Hidden Witness

by Shirlee McCoy

  “Good. I want to find the person responsible for this. I want him in jail. Yesterday.” He nearly spat the words as he yanked on clothes, ignoring the pain in his head and the fuzziness in his mind.

  Someone knocked on the door as he buttoned his shirt.

  “Come in,” he barked, not even trying to hide his frustration.

  “Hey, Boss.” Lucas Sanders walked into the room, cowboy hat in hand and a look of concern on his face. “You’re looking a lot better than you did yesterday.”

  “Yeah. I’ll feel a lot better when I know who planted a bomb on my ranch,” he responded.

  “The police cordoned off the area around that cabin. They finished collecting evidence yesterday, so I brought in the bulldozer. Decided I’d better check with you before I raze what’s left.”

  “What’s left?” he asked. He hadn’t thought much about the damage to his property. He’d been too busy thinking about the damage to the infrastructure of his team. He and the men and women who worked on the ranch were a family. The idea that someone in his family had tried to kill Anna and had nearly killed him in the process, infuriated and worried him.

  “Just a few wooden beams and the cement foundation.” Lucas shook his head. He looked drawn and tired, his normal good cheer gone. In the years they’d known each other, Mac had only ever seen him positive and energetic. He was in his midsixties, but in great physical shape. Most people would have guessed him to be in his early fifties. He’d aged since the explosion, his face haggard, his shoulders sloped.

  “Are you okay, Lucas?”

  “I’m mad as a bull with a red flag waving in front of its face. Your grandpa built that cabin for me and my wife when I came here looking for work. I’d lost my job and my house. I had nothing. He was willing to take a chance on me. Not only that, but he made it possible for me to provide a home for my wife and my two kids.” He shook his head. “What happened? It was a travesty, and I can’t express how sorry I am about it.”

  “Don’t apologize for what you didn’t do.” Mac grabbed his coat, frowning when he saw the blood staining the back of it. “Guess this needs to be run through the wash. How about we get back to the ranch? I want to see the damage to the cabin before you raze it. We’ll take pictures for insurance purposes.”

  “Already done,” Lucas said. “I took the liberty of contacting the insurance adjuster. He’s been out. Says it’ll be covered. The payout should cover the cost of building new. Although, from what I hear, Anna is leaving us. You might not need another cabin.”

  “Yeah. That’s what I’ve been told.”

  And he still didn’t like it.

  But he would rather fight the battle on his own turf.

  He walked into the hall, ignoring his shaky legs and his pounding head. There would be time to heal. After he made certain the person who had planted the bomb paid for it.

  TWELVE

  Annalise hadn’t bothered returning to the ranch. She’s spent the past two days and nights at the hospital, sitting beside Mac, praying that he would recover with no permanent damage. Stacey had bought her clothes, toiletries and a new cell phone. She had also sat beside Mac while Annalise showered. There was a two-inch bandage covering the deep gash in her shoulder, and she had bruises everywhere, but she was thankful to be alive.

  It had been a close call.

  A very close one.

  She had no intention of allowing it to happen again. Not with people she cared about around.

  When Daniel had arrived, he had tried to talk her into leaving the hospital. He had suggested that she return to the ranch and pack anything she wanted to bring back to Boston.

  There was nothing left to pack.

  The explosion had destroyed her clothes and the few personal items she had brought from Boston. She didn’t miss any of it except the photo of her and her mother. She’d kept it in a lockbox in the closet, safe from prying eyes. If she had completely followed Witness Protection rules, she would have left it behind, but she had been afraid she might never return to Boston. Or that she would return and the storage unit she had leased for a year to keep her belongings in would have been destroyed or broken into.

  She had other photos of her mother, but the one she’d brought was the only one where they were both smiling, both happy, both looking as if life had treated them well. It had been taken on Mother’s Day, just a few months before Annalise went to law school. Six months later, her mother had committed suicide.

  When guilt left her sleepless, when she couldn’t shake the feeling that she could have done more to save her mother, she would look at the photo, study her mother’s smiling face, and remind herself that everything really had seemed wonderful and that there had been no hint of the deep depression her mother had fallen into.

  “You’re quiet,” Mac said as they pulled up to the ranch’s gate. They were in the back seat of Lucas’s car, Seamus in the front passenger seat, his body tense as he scanned their surroundings. He had ridden to the hospital in the ambulance. Like Anna, he had stayed there, relying on a few of River’s deputies to access Mac’s security system and download the videos.

  “Just thinking.”

  “About?”

  “Leaving here.”

  “We still have to discuss that,” he said, his hand sliding over hers, their fingers twining.

  “I’m not going to risk staying here. I can’t risk something worse happening,” she responded. “But I’ll miss it.”

  “Like I said, we still need to discuss it. Maybe over lunch. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”

  “Only you could have an appetite with a grade three concussion,” Lucas said, glancing into the rearview mirror as the gate swung open. Daniel was behind them in a rented SUV. He’d driven straight from the airport to the hospital. She wondered what he thought of the sprawling ranch with its sweeping vistas. It was a far cry from the Boston cityscape. If someone had told her six months ago that she would come to prefer it, she would have laughed, but now, her throat tightened every time she thought of leaving. Not just because of Mac. Because of the peaceful pace of life. The clean air. The feeling of belonging.

