Conard County Witness

by Rachel Lee

  She nodded, feeling her heart squeeze with sympathy. “I get it. I wouldn’t call it selfish as much as necessary. You had a lot to cope with, and probably didn’t have much left over for trying to put a good face on it for others.”

  “Well, I suppose I left you wondering why the hell I didn’t want a friendly visit. From your perspective it must have seemed cruel.”

  She lifted her head and gave him a wan smile. “I never thought of you as cruel, but it’s nice to know it wasn’t something about me. I can’t begin to imagine what you were going through.”

  “It was never about you, Lacy. I just didn’t want any friendly or cheerful visits from anyone. I got all the perkiness I could handle from my nurses. All of them excellent by the way, but they were determined not to let me sink into self-pity for even a moment.” He paused, his face growing more serious. “Sometimes a self-pity party is useful. I had a few and I always wound up feeling stupid for it, but they helped. Sometimes I was just so damn angry, and I didn’t have a thing to take it out on. Safe to say, I was miserable company for a while, and I didn’t want to be dumping on the wrong people.”

  She nodded and sipped her warm coffee. “You make a great latte,” she remarked as she set her mug down again. “I think I can understand, Jess. People coming to a hospital want to cheer the patient up. That’s okay if the patient is feeling well enough for it. Not so good if it’s just added stress.”

  “Exactly.”

  “How are your parents doing now?”

  “You know they retired to France, right? They’ve been doing just fine since they hopped the Atlantic to see me getting around on my new leg. But that first visit?” He shook his head. “I’m sure no parent ever wants to see that. It must have shredded my mother’s heart.”

  “Which didn’t help you feel any better.”

  “Absolutely not. For a few days after they went back to France, I hit a low point, thinking it might have been easier on them if all they’d seen was a closed coffin.”

  Lacy’s heart ached uncomfortably. She couldn’t imagine it, but at some level she did understand what he was saying. “I’m sure they’re glad to still have you.”

  He flashed an unexpected smile, warm and inviting. “Now they are, for sure.” He reached across the table, his palm turned up, and she hesitated only briefly before laying her hand in his. His touch was warm, his skin a little calloused without being rough. A pleasurable shiver ran through her.

  He let go of her and leaned back, still smiling. “It’s good to see you, Lacy. Really good. It’s been a long time. I wanted to invite you for a visit once I got my new leg under me and settled here, but then you were in that protection thing. It was what, nearly three years? Do you want to tell me about that? It looks like it wasn’t easy on you. You’ve lost weight.”

  “I have, a little. It wasn’t that hard. I think I told you.”

  He paused, then it was his turn to be surprisingly blunt. “This is weird, sitting across the table from you.”

  She looked at him. “How so?”

  “Like strangers, but not strangers. You’ve been a voice on the phone for so long. And we usually kept it as light as we could, didn’t we?”

  She nodded, her gaze drifting down to the dark wooden table. “I know,” she said quietly. “So we’re barely acquainted. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here.”

  “I didn’t say that.” His tone sharpened a bit, then quieted again. “It’s just different. Maybe after we hang for a few days, we’ll cross some of those bridges and be a little more honest with each other.”

  He was right. Those phone calls hadn’t been entirely honest, even when they’d been full of the grief they’d both been trying to contain. As if certain social norms had to be observed no matter what. Politeness. Never really digging into the well of pain and despair that had afflicted them both, first about Sara, then about his wounding and then about her fears.

  She sighed, took a deep draft of coffee, then tried for a smile. “Well, let’s see if we can get to know each other better. Might as well if I’m going to be here a while.”

  He nodded. “Definitely. And I want to make it clear again, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. So tell me, Lacy, what was it really like to be a protected witness?”

  “Annoying,” she admitted. “I had two FBI agents hovering every single minute. At first I was scared. How could I not be? The US Attorney’s office told me that someone had picked up intelligence about a threat against me. That I was going to have to be protected until after the trial. Listening to that I felt like ice was running down my spine. That only happens in the movies, you know? But there it was, happening to me. So I wound up being moved and I had my own protection detail. Discovering that your employer is laundering drug money is evidently a dangerous thing to do.”

  “I should think so! How did you find out?”

  “I’m a good accountant. The first thing I noticed was that an awful lot of money was moving through accounts, then dispersing to others. Finally I became curious enough to look closer and I found all the accounts were shells. That’s when I got scared the first time. A cursory glance wouldn’t show anything unusual, but over time...” She shrugged. “Over time, it looked weirder and weirder. So I went to the FBI.”

  He looked amazed. “Why didn’t you just run? Quit?”

  “Because it was wrong. I didn’t think about consequences, just that it was wrong, and like it or not, I was being made a party to it. So I made copies of some of the most revealing stuff for the FBI, and from there it just snowballed.”

  “Apparently.” He shook his head. “You’re a brave woman.”

  “I don’t know about that. I’m here because I’m frightened, even though they keep telling me it’s over, that I don’t have to worry anymore.” But she couldn’t help looking toward the windows. The autumn day was beginning to darken.

