was guarded day and night. Afterwards, she went into witness protection.”
Antonio quickly put two and two together, and tossed the file on the chair next to him. “Lemme guess. Berkley put a hit out on the niece to shut her up. If she can’t testify, the feds case dries up, right?”
“Pretty much. Berkley’s had people searching for Sharon since before the first trial. The government kept a tight lid on her throughout and whisked her away the minute she’d finished testifying, even before the verdict came down. But somehow her location was leaked and Berkley’s hired goons found her in Las Vegas.”
Antonio felt a clenching sensation in his gut. “She’s dead?”
Williamson shook his head. “Don’t know. Her next-door neighbor ended up dead and Sharon Berkley disappeared. Vanished without a trace. Witness protection searched for months, examined every trail, every whisper of a lead, but either Berkley had her taken out—which is possible, and he’s kept his mouth shut about it—or she’s good enough to stay under the radar. My gut tells me Berkley’s still looking for her, because I doubt he’d be able to shut up about it if he’d had her eliminated. He’s too vain and thinks he’s smarter than everybody involved in his case. No, we going under the assumption she’s alive and hiding.”
Antonio drummed his fingertips against his knee, his mind sorting through the information Williamson shared. It made sense Sharon Berkley could still be alive. But it was hard to stay completely off the grid in this day and age of electronic surveillance, computers, and facial recognition software. If she was out there, they’d find her. He only hoped it was before Big Jim Berkley did.
“What specifics can you tell me about Sharon Berkley? Last known whereabouts, any information from WITSEC? Or am I overstep
ping? I figure since you’re telling me about Berkley’s case, you want me to help locate her?”
Williamson picked up another folder and shoved it across the desk. Antonio bit back a chuckle at the disgruntled look on the other man’s face. He had a feeling he’d get along well with Williamson, once they’d worked out the initial posturing that always happened when two alpha dogs went after the same bone. Didn’t matter, he was only here temporarily anyway. He’d try not to yank Williamson’s tail too hard.
“Like I said, she was initially relocated to Vegas. Worked a menial job in a veterinarian’s office. Lived in a quiet suburb outside downtown, in a small two-bedroom townhouse. Mostly kept to herself. Rarely dated. About four months after the trial ended, police responded to an alarm at her townhouse. When they got there, she was in the wind. Next door neighbor found with his throat slit. Local cops think he interrupted an attempted robbery, since her screens were cut and a window broken. They don’t know if Sharon was home at the time, because they never talked to her. She vanished like a puff of smoke.”
“Hmm. You’re thinking Big Jim sent somebody after her. You mentioned a leak. Any idea who?”
“Yeah. Said hole has since been plugged, but WITSEC is still cleaning up the fallout from their fiasco.”
“And nobody’s heard from Sharon Berkley since Vegas?”
Williamson leaned forward and picked up the coffee mug from his desk, and took a deep drink. “Two days after the neighbor’s murder, she contacted the agent assigned to her case. Terrified and unsure who to trust, she drove for hours before holing up in a roach coach motel on the outskirts of Denver.”
