Chapter Two
“What’s going on?” I whispered, looking out onto the main road.
Standing at the window in the common room, I watched as large flakes of snow drifted down from the sky, settling on top of the half inch that had fallen since we’d arrived earlier that morning. Snow. In December. The way it should be, the way it always was back home. Snow always started as a friendly reminder that Christmas was around the corner, but this year, Christmas had lost all meaning. Without Dad, this holiday meant nothing.
I turned away from the glass.
“Gary,” I said, knowing I’d have to repeat myself—not because he hadn’t heard me, but because he’d chosen not to answer. “What’s going on? Am I staying here?”
The answer was yes, whether he’d readily admit it or not; I’d gotten more answers from Chris that morning than I’d gotten from Gary in the last ten days. If there was nothing else in the world to be thankful for at this stage of my life, I had to be thankful for at least one person who knew how to be forthcoming—even if it was because he talked too much.
“I understand you have a lot of questions,” Gary said. “We’re going to do our best to address each of them.”
“Good, thank you,” I said, only then turning to look at the stranger again. Theo.
I stared at the large man at the back of the room, watching as his hard face softened with a small smile. His thick arms fell to his sides, and his shoulders relaxed. Even in his loosened state, he looked far rougher and tougher than Gary ever could.
Despite the fact that it was only twenty degrees outside, Theo wore nothing more than a fitted cotton t-shirt, leather vest, and jeans. The biceps bulging beneath his shirt were covered in sleeves of tattoos, one that even poked out the top of his collar and up the side of his neck. His graying hair matched his beard, and his beard matched his bushy eyebrows.
My eyes flicked back to my guardian.
“So this is it?” I asked, ignoring my urge to glance around the interior of the bed and breakfast. My stare was still locked dead on the man in front of me, and I was going to ask again, one more version of the question he had yet to answer. I wanted to hear it, straight from his mouth to my ears: Yes, Sydney. I’m leaving, and you have to stay. “Is this where you go? Make your exit? Leave me alone—out here to fend for myself?”
I begged for an answer, the one I was certain to eventually get, but I wasn’t sure I wanted one. If I stayed, my safety wouldn’t be a priority to anyone but myself. Staying meant I would be that much farther away from home and everything I loved. And if Gary left, all of the things he’d promised would walk right out that door with him—the safety, the protection, the assurance. I would be alone again, and I didn’t know how to be alone.
I couldn’t do this by myself.
“Yes, Sydney. I’m leaving, and you have to stay.”
My eyes snapped shut, and I sensed someone surge to my side. Theo caught me as my knees buckled, and with his hand at my shoulders, he ushered me back to the dated couch. He sat next to me, his gaze never wavering. Gary took the chair near the sofa, and only then did he speak again.
“We’ll do our best to answer all of your questions,” he said, nodding acknowledgment to the man seated next to me. “This is Theodore Ward, retired US Marshal of the Federal Witness Protection Program. He’s volunteered to take your case; he’s in charge of you now.”
***
“It’s part of your protective custody arrangement,” Theo explained. “I’ll stay on location with you here in Morgantown. Since you’re alone, without family, and underage, I’ll assume the position of your custodial guardian under pretense. In this case, an uncle.”
“I don’t have an uncle.”
“You do now,” Gary said, nodding to Theo.
I turned and studied him—this sixty-something stranger who was supposed to be acting solely as my stand-in family. Theo leaned further into my line of vision, open to the observation, comfortable under my scrutiny.
“Theo?” I asked, my voice quieter than before.
“Yes.” He nodded.
“Sydney.” I offered my name, though he already knew it. Something in his stare told me he knew a lot more about me than I’d ever want him to. “Sydney Easterling.”
“No.” He shook his head. “It’s Emmons now.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Can you say that?” he asked, still quiet. “Can you repeat it back to me, please?”
“Why? Why would I do that?”
“Humor me,” Theo said.
“Sydney Emmons?” I asked, shaking my head. It didn’t sound right. I was an Easterling, born and raised. It was my name; it was my father’s name.
“And again.”
“Sydney Emmons.”
“And one more time?”
“Is that necessary?” I asked, frustration getting the best of me. “I get it. New place, new name. It’s not that complicated. It’s a simple as telling a lie, right? I am Sydney Easterling.” I closed my eyes and the tear broke down my cheek. “Emmons. My name is Sydney Emmons.”
I hated it. There was nothing simple about telling a lie—never had been, never would be. And now dishonesty had become a prerequisite for living happily ever after . . . or living at all, for that matter. How was that fair?
“All right,” Gary said, clearing his throat. “Now that you’re acquainted, let’s go over the important details. From this point forward, you are Sydney Emmons from Washington, DC, and Theo’s niece. Your mother died when you were a child, and your father was killed in a house fire last month. You’re down to nothing but a few belongings and the clothes on your back. Theo is the only family you have left, so you’re here to be near him.”
“But I’m from Ohio.”
“You’re from Washington, Miss Emmons.” Gary glared. He wasn’t going to entertain my objections. “Do you see how this works? There is no Sydney Easterling of Ohio. Not anymore.”