  Almost as if he could read her mind, Jess got up and began to close the dark blue kitchen curtains. They weren’t the light, frilly things one usually saw in kitchens, but clearly full of weight and substance.

  “These are thermal curtains,” he remarked. “The other advantage is that no light passes through them. I’ll keep them closed throughout the house until you can relax.”

  She almost hated herself then. “Jess, you can’t live in a cave because I’m scared of the boogeyman!”

  He flashed a grin. “It won’t be a cave. As we get colder around here, I keep them closed most of the day anyway. I haven’t gotten around to installing triple-paned windows yet. The curtains are easier. Don’t worry about it. Just call it cozy.”

  A laugh escaped her, and the sound seemed to brighten his face. “It’s been a long time since I heard you laugh.”

  The remark startled her, but she realized he was right. “It’s been a long time since I heard you laugh, too,” she replied.

  Not since Sara. Before the aneurysm took her so unexpectedly, the three of them had shared a lot of laughter during visits and on the phone. But since Sara...

  “There hasn’t been a whole lot to laugh about,” he said quietly. “Maybe it’s time to change that.”

  But how? she wondered. Life had been slamming them both almost nonstop since Sara died. In the intervening five years, neither of them had experienced much joy in anything. And he’d had it harder than she. Her time in witness protection couldn’t in any way measure up to his wounding and recovery. No way.

  She suddenly felt almost small, allowing her silly fears to rule her when there was no reason.

  “So the FBI keeps telling you you’re safe now?”

  She looked up, startled out of her internal soul-searching. “Yeah. It’s supposed to be over. All the bad guys are behind bars. And I couldn’t possibly be a threat to anyone now.”

  He nodded and came to stand beside her. “Easy for
them to say. You’re worrying about loose ends, aren’t you?”

  She nodded. “Loose ends and revenge.”

  “I don’t think that’s silly at all. You kept telling me on the phone you were being foolish, but I’m not buying it, Lacy. I’m not saying someone is after you, I’m just saying your fear isn’t unreasonable. You tangled with some pretty big bad guys, and it hasn’t been that long.”

  “I keep looking over my shoulder,” she admitted, trying to repress a shudder. “I’ve become a nut about checking locks. I had a security system put in my apartment. Sometimes I think I’ve gone overboard into paranoia.”

  “Well, no one on earth will find you here. As far as the world is concerned, you and I have had no contact since the funeral. And you bought a bus ticket to Portland, right?”

  “Yes.” The town where she had gone to college. It would be the logical place for her to go.

  “Then you’re off the grid,” he said cheerfully. “And you’re going to stay that way. No accessing your bank accounts, no using credit cards. We can even get you a new cell phone.”

  She twisted her head, looking up at him. “You’re enjoying this!”

  He bent, his eyes dancing. “I’m enjoying the challenge. I’m also glad to see you again. And since I think you’ll be safe here, why not enjoy it?”

  She bit her lip, a maelstrom of unidentifiable emotions sweeping through her, then reluctantly laughed. “You’re right. Might as well turn it into a game. It’s got to be better than the way I was feeling in Dallas.”

  He straightened and gave her shoulder a quick squeeze, sending hot honey racing through her veins. The reaction caught her by surprise. Uh-oh, she thought. “It’ll be a fun game if that’s what we choose to make it. Now let’s talk about dinner. I have a number of choices for you.”

  As he opened the fridge and checked the cupboard, tossing out meal ideas, Lacy realized for the first time that this could be fun. She was actually beginning to look forward to it. The weight of the past three years seemed to slide from her shoulders. She had an ally now.

  * * *

  Out on the road in front of the house, a man parked for a while, thinking and watching. The woman had arrived with two large suitcases, which seemed to indicate more than a brief visit. The man had brought her to his home, which seemed significant.

  Now, unless something changed soon, he had two targets, not one. Damn, he hated it when things didn’t go according to his plan. He’d paid dearly for that once, and had come to loathe unexpected complications.

  Of course he could deal with it. He had plenty of training in that—not that it always worked, but it worked often enough. However, two targets increased the danger. One person could have an accident or just disappear out here. Two made it more difficult.

  And challenging, he thought, a small smile playing over his lips. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he decided he had sat here long enough. No traffic had come by but he didn’t want someone to notice a vehicle parked in an unusual place. Didn’t want some county mountie stopping to ask if everything was okay.

  Putting the car into Drive, he pulled away, thinking. The woman could move on again, removing the second-target problem from the equation. But if she stayed...

  He decided he was going to have to keep an eye on those two for a few days, study the pattern of their movements. It was possible he’d only have to take the one he wanted. The other could just be a cipher.

  Or, he thought with vicious pleasure, he could just cut loose and find a way to take them both. One was necessary. The other might just be fun.

  Sorting through possibilities, he began to think it might be enjoyable. There were certain talents he hadn’t been able to use in a long time. The talent for inflicting pain and terror. Yes, it might be a lot of fun. He did, after all, fancy himself to be like a big cat, a lion or tiger. They were patient when they needed to be, and they played with their prey. He could do with a little play.

