I'll Be There

by Deborah Grace Staley

  As soon as she entered the back of the courthouse, she walked through the deserted rear offices straight to the jailhouse, which, as usual, was also empty. She pulled the heavy metal door closed that separated it from the front offices, slid to the floor and dug in her pocket for her phone. Jenny dialed the sheriff’s personal cell number.

  Grady Wallace had been sheriff in Angel Ridge since long before she’d bought the paper. She wouldn’t call him a close personal friend. The best relationship she could hope for between the press and local law enforcement was cordial, and he was at least that—most of the time. He’d even agreed to work with her on this investigation, but she felt sure that was because he was more than a little interested in Candi.

  There’d been a time when Jenny had thought that perhaps he might be attracted to her. As she’d told Dixie, she was not interested in a relationship, and certainly not with an officer of the law. Turns out he’d been powerless to resist this woman of mystery who had them all neck deep in this trouble.

  “Wallace.”

  “Grady? It’s Jenny Thompson.”

  “Jenny? Thank God you’re all right! What the hell’s going on? Woody just called and said there was an explosion at the newspaper.”

  “Well, that seems to be the consensus. I didn’t stick around to investigate. Aren’t you in town?”

  “I was on the riverbank with Doc Prescott. I’m on my way back. Where are you?”

  “Hiding out at the jail.”

  “Good call. I’ll be there soon.”

  The call disconnected. Jenny sat on the floor, cross-legged, and waited. What should she do next? Jenny stood when she heard the handle turning in the metal door and saw Dixie’s face framed in its small window.

  “Thank God you’re all right. I came over to get Grady, but when I looked back here, I saw you crouched on the floor. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, but my shoes are ruined.”

  Dixie looked at the missing heel on her pump. “Well that is a shame,” she commiserated, “but thank goodness you’re all right. Were you inside the paper when the explosion happened?”

  “No. I hadn’t made it back yet.”

  “Well thank the Lord for that. Where’s Grady?”

  “On his way. He was fishing.”

  “Just like a man to never be around when you need him. Here,” she took Jenny’s hand and helped her to a side door that led to a room with a table and several chairs. “You need to sit. You’ve had a shock. Can I get you anything?”

  Jenny shook her head, but then took Dixie’s hand. “Yes. Would you stay?”

  Dixie sat immediately and squeezed Jenny’s hand with both of hers. “Of course.” After a moment had passed, Dixie asked, “Do you think this has something to do with that investigation you were telling me about?”

  Jenny’s heart sank. She’d been thinking the same thing, but hadn’t wanted to put words to the thoughts. So, she just nodded.

  Dixie put a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide as she considered the possible implications. Jenny wanted to laugh. She’d never seen Dixie speechless. It had to be a first.

  “How can you sit there and smile like that? This is awful. Just awful!” Dixie said.

  Oh well. It lasted all of about ten seconds before she found her tongue again. “I was just thinking I’d never known you to run out of something to say.”

  “You’re right about that, hon, but this is a unique situation, to say the least.”

  “Jenny?”

  “In here, Grady,” Dixie said, standing.

  “You okay?” Grady asked as he rushed into the room. His glance slid over Jenny, as if checking her for signs of injury.

  She figured a smart-ass reply along the lines of the one she’d given Dixie was in order, so she said, “My pantsuit is ruined.”

  Grady chuckled. “I’d say that’s the least of your worries about now.”

  Dixie and Jenny exchanged a look.

  “Men just don’t get it,” Dixie said.

  “What are you doing here, Dix?”

  “Looking for you,” she said pointedly with a hand on her hip.

  “You can’t expect me to have known what was going to happen when I left to go fishing this morning.”

  “If you’d been in church where you should have been, you would have at least been close by when the town needed you.”

  Ignoring that, he turned to Jenny and asked, “What happened?”

  “You know as much as I do. There was an explosion at the newspaper.”

  “Were you there?”

  “No. I mean, I was there all night and part of the morning, but I had stepped out to go to the diner.”

  “Did you notice any suspicious activity, anyone in town who didn’t belong?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  He pushed her hair back. “There’s blood coming out of your ear.”

  Jenny touched the spot and looked at the blood on her fingers. “Must have ruptured an eardrum. I was in the alley when the explosion happened.”

  “We’ll get Doc Prescott to look at you.” He rubbed the small scar on his chin. “Guess you stirred up a hornet’s nest.”

  “I knew the risks when I started this. Your butt’s on the line, too, you know.”

  “Comes with the badge. You know you can’t go back into town.”

  Jenny nodded. “That’s why I came here.”

  “What are you going to do?” Dixie asked Grady.

  “I called the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation Office in Knoxville. They’re on their way.”

  “What do they know?” Jenny asked.

  “Everything. I called them after we talked yesterday, so they know what we’re dealing with here.”

  “I don’t like the sound of this,” Dixie said.

  Neither did Jenny. She ran a hand through her hair, letting it all sink in.

  “Had you gone to print with your story?”

  “No. It would have already been out on the wire for distribution at midnight if I hadn’t wanted to proof it one more time.”

