by Jamie Hill
Time to Kill
Witness Security, Book Two
by
Jamie Hill
ISBN: 978-1-77145-347-9
Copyright 2015 by Jamie Hill
Cover Art Copyright 2015 by Michelle Lee
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored into a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
US Marshal Jordan Burke is happy for her partner when he takes a month off for paternity leave, but she's not happy about her substitute partner. Nick Pierce worked for the Topeka Witsec office years ago and left under less than the best of circumstances. When he’s asked to fill in he hesitates, but curiosity about Jordan makes him accept the job. The minute he sees her again he doesn’t regret his decision. From Atlanta to Los Angeles, Jordan and Nick discover that danger, and help, can come from the strangest sources. While they struggle to protect their witnesses, the bigger challenge seems to be keeping each other alive. And there’s always the possibility that they might kill each other first.
Dedication:
To Jude, Nancy, Roxanne and Kay for honest advice and critiques. I appreciate you all so much!
Prologue
Six months earlier
Los Angeles, California
“What the hell are you looking at?” The shout from across the street was directed at him.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. He knew better than to make eye contact with anyone when he walked in his neighborhood after dark.
He actually knew better than to go out alone at night, but he ran out of milk and double A batteries. Milk, he could manage without for a short time. The batteries powered his video game controllers, and there was no going without those for even one night.
A woman’s cries for help had gotten his attention. Yes, she was a hooker, and yes, the guy beating on her was probably her pimp. He could go home and dial nine-one-one, but the couple would probably be gone by the time the cops made it to their neighborhood. He sure as hell wasn’t going to whip out his phone and make the call with the pimp watching him. The guy was whacking on her with a billy club. There was no question he had other weapons at his disposal. The pimp continued to look at him suspiciously.
Sorry lady.
He hurried on. When he’d first moved in, his neighbor, a funny little man by the name of Roy, had told him about the various types of activities which might be witnessed when the sun went down. Apparently, pimps had better luck collecting fees from their streetwalkers when they were on the job, rather than trying to find them with cash on hand when they weren’t.
There was the occasional gang dust up, but those were fewer now that two rival families had moved out of the area.
Old Mrs. Turner, in the yellow house on the corner, baked hashish brownies for resale purposes. There was usually a steady stream of traffic coming and going from her place.
Roy, himself, had a penchant for the ponies. Three times he’d asked to borrow cash to pay back his debts. He’d always returned the money, but the last time it’d taken quite a bit longer. He’d been forced to tell Roy he couldn’t loan him anything else, and had been relieved when his neighbor had taken it well.
An unexpected inheritance had allowed him to take a year off from work to follow his dream of writing a novel. He’d gotten halfway done when a slump set in. The next few chapters came slower. Figuring out the ending was like pulling teeth, especially when he was trying to concentrate and the neighbors weren’t cooperating.
He hated the noise and found the violence distasteful, but the rent was affordable and that said a lot for Los Angeles. The City of Angels. The Entertainment Capital of the World. Everyone knew all the action happened in the big cities. If he was truly going to be a writer, he needed to be in the center of things.
Of course if the author gig didn’t work out, he could always go back to his assistant manager job at Gamestop. But he’d allowed himself one year and he figured he could make it that long, provided he was frugal and spent wisely.
Approaching his block, he spotted a strange car parked in front of his small, four-unit apartment complex. The vehicle stood out even though the street was dark. He recognized his favorite shade, metallic emerald green. He’d wanted a car that color ever since he’d seen it on his old man’s 1965 Chevy Coupe Classic.
What make and model is this one? He couldn’t tell in the dark, and got closer to squint at the emblem on the trunk.
Someone in the back seat sprang up, pressing his face against the inside of the rear window.
He jumped, dropping the gallon of milk into the street where it burst open. “Dammit!” He glanced back up and realized the face in the window belonged to Roy, his neighbor. Roy’s eyes were bugging and he was trying to scream.
His heart thudded. “Roy?”
A second man rose from the back seat and without a sound, inserted an icepick into Roy’s temple, then drew it out quickly.
Roy’s tongue protruded and his eyes bulged wider before they froze in an unforgettable, tormented expression of death.
The other man turned and looked directly at him.
Don’t make eye contact! It was too late. They’d seen each other.
The man opened his car door.
The bag containing the twenty-pack of double A batteries hit the ground as he bolted, running faster than he ever had in his life.
Chapter One
Present day
Topeka, Kansas
“This has not been my weekend!” Jordan Burke breezed into her partner’s house and looked around. “I can’t believe you had the baby without me. Where is she?”
Doug Jackson leaned against the door and pointed over his shoulder. “Right in here. Really sorry we didn’t wait for you. I suggested holding out to Christine, but she was in the middle of that ‘hee hee hoo hoo’ breathing, and she didn’t seem too interested.”
