The Deep End

by Traci Hunter Abramson

  Always cautious when it came to his wife, Matt stopped in a bookstore and browsed for ten minutes before buying a magazine and heading for home. He lifted a hand in greeting to the doorman and crossed the plush lobby to the waiting elevator. He stepped inside, relieved to find it empty.

  The doors slid open on the third floor, and Matt walked the short distance down the hall to his condominium. He stepped into the living room and disengaged the security system.

  Thick, cream-colored carpet covered the spacious living room, as well as the hallway leading to the downstairs bedroom, which he had converted to a workout room. A serving bar separated the rarely used galley kitchen from the living area.

  After locking the front door, Matt headed for the stairs leading to one of the master bedrooms. He ascended the curved staircase overlooking the two-story living area. He turned away from the master suite, instead turning to the wide hallway across from it. After having a second child, the previous owner had bought the condominium behind his, combining the two units into one.

  The living arrangements perfectly suited Matt and CJ’s needs. Matt always used the entrance on the third floor, as well as the address that went with it. The other condo was a single-level unit with an entrance on the fourth floor. CJ used that entrance to make it appear to the outside world that she and Matt lived on separate floors of the same building. In reality, they shared a three-bedroom condo that happened to include two kitchens and two living rooms.

  Matt passed through the wide hall to where it joined the hallway by the master bedroom he shared with his wife. By the time he made his way into the living room, CJ was already in the kitchen fixing dinner. These moments were rare now that baseball season was underway. CJ was usually finished with her first practice of the day before Matt even got up in the morning. While CJ came to almost all of his games, she usually left early and was sound asleep by the time he got home. To protect her cover, they couldn’t even attend church together.

  Clinging to this little hint of normalcy, Matt grinned and walked into the kitchen. He slipped his arms around CJ’s waist, gave her a kiss, and reached past her for a roll that was cooling on the counter.

  CJ shook her head, trying not to laugh as he released her and tossed the hot bread from one hand to the other. “You’re going to burn yourself one of these days.”

  “Nah.” Matt leaned back against the counter as CJ picked up a bowl and mixed the ingredients of a pasta salad. “Something smells good.”

  “It’s just roasted chicken. I figured you could eat the leftovers while I’m gone,” CJ told him casually, but Matt recognized the sliver of fear just beneath the surface.

  “You’re really going to have to testify?” Matt asked, already knowing the answer.

  “It looks that way.”

  “How long will you be gone?” Matt tried to keep his voice casual, but his underlying concern slipped through. He hated it when CJ had to testify, especially the fact that she needed protection and he couldn’t be there to help keep her safe.

  CJ shrugged. “Hopefully just a day or two.”

  “I wish I could go with you.” Matt sighed, already anticipating all of the reasons he couldn’t—mainly because they couldn’t risk being seen together. “By the way, how did you get all of this done so fast? I just saw you outside fifteen minutes ago.”

  “I just ran down the block to pick up some milk.” CJ glanced over her shoulder and shot him an accusing look. “Somehow the milk that was in the fridge this morning mysteriously vanished after I left for practice.”

  “Don’t you hate it when that happens?” Matt teased, neither confirming nor denying his guilt. He thought of the couple he had seen in the park and let himself wish that he could enjoy simple moments like those with his wife outside of their condominium. Matt snatched another roll from the cooling rack, steam rising from the center of the bread when he broke it open. “You know, I’m getting really tired of pretending I don’t know my own wife.”

  “It could be worse, you know.”

  “I know,” Matt agreed reluctantly. He thought back to the day he had married her. He had chosen this, he thought now. He had walked into this marriage knowing full well that he would be married to a woman in the Witness Protection Program and that they would have to spend their first year of marriage pretending they didn’t know each other. The fact that they were able to share living quarters was something of a minor miracle.

  Just days before their wedding, Chris Rush, the man behind the many attempts on CJ’s life, had discovered her false identity and sent her running for her life once again. Refusing to let Rush completely ruin their plans, they had secretly married in the Provo Temple, not knowing when they would be together again. Had Matt not been called up to the majors, they most certainly would have had to spend these past eight months apart. Matt’s move to Philadelphia to play for the Phillies had allowed Witness Protection to relocate her to the condo adjoining his.

  The timer on the stove buzzed, and CJ slipped an oven mitt on her hand to pull the chicken from the oven. “Did you get to play today?”

  “A couple of innings at second,” Matt shrugged. “I don’t think the club knows what to do with me now that Henderson is healthy again and is doing fine at first base.”

  “Everything will work out,” CJ stated as though speaking the words would make them come true. She set the chicken on the table and sat down.

  “My baseball career is the least of my concerns right now.” Matt just stared at her for a moment, tucking away her image so that he could remember it on the days when they couldn’t be together. Finally, he picked up the bowl of pasta salad and set it on the table.

  CJ watched him sit down and waited for his eyes to meet hers before she spoke. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Doug has already checked everything out at least sixteen times to make sure I’ll be safe.”

  Matt reached across the table and gave her hand a squeeze. “I’m counting on it.”

