Grant blinked and focused on the senator.
Her pinchy face got…pinchier. “I fail to see why you cannot pay attention to the subject at hand. And to be entirely honest, I’m unsure why the attorney general has not decided to indict you. It was your actions which led to the death of the president and his wife. The Secret Service agents you brought in fought valiantly and died performing their duty. Your job is to protect those in witness protection. And the first time on record in which a death occurs it’s the president of the United States? This entire situation is unconscionable.”
“I’m fully aware of that, ma’am.”
To be honest, Grant was surprised he hadn’t been fired. But the taut thread which held him in his position was the only thing keeping whoever killed the president and Susan Sheraton from getting to their daughter. Grant woke every day hoping they wouldn’t find where he’d hidden Beth.
The senator laid down her papers, staring at him over the rim of her glasses. “Mr. Mason, it is the decision of this committee that the president’s daughter, Beth Sheraton—”
“Myerson.”
“Excuse me?”
Grant cleared his throat. “She got married.”
The senator huffed. “I hardly consider some ill-timed whirlwind romance to be the point here. Ms. Sheraton must be relinquished into the custody of the US Army, where she will be sequestered at a top secret military facility until it has been deemed safe for her to be released.”
Grant didn’t move. He’d figured there was a reason they were all assembled before he’d even arrived at the meeting—a full fifteen minutes early.
Several of his better acquaintances around the room had the grace to squirm in their chairs. They’d been strong-armed. Grant didn’t hold ill will toward them. The volume of his emotions had been expended days ago, between his wife’s distance—despite the end of their formal separation and the fact he’d moved back in—and then the president’s death. Secrets piled on top of secrets until this whole thing was looking like a wide-spread conspiracy. Grant was maxed out.
“Mr. Mason? Your answer.”
“No, ma’am.”
She jerked straight. “Excuse me?”
“I will not hand Beth Myerson over to the Army.”
“You absolutely will. It’s been decided. You’ve proven yourself incapable of protecting those in your charge, and—”
“That was my final answer, ma’am. Beth is safe.”
She would stay that way as long as he drew breath. He’d erred somewhere, and the president had been killed. He was going to figure out how. And then he would ensure it never happened again.
“Yes.” She skimmed over the top paper in her stack. “We know all about this…WITSEC town. And despite its top secret nature, I hardly think it the appropriate place for the president’s daughter to be held.”
“Unlike a crowded military base? Or an empty one in the middle of nowhere?” Grant shook his head. “And she’s not ‘being held’, as you put it. Beth is…convalescing, for lack of a better word. She’s grieving in private and wishes to remain where she is.”
“So you’ve spoken to her?” The senator’s eyes widened.
“I have.” They’d talked over the phone, but he hadn’t been to visit. Grant was pretty sure he was being monitored.
Another puzzle to solve.
“Then the committee must be put in contact with her, to determine that Ms. Sheraton is safe.”
“That won’t be possible I’m afraid.”
“And why ever not?”
Grant glanced around. Everyone was riveted to the unfolding drama. “The nature of the town where Beth Myerson was placed is such that no contact is permitted except in the case of an emergency.”
Or on Sundays, when his brother Nate—formerly the Dolphins quarterback—had a standing appointment to video call their nephew, who lived in the town. Grant’s third brother, John, was the sheriff of the WITSEC town of Sanctuary.
“I hope you can understand that the safety of the other residents of the US Marshals’ WITSEC town would be at risk with such a public method of communication. Even if it was contained to the people in this room and bound by every non-disclosure agreement you can imagine. The red tape alone would take weeks.”
“I insist.”
“Very well.”
If she wanted to jump down that road, so be it. Grant would drag the process out for months. Vice President Gunderson, sworn in before the new year, didn’t even know the location of Sanctuary. And he had every right to know. Grant was stalling there, too.
When he knew where the continuing threat was coming from, he would reassess. But this had cost the president his life, and Beth her father. And it wasn’t over. Grant wasn’t going to let someone else pay the price for any more of this. Worse than the professional consequences of his actions, these people had been his friends, and their lives were now destroyed.
“Next on the agend—”
Grant’s phone vibrated in his jacket pocket. He slipped his hand in and pulled it out. The screen said, Ben.
She gasped, galled that he’d even looked at his phone. “Excuse me, Mr. Director.” Three people around the table winced in sympathy at the senator’s tone. “We happen to think that this is of the utmost importance.”
Grant stood. “You’ll have to excuse me I’m afraid.”
“Mr. Mason!”
He let himself out of the conference room into the cavernous hallway, his dress shoes clicking on the marble floor. No one was around. “Did you find him?”
“I got a location,” Ben said.
“You’ve said that three times already.”
“I’ll call you when it’s complete.”
Meaning either Ben would confirm the lieutenant had been killed in action, or he’d bring the young man home.
Not that there was much for Sam Myerson to come back to. A life in witness protection wasn’t most people’s idea of a good future, and that was what Sam was looking at. If he was alive, Grant couldn’t see how Sam could ever be able to be a SEAL again.
Ben said, “Anything else?”
