by Kit Kyndall
“Call me Andre, and you’re welcome. I won’t let shit like that stand. I know a little something about discrimination myself, and I won’t have an underling treating anyone that way while they’re under my command.”
She gave a tremulous smile to the African-American man, certain he must know a fair bit about discrimination. Abruptly, she realized the flash drive was still in her pocket, and she hadn’t had a chance to tell anyone about it. She had shoved it there without thinking when the local police had responded to the emergency call, needing both hands to get up since her legs had gone numb from staying hidden for so long.
At first, she had been too traumatized to recall much of what had happened, and by the time the marshals had arrived, she had almost forgotten the flash drive. When she had remembered it once, Franks’s disdainful attitude had been off-putting, and she’d decided not to mention it. Now, she opened her mouth to tell Andre about it, but was interrupted by Franks’s return before she could do so.
“It’s all clear, so you can go to bed.” He phrased it more like an order than a suggestion.
If she’d been in the mood to be contrary, instead of bone-weary with exhaustion and the drop of adrenaline that left her barely standing on her feet, she would have taken a seat at the couch instead of turning to find the bathroom for a shower before going to sleep. She took a few steps before pausing to turn back to Andre. “I just realized I don’t have any clothes.”
“Must be a familiar state,” muttered Franks quietly.
She ignored him, as did Andre. He kept his gaze on her. “If you take the first bedroom, you’ll find an array of clothing for women. It should all be new. It’s nothing fancy, but we keep it stocked for witnesses in just this set of circumstances. The second bedroom is for male witnesses, and the kids’ room is also outfitted with supplies, in case we have families or children.”
“Where do you sleep?”
“We’ll take turns sharing the male witness’s room,” said Andre as he shot a glare at Franks, as though preemptively cutting off any kind of smartass remark. “One of us will always be awake and in the living room, or in your immediate vicinity.”
She smiled. “Who’s guarding me tonight?”
“That would be me, Ms. Dennings,” said Franks in a mocking voice.
That did nothing to inspire confidence. She reminded herself Andre was there, and even if he was sleeping, he was probably trained well enough that he would respond to any threat as it emerged. Ignoring Franks completely, she whispered a good night to Andre and turned to leave the room.
The bedroom was set up as he’d promised and included a bathroom that joined to what she assumed was the other witness room. She locked both doors before taking a quick shower and sliding on a pair of pajamas that were a couple of sizes too big, but were serviceable enough.
It was good they were big, because they were little snug across her hips, but loose everywhere else. That was the story of her existence. Short and curvy, it sometimes made buying clothes difficult without trying everything on in the store. She wouldn’t have that luxury here, but she couldn’t care less at the moment. It didn’t even matter that the waist was falling down, and she had to pull the drawstrings as tightly as she could before knotting to keep them up. Nothing mattered besides finding a few brief hours of respite in sleep.
2
They had taken her phone the first night, though she hadn’t realized it until she had gone through her purse the next morning in search of it. She had no way to communicate, and nothing to keep her occupied. It had been like this for three days, and she was going quietly stir crazy. They wouldn’t even let her step out into the backyard for a breath of fresh air. She understood why it wasn’t safe, but it was driving her mad.
Almost as crazy as the way Franks hovered around her, as though he was determined not to give her a moment of privacy with Andre. She’d like to think he was just being overzealous in his need to protect her, but since he’d made it pretty obvious he didn’t really care what happened to her, she couldn’t understand why he stayed so close all the time.
She’d had no opportunity as of yet to tell Andre about the flash drive, and since she hadn’t mentioned it to the police when she had been in the throes of shock, no one knew of its existence. Since she had no way to access it to see what was on it, she had no idea what its true value was, but she knew Shanae had been willing to die for it.
She remembered Raze’s assumption her friend had planned to use the data to blackmail him. While it wouldn’t have been entirely outside the scope of Shanae’s plans for the future in order to have a secure and steady source of income, she was also equally positive her friend wouldn’t have been willing to risk her life for something that she was going to turn around and use to make money from Marconi. If it were simple as that, she would have just handed over the flash drive that night at the club—or before then.
Either way, she couldn’t bring herself to believe Shanae had died to protect something with which she could blackmail Marconi. Recalling her friend’s haunted expression when she had mentioned the flash drive, she was certain it was something equally powerful and dangerous, especially from Marconi’s point-of-view. Whatever it was, it was still a secret and still unknown, and she couldn’t risk leaving it anywhere. She’d taken to stuffing it in her bra during the day or sleeping with the little lanyard snug around her thumb at night.
She had every intention of telling Andre about it, but her instincts warned her not to involve Morris Franks. She didn’t know if she was actually sensing it was a risk if he knew, or if she was allowing her dislike of him to color her perception. Either way, she remembered Shanae telling her not to tell anyone about it, and she intended to be selective in who she shared information about its existence with, and so far, that was only Marshal Hart. If she could just get an opportunity.
