Witness On the Run

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Witness On the Run Page 2

by Wylder Stone


  And she did. All the way to her car, where he placed her in the passenger side, got behind the wheel himself, and sped off.

  3

  “What are you doing?” Trista asked after minutes of silence. Keith’s presence was intimidating at over six feet tall and with more muscles than a small army. His slightly overgrown auburn hair was slicked back, ending in an almost curl, and his face shadowed in a day or two old scruff. His emerald green eyes were as beautiful as they were frightening. Something was haunting behind his glazed-over stare. A fire building. A rage that spoke louder than any words. Was it because of her or Cesar?

  “Driving.” His smug response and expressionless demeanor had her on edge, and she wondered if she made the right choice.

  “Wh-what about your car?”

  “It’s being picked up.” His eyes never left the road. His jaw was clenched and tense.

  “By who?” She was genuinely curious. If Trista was being abducted, she would have to try to get away at some point, and knowing who all the players were would benefit her later. All the late-night crime shows she watched, waiting for her husband to come home, were paying off. Irony at its best.

  If looks could kill, he was the reaper. The asphalt should have melted under his gaze. Unamused and highly agitated by her questions, Keith finally offered an answer laced with a sharp warning tone, “Don’t worry about it.”

  Why wouldn’t he look at her? It was like it pained him to do so, and it was out of pure irritation that he finally did after his last response. As much as she’d wanted him to address her, she quickly regretted it. His disposition was cold and oddly focused. He was thinking, plotting, and that had her worried. She had perceived him as a man of few words in the two or so years Trista had known him, but she never knew him to be so short and insolent. It should have worried her more than it did, but she was more distracted by the fact it was ticking her off.

  “What’s going on? Where are we going?” People go through several stages of emotion when exposed to traumatic events. Trista was past shock and fear, heading right into angry and ballsy. “Why won’t you look at me? Too much for you because you’re going to kill me, too?”

  Enough was enough. Her sassy and demanding spoiled attitude raked on his last nerve. Pulling into a dark, empty parking lot, he stopped the car and turned to her.

  “Are you done now? Can I talk?” he asked.

  “No. No, I’m not. What the hell is going on? Where are you taking me, and why the hell did you think you weren’t going to make it out of the police station alive?” With her back to the car door, she crossed her arms and shot him her best intimidating glare.

  “Because the police station is the worst place you could’ve gone! Cesar owns that place. Lucky for you, I have a few friends in there, and we put on a pretty good show so nobody is likely to run to him. Especially since they let you go without any record of you being there. That’s a fucking death wish.” He paused a moment, took a deep breath, and was ready for the big reveal. “I’m an undercover agent for a branch of the government you’ve never heard of and nobody recognizes. We don’t exist. You may have just blown the case and ruined two years of work.”

  “Un…undercover? Why? You live in my home and work for my husband. Who exactly are you building a case against?” She was as oblivious as to who her husband was now as she’d been the past two years. It didn’t matter that she just watched him murder a man in cold blood. Two years of gathering evidence, undercover with agents who didn’t exist as far as the rest of the world was concerned? Trista had to know this was big – bigger than big – but she didn’t want to believe a word of it. More of the missing pieces were about to fall into place, starting with the reason her husband was always gone. She already didn’t like what she was hearing and was about to hate it even more when she realized the life she’d been living was a complete lie.

  “Drugs, trafficking, arms dealing, money laundering, and murder. You know, like the one you just stumbled upon while on a nosy escapade dressed like an expensive whore?” Trista didn’t need to fear him, and Keith would make that clear, but she didn’t need to like him either. Keeping her at arm’s length and afraid of her husband would make his job easier.

  Grabbing her chest in a breathy huff assured him that he had achieved the dislike part, and it was in full swing. “Excuse me? What is with you and that asshole cop? This is a very expensive, very couture dress that I bought for my husband who stood me up for a date with murder! You should know that expensive hookers don’t wear designer anything. They’re just cheap knockoffs.”

  “Well, how is that very couture dress workin’ for ya? I’d say the cheap knockoff has a better chance of getting lucky and making a dime or two while at it. I mean, if you had to dress that way just to get your husband’s attention…”

  Frenzied indignation fueled her with enough courage to raise her open hand to him, but he caught her wrist before her hand landed in a burning slap. “That…would be a bad idea.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “You’re spoiled.”

  Tears welled, making her eyes glassy. Even in the dark it was visible. He didn’t do the crying girl thing, certainly didn’t do emotions, and here he was with one about to spill over. Shit.

  “Look, Trista. We don’t have to like each other, but we have to work together. Truce? At least for now?”

  “I just don’t understand.” It seemed she was past the anger stage and heading straight to rock bottom sadness. “I just…I just wanted to save my marriage. Your case…it’s Cesar.”

  Not a question but a statement. She’d finally put two and two together or was getting there after what she saw. Her world was crashing down around her, and Trista didn’t even know the half of it. She was just a case to him. That was all she could be, but somehow, Keith felt sorry for her. He was human, after all, and she and her baby boy had been a part of his life for some time now. Some feelings were bound to be involved.