  Chapter 2

  Doug Valdez walked through Denver International Airport, a scowl on his face. At midnight, the airport was sparsely populated, but Doug couldn’t quite muster up the energy to be grateful for the lack of pedestrian traffic after spending three hours sitting on a runway in Dallas waiting to take off. He stepped onto an escalator, shifted his overnight bag, and dug his cell phone out of the pocket of his suit jacket. He didn’t want to think about the fact that he had just picked up this suit from the dry cleaners the day before. Now it was as rumpled as he felt.

  Doug followed the signs to ground transportation, hopeful that he could find a cab since he doubted the car rental agency was still open. Annoyed that he had been incommunicado for several hours more than expected, he flipped open his cell phone and scrolled through the first six messages. Three were from fellow FBI agents, two were from U.S. Marshals, and one was from CJ Whitmore. He checked the message from CJ first, relieved that her arrival for the trial in Denver had gone without incident.

  After spending more than two of his seven years with the FBI working on CJ’s case, Doug had learned to not only expect the unexpected, but to expect trouble every time CJ was around.

  He walked past the car rental agency, frustrated that it was indeed closed. Moving toward an exit, he checked the rest of his phone messages. The anxiety that had been building in him over the past few hours eased as each subsequent message confirmed that no suspicious activity had been observed surrounding CJ’s transport and accommodations.

  Surprised to easily find a taxi, Doug climbed in the backseat and gave the hotel name and address to the driver. He leaned his head back, giving in to the fatigue that always plagued him before a trial. Juggling a hundred details to ensure CJ’s safety each time she testified was just part of the job. Admittedly, handling details was his strong point. He rubbed at his eyes, thinking how much smoother CJ’s transportation and security had been for this trial compared to the previous trials in which she had testified.

  Even as he thought of the bed wa
iting for him at the hotel, on another level of consciousness he analyzed what had been done differently to allow everything to go so smoothly. He couldn’t remember the last time that CJ had testified when at least one problem hadn’t occurred, whether it was a leak regarding her accommodations or a blatant threat against her life.

  Details, Doug thought to himself. Concentrate on the details. The players had remained basically the same over the past several trials. The U.S. Marshals assigned to protect her were carefully screened, and each of them had been assigned to CJ before. No one else in the FBI had complete access to her file except for Keith Toblin. Keith had been reassigned to Baltimore specifically so that he would be close enough to oversee any problems that might arise while CJ was living in Philadelphia.

  Doug had handled the travel orders and hotel reservations himself to minimize the number of people involved with the case. Since his transfer to the Miami office nearly three months before, he had officially been taken off the Rush case. Only a few key government officials knew that he was still in charge of CJ Whitmore’s safety.

  Doug had been working toward the transfer to Miami and the promotion that went with it for some time; he just wished it hadn’t come before his wedding. Now he and his fiancée, Jill, often had to settle for long phone calls and a rare weekend together. It was one of those infrequent visits that had caused him to get stuck at the Dallas airport in the first place.

  When the taxi pulled up in front of the hotel, Doug paid the driver and headed straight for the front desk.

  “Good morning, sir,” the desk clerk greeted him. On his shirt was a name tag that identified him as Michael Tacket, Night Manager. “Do you have a reservation?”

  “Yes. Doug Valdez.”

  The manager punched a few buttons on his computer and retrieved a pass key. “Here it is. You will be in room 418. It looks like the rest of your party has already checked in.”

  Doug’s face paled. Though he had made all of the hotel reservations, he had done each one separately so that they would not be connected. “Excuse me? When I made this reservation, I only reserved one room.”

  “Really?” Michael finished coding the key, slid it into an envelope, and set it on the counter before tapping a button on the keyboard again. “I have here that your agency reserved seven rooms for tonight. The other six occupants came in around the same time this evening.”

  Doug’s heartbeat accelerated. Indeed, he had made reservations for six other people besides himself: Keith Toblin, CJ, and the four U.S. Marshals assigned to protect her. Yet Doug had used seven separate travel orders, paid with seven different credit cards, and made seven different phone calls. How had they been connected?

  “I don’t understand this,” Doug mumbled, half to himself. He picked up his key, his mind whirling. “Why did you assume that all of these rooms are together?”

  Michael turned the computer screen so Doug could see it. “When we take the reservation, we key in the travel order number. Our system can identify which agency the travel order originates from based on its number and then it assumes that all similar travel orders are linked together.” Michael tapped the screen to show Doug where the travel order had been entered. “See how the first three characters are the same? The system just assumes they are all together and links them.”

  “Whose name would they be listed under?”

  “Whoever checks in last.” He continued to punch in numbers. “This will take just a minute. The system always gets confused when someone comes in after midnight.”

  “Whose name would it have been under before I got here?”

  “The reservation is listed as incomplete until the last person in the group either checks in or cancels.” The manager shrugged. “That’s the one problem with this system. If someone calls looking for anyone in the party and doesn’t know their room number, we can’t access it unless we look through the registrations manually.”