“Your pacing is maddening. Go to bed.” Franks issued the order without even looking up from his phone, on which he was playing a game. She could tell by the electronic blips and squeals, along with his frown of concentration that occasionally turned to a mask of anger. She ignored him, pacing a bit more as she tried to work off some restless energy. Andre had turned in for the night almost an hour ago, and while she usually went to bed when he did, she was feeling more restless than usual. “I’d kill for some fresh air.”
“No, you might die for it if they saw you.” He said the words as though they didn’t concern him at all.
Deciding she’d had enough of him, she turned and walked to the guestroom, closing the door behind her. She could pace just as well in the confines of her bedroom, and without his disdainful gaze on her the entire time.
Eventually, Julia fell into a restless sleep, though something woke her a few hours later. She sat upright in bed, heart hammering in her ears. At first, she assumed she was having a nightmare which had caused the sudden fear, but knew almost immediately that supposition was wrong when she heard voices in the hallway. The presence of voices themselves wouldn’t have been cause for alarm, except she clearly identified more than two, which meant they had company. As the voices got closer, she slid from bed and tiptoed over to her doorway, pressing her ear against the wood in an attempt to hear what was being said.
“Took you fucking long enough,” said a familiar voice.
The blood in her veins chilled, and she shivered at the sound of Marconi’s voice on the other side of the door.
“It isn’t easy to get out a message to you when they monitor all incoming and outgoing communications in a safe house, Marconi.”
“Mr. Marconi,” said a third voice in a threatening manner.
She recognized that voice too. It had belonged to one of the goons who had been in the back room with her, tearing apart Shanae’s cubicle.
For a moment, panic threatened to render her paralyzed, but she forced her feet to move as she crept as silently away from the door as possible. Her path toward the room Marshal Hart used took her by her shoes, and she bent down
to scoop them up as she ran, not bothering to take the time to put them on.
She went through the bathroom that connected their rooms, almost sobbing with relief when she discovered Andre hadn’t locked the door from his side of the bedroom. She opened the door as quietly as possible, holding her breath for a moment when there was a slight squeak, but it didn’t seem to raise any alarms in the group standing outside her bedroom door. She had expected them to burst in at any moment, but at least they would have to deal with the lock she’d engaged. She had flipped it as an unconscious way to protect herself from Franks. His disdain had left her wary, and she was glad for it now.
As soon as she slipped into Andre’s room, she locked the door behind her, hoping to buy a few more minutes. She went directly to his bed, kneeling down, and trying to keep her voice quiet when she touched his shoulder as she put a hand over his mouth.
His eyes snapped open immediately, and his hand grasped her wrist, but he stilled as soon as he realized it was her.
Once she was certain he wasn’t going to cry out or make a sound of surprise, she pulled her hand away and put her fingers to her lips. Then she said softly, “Marconi’s here, and at least one more of his goons. And Franks is helping him.”
His eyes widened, but he didn’t waste time with questions. He simply sprang from the bed and slid into pants to cover his boxers before reaching for his gun, secured in his holster hanging from the bedpost.
He pulled her closer to him, whispering against her ear, “Listen to what I say, and don’t make a sound.”
She nodded as she heard the door to her room give way with a sudden burst of wood cracking in the frame. She imagined someone’s sturdy foot had dealt the death blow to the wood.
She stayed near Andre as he maneuvered them toward the hallway. The cursing from the other room was audible and quickly followed by gunshots that she imagined were directed toward the bathroom door on the other side. It would be seconds before they breached this room.
Andre opened the door to the hallway cautiously, before nodding at her in a jerky motion. He stepped out first, and then used his body to shield her as he directed her toward the front door with a wave of his head. She still held her shoes, but didn’t take time to put them on as she rushed toward the front door, though she couldn’t go too quickly, or she’d risk making too much noise.
More shouting and cursing, followed by gunshots echoing through Andre’s room indicated either they had blown open the bathroom door too, or someone was having a temper tantrum.
“Get down,” shouted Andre suddenly.
The sudden command barked her way urged her into action, and she automatically ducked down behind the recliner that was the last piece of furniture between her and the exit. She peeked around the corner, gasping when she saw Andre facing off against four armed men, including his partner.
She admired how quickly he shot, taking out two of them before Marconi got off a shot. Franks got one a second later, and Andre reeled back, but didn’t fall. He continued shooting at them as he stumbled toward her, his gaze locking with hers for just a second. “Get out the door and run. Now.”
She rushed for the front door, but couldn’t make herself leave without Andre. She waited on the porch for him as he came stumbling out after her, and he glared at her.
“I told you to run. You need to get somewhere safe.” He jerked suddenly, and more blood blossomed on his chest. He looked down before looking up at her again as he fumbled in his pocket.
“Do you have my cell phone or yours? I’ll call nine-one-one.”
He shook his head. “Compromised.”
She frowned. “Compromised?”
“Move,” he barked at her again, grabbing her arm in a way that urged her forward, though she suspected it also provided a stabilizing influence for him as he tried to rush from the house. They made it to the side yard before he fell, collapsing against side of the house. He wasn’t out yet though. Andre peered around the corner and shot his gun again, though she wasn’t certain if he had a target, or if he was just reminding Marconi and Franks that he was also armed.
