“Nice to meet you.” The smile splitting his face appeared genuine. “Do you always jog alone?”
Huge red flag. At least Alex had eyes on her in the camera room. She tried to formulate a reply, but words evaded her.
Red touched his cheeks and he grimaced. “Sorry, that came out wrong. You’re probably thinking I’m some sort of creep.”
Pretty much.
He didn’t wait for a response before continuing, “What I meant was that most women jog with a friend or boyfriend or something.”
“I like the solitude.” The sun had vanished, leaving darkness in its wake. “I’d better get moving. I still need to get a little more distance in before heading back.”
“Sure. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
Not likely. She offered a smile. “You never know.”
She resumed jogging, fighting the desire to look over her shoulder with each step. Part of her expected a bullet to the back at any second.
“He’s leaving the area.”
Praise God. Alex couldn’t have said anything more reassuring than those words.
Except maybe that the threat was past and they were all free to return to their lives. Like that would happen anytime soon.
Lana risked a glance behind her. Amazing how small a six foot man could look when he was a diminishing speck on the beach.
No one else was in sight.
She turned toward the communicator. “We’re clear.”
“Good.” Unusual brusqueness traced Alex’s words. “Keep an eye out for another fifteen minutes, then I want you inside for a briefing.”
“Will do.” Lana jogged a few short laps, keeping the house in full view at all times.
As she moved, she replayed the exchange in her head. Nothing stood out as overly suspicious and her instincts weren’t screaming that this guy was trouble.
Night settled around her like a cloak.
A glance at her watch showed almost twenty minutes had passed since Alex’s last communication. Twenty minutes with nothing but the crash of the waves and the harsh wind for company.
She turned toward the house, approached the back door, and knocked. While it’d be more convenient to have a key, no one was allowed to take one outside. At least if a sniper got the drop on one of them, they weren’t handing him easy access to the house.
A moment passed before Alex opened the door. Lana stepped inside and secured the locks on the door before following Alex to the kitchen table.
“Okay. Tell me everything.”
Lana recounted the conversation word for word while Alex scribbled some notes on a pad of paper in front of her.
When she finished, Alex leaned back, tapping her pen against pursed lips. “What does your gut tell you?”
“That he’s a lonely guy who spends his life traveling, saw a woman jogging alone, and awkwardly started a conversation.”
“Sounds likely.” A grin snuck across Alex’s face. “So. Those cameras aren’t Hollywood quality or anything, but it looked like this guy might be kinda cute. What’s the verdict?”
Lana shook her head slowly. “You’re hopeless.”
“And you’re deflecting. Which means I’m right.”
“For all you know, he’s a killer.”
“Your gut doesn’t think so.”
“What does my gut know?”
“Plenty. You’ve always had good instincts about people.”
“Oh, well if my ultra-reliable instincts say he’s a good guy….”
Alex laughed. “Okay, okay. Point made. But honestly, unless something’s changed since we last worked together, you could stand to get out more.”
Why did people always feel the need to meddle? Like being single was so bad or something. “My life is fine. Besides, we’re kind of in the middle of a case here. Just saying.”
“I didn’t necessarily mean right now.”
“Well, if we’re done, I’m going to check on Reilly.”
Alex crossed her arms on the table in front of her and leaned in. “I just want you to be happy.”
All irritation bled away at the genuine concern in Alex’s words. “I don’t need a guy to be happy. I already am. And once this whole thing blows over and Reilly’s safe at home, I’ll be even happier.”
She crossed the living room, cutting between Rodriguez and whatever cop show – didn’t he get enough of that in real life? – he was watching.
At the top of the stairs, she spotted Reilly sitting in one of the two chairs situated by the waist-high wall of the loft, an open book in his hands. He looked up as she approached.
“Hey, you.”
“No, hey, you.” A smile attempted to curl his lips, but didn’t quite make it.
“What’re you doing up here all alone?”
“Tired of the TV, I guess. This seemed like a good place to relax.”
Although the noise from the TV below drifted up, it didn’t seem to bother him. At least, not until the sound of gunfire battered their senses. Reilly’s shoulders stiffened, his jaw clenched, and his fingers tightened on the book.
They might have to implement a comedy only rule until Reilly’s mental state improved.
Sinking into the chair across from him, she placed her hand on top of one of his. “How are you holding up?”
His eyes narrowed and his lips flattened. “Would you stop asking me that? I’m fine.”
“You aren’t sleeping, you’re confined to a house being guarded by six US Marshals, and possibly being hunted by a professional assassin. That’s anything but fine.”
“At least I’m alive. I think your phone rang while you were gone.”
She accepted the comment for the subject change it was and retrieved her phone from the table next to her bed.
Not just one missed call. Two.
She rejoined Reilly on the loft and sank into the chair next to his before scrolling through her call history. The same number both times, spaced about an hour apart. But not a number she recognized.