  “You want to go the main house and get something to eat? Or swing by the cabin to see the damage? If you approve, I’ll start bulldozing this afternoon.”

  “Let’s drive by. I’d like to see the damage in person.”

  “More likely you want to see if the police missed any clues,” Seamus corrected.

  “Maybe. I’d also like to make sure none of Anna’s belongings can be salvaged. There is no sense bulldozing until we know for sure that nothing can be saved.” He squeezed her hand, offering a reassuring smile.

  Anna hadn’t thought about that possibility.

  She also hadn’t allowed herself to toy with the idea that the lockbox might have survived the blast and the fire. She thought she had purchased a fire-resistant box, but she couldn’t remember. Was it possible it had survived, and that the picture was intact?

  She leaned forward as they neared the place where she had spent seven months of her life. At first, she had felt lonely and at loose ends. The frantic pace she was used to had muted the yearnings of her soul and squelched the quiet voice that echoed one of her favorite Bible verses: “Be still.”

  In Texas, she’d had no choice but to feel the emptiness of her life, the futility of rushing to work and home and back again. Her job was important, but friends were important too. Community was important. Reaching out instead of always dwelling in her own problems and her own worries would have been a far nobler pursuit than eating take-out Chinese food on her leather sofa, watching the latest true crime show.

  She should have realized that long before she’d found herself embroiled in this mess.

  She blinked back tears that had been threatening since she had walked into Mac’s hospital room and seen his pale, bruised face. He
had nearly died saving her. She owed him for that. If that meant leaving a place that had finally begun to feel like home, that is exactly what she planned to do.

  “Well, there she is,” Lucas said, pulling up in front of the blackened carcass of the old cabin. The charred remains of a few cross beams still stood defiantly. Piles of waterlogged and blackened furniture stood in the center of the ruins.

  “It’s okay,” Mac said, brushing a tear from her cheek.

  “I should be the one comforting you,” she responded. “Your grandfather built this place.”

  “My grandfather and his father built this ranch. Most of it is still standing. I’m not going to mourn the loss of a building when lives could have been lost.” He smiled, his hand still on her cheek, his eyes the silvery blue of the midnight sky.

  She almost leaned toward him. Just the way she had before when their lips had touched, and she had allowed herself to believe in the revival of her childhood dreams. The family. The kids. The happy home.

  But they weren’t alone.

  Seamus was already out of the vehicle, moving toward the cabin. Lucas was following.

  “We should take a look,” she said, still staring into his eyes.

  “I can think of other things I’d like to do,” he responded, his gaze dropping to her lips. “But you’re right. This needs to be settled first. I want to know who planted the bomb, and I want him put away where he can’t do any more damage.” He opened his door and got out, reaching in and tugging her with him. “I still plan on having that dinner with you, Anna. If you fly back to Boston, you can expect me to come for a visit.”

  “Not until the trial is over,” she responded, allowing herself to be led to the burnt-out shell of her former home.

  “Sorry. That’s not the way I operate.”

  “Since when are you the one calling the shots?” she asked, smiling because she would rather be bickering with Mac than sitting beside his hospital bed. It was good to hear him talk, to see him walking and moving and acting as if nothing had happened.

  “Since you decided to return to Boston without consulting me.” He stepped into charred remains of the cabin, frowning as he kicked the remnants of a lamp aside. “What a mess. Did you have jewelry here? Anything of value that might have survived?”

  “The only thing of value I had was a picture of me and my mom. It was in lockbox on the top shelf in the closet.” She walked to the area where her room had been. The bed frame was partially standing, the mattress a pile of blackened stuffing fabric. A few burned books lay near the wrecked nightstand. The fire had burned hot, and it had burned for a while.

  “A couple of the ranch hands cleared out some of the furniture and clothes. It was starting to stink, and the area was pretty ripe. They tossed it all in the burn pile. I doubt they’d have tossed a lockbox in, but you never know. I’ll ask around,” Lucas said, walking to the space where the closet had been. A pile of clothes lay there, as rank and horrible smelling as he had said. “They need to come back and get the rest of this. Unless you want to go through it?”

  “No, but if they see the lockbox, I’d like to have it back.”

  “Tell you what,” Lucas said. “We’ll go through everything before I raze it. Shouldn’t take too long. If I see the box, I’ll bring it to you.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “It’s the least I can do after what happened here.” He shook his head. “I must have been off my game, letting someone onto the ranch who would do something like that.”

  “You let someone on the ranch?” Mac asked, his voice sharp.

  “Not knowingly, but how else would a bomb have been planted? We’re a family. No one would do this to family.” He kicked the blackened mess of clothes and shook his head. “Come on. Let’s go to the house and get some food in you before you keel over.”

  “I’m not going to keel over, but I would like to see the security footage that was downloaded. I want to know how it got corrupted.”

  “Wouldn’t we all?” Seamus asked, leading the way back to the car.