She knelt beside him, pulling at his shirt as she gingerly tried to ease the white tank top away from the blood. “How many times have you been shot?”
“Three or four. Doesn’t matter.” His hands were trembling, and it was clear he was having difficulty aiming the gun when he fired again around the corner. “You have to get outta here, Julia. You can’t trust anyone at the Marshal’s office, at least not the local one.”
Her heart stuttered. “What am I supposed to do then? Where do I go?”
“Find Justin Harbor, and he’ll take care of you.” As he spoke, he used one of his shaking hands to pull his wallet free from his pocket and extract a black American Express card. “Take this and use it to get some money.” He said his PIN twice. “After you’ve used it at the ATM, cut it up and get rid of it. Don’t use it again. I won’t be reporting it stolen, but they might figure out I gave it to you and track you that way.
“You need to go to a small town in Montana called Sunshine. Justin has a ranch there, well outside the city limits, but you should be able to find someone who can help you reach your destination. You tell him I sent you, and if he resists, you remind him he still owes me for Fallujah. He’ll keep you safe. Don’t surface until the trial. Marconi’s been indicted, but he’s clearly out on bail. I don’t know how he managed that, besides pulling the right strings. You need to stay hidden. It could be weeks before this thing goes to trial. Months even.”
As Andre spoke, his voice grew shakier, and his complexion had turned ash-gray. He was losing too much blood, and she tried to press her hands against one of the nearest wounds to stop the blood flow. All he did was hiss in agony before pushing her away.
The hard plastic in her bra reminded her about the flash drive. “There’s more. Shanae gave me a flash drive she got from Marconi. It was why he killed her. He wanted it back. I don’t know what’s on it. What should I do with it?”
“Hide it. Don’t tell the authorities about it. Don’t know who you can trust.”
“What should—”
“Get outta here and go. Now. I don’t how much longer I can hold them off.”
Reluctantly, she took the keys he held out to her, scanning the area for the dark sedan they had arrived in. It was parked on the road, and she’d have to make a run for it, but she was certain Andre would provide cover, at least as long as he clung to life and could hold his gun. “Thank you for everything, Andre.”
He nodded his head once. “Remember, find Justin.”
Without another word, she got to her feet, took a deep breath, and burst into a run. It had been a long time since she had done any running, but it came back to her quickly, and she reached the sedan before she knew it. It wasn’t locked, so she was able to scramble inside, shove the key in the ignition, and peel away from the curb in what seemed like a millisecond. Her heart was racing in her ears, and her foot was heavy on the accelerator as she raced off into the night.
She had no clear destination in mind, but she knew she had to get to Montana. A plane was out, since she didn’t have any identification, so she hoped she could buy a bus ticket without her ID. Her purse was still back at the safe house, and her phone was wherever Franks or Andre had locked it up. All she had was his credit card.
She stopped at a drive-through bank, withdrawing as much cash as she could before heading toward the bus station. She left the car several blocks away and crossed through the city on foot. She paused long enough to slip on her tennis shoes, but her foot was throbbing from something she had stepped on when she had fled the house and run to the car.
Julia tried to ignore the discomfort as she focused on maintaining speed while looking around her. It was nerve-racking to be moving through this part of the city in the dark by herself, and she was almost surprised to reach the bus station fifteen minutes later without having encountered anyone, aside from walking past a few people on the s
treet who hadn’t even looked at her. Perhaps the universe believed she deserved a lucky break.
At the counter, she used Andre’s card to buy seven different bus tickets before funding the one she intended to take with cash from the stash she’d gotten from the ATM. She felt bad about using his card, even though he’d given her permission, but it couldn’t be helped.
She bought a grooming kit from a vending machine and locked herself in the bathroom as she waited for her bus to depart. She used the manicure scissors that came with the kit to cut up the card into tiny pieces and disposed of it in the biohazard trashcan reserved for disposal of feminine products. She highly doubted anyone would go digging in that, even if they had a reason to look for the card there.
When she emerged from the bathroom stall, she went to the sink and looked ruefully at the manicure scissors. She should probably take time to cut her hair, but she didn’t think she could accomplish much with those. Julia looked up, her heart jumping, when the door opened, but it was simply another woman who looked uninterested in her presence as she went to a stall. Two other women came in a couple of minutes later, and Julia lingered until all three had emerged from the stalls to wash their hands. Taking a deep breath, she asked, “Do any of you have a hat I could buy? Or a pair of scissors?”
“Oh, honey, did your boyfriend beat you?” asked the Asian girl. Her gaze was focused squarely on Julia’s midsection and hands.
Looking down, she realized she still had Andre’s blood all over her palm, and she’d wiped it against her shirt at some point. Rather than answering the question, she allowed tears to fill her eyes. It wasn’t some great acting ability. She simply surrendered to the burning in the back of her eyes that had been there for the last hour or so. As she broke into sobs, the three of them—perfect strangers until that moment—gathered around her and patted her shoulders while whispering words of comfort.
She quickly regained control, simply because she had to. She didn’t have the luxury of falling apart right then. “I need to get away.”