Wait a second. She had seen it before.
She scrolled further back in her call history. There. It appeared two other times, once two days ago and once the day before that.
Curious. Someone obviously wanted to reach her, but wouldn’t leave a message.
“So who was it?”
She glanced up to find Reilly’s book closed, his attention locked on her. “No idea, but both calls came from the same source. If it’s important, they’ll call back.”
“They didn’t leave a message?” Suspicion laced his words.
“It’s no big deal.”
He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers interlocked. “How often do you get calls from unfamiliar numbers?”
Not often, but he was so paranoid right now that he didn’t need to hear that. “It happens. Don’t worry about it.”
“Some freak calls you, twice, won’t leave a message, and you expect me to shrug it off? You need to report this.”
“Ri, calm down. The GPS chip has been removed from my phone, so it would take some serious access and time for someone to track me down.”
“It’s still suspicious.”
“No, it’s life. It’s probably someone from work.”
“They’d leave a message.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” In all honesty, they probably would leave a message, but again, hearing that would do nothing to ease Reilly’s concern. Time for a diversion. “You’re getting kinda scruffy there. Trying out a new look?”
He rubbed the stubble covering his normally clean shaven chin. “Not intentionally. Whoever packed my stuff forgot to throw in my razor.”
“Well, we’re not out in the sticks. We could probably pick up a new one for you.”
“Too bad you can’t pick up a haircut while you’re at it. That Rosetti trial kept me so busy I didn’t even have time to cut my hair. It’s way too long.”
“And here I thought maybe Desiree had convinced you to grow it out a little.” Reilly’
s girlfriend had an artistic streak; Lana could see her liking a little extra hair. Not that Reilly’s hair was long by anyone’s standards but his own.
“Yeah, right. I don’t think even Des could talk me into that one.”
“Well, you’re in luck. Alex knows how to cut hair.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I know how to cut hair, too, but I want it to actually look good.”
A chuckle slipped from her mouth. “Relax. She took cosmetology classes when she was younger. I think she can handle it. Give it a few days for things to calm down and we’ll see what we can do.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” Serious blue eyes zeroed in on her. “And if that number calls again, I want to know about it.”
₪ ₪ ₪ ₪ ₪
Lincoln City, Oregon. Smart move on the Marshals’ part, hiding their witness in a town where tourism was a year-round business.
Little did they know that he was very familiar with this town.
Stevens flipped open the file he’d started on his latest project. Reilly Tanner.
Only two photos had come up in connection with Tanner’s name: one a dramatic shot taken in the courtroom, evidently during a case that was open to members of the media, the other the DMV photo he’d hacked through several firewalls and encryption software to get.
Even though he’d examined the pictures many times already, he mentally traced them again.
He had to be able to recognize Tanner instantly, just in case his window of opportunity was only a second long.
After a minute, he set the photos aside and turned to the other papers in his stack. Tanner’s name had cropped up in several different newspaper articles, none of which he’d taken time to read, but all of which he’d printed off to peruse later.
Later had arrived.
He skimmed the first one, some piece on the trial of a repeat sex offender. The jury had found him guilty. Go figure.
The next one covered a drug smuggler’s trial. Again, guilty.
But it was the third one that really made him pause. Written more as a human interest story, it featured a brief interview with Tanner, one that the reporter stated had been given reluctantly and only after Tanner’s boss, the lead prosecutor, had ordered him to do it. The reporter called it humility, but Stevens wasn’t buying it.
It contained a surprising amount of information for something only a few paragraphs long. The son of a preacher, Tanner had never been married, was close to his parents and younger sister, and still attended his dad’s church.
A co-worker described him as a quick-thinking man of integrity who pursued the truth with ferocity, possessing an uncanny ability to turn the best defense attorney’s words against him.
When asked why he’d joined the prosecutor’s office when he could’ve made more money in private practice, Tanner had stated, “Read your Bible. God calls His people to seek justice and He put the love of justice in me. This job allows me to pursue that passion while obeying God.”
Self-righteous do-gooder.
Well, Reilly Tanner, let’s see your love of justice save you from me.
Six
A yawn popped Reilly’s jaw. Even from across the room, Lana could see the exhaustion cutting deep lines around his eyes.
“You okay?”
He dipped his head in a half-nod. “Just tired. I didn’t sleep very well last night.”
And it was only a little after noon. Maybe he’d fall asleep in front of the TV this afternoon. “Before or after the nightmare?”
“Was there a difference?”
The nightmare had hit around 2 a.m. and if his response had been any indication, it had been a doozy. He’d refused to talk about it, but had clung to her with tremors shaking his body.
She couldn’t think of any other time he’d done that. Ever.
Seeing him like this physically hurt.
If she could take the burden from him, she’d do it. Without hesitation.
The phone on the table in front of her vibrated against the glass. She plucked her cell off the coffee table and glanced at the display.