  “It’s actually good that you don’t understand. It means you don’t know anything about his dealings. He is a murderer, deeply involved in sex trafficking, dealing arms, drugs, you name it. Trista, we have been watching him longer than you’ve known him. I’m not the first agent to be undercover and assigned his case…I’m just the only one still here. He is the worst of the worst, and the sooner you wrap your mind around that, the sooner we move on with our lives.”

  In a weak, pleading voice, full of sorrow and very little confidence, she tried to make it all go away by changing the truth staring her in the face. “My hu-husband is in real estate. He’s a developer.”

  “Dammit, Tris.” He used her nickname, hoping it would get her attention, and he could get through to her. Frustrated, he turned to look out the car door window, running his hand through his overgrown hair before he turned to her again, tossing his thumb behind him. “Did that look like real estate back there? Dead bodies, torture, grown men pissing themselves?”

  There wasn’t an easy way to say it other than just to say it – and he did – even if it hurt her to hear. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he did need her to hurt for entirely different reasons. She needed to be ready for what was to come, to stay strong and not falter. Her life depended on it. His life depended on it. Their journey had only just begun and what had happened this night was nothing compared to what they’d go through if they were to stay clear of the fallout and stay alive. Keith took this case, knowing full well what was on the line and the danger he faced, but Trista didn’t. She was an innocent victim in all of this. A victim who needed to want to fight back to stay alive and help him close his case.

  “You are now in full protective custody. You are a primary material witness in a federal case against Cesar Perez. You can, and will, help put him away and save lives by doing so. The only way we do that is to get out of here and not look back. Understand?”

  “Get out of here?” Her posture stiffened at that idea. There was one missing piece, her infant son. “I can’t go
without Mason. I’m not leaving my baby with that man.”

  An overwhelming heat rushed him when he laid a hand on hers, attempting to calm her. Her rigid response was the icy backlash he needed to stay on track and not give that sensation a second thought. “We are going to get him now, but you have to trust me and do exactly as I say because we don’t have much time. Can you do that? Can you trust me?”

  She nodded. “Yes, then what?”

  “Then we run.”

  Keith pulled back onto the road, watching his mirrors and taking odd turns until he was certain they weren’t being followed or on police radar. Finally pulling into the mansion, he parked out front and followed her inside as her bodyguard, hopeful she could stick to the plan he had just laid out.

  Trista went on a loud rant with her cell phone to her ear as she made her way through the house. Anyone in earshot was sure to believe from this performance that it was her sister on the other end of the dead phone. Trista went on to say that she just needed a few days to get her head right. She made a point to say Keith was driving her and Mason to the airport and would be traveling with them. It all sounded legitimate. Trista finished by saying she would return and talk to Cesar, but she was just too hurt right now because he stood her up for dinner again. Keith had to applaud her. Every eye in the place was on her, taking in every detail. They needed that because these walls could and would talk.

  The real seller was when she brought up the new dress, just for him, and how it went to waste because she could never wear it again. Bad memories and the like. Completely superficial and completely Trista. The tantrum was real, and her tears genuine because Trista truly was wounded by Cesar’s actions, just not those the staff was being made privy to.

  Just before entering her bedroom, she brought her fake call to an end, and then the real work began. Keith turned on the TV and the sink in the bathroom to drown out their voices just in case the room was bugged.

  He grabbed her shoulders and took her in. She was weak, defeated, and exhausted. “You did good. It’s working. We need to work fast now and get the hell out of here. Someone is bound to call and alert him, shortening our headstart. You grab Mason and just what he needs for the night. I’ll grab a bag for you.”

  “For me? You are not packing for me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…you aren’t riffling through, you know.”

  “Sorry, I don’t know, and we don’t have time for this shit.”

  “My underwear, Keith. Okay? My underwear!”

  “Christ, Trista. It’s just underwear! I’ve seen underwear before!”

  “Well…not my underwear. I won’t be able to wear them, knowing you have seen them. It’s weird!”

  He tossed an overnight bag her way. “Will you please pack your underwear then?”

  Bag in hand, Trista rushed to her closet, and he could hear drawers opening and closing quickly. Keith went to the doorway, ready to get the show on the road, and interrupted her looking around at all that was hanging in there, lost in thought.

  “You can’t take any of it. I’m sorry. Only necessities – practical clothing only. Are you done with…ya know?”

  With a tearful nod, she handed the bag back to him and went to her son’s adjoining room to gather his things. Keith finished her packing, which left her sick to her stomach, afraid she was going to be wearing mismatched designers and seasons for however long this was supposed to last.

  In only a handful of minutes, he was behind her in the baby’s nursery, carefully buckling the little guy into his car seat so as not to wake him.

  “Do you have everything?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what to take or how long we’ll be gone. Will it be hot or cold?” Trista cried.

  “Just what he needs for the next twenty-four hours. Diapers, food, and a change of clothes. Maybe an extra blanket. Cesar won’t notice what you did or didn’t take from either closet.”

  “Why only…?”

  “Trust me, remember?” He gently stroked the baby’s forehead when he started to fuss, calming him back into a peaceful slumber. Something that didn’t go unnoticed by Trista, and she gently smiled at probably the first and last happy thing she’d see that night.

  “Then we’re…ready.”

  They were almost to the finish line. Keith had thrown their small bