by V. R. Marks
"Tell me enough to help you."
"There's a DEA agent who thinks he's above the law. I can identify him. He might work with an arsonist."
"They work in this area?"
"Not when…" Her eyes full of tears, she swallowed hard. "When this started," she finished, gathering herself.
"You were relocated." Obviously. "And you think the agent or the arsonist has found you."
She gave a jerky nod.
"I'd keep her safe while you're taking care of RC Investigations business, but sneaking her out when you're done would be damn near impossible if she's got a rogue agent on her tail."
Rick patted her knees and stood, but Nicole was staring at some remembered horror he couldn't see and she wasn't ready to share. "Got anyone around here with her shoe size? I've got a disguise, but those boots will wreck it. I'm thinking work boots but I'd settle for running shoes."
"What kind of disguise?"
"Cameraman – emphasis on the 'man'. I picked up a fishing vest and hat downstairs."
"Well, hell. If you need guy clothes, let's raid Kyle's closet. My son," Bart said for Nicole's benefit. "Come on back."
Rick tugged on her hand, concerned by her reluctance. He recognized a person on the verge of giving in to the situation. "Don't give up yet and don't worry. Kyle's got decent fashion sense. For a guy."
Her shoulders hitched in either a laugh or a sob. "Does he have long hair?"
"Yes," Bart said with frank paternal exasperation. "He also has quite a collection of ball caps."
"What a relief," she muttered.
"I see what he's thinking." Watching Bart pull out his son's clothes, Rick had a surge of hope that dressing her like a guy might actually work. "If the jeans fit." The jeans she had on showed off the luscious curves of her hips and thighs and wouldn't convince anyone she was a man.
"Yeah, that's our biggest worry."
Rick saw she'd changed her tune when she came out of the bathroom, her curves subdued by a t-shirt, oversized oxford, and loose-cut jeans with a wide belt. It was more than a little disconcerting that the disguise hadn't muted his attraction one bit.
"Here they are," Bart came up from the closet with a like-new pair of leather deck shoes. "He outgrew these within the first month."
"How old is your son?"
"Thirteen," Bart said with pride. "Do a man's ponytail on the hair and you can pull this off. Especially with a ball cap." He handed one over while Nicole secured her long hair with several bands spaced every few inches.
"Right."
"We only need to fool strangers and only in the short term." Unless…why hadn't he thought of this wrinkle earlier? "You don't bank where the company banks do you?"
She shook her head.
Well, thank God for small favors. One potential disaster averted today. Maybe luck was turning in their favor.
"Which one of us will carry my purse?"
The cell phone clipped to Bart's hip went off and he mouthed 'book bag' and pointed at the closet as he answered. He listened for a minute, said thanks, and hung up. "DEA just arrived."
"And we're just leaving."
Nicole froze, looking as startled and panicked as a deer in front of a speeding Mack truck.
He gripped her shoulder. "Cram your purse in the book bag," he directed. Turning to Bart he reached out and shook the man's beefy hand. "I owe you."
"We'll settle up one day."
Rick gave a nod, and the three of them left the apartment, Nicole between Bart and Rick.
The reserved parking space left the car out of view of anyone in the store and Rick and Nicole were soon just one more sedan at the busiest station in the area.
"God bless Bart's capitalist heart," Rick said, earning a chuckle from Nicole. "Want me to call you Nick while you're a guy?"
"Not really."
"Sal? Kevin? Gregory?"
"Stop," she said between snorts of laughter. "Why are you so determined to make me laugh?"
Because your face lights up, he thought. "It's a stress reliever. You need an outlet." Kissing was another outlet, but he wasn't going back to that tactic without a clear invitation.
"Anything I need to know about this appointment?"
There was no reason to hide it and maybe granting a bit of trust would earn some in return. "We're meeting with the security department to review video and confirm Bradley Roberts is alive."
"Who thinks he's dead?"
"Local police found a body in his house, assumed it was Roberts and based on what I'm sure is a fabricated witness, they're looking to pin the murder on Allie."
"Bastard."
"Nice. You're talking like a guy. Kind of." Her voice would be a problem. "When we get there, just shake hands and nod when I introduce you as part of the team."
"Okay. Do I have a title?"
"Trainee." He didn't have to look to know she rolled her eyes. "It gives you a reason to shut up and observe."
When she didn't answer he glanced over. Her lips were pressed together and she was staring at him with unwavering focus. He shook his head. "You can be yourself until we get to the bank."
"Whew. Thanks."
Questions moved through his mind like they were on a conveyer belt set to maximum speed. Not one of them related to the case he'd been sent to investigate. He wouldn't let the team down, but once they were done at the bank, he intended to add Nicole's specific concerns to the case load. If she'd share them. He knew in his gut she needed all the resources RC Investigations could provide.
That was their mission statement after all: finding solutions to difficult problems for people who preferred to avoid direct law enforcement involvement.
Local police departments couldn't be expected to handle something like a rogue DEA agent. Gang task forces could make a big difference, but he had to assume Nicole's situation wasn't typical gang activity.