She paused long enough to shoot him a sarcastic look. Doug had been her partner in the US Marshal’s Service for six years and they got along like siblings. Sometimes didn’t get along, making them even more like brother and sister. But she loved him to pieces and was thrilled when he met his soul mate the previous year and married her. Their first child together had just arrived. Both parents were tall and striking with thick brown hair and deep, dark eyes. She knew the baby would be beautiful.
Reaching up to pinch his cheek she muttered, “Sabelotodo. Where is my goddaughter?”
He laughed. “Every time you call me a smarty pants I’m going to remind you that I’d rather be a smartass than a dumbass. Follow me.” He led her into the front room where his wife sat, holding the baby.
“Christi! You look amazing!” She kissed her friend on the cheek and peered into the flannel bundle. “Who do we have here?”
Christine pulled back the edge of the blanket. “Auntie Jordan, meet Avery Elizabeth Jernigan.”
All she could see were two pink cheeks and rosebud lips on the small round face. The rest was hidden by a pink cap and a blanket cocoon.
“Ay Dios mio! Oh my God! She’s a beauty. Can I hold her?”
Doug sat on the arm of his wife’s chair. “I don’t know, can you?”
Jordan rolled her eyes and looked at Christine. “Does he do this you? Are you wishing now you would have had a longer courtship and gotten to know him better?” She didn’t give the woman a chance to answer. “Okay, may I hold her?”
Christine smiled. “Yes, you may. I would have let you without the grammar lesson. I pret
ty much ignore him half the time, anyway.”
She reached for the baby and eyed Doug. “Smart woman.” Lifting the light load, she wondered if the blankets weighed more than the kid. “So tiny! How big was she?” Jordan sat on the next chair over.
“Six pounds, five ounces. Twenty inches long,” the daddy said proudly.
Examining the tiny fingers, she sighed. “Perfect. She’s so beautiful, you two. I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”
“Duty calls. We certainly understand that around here.” Christine reached for Doug’s hand and held it.
Jordan raised the baby to her shoulder and rocked as she spoke. “I don’t mind duty. I don’t mind flying an annoying tax evader all the way to Atlanta. Well, I really do, but you know what I mean.”
Doug leaned over to his wife. “Jordan hates the guilty witnesses. She’d much rather protect an innocent person than someone who’s committed a crime.”
She shrugged. “Can you blame me? As my dear late mother used to say, ‘you lie with dogs, you get up with fleas’.”
They chuckled and she went on, “But I do mind when we get to the courthouse and discover the trial has been continued. Seriously? They couldn’t have figured this out earlier?”
He shook his head. “They don’t always know beforehand. Sometimes it happens at the last minute.”
“Shush, you.” She turned back to Christine. “So there we are, me and Willy E., the tax evader, right back on a flight to Kansas. All I accomplished was missing the birth of my goddaughter.” She sighed. “They didn’t keep you in the hospital very long.”
“One night. She’s healthy. We’ll take her back in a couple days to be checked, and then again at ten days.”
Jordan rubbed her tiny back. “Avery Elizabeth. What a nice name. I’ll bet grandma is pleased.”
Doug’s mother went by Liz, but her given name was Elizabeth. “Yep.” He grinned. “Mom’s in hog heaven. She was over here a while ago, and she’ll be back later. She’s picking Ethan up from school for us.”
“Sweet. How’s E taking the new arrival?”
“He’s only seen her in the hospital, but so far so good. He was very excited. Peyton can’t wait to meet her.” Christine’s children from her first marriage were eleven and eighteen. Their father, Larry, got into big trouble which landed him in prison and the family in witness security, where they met Jordan and Doug. Larry was killed before his trial in Chicago. Doug and Christine got together after that.
“How’s her first year of college so far?”
“She loves it. My parents are bringing her here on Friday for the weekend. They’re all anxious to meet Avery.”
Jordan inhaled the fresh baby fragrance. “Aw, little Avery. I’m sorry you’re coming into a world where you’ll never be quite sure what your last name is. Some people will call you Jernigan, others will think you’re Jackson. Living within the boundaries of Witsec will keep you on your toes.”
Doug cleared his throat. “She’ll be just fine. We’ve all managed this far, haven’t we?”
“Not without some confusion!” Jordan understood the necessity for stealth. As US Marshals, they dealt with criminals every day. Those people didn’t need to know their real names. She was born Jordan Branan, but her family was gone now. For all intents and purposes, besides paying taxes, she was Jordan Burke.
“So…” Doug smiled at her. “What else is new?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t give me that, you turkey. You know damn good and well what’s new. Charlie Archer got a trial date at the end of this month. With you on paternity leave, imagine that? How long are you taking?”
He grinned. “A month.”
“To do what?” she teased. “It’s not like you gave birth.”
Shrugging, he defended himself. “I’ve got the vacation time. I’m going to use it to bond with my daughter and take care of my wife. You’re just spoiled because I never took vacations before. I finally have a reason.”
“I know it, haragan. Slacker. I just can’t believe you’re making me deal with Charlie Archer.”
“Who’s Charlie Archer?” Christine glanced from one to the other of them. “Or should I not ask? I know you aren’t supposed to discuss witnesses.”