Her heart tripped at the unknown number.
“Same one as yesterday?” Tension oozed from Reilly’s words.
“Yeah.” Meeting Reilly’s steady gaze, she accepted the call.
“Milana?”
Her full name. Spoken by a man’s voice. Not familiar.
The thoughts fired through her brain like an M16 on full auto. She focused on keeping her tone steady. “Yes. Who is this?”
“What, you don’t recognize my voice?”
The teasing tone triggered familiarity in her mind, but she couldn’t tie the vague memory to any specific person.
A gray hue covered Reilly’s face. His fingers pressed into the arms of his chair with enough force to leave permanent impressions.
Time to get this nutcase off the phone so Reilly could relax. “Do I know you?”
“You sure used to. I’ll give you a hint–”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to play games. Please don’t call again.”
“No, wait! It’s Elliott.”
Elliott, Elliott.
No way. “Elliott? Really?”
“Yeah, really. Man, I knew I should’ve looked you up sooner.”
Offering Reilly a smile, she mouthed it’s okay before returning her attention to the phone. Reilly had never met her best friend from college, so telling him who was on the phone would offer no reassurance.
“I meant to stay in touch after college, but then I got married and life happened and now it’s been what, ten years?”
Close.
How did she know this was really Elliott? Sure, the voice sounded right, but voices could be faked, especially over the phone and especially given the years that had passed. Until she knew for sure, she’d have to be careful to not reveal anything personal.
Which meant keeping the conversation focused on him. “You’re married? Congratulations.”
He snorted. “Don’t bother. It lasted two years. I thought the next one was going better, but she left me after five years.”
“I’m sorry.”
Unfortunately for him, that sounded like the Elliott she remembered. He’d always had tumultuous relationships with members of the opposite sex, so being twice-divorced in a ten year period didn’t strike her as unlikely, not for him.
“Yeah. They both said I was distant and closed-off. If you can believe it.”
Now that sounded nothing like the warm, fun-loving Elliott she remembered. Unsure how she was supposed to respond, she opted for a different subject. “What are you up to these days?”
“I’m still a techie. Travel a lot doing systems trouble-shooting for a company with offices all across the country. Another of my exes’ complaints.”
“I imagine that’s hard on relationships.”
Actually, it took no imagination at all. She knew very well how hard it was to maintain relationships when you spent a good portion of your life away from the ones you loved. It was one of the main reasons that, no matter how much Alex pushed or persuaded, she would never permanently make the jump to working witness protection.
Sure, she traveled some in her position, but wasn’t gone for weeks or months at a time.
“Harder than I thought it would be, that’s fursure.”
Fursure. Only one person she’d ever met said “for sure” with such an odd pronunciation, running the two words together every single time. Elliott.
Any relief at having his identity confirmed was quickly extinguished by concern.
How had he gotten her number? It wasn’t like she’d posted it on the internet.
Now to phrase it so it didn’t convey the suspicion she couldn’t stem. “I didn’t know you had my number.”
He chuckled. “I didn’t. And let me tell you, it wasn’t easy to find. But techno geeks like me have ways of tracking people down.”
Tracking people down. A chill shuddered through her core. Could he have picke
d a worse choice of words?
Relax. It’s Elliott.
Yes, but if he could track her down, couldn’t an assassin?
“Milana? You still there?” Elliott’s voice shattered her thoughts.
She cleared her throat. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. Distractions. You know.”
“If it’s not a good time, I can call back later.”
“No, no, this is fine. So who do you work for?”
“Private sector. I’m the official company trouble-shooter. They call me to fix whatever problems their people have created.”
She smiled, hoping the action would carry through in her tone. “Which, when you’re dealing with computers, can be a long list.”
“Fursure. What about you?”
“I’m in acquisitions. My employer tells me what they want and I track it down.” The standard answer to that question slid effortlessly off her tongue. It was general enough that it fit a wide variety of job descriptions while still encompassing much of what she did. “How’s your dad?”
“Not bad. A few health things, but nothing major.”
They talked for a few more minutes before she said she needed to get going. After terminating the call, she looked up to find Reilly watching her, speculation etched on his face.
“Elliott?”
The inquiry came as no surprise. “An old friend from college. I haven’t spoken to him in years.”
“I think I may remember hearing the name. Didn’t you guys date for a while?”
“We were just friends.” No need to tell him that they’d gone on one date, to which she’d agreed mostly to get Elliott to stop asking, and there’d been no sparks. After that, their friendship resumed as if the date had never happened.
“Time changes things.”
Sheesh. Ever since Reilly started going out with Desiree, he seemed eager to pair her off with someone, too. “He’s not a Christian.”
“Oh.” A second slid by. “You know, I never realized how good you are at deflecting personal questions.”
“Force of habit.”
“Doesn’t it get old? Never being able to be yourself?”
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