  “Are you telling me that your system won’t allow anyone to access the incomplete check-ins?”

  “Basically, yes.”

  “In that case, how can I add one more person to this group?”

  “If you do that, your reservations will stay open.” The manager looked confused.

  Doug could hardly tell him that he was trying to protect the identity of someone in the Witness Protection Program, so instead he relied on his acting abilities. Leaning in closer, he lowered his voice. “Look, one of the guys staying here is going through a really nasty divorce. His wife tracks him down wherever he goes and calls him all night long. She’s just making his life miserable. Anyway, I really need him to focus on this seminar we came for. I would really appreciate it if you can add another reservation if that will help him get a good night’s sleep.”

  “Well, I guess I can do that,” Michael stated hesitantly, handing Doug a piece of paper. “You’re going to have to pay for the empty room though.”

  “Fair enough.” Doug filled out the reservation request, watching as Michael finally finished the reservation, then thanked Michael and turned toward the elevator. He took two steps before turning back. “Do all hotels use this kind of system?”

  “It’s not uncommon.”

  Doug shifted his overnight bag and nodded. “Thanks again for your help.”

  In his room three minutes later, Doug pulled out his cell phone and punched the speed dial for Keith Toblin’s cell.

  On the fifth ring, Keith finally picked up. “Toblin.”

  “Were you sleeping?”

  “Does it matter?” Keith grumbled. “Please don’t tell me that you called just to say you finally made it.”

  “Not exactly.” Doug suppressed a grin. “What room are you in? I need to talk to you.”

  “I’m in 412.”

  Doug hung up as he left his room. A dozen steps later, he knocked on Toblin’s door.

  Keith yanked the door open, wearing only the pair of sweat pants he had obviously been sleeping in. Brown eyes glared at Doug from beneath dark blond hair. Doug noticed the shiny, red scar on Toblin’s shoulder, a souvenir and constant reminder from the men who wanted CJ dead. Keith stepped back to let Doug inside as he pulled on a T-shirt. “This had better be good.”

  “I just had an interesting conversation with the night manager,” Doug said, following Keith into the room.

  “And?” Keith asked, still blurry eyed.

  “You know how we kept having trouble with hotel security with CJ?”

  “Yeah.” Instinctively, Keith touched a hand to the old wound. “What about it?”

  “I think I’ve figured out how Rush’s men keep finding her.” Doug leaned against the dresser and relayed the information he had gleaned from Michael.

  “You think they’ve figured out how to monitor the hotel reservation system?” Keith reached for his weapon, which was lying on the bedside table.

  Doug nodded. “Think about it. Just about every time she testifies, we have some kind of trouble at the hotel. If I hadn’t come in late, they probably would have already identified where we’re staying.”

  “Maybe we should make a reservation somewhere across town. You know, let them think we are somewhere else.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.” Doug pushed away from the dresser and took a step toward the door. “I’ll get one of the marshals to come with me to check in somewhere else. In the meantime, call the prosecuting attorney. Let him know that CJ has to testify first thing in the morning. If we can move up her testimony, we should be able to get her out of here before Rush’s men figure out what’s going on.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Keith assured him.

  * * *

  CJ stepped down from the witness stand as two U.S. Marshals stepped forward to escort her out of the courtroom. She blinked back the tears that threatened, trying to turn her mind away from the events that had changed her life forever. Each time she testified, she was reminded of how quickly she had lost everyone close to her. First her father, then just a month later the f
irst man she had ever loved. Now she was determined that Chase’s death would not be in vain. Others in law enforcement had tried and failed to penetrate Rush’s organization. Chase had succeeded, and it had cost him his life.

  Each time CJ testified it was the same thing: a detailed explanation of how she had identified Chris Rush as the head of the smuggling organization. The words Chase had spoken just before his death had been the key: Chris . . . Rush . . . Don’t let him find you. At first she had taken the word “Chris” as the nickname Chase had often used for her. Months later, Matt had introduced her to Judge Christopher Rush, and CJ realized that with Chase’s dying breath, he had tried to warn her about Rush.

  Though she hadn’t remembered it until she had figured out Chase’s message, she had also seen a list of names when she had wandered through Chase’s apartment before he was killed. The names had been arranged in an organizational chart. At the top was the name Christopher Rush. She found out later that Chase had been waiting for one of the other detectives he worked with to come by and pick up the evidence he had collected. Unfortunately, Rush’s men had gotten there first.

  Shaking her head clear of such images, CJ took a deep breath, wondering, waiting. She knew this trial was a test in more ways than one. Though the man on trial was charged with seemingly minor crimes compared to those committed by many in Rush’s smuggling organization, he had refused to plea bargain, forcing CJ to take the stand once again. This was also the last trial she would testify in before Rush would finally stand before a judge.

  Security had been unbelievably tight when she had first arrived, to the point that she had been practically invisible when she got to the courthouse two hours before the building even opened. She had entered with Doug Valdez and Keith Toblin, all three disguised in security guards’ uniforms. With her hair tucked up in a cap, she doubted she even looked like a woman from a distance.