“We’re really not,” he agreed.
Jordan made a face. “Oh please, since when are you Mr. and Mrs. Witsec-by-the-book? You wouldn’t be here today if you knew what it meant to follow the rules.”
Doug chuckled. “Okay, maybe we can bend one more. Charlie Archer used to live in Los Angeles. He’s the stereotypical gamer-Star Trekish kind of nerd. One night he witnessed a mob hit on someone in his neighborhood. He vacated the premises pronto and was relocated by Witsec.”
Jordan picked up the tale. “Problem being, Charlie was writing a book. The next great American novel, to hear him tell it. In his rush to vamoose, he left his flash drive with the manuscript behind. Try as he might, he’s not been able to recreate the novel.”
Doug jumped back in. “He’s just itching to go back and look for it. All his stuff was packed and loaded into a storage unit, which we’re sure is being watched by the mob. It’s pure and simple fear of death that’s kept him here, and not running back to LA to get that flash drive.”
Christine shook her head. “If it was so important, why didn’t he take it with him?”
Jordan shrugged. “I think he was too busy pissing his pants after what he witnessed. It was pretty gruesome. Only after he was safe and had time to think about it, did he remember the manuscript and the flash drive.”
“Must be some great book.”
Doug shrugged. “He thinks it is. It’s a conspiracy theory thriller that has something to do with DNA—he described it as Assassin’s Creed meets Jurassic Park.”
“Oh Lord!” Christine exchanged glances with Jordan.
“You’re telling me. And it’s all he wants to talk about. Bores me to tears.”
“But he’s so enthusiastic about it,” Doug chuckled. “How can you rain on his parade?”
“How can you leave me to deal with him alone? All the way to Los Angeles, no less. Traitor.”
“Hey, I seem to recall someone breaking her ankle and leaving me to take on a crazy family who was being stalked by not one, but two mobsters.”
“Um, that worked out pretty well for you.” She looked at Christine. “You’re welcome for me breaking my ankle, by the way. Set the wheels of this great love story into motion.”
Christine blinked. “Did he just call my family ‘crazy’?”
Doug leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “Yes I did. That’s why I fit in so well. And who knows, maybe Jordan’s trip with Charlie will result in a love match, too. Never say never.”
Jordan made a face and turned her focus back to the baby. “Your daddy is so silly. Get used to hearing that, Av. I’ll be telling it to you constantly.”
Christine looked at Doug. “She nicknamed our daughter.”
Closing his eyes, he nodded. “We knew she would.”
Jordan pulled one tiny hand from the blanket. “Are these nails too small to paint?”
* * *
Jordan sipped a latte as she entered her office building the next morning. After a quick word with Martina, the receptionist, she punched her code and proceeded in to the secure area.
Her desk faced Doug’s, and she glanced at his space before tossing her purse in her bottom drawer. A framed photo of him and a very pregnant Christine sat on the corner of his desktop. The most recent school photo of Ethan was grouped with Peyton’s senior picture. When Doug returned, a shot or two of Avery would be added to the mix. His first day back, without a doubt. Doug was anal in some ways, but she found his long-awaited happiness endearing.
“You see the baby yet?” Her boss approached from behind.
Jordan turned to face Chief Evan Rhodes. Ten years older than her, he’d gone prematurely silver at an early age. She’d always thought the shock of thick, shiny hair made him look distinguished. For c
ertain, his unwavering character made him the best boss either she or Doug ever had. “Yes I did. She’s a beauty. Her mama and daddy are over the moon, of course.”
“Naturally. The wife wants to see her, but I suggested we give them a week or so to get adjusted.”
“Grandparents are coming from Chicago this weekend, but they won’t stay. Peyton has school.”
“How’s she doing? All situated in college?”
“So I gather. They’re just one big happy family over there.” She settled into her chair and poked at the lid of her drink to widen the opening. “I know why Doug’s happy. He doesn’t have to deal with Charlie Archer.”
Rhodes chuckled. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s his main focus right now.”
“It’s mine, anyway. You realize I’m happy to have someone to think about besides slimy Willy E. from Atlanta. But Archer? Please. Couldn’t Ben take this case?”
He shook his head. “Sorry. Ben’s tied up with two different witnesses right now.”
She winced hopefully. “Olivia?”
“I am not pawning Archer off on our newest marshal. You have a rapport with the man.”
“She’s been here a year,” Jordan muttered. “Besides, Doug has the rapport with the man. They talk video games, and dinosaurs, and stuff. Me, not so much.”
“Believe me, I understand. You’ll need a male marshal when you head out to LA anyway, so I’m working on bringing in some temporary help while Doug’s away. I’ll keep you posted.”
Jordan frowned. “Do not request Snead from Kansas City. I’m serious, boss. He’s five foot nothin’ and when he stands in front of me, I swear he’s talking to my tits.”
With a hint of a smile, Rhodes turned away. “Since I know how much you enjoy that, he was my first choice. Sorry to tell you he’s tied up at the moment. I’m working on someone else. Never fear.”