“Tommy Locan is claiming Lieutenant Myerson killed his teammates and left him for dead before he defected to a local warlord.”
Ben’s huff told him exactly what he thought of that.
Grant gripped the phone. “Get Sam out of there and we’ll reconvene.”
Ben didn’t say bye. He just hung up.
**
“Sanctuary”
Somewhere in the Idaho mountains
“Miss Beth?”
Beth Myerson squeezed the little boy’s gloved hand as they walked. “Yes, honey?”
“Are you going to throw up today?”
Beth chuckled. “I feel pretty good, actually. Hopefully Miss Gemma won’t have to clean her carpet today.”
She waved at the librarian as the school’s eight students spilled into her building. Gemma had been good natured about the mess and the smell. Both times. And about the kids tracking in snow.
Thankfully the blanket of white only sat on the mountains right now. Mountains which surrounded the town like an impenetrable border. The snow on the basin floor had melted, but the air was still crisp with a January chill.
The books were lined up on shelves like soldiers at attention. In the center was a circle of couches around an alcove of four tables pushed together. The eight computers were back-to-back, not being used. Gemma blocked out a two-hour period after lunch every work day for the kids to check-in with their online public school teacher. The librarian also brought in town residents once a week to speak to the kids. The stories were always interesting and frequently colorful.
Beth set her hand on her stomach as she walked, finally able to feel the swell of Sam’s baby growing inside her. The nausea had abated a week or so before yesterday’s ultrasound. That had been an interesting experience—having the military fly in an ultrasound machine. But the medical center and all its resources had burned down near
ly two months before. Even though it was almost ready to re-open, it was still basically empty, and they had no permanent doctor.
“Okay, let’s try and keep the chatter to a minimum today.” She eyed the two teen girls, who much preferred talking about boys over doing their work. Were this anywhere other than a witness protection town, they’d have been texting in class and posting selfies on Instagram. But that was the price of living a protected life.
Each of the nearly two hundred residents of Sanctuary, and their families, were the Marshals’ highest profile witnesses—people whose faces had to be hidden from everyone. Together they’d made a community that thrived, despite being largely cut-off from the outside world.
The kids got to work, and Beth helped out the younger ones when needed. Gemma sat behind her counter, clicking away at her computer. Beth imagined her crafting some literary tragedy that would never see the light of day. Like some abstract genre of writing that was incredibly creative but would never be popular, yet Gemma still gave every ounce of energy to it because it was art. Beth sighed and sat. It had to be the artist in her that devised these things. Normal people didn’t think this way. Though in Beth’s case, the tragedy was her life.
A wrinkled hand squeezed her shoulder.
“Hello, Michael.”
The old man chuckled. “Can’t get anything by you.” He circled the couch and settled his creaky bones beside her, his elbow tucked to his side. When she’d asked him how he’d come to lose his left arm, he’d shrugged and mumbled something about bad blood.
“Where’s your shadow?”
Beth sighed. “I had a bizarre craving for pickles and ice cream this morning, so she’s at the store.”
The tiny grocery store was at the east end of town, just before the road that led to the farm. Main street sat between there and the library, which was on the west side where the ranch stretched out. North and south of the town were parallel streets lined with residences.
“Did you really have a craving?”
Beth shifted so she could look at the old Italian’s craggy face. “Maybe.”
He grinned, flashing a row of false teeth. “It’s not a sin to dislike your mother-in-law.”
“It’s more than that.”
“So tell me. Maybe I’ve caught the same sense, and we’ll both know we’re on to something, instead of thinking we’re alone and crazy.”
She took a breath. Was she really going to voice this out loud? “She’s just—there’s something about her that’s…”
“Off?”
She bit her lip. “I can’t even describe what it is.” It felt like being captive. As though she had been ensnared by a scientist and was now being observed for experimental purposes.
“I’ll keep on keeping my eye on that.”
Beth lifted her eyebrows. “I bet you will.”
Michael chuckled. “Hey, it ain’t my fault she’s easy on the eyes. I have a thing for uppity women.”
Beth gulped down a laugh. She surveyed the kids to make sure they were all working but felt him touch the wide silver band on her thumb. “Should be here soon.”
“Does everyone in town know my husband is on his way?”
Sam had been “on his way” for weeks now. Maybe he wasn’t coming.
Michael shrugged one shoulder. “It’s not a secret John and Grant sent their brother to pull your husband off his mission.”
And it wasn’t a secret Michael and his friends took shifts watching out for Beth. Even in a town where they were safe, the men still took it upon themselves to ensure she was doing okay.
Too much had happened in just the few weeks she’d been there. “I’m not sure that’s even possible. They’d have to wait until Sam finished his mission. He’s a SEAL, not a plumber. Whatever it is, it’s important. Too important to interrupt.”
“The brothers know what they’re doing.”
Beth sighed. “I told them he didn’t need to come if he doesn’t want to.”
Michael frowned. “Now why would you go and do that? You don’t want your husband here with you and your baby?” He left unspoken the fact she’d lost both of her parents. Too many people wanted to talk about it. Beth didn’t. She’d rather be left alone in her grief.