  “It’s probably not a bad thing. I guess it’s lost now.”

  Jenny didn’t comment. She may have lost the paper, but she backed all her files up on a USB drive she carried in her purse, and she also uploaded a copy of everything to a dummy email file account on the Internet. She wasn’t about to risk everything to see every last one of the criminals responsible go scot-free. She turned, frowning. Where was her purse? Damn it.

  “What’s wrong?” Grady asked.

  “I lost my purse in the alley after the explosion.”

  “I’ll radio Woody and ask him to get it,” he offered. “After the TBI gets here, I’ll have to get back to the...”

  His words trailed off. Right. How did one put words to something like this? Jenny had spent most of her adult life reporting scenes and incidents like this, but never would she have thought she’d have to ascribe meaning to something so horrific, so unspeakable, to her own life.

  Their eyes met, and Grady surprised Jenny by reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. “You did the right thing, Jenny.”

  She nodded and drew in a shaky breath. “I know.”

  They both knew what this meant. Years of training and familiarity with police procedure made it clear. She’d delved whole-heartedly into what had started as just another mystery to solve, a story to expose to the light of truth. But this time, there could be a heavy price to pay. Her freedom.

  “Dixie, can you stay with her while I go attempt to establish some semblance of order and secure the crime scene?”

  “Of course. Go.”

  Sometime later, the TBI officers arrived. They swore Dixie to silence and informed Jenny of what would happen now. She watched and listened like an observer hovering above the scene.

  Ms. Thompson, thank you for your service to your community. Because of your sacrifice, a crime syndicate that has operated in the south for more than fifty years trafficking prostitutes, drugs, liquor, and stolen goods will be elimina
ted.

  If you so choose, the U.S. Marshal Service will take your application for admittance into the Federal Witness Security Program. While your application is being processed, you will be taken into protective custody. The explosion was really a Godsend. People will assume you were there. When you don’t show up in town, they’ll also assume you died in the explosion. In the interim, we’ll get you to a temporary safe house. After you testify, you’ll be relocated to a permanent location and given a new identity.

  Jenny Thompson will cease to exist.

  Chapter 1

  Jenny lay on the stiff cot staring up in the direction of the rough-hewn ceiling. What she wouldn’t give for her pillow top mattress and a pile of down-filled comforters. Her idea of roughing it was the Super 8, and this cabin, miles from civilization on some no-name mountain, was just a step up from sleeping in a tent. The cold, early January wind whistled through the cracks in the wood slats that doubled for walls. The thin military-style blanket provided only meager warmth.

  It had been two months since she’d been taken into “protective” custody. In that time, she’d been moved from location to location. Each time because men with guns had found where they’d tucked her away. It was like they’d planted a sub-dermal tracking device on her.

  She rolled to her side and stared out the break where the curtains didn’t meet. Nothing but darkness. She loved it when stars dotted the sky. She never knew that being in the middle of nowhere with no artificial light for competition allowed for viewing them as nature intended. She’d noticed that during her many sleepless nights. Nighttime was often filled with activity, so that was when she did her thinking, since there was precious little else to do.

  She wondered what was going on at home. Wondered how her sister was since she’d been told that Jenny had been placed in the witness protection program. She and her parents had never been close, but she truly missed her baby sister. Their mother’s main concern had been to raise her and her sister as two proper southern ladies. Jenny had never fit that mold, not that she had tried. With their father pursuing a career in politics, he’d been mostly absent and happy to leave the childrearing to his wife.

  The one constant had been that she and Frannie had had each other. At night after the ballet performances Daddy had missed, again, they’d cuddle under the covers and dry each other’s tears. Jenny wrapped her arms around her midsection and squeezed, wishing that it was her sister’s comforting arms around her. Could anything ever fill this ache inside her? She couldn’t imagine never seeing Frannie again. Who had dried her sister’s tears when some faceless voice on a phone had told her she’d never see or speak to Jenny again?

  Gunfire rocked the cabin, shattering the stillness of the night. Jenny rolled off her bed onto the floor just before the window over the cot became a shower of glass.

  A man entered the room, a gun poised in his hand. “Come with me,” he ordered, before roughly hauling her to her feet. “Keep your head down.” Jenny’s breath came out in a rush when she saw that he was one of the U.S. Marshals guarding her.

  The ancient timbers of the tiny, old cabin vibrated with the impact of a barrage of bullets. She ought to be frightened, but instead she was good and pissed. “What the hell happened? We’re on the side of a godforsaken mountain. How do they keep finding us?”

  The man beside her didn’t respond. Instead, he shoved a moldy rug out of the way. Dust flew in all directions burning her eyes. He flung back a door in the floor revealing a gaping hole. Cool, musty air filtered up offering an invitation she would be unable to refuse.

  “Get in.”

  Another marshal appeared in the doorway. “I need you, Pierce. I can’t hold them off on my own.”

  Pierce grasped her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “We talked about this when we got here. This tunnel is the only way out now.” He shoved a flashlight at her and urged her down into the hole.

  “How am I supposed to find some cave in the dark?”

  “Go.”