  Anna walked more slowly across the cement slab and the layers of burned furniture, clothes and books. She had lost everything. For the second time.

  “You okay?” Mac asked.

  “I don’t know,” she responded.

  “Anything I can do to make it better?”

  “Just keep being you.”

  He nodded, slipping an arm around her waist, his fingers curving in her belt loop. He didn’t speak. She didn’t need him to. She just needed to feel like she wasn’t alone.

  * * *

  They scoured the security footage for three hours, fast-forwarding through grainy images that seemed to have been shot through a hazy lens. Mac could make out shadowy movement but no details. Head pounding, shoulders aching from being hunched over for too long, he pushed away from the table and stood.

  “Did someone put plastic wrap over the security camera?” he asked, running a hand over the back of his head and prodding the swollen cut that had been stitched closed. It hurt a lot, but hurting beat being dead. He could have died. Anna could have. Seamus and River could have lost their lives. He was grateful that the only permanent damage had been done to the cabin.

  “We checked for interference. We didn’t find anything,” Lucas said, grabbing a bowl of chips from the desk and shoving the bowl in his direction. “Eat before you fall over.”

  “I’m not hungry for food. I’m hungry for answers.”

  “That concussion is making you philosophical, Mac,” Seamus said, clicking on new footage and watching it. “It’s clear the day the bomb exploded. Take a look.”

  He rewound and played the clip again.

  “One more time,” Daniel said, moving closer to watch. “The plant is near the door. From what I was told, it was usually behind the cabin.”

  “So, the camera is clear the day of the explosion, but not the day prior,” Mac murmured, something nagging at the back of his sluggish brain. “Did we watch all the footage?” he finally asked, certain they were missing something.

  “Everything we have,” Seamus responded. “Like I said, I’ve sent it to a friend who may be able to pull some images off it.”

  “Not if there was something blocking the lens,” Daniel said. “And I agree with Mac. That’s what it looks like. Someone covered the lens with a couple of layers of plastic wrap. It wouldn’t be noticeable unless you looked closely, and it could be removed easily.”

  “You know what I’m thinking?” Seamus said, his brain apparently functioning at a faster pace than Mac’s. “Fingerprints. If someone messed with the cameras, he may have left prints on the lens or on the camera.”

  “Good thought. I’ll call the sheriff’s office and ask if the cameras were dusted for prints.” Daniel dialed the number and stepped out of the room.

  Mac listened to the muted sound of his voice, his mind still moving toward the thing that was bothering him. They’d watched a lot of security footage. All of it from the camera installed on a tree across from the cabins. “Did anyone check the camera in the rear?” he asked, rubbing at the aching spot on the back of his head. A bandage covered the stitches, but he could feel the swollen flesh beneath it.

  “I didn’t realize there was a camera in the rear,” Seamus responded. “But Lucas downloaded everything. You sent it all, right?”

  “I sent footage from both cameras. It’s in there. Probably just hard to see because of the interference. At least, it was there. The file was sent to the police first. Maybe I missed a section of footage when I sent it to Seamus. I’ll check and let you know if I did.”

  “That would be good. The camera on that back fence is pointed toward the cabins rather than the cattle pen like it used to be. I switched it when Anna moved in.” He hadn’t believed anyone would try to get to her while she was on ranch property, but he had wanted to
make certain he had a record of everything that happened near her cabin.

  He should have had someone manning the security monitor. He had never felt it was necessary. He had installed the cameras on the off chance a guest was injured, had a personal belonging stolen or filed suit against the ranch. He hadn’t intended the system to be monitored twenty-four hours a day.

  “I want to know who did this,” Mac said, the constant throbbing pain in his head a grim reminder of how close he had come to dying. His gaze shifted to Anna. She’d taken a seat on a high-backed chair against the wall. Her head was tilted back, her eyes closed.

  “Looks like she’s worn out,” Seamus commented. “Guess you can’t stay awake for forty-eight hours and not eventually give in to sleep.”

  “I’m not asleep,” she murmured, opening her eyes and frowning. “I’m just resting my eyes.”

  “Maybe you should rest them in your bed,” Daniel said, stepping back into the room. “We have an early flight out in the morning. We’ll need to leave before dawn.”

  “It’s three in the afternoon,” she responded, barely managing to stifle a yawn.

  “He’s right. You should rest,” Mac said. He didn’t want her to leave. He wanted her to stay close so he could keep an eye on her, but there was more manpower in Boston and more of a chance that she would be safe.

  That was paramount.

  It was all that mattered.

  “I’m not the one with thirty stitches in my head,” she said with a smile that didn’t hide the sadness in her eyes.

  “Tell you what,” he responded, pulling her to her feet. “I’ll rest if you do.”

  “What’s the catch?” she asked, allowing herself to be led from the room.

  “No catch. I figure if we nap now, we can have dinner later.”

  “So you don’t have to fly to Boston to make good on the deal?”

  “So I can spend time with you before you leave. Dinner in Boston is still in the books.”

  “Is it?” she asked.

  “Do you want it to be?” They’d reached the guest room and stopped at the door, just a foot between them and a world of possibilities between them.