  Deciding that he could enjoy this added fillip put the smile back on his face. He was whistling as he headed down the highway to a roadhouse where no one would even notice him. Too many strangers passing through, too many people with a good reason to keep their mouths shut.

  He’d cased it well. He was going to have his revenge and enjoy it, too.

  Chapter 2

  Jess awoke in the morning, acutely aware that he was not alone in the house. It wasn’t some sound that betrayed it, but rather a faint perfume in the air, womanly scents he hadn’t shared quarters with since Sara. Amazing how they seemed to make their way through the house.

  He rolled over, looked at the clock and saw that it was his usual rising time of six thirty. He’d taken a vacation from the clinic to look after Lacy, but ordinarily he’d rise, shower, dress, scan the news online and be at the clinic by 8:00 a.m. This morning would be different.

  No sound indicated that Lacy was up yet. He wasn’t surprised. She’d seemed exhausted, and had begun nodding off shortly after dinner, until he’d finally shooed her to her room. Whatever terrors she’d been experiencing, along with a lengthy bus trip, seemed to have drained her.

  She’d changed, too, from the relatively carefree woman who had visited him and Sara. He sensed a shell around her now, that she’d been permanently altered by living with so much fear for so long. He understood that to his very core. War and his wound had changed him forever.

  He swung himself into a sitting position and reached for his metal crutch. His artificial leg stood poised by the bed, the microprocessor recharging, but first he needed a shower. In fact, converting part of his ground-floor bedroom into a private bath had been his first change to this house. He could crutch into the shower and sit on a bench while he washed. A necessary luxury. Two showerheads were another luxury, not necessary but certainly pleasurable. These days he took all the small pleasures he could find.

  When he had dried off sufficiently, he wrapped his stump—not a pretty sight, though the doctors had done their best to neaten it up—applying the silicone sock with the collar that helped keep the leg on, then stepped into the leg. He stamped it five or six times until all the air had been driven out of the socket and the fit felt secure. He often thought he looked like he was part Terminator these days. He had a plastic foot cover for wearing shoes and socks, but the rest of the leg, reaching above his knee, was carbon composite and metal. He wasn’t concerned about the cosmetics, simply the ease of maintenance and mobility. It served him well, and except when he was home was always covered by scrubs or jeans.

  He pulled on a red sweatshirt and some old jeans, ran a brush quickly through his hair, then made his way down a hallway to the kitchen. He was craving coffee, but he generally did every morning. First things first. Still no sounds from upstairs, so he figured Lacy was still deep in her dreams. He hoped they were pleasant ones.

  It struck him anew how different it felt to actually have her visiting. All those phone conversations had left a distance between them, but he wasn’t sure why that surprised him. She was right: they’d spent a whole lot of time trying to be positive, and except for right after Sara’s funeral, they hadn’t shared much of the heavy stuff. He’d been reluctant to talk about his injury, and maybe she couldn’t say much while she was in protection.

  That idea that they were strangers, but not really strangers, gripped him. When she had come to visit before, she’d been Sara’s friend. And while he had liked her a whole lot, he’d still performed his duties, and made space for the two of them to have their girl time. In short, he’d tried not to intrude unnecessarily on their friendship.

  After Sara had died, they’d shared grief in long conversations filled with remembrances. Then he’d returned to his unit in Afghanistan, and conversations had become limited to short letters that passed back and forth. Just before he was wounded, they’d had their one and only Skype conversati
on.

  Afterward, he hadn’t talked to her, or much to anyone, for months. As soon as he was able, he’d had the Marines all over him with questions about command decisions made during that last mission. As a combat medic, he didn’t have much to offer, although privately he’d thought the CO was a jerk. The CO had changed the mission midstream to one they hadn’t planned for, and even a medic knew how dangerous that was. But Jess hadn’t felt qualified to judge, and given all he’d forgotten thanks to his wounding, he didn’t really trust his own memory. So he’d kept his mouth pretty much shut.

  Then...well then, he’d started his rehab. He’d talked to Lacy only briefly and infrequently during that time. The next thing he knew, he was completing his certification as a physician’s assistant, something he’d started while in service, and Lacy was suddenly involved with a legal case that had left her clearly frightened but unable to talk about it.

  Five years of phone conversations didn’t add up to much, it seemed. Not when he really thought about it. He felt like he knew her but didn’t know her at all. A very odd sensation.

  He hadn’t paid attention to her looks when Sara was alive, and hadn’t seen her in real life since the funeral. There was no mistaking, however, the way he was responding to her now. She drew him. Maybe he was finally getting ready to move on with life in important ways. But no one, he was sure, could ever replace Sara, so he put that thought away. It wouldn’t be fair to Lacy.

  Still, she was quite pretty and if she could just put on those four or five pounds she seemed to have lost, she’d look even better. Heroin chic didn’t appeal to him.

  But as he sat with his coffee, the toaster, a loaf of bread and a plate of butter in front of him, he wondered about that weight loss. It struck him as a red flag for her level of distress. For the past couple of months, since the trial had ended, he’d been listening to her say how silly she was to still be afraid. The FBI had said so.