“But Gary, I don’t know anything about DC, having an uncle, or—“
“Hi, I’m Gary Reese,” he said. “And you are . . . ”
I looked between the two men, watching as their eyes burned on me.
“You know who I am. What are you doing?” I asked.
Neither of them said another word, and they weren’t going to until I played along. It was a lifetime of habit for both of them, lying when it was necessary to lie. But dishonesty was wrong; Rosa had taught me that from day one. So at what point did it become acceptable—in a life-or-death situation?
I dropped my shoulders.
“Hi, Gary. I’m Sydney Emmons of Washington, DC,” I turned to the man at my side. “Theo here is my uncle. I have no mother, and my father was killed in a fire last month. Theo’s the only family I have left.”
“Good girl,” he said, patting my back. “You’ll get the hang of it.”
“I don’t want to get the hang of it.”
I wanted to be Sydney Easterling, high school senior and lifetime resident of suburban Ohio. I wanted to go home, walk in the house, and see my father throwing logs on the fire. I wanted to wrap presents with Rosa, go shopping with Carrie, and complain about the normal things kids were supposed to complain about.
Instead, this Christmas, I was far away from everything I loved.
No one deserved that. No one deserved to be ripped from their life, haunted by the memories of gun shots, death, and terrorizing notes from a stalker—especially a kid. I was only seventeen. This wasn’t how life was supposed to go.
I wanted home. All I wanted was to get back to the life I had before everything went wrong. But without Dad, there was no such thing as getting back to normal. That was the hardest part to accept.
“I’m hiding here now?” I asked, turning to Theo.
“You’re safe here. The B&B is a longtime safe house for witnesses,” Theo explained. “You met the owner this morning.”
“Chris,” I recalled, remembering how much I’d instinctively wanted to trust him—his
kind eyes and his gentle nature. There was something about him that begged to assure me there was no danger in trusting him. If only I could find it in myself to trust those instincts. But I couldn’t. I knew the risks.
“Chris doesn’t know about your assignment,” Theo continued. “It’s imperative that he never finds out.”
“I have to lie to him?”
“He only recently took over the business after his grandmother’s death,” Theo said. “I’ve never disclosed the nature of my real position here at the B&B, to look after witnesses. To Chris, I’m the morning chef, you’re my niece, and that’s all he needs to know.”
“Do you live here?”
“I’m around enough to do my job.”
“Meaning?”
“I come and go,” he said.
“But when you go, I stay?” I asked. “You won’t be here to look after me?”
“Sydney, the timeline of your relocation is undetermined,” Theo explained. “We don’t know how long you’ll be here. There’s a dangerous man out there—in your world, and as the only living witness to one of his crimes, you are a target. I don’t think I need to remind you what he does to his targets.”
“No,” I hung my head, remembering the way my father gasped for air, for breath, for life. All in vain.
“You’re the only person who can identify this guy, Sydney,” Theo continued. “There are no suspects, which means no arrests. There’s threat to your safety everyday the man walks free, so you need an alternate solution for survival.”
“But what will it matter?” I asked. “If you’re not here, and there’s no one to look after me, how can anyone be sure that I’m—”
“The B&B has operated for many years as a safe house,” Theo said, stopping my argument. “I won’t be attached to your side at every waking hour, no. This is a place where you can come and go. A place where you can start to adjust without the fear you were living under back home. This is the best way we can offer you some semblance of normalcy in your life again.”
“Right, but shouldn’t I stay with you?”
“You’re no longer ordered twenty-four-hour surveillance,” Theo said. “I’m here to look after you—for general safety and protection, but I won’t always be around. There are freedoms and liberties here, Sydney. These are the same kinds of freedoms you would’ve enjoyed back home. Normalcy is what we’re striving for; that means you won’t need a bodyguard.”
“But—”
“It’ll be nice, won’t it?” Theo asked. “A little freedom for a change?”
No. There was nothing nice about it. I needed the protection; I didn’t want the risk that came with being unguarded. What good was Theo if he wasn’t going offer me the thing I needed most?
“So then what’s the plan?” I asked. “What now?”
Theo pulled a small envelope from the front pocket of his leather vest.
“Your new ID card and birth certificate.”
Gary sat straighter. “Your educational transcripts are waiting at the high school for your arrival next quarter. We’re going to give you time to adjust here in town. You’ll start back to school in January.”
“Wait. I have to start school here?” I asked, his words coming at me like a blow to the stomach. “No. I go to—”
“You’re not going back there,” Gary said. “That’s not your home anymore.”
“Not until there’s progress with your case,” Theo said. “While we’re waiting for developments, you’ll go about life here as normally as possible—that includes getting back into school, making friends, and adjusting to a normal routine here in Morgantown.”
“But what about my friends back home?” I asked. “And my family? What will I tell them? Where will they think I am?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Gary said. “You’re not to remain in contact with anyone from your past life.”
“My past life?” I asked, biting back a nervous laugh. “I’m on the run, not dead.”
“As of today, you are,” he said. “You’re not to remain in contact with anyone. No phone calls, no letters, no social media.”
“No social media? Are you kidding me? How will I let my friends know I’m okay?”