He shook his head. She was running from one federal agency who only wanted to keep her hidden from a bad guy in a different federal agency who was likely riding high on kickbacks from a powerful gang leader.
And she expected to survive?
"What? What are you thinking?"
"That you're either the craziest woman I've met or the bravest."
"That's not very reassuring, considering I'm trying to be a guy."
Nicole smiled, pleased she'd gotten a laugh out of him. Her own nerves were fraying with every passing moment as they drove into town. She rubbed her palms on the jeans as her mind raced through myriad possible disasters.
The bank was too close to the office. Someone would surely recognize her, no matter the clothing. Her face had been plastered all over the television networks. A teller with a criminal justice bent might be on the lookout and find the hat suspicious. Or think I'm a potential bank robber.
"What if my hat comes off?" She had this bizarre image of someone purposely knocking her down just for the potential reward.
"You put it back on."
"Ha ha."
"I'm serious. The more casual you are, the more confident you are, the better. Who's to say you aren't a transgender? Then, instead of being the guilty party suddenly you have a case for discrimination."
She stewed on that, thinking of how guys moved, how they seemed to just shrug everything off. "Do guys ever stress out at all?"
Rick's long, irritated look was an answer in itself.
"Are you stressing about this?"
His hands flexed on the steering wheel.
"So you agree that this is risky." It was dumb, but she felt validated, taking his continued silence as some sort of affirmation. "Maybe I should just wait in the car. Or grab a coffee while you do your thing."
"That might get uncomfortable. If you wait in the car, it will be locked in the trunk."
She chuckled, certain he was kidding. "That's actually not a big threat. They install those safety release thingies now."
"They can be removed."
What? She studied him. The clenched jaw, w
hite knuckles. He was serious. Which could only mean she was testing his patience again. "You wouldn't do that. Besides I won't go quietly and you don't want to make a scene."
"Ways around that too," he muttered, pulling into the parking garage under the bank. He parked in a space reserved for the security team. "We stay together. End of discussion."
She nodded. Words weren't possible under the weight of that dark, determined glare.
"I'm here to review video feed and identify Bradley Roberts. If you see him and think I've missed him, cross your arms."
Her throat was sandpaper.
"Got it?"
"Yes," she rasped.
"You're Nick Lazlo and you're training with RC Investigations."
"Okay." If he meant this as a pep talk, it needed work. Her nerves were jumping as she imagined increasingly dire scenarios. "What if I see someone else?"
"Tap my shoulder twice and look in the opposite direction." He gripped her shoulder. "We'll be fine. No one will be looking for you here, especially not dressed as you are. Forget Nicole for the next half hour and just be Nick Lazlo."
"Channel my inner dude."
For a second, she thought Rick would lock her in the trunk after all.
"Remember high school?"
"Yeah."
"There had to be a rock star athlete or musician you crushed on. It's a rite of passage for teenage girls. This is your chance to walk in his shoes."
"Oh." Immediately she had a clear picture. The confidence. The swagger. She felt the smirk creep onto her face. "Got it. You're good."
"It's a gift."
Chapter 7
She worked the sly, masculine confidence as they entered the bank and got through the introductions. Rick's assertiveness and professionalism impressed her. The bank's chief of security was no slouch, but there was some kindred spirit respect thing happening, at least from her perspective as a woman trying to be one of the guys.
They watched video from the dates Rick requested. She recognized Mr. Roberts and crossed her arms, though she didn't know how Rick could see the move since she was positioned slightly behind him.
He made a few notes on his phone and sent an email. After a few minutes talking shop, the security chief escorted them back down to the lobby.
Through the wall of glass facing the street, Nicole recognized the federal marshals assigned to maintaining her secret life, heading toward her office building. She tugged on her cap, and debated how to tap Rick's shoulder without looking like an idiot or embarrassing them both. Should she fake a call from the office? No way she could pull off a convincing man's voice for more than a word or two.
Fighting the anxiety, she thought guy thoughts. Zero stress, confidence, and swagger thoughts.
They might be looking for her, but she knew from experience they couldn't see into the bank from the street. And they'd never expect her to be dressed like this. Her pulse steadied. Didn't matter what they might tell her boss or anyone else. She was leaving Nicole Livingston's life behind.
With another firm handshake and a nod, she matched Rick's pace as they left the bank.
"Will that help Allie?" she whispered when they were in the car.
"Sure." Rick started the car, but didn't put it into gear. "I'd like to get that picture of Roberts by the fountain to my boss as well."
"Of course," she said with a nod, biting back the plea to get them out of here. "Want me to drive?"
"I want you to tell me what happened."
How did he know anything had happened?
"Don't be coy," he pressed when she didn't answer. "Is there a threat out there?" He jerked a thumb at the street.
"No. Maybe?" She took a deep breath. "The marshals assigned to me were walking by. I'm sure they're just trying to track me down."
"I'm sure." He put the car in reverse and backed out of the space. "They probably won't recognize you."
"It took me a second, but I remembered that when we were in the bank."
"You tensed up, but I don't think the security chief noticed."