  The rough-hewn door slammed shut and darkness surrounded her. She crouched just inside the tunnel, listening to the sounds above. The scratching of the rug being replaced, retreating footsteps, and finally the crash of a door breaking away from its frame. Then more gunfire. She clicked on the light, let instinct kick in and moved.

  Slimy rocks lined the narrow, frozen path making footing treacherous. The low earthen ceiling required her to move in a crouched position. Cobwebs clung to her face and clothing. She gulped great breaths of the moist, stagnant air, but couldn’t force enough into her lungs.

  After weeks of changing locations in the middle of the night, she had learned to sleep prepared to run. Tonight she’d chosen sweatpants and a t-shirt with a sweatshirt tied at her waist. She’d worn shoes to bed for weeks now. She turned a corner and a rat scurried across the toe of her sneakers. A scream rose up in the back of her throat, but she pushed it down and kept moving.

  The passage narrowed and ended. Jenny searched for a way out, but couldn’t find one. Perfect, she thought. I’m trapped in a cold, dark hole. No marshals, no assassins, just rats that can eat away her flesh while she starved. Nice.

  She closed her eyes and tried to breathe normally. Get hold of yourself and think. When she opened her eyes, she saw a makeshift door above her. She pushed against it, splinters bit into her palms, but nothing happened. She pushed harder, ignoring the pain, but it wouldn’t budge. Squatting, she sprang upward, getting nothing but a bruised shoulder for her efforts. She surged up again, the wood tearing her thick cotton shirt. The door moved a little, so she repeated the process until she was able to wedge it open a few inches. She pushed and shoved until, finally, she had clawed her way out onto the leaf-strewn forest floor.

  Standing, Jenny jumped on the door until it closed. She covered it with tree limbs and brush. And then she ran. She couldn’t tell where she was going, but she had to put distance between her and the cabin. Hiding was her only objective. Her logical mind intruded telling her that if the assassins couldn’t find her, would the marshals be able to? Her mind churned, but survival demanded cover. She’d worry about the rest later.

  It was pitch-black tonight. The moist smell of rain or snow hung heavy in the air. She hoped to find the cave they’d scouted earlier before it came. Small tree branches bent against her progress and slapped her in the face. Tree roots tripped her, but she maintained her footing and kept going. Thank God for yoga that improved her flexibility and balance. She untied her sweatshirt from her waist and pulled it on as she jogged up the mountain, shining the flashlight in all directions searching. Forget the cave. Anything would do; a ditch, a rock—

  She ran headlong into something solid. The force of the impact nearly knocked the breath from her. As she struggled to regain her footing, she realized that two strong hands held her upright. She pointed the flashlight at his face. She thought he looked familiar, but couldn’t be sure. He was tall, dark, bearded. His pack declared him a hiker, but could she be sure? What if he was one of them?

  “What the hell?” he mumbled.

  He seemed as surprised as her, but she wasn’t about to stand around and find out that he was about to murder her. If he thought Violet Jennings Thompson was going out without a fight, he was in for the shock of his life. All the anger and the months of hiding and having her life stolen from her by faceless men, who were less than scum, converged into blind fury. Adrenaline surged through her, and she pummeled and kicked, mindless in her rage. When he suddenly released her, she fell hard.

  “Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you.” He grabbed her flashlight and pointed it at her face. Blinded, she closed her eyes against the pain. “You,” he murmured. “I thought you were dead.”

  Jenny heard people thrashing their way up the mountain. She scooted away, gaining her feet. Just a few more steps and she could disappear into the dense forest. He surged forward, gripping her arm it in a vise she couldn’t escape, but she struggled anyway.

  “Who’s fo
llowing you?”

  Instinct told her to answer him honestly. “I’m not sure. Either marshals or—”

  The man slung her over his shoulder and ran. “Hey!” She kicked, squirmed, and pounded his back with each labored step he took.

  “Be still or I’ll drop you on your head so you can break your neck,” he growled.

  She grabbed his coat with both hands and bided her time, vowing to renew her struggles as soon as her feet touched the ground.

  Within moments, he ducked into a cave and dumped her onto the cold, hard ground. Numb with fear and cold, she didn’t feel a thing. She couldn’t be sure if he’d brought her to the same cave she and the marshals had scouted earlier. What if he’d been lying in wait for her? What if the plan had been for his fellow thugs to force her up the mountain where he’d grab her—hide her until they could catch up?

  He went back outside and pulled several tree branches across the opening to the cave, confusing the scenario. Jenny’s instincts told her to run, but the darkness inside the cave was so complete, she froze with indecision. When he’d finished, he used the flashlight to find his way back to her.

  “What are you going to do to me?” Jenny demanded.

  He shut off the light and whispered. “Unless you’re sure those are marshals out there, you might want to keep quiet.”

  “How do I know you’re not one of the ones who are after me?”

  “If I wanted to kill you, why would I hide you?”

  Why indeed. She could hear her pursuers nearing and her anxiety grew. She couldn’t be sure of anything. What if she was right and this was a plan? That they knew where he’d hidden her? So, she decided to reason with him.