“You won’t,” Theo said definitely. “Sydney, I know this is hard, but you have to understand. Your life is at stake here. The Political Shooter is still unidentified, on the loose, and extremely dangerous.”
“Yes, I get that, but—”
“Do you want to live a happy and safe life, free from the kind of danger he poses?”
“Of course I do.” Back home. With my father. With Carrie and Rosa.
Gary cut in. “If you don’t want to end up six feet under before your eighteenth birthday, you need to follow every rule. If you break the rules, you’re out of the program.”
“Simple as that?”
“Yes. No one has ever been tracked down, hurt, or killed by doing everything they’re told to do.”
“But people have been found?”
“In the few cases where something goes horribly wrong, it’s only because our witness didn’t follow protocol.”
“Oh.”
“So ask yourself: do you wish for this to end with you found, hurt, or killed?”
“No. Of course I don’t.”
“Then listen to every word I’m saying, and live by every word Theo tells you,” Gary said. “From here on out, everything you’ve known is gone. This is where things change. This is where your new life begins.”
Chapter Three
“There she is.”
I jerked at the sound of those three words. Though I recognized his voice, I wasn’t prepared for anyone to call out to me. Up until a few seconds ago, I was all alone—standing out on the cold, snowy sidewalk in front of the Morgantown B&B. And it was quiet, until Chris broke the silence.
“You’re a jumpy one, aren’t you?” he asked, and I turned back to find the owner of the bed and breakfast opening the tailgate of an old, red, rusted Chevy. “You wanna give me a hand?”
I looked between Chris and the house, wondering if I should go any closer. The last words I’d spoken to him were an admission that I didn’t want to be there, that I wanted to go home, and since that was only a matter of two hours ago, there was no doubt he remembered. And then there was the way I’d stared at him . . . If I went to the truck and offered the help he’d asked for, there was a chance he’d want to talk. And that was the last thing I wanted. The morning had been hard enough already.
I’d said goodbye to Gary out on the curb minutes ago, wondering if I’d ever see him again. He’d kept a stern face while I held back tears, trying to pretend it was the cold that kept me quiet. But he understood that the mere twenty degrees had nothing to do with my silence. I was relying on every ounce of strength and willpower I had not to burst into tears as I watched him slip into a taxi and ride away, erasing himself from my so-called “past life.” My twenty-four-hour protection was gone . . .
“Sydney?” Chris asked from the distance, but his voice didn’t pull me back this time; it blended with a memory of a sad goodbye.
Gary’s car disappeared around the corner. From forty feet away, I could feel Theo’s eyes on me, watching as I stood on the curb and worked to keep my emotions in check. He’d chosen to stay inside, to let Gary and me say our goodbyes in private, but he watched from the house the whole time.
“Sydney?” Chris said, a sing-song quality in his voice. “Earth to Sydney, are you there?”
“Yeah?” I turned back, and he granted me a small smile. “I’m sorry, what?”
“A little help, please?” Chris hoisted a box out of the truck. “Here, this one’s not too heavy.”
I took a few tentative steps down the sidewalk and toward the man on the street, wondering what he’d brought back from his trip into town.
“Paint brushes?” I asked quietly, peeking down. Brushes, rollers, and paint trays filled the cardboard box in my arms.
“The downstairs need
s a facelift,” he said, pulling two cans of paint off the truck bed. “I’ve spent the last week making minor repairs, but the place still needs . . . it needs something, you know? You got that one?”
“Yeah,” I wrapped my arms around the box of paint supplies and started back to the house.
I felt Chris’s eyes on me as we took the sidewalk through the picket gate and up the three stairs to the B&B.
“Where do you want this?” I asked, stepping into the warm foyer.
“Anywhere’s fine. We’re shut down while I get things back in running order, so we don’t have to worry about guests or anything being in the way. Not until Friday, at least.” He nodded to the other side of the room. “There in the corner.”
“Here?”
“That’ll do,” he said, dropping the paint cans next to my box. “One more trip?”
“Sure,” I said. I glanced behind him to steal a look at the common room.
There was no sign of Theo. I assumed he’d gone back to the kitchen, already proving himself unreliable as my surveillance. It was unbelievable that he could take such a laid-back approach to my protection. Over the last week and a half, Gary hadn’t let me out of his sight. Crammed in a motel room together day after day hadn’t been the most ideal situation for either of us, but at least I had the assurance of safety. But here . . . it wouldn’t be like that at all, and I was struggling to find comfort in freedom.
“Has your uncle showed you around yet?” Chris asked, starting back out the door.
I followed him, dodging a sheet of ice right off the porch. Chris, though, hit it the moment he stepped down. He slid across the ice, barely keeping his balance as he whizzed two feet forward. He stumbled a few steps farther before gaining his composure, and then he stopped, as frozen as the patch of ice he’d stumbled over. His eyes closed and a small smirk formed on his lips. He turned back to me.
“You’ll find that I’m quite graceful.”
“Are you okay?”
“What’s a little humiliation every now and then?” he asked. “I’m still alive, so that’s something, right?”
Running Scared (Letters From Morgantown Book 1) Page 2