“Not if he doesn’t want to be.” She sighed. “Sam and I… It’s complicated.”
Michael chuckled. “Marriage is marriage, not rocket science. Maybe you just haven’t been doing it long enough.”
“We’ll have been married ten years this summer.”
Michael frowned. “But you—that’s not…”
Beth smiled. “It was a summer camp, right before my senior year. I went with my cousin to this tiny town in western Virginia. Rock climbing, canoeing—all the stuff that’s supposed to build character or whatever.” She laughed. “It was painful. For me and for my geeky cousin.”
“And Sam?”
“Lifeguard at the lake.”
Michael laughed. “Saw that one coming. How’d you end up married?”
“His grandfather found us in his barn in the middle of the night, told us he’d tell our parents what we’d done unless we got married.”
“That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”
She laughed. “I think he only said it to scare us into realizing how big it was, what we’d done.”
These days everyone acted like sex was no big deal. In reality it was precious, and who each person chose to share it with was a huge decision. Sam’s grandpa had wanted them to realize that, even though it was done already.
She stared back into her memories. “I looked at Sam, and he had this face, like, ‘why not get married?’ I was sold. There was no one else. Not before, and not since. I knew my dad was going into politics. I’d had that ‘what you do reflects on me’ speech a thousand times. And as crazy as it sounds, I just knew Sam was the one.”
“So you got married.”
“In a baggy camp T-shirt and cut-off shorts in the middle of the night at seventeen years old.”
“Good Lord.”
Beth laughed. “I’ve always known my own mind, my whole life. I knew it wasn’t like we could be together all the time. Sam was on summer break before he started college. I was going to dance professionally, and I was determined to make that happen. Being married connected us in a way I liked, a lot. We stayed in touch with emails and phone calls, but we couldn’t tell anyone we were married. It’s a requirement of the route he went into service. He wanted to be an officer, and they have to be single.
“Then he graduated from the US Naval Academy with orders to report to SEAL training right after. He was gone for the better part of three years after that, but we saw each other when we could. Bizarrely, it worked for us. We could focus on our lives, but we always found our way back to one another.”
And now they were having a baby. One who would have Sam’s compact build and her blue eyes.
“And the wedding that was all over the papers a few weeks ago?”
“My parents had told us a while back we could bring it out into the open now that Dad was settled in his presidency.” Her voice hitched, and Michael grabbed her hand. “We waited until the timing worked, and then we had a ceremony. Renewed our vows—this time in public.”
“Well I’ll be.”
Beth shot him a smile. When their marriage had come out in the open it should have ended the secrets, but she’d simply traded one lie for another: a secret that had killed her parents. A secret that would keep her here now, indefinitely. Unless she finished it.
Pushing away the cloud that seemed to never want to clear, she got up. “I’m going to browse the shelves for a minute. Would you keep an eye on the kids?”
Michael nodded. His eyes searched hers. For what, she didn’t know.
Beth meandered between the shelves. A new route to the same spot where she always headed. It was a nineties edition of a self-help book based on a bizarre premise, but it served her purpose.
She pulled the book off the shelf
and flicked through the pages. No note.
The one she’d placed in the pages was gone. Message received.
But no reply?
Beth tapped the toe of her ballet flat on the thin carpet. How was she supposed to figure this out if all she got was no answer?
“Stress isn’t good for the baby.” Her mother-in-law stood at the end of the aisle in her pink skirt suit and white blouse with matching pink pumps. Her blonde hair was perfectly styled as always.
Beth felt like a hobo in comparison with her black leggings, the long wool sweater that hung to her thighs, and her hair in a loose bun.
“Not to mention, if you frown for much longer you’ll get lines on your face.”
Beth pushed the frustration of the empty book away and smiled. “You’re right, of course.”
Abigail tucked her arm into Beth’s and led her from the stacks. “I purchased everything you need, so we’re all set at home.”
“I should be done here in an hour, but I was planning on stopping by the bakery on my way home.”
“Is that wise? All that sugar. Dye. Flour!”
It was true Beth hadn’t been resisting the chocolate croissants very well lately. But after years of professional ballet, and now being pregnant, she had little will power left. And why should she? “I actually was just going to visit with my friends for a while.”
“I’ll come with you!”
“Uh, that’s great.” Beth hoped her smiled appeared genuine.
Sam’s mom hadn’t been a feature in most of his life. He’d told Beth as much, explaining she was a JAG officer and very busy. Though how a mother could be too busy for her only son was anyone’s guess. She hadn’t even attended their second wedding, saying she had a prior commitment she couldn’t miss.
So why be this attentive to the mother of her future grandchild now? Was it because Beth was the president’s daughter? Grant wouldn’t have told Abigail everything about why Beth and her mom had come to Sanctuary—at least as far as he knew. But what he would have said proved Beth was the target of people wanting to kill her.
Despite what she’d told Michael, and just about everyone else, she actually did want to see Sam. The one good thing in ten bleak years of life was the weekend she’d quit dance, realized what she’d done, and then shown up at Sam’s apartment in tears.
Sanctuary Breached WITSEC Town Series Book 3 Page 2