She laughed at herself. "I nearly tapped your shoulder but thought that would look more suspicious than waiting it out."
He pulled out into the bright daylight and joined the rest of rush hour traffic. The clear morning underscored her decision to make a fresh start. When the bank was a few blocks behind them, she removed the ball cap.
"Not quite yet," Rick said.
She tugged the hat back in place, then swiveled in her seat, wondering who was following them. "What's wrong? Who is it?"
"It would be nice if you'd tell me." He raised a hand when she started to protest. "Before we get to that, we're going by the apartment building."
"Why?"
"I want to look around."
She hunched down into the seat, her bravado and confidence fading away. "I thought you planned to get the preliminary report some other way."
"I do. But if your marshals are hanging around your office we should be all clear to do a walk-through there."
It was pointless to argue. She'd learned when Rick dug in, he was immovable. "What about the kid with the knife?"
"You know of any reason he'd be after my trainee?"
"Funny."
"No one knows, but my real dream is to be a comedian."
"Spare me."
"The only way to get out of my admittedly terrible amateur routine is to tell me about this guy you think has found you."
She clenched her teeth and clamped her lips together. The urge to spill it all –the good, the bad, and the gory – was unbelievably strong. She didn't know this man. Only his actions, that little voice deep inside her mind whispered. It sounded remarkably like her mother: kind, direct, and true as a compass.
He'd been helpful and steady, if a bit unorthodox at times. Without him, she might have walked into a trap at the train station. Her picture was out there and she didn't know how wide a net had been cast. Without Rick, the marshals might have reeled her in already. The idea made her stomach churn.
"Why are you so well known at that cemetery?"
"Even trade, is that it?" He shifted in the seat, obviously uncomfortable. She was sure he'd make some excuse, but instead he said, "My wife is buried there."
"You're a widower?" She slapped a hand to her mouth, wishing she could take it back. Could she be any more insensitive? "Sorry."
"No apology necessary from you." He rolled his shoulders. "Your turn."
Where to start? The facts, she decided, determined to keep it simple and straightforward. "I witnessed a crime when I was in junior high."
"Type of crime?"
"Murder." And arson. One crime revelation at a time seemed like more than enough. Considering where they were headed and the allegations against her in the media, maybe she should've led with the arson. "When did your wife die?"
"While I was deployed." He caught himself and glanced at her. "Or 'when' as in how long ago?"
She nodded.
"More than ten years. We weren't even married a year."
There was a wealth of bitterness in that matter-of-fact statement. She heard it because she understood it, had felt much the same when her life and family had been stolen from her.
She wished for her camera, though it would be rude. His face was unreadable as a stone mask, but the signs of pain and guilt were there. Might even be more obvious through the lens. She wanted to know more, starting with why and –
"Nicole?"
"Hmm?"
"It's your turn. Did you know the murder victim?"
"Yes. He was my neighbor."
"Did you know the murderer?"
"No. Weren't we supposed to be taking turns?"
His grin was fast and unapologetic. "You caught me."
"How long have you been doing this sort of thing?"
"What sort of thing?"
"Following people, gathering evidence, taking action despite resistance."
"Long enough that it's a habit."
"Gr
eat." He took the exit closest to her apartment – former apartment – and she blurted out the rest. "We had a rash of fires that summer. Small ones, big ones. They offered a reward and my friends and I considered ourselves detectives. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time when I saw the DEA agent execute my neighbor. I got away, but the next day I was suddenly a suspect in the arson investigation."
"Nice stunt."
"Not so much. My mom knew it wasn't possible and I had an alibi for most of the dates, but even then I was a camera geek. I had pictures of the fire sites. They confiscated my camera and the pictures as evidence against me." If she closed her eyes she could still see the arsonist's signature at every scene. It was the last one that mocked her. She pulled away from the pain of those memories, getting back to what Rick needed to know.
"It wasn't until I mentioned the, ah, thing with my neighbor during questioning that things really changed."
"You told the police you witnessed an execution?"
"Basically. I don't think I phrased it that well."
"And you've been in WITSEC ever since."
"Yes," she whispered. The pressure was back along with the guilt and the pain. Staring at the yawning tragedy that had been her apartment building, she wondered about Mrs. Beaumont, Oscar, and all the others she didn't know by name. "If you drop me off, the marshals will pick me up. I just have to make a call."
"Is that what you want?"
What she wanted never mattered much. She tipped up the bill of the cap and rubbed at the tension building in her temples. "If you step away from this situation, one way or another, this gets solved."
"The good guys take you to a new life or the bad guys take you out, is that it?"
She nodded.
"I don't think anyone's ever chosen both literal and figurative death over me before. It's a new low." He sniffed at his shirt. "Is there a stench I don't know about? I took a shower at the truck stop."
"Stop it, you know what I mean."
"What I know is you're dressed like Nick Lazlo, my trainee. Which means I should put your ass to work. What I know is that I can return Nicole Livingston to the safety of the Federal Marshals at any time. Though you've worked damn hard in the recent hours to avoid that. What I know is you're scared – with good reason – but I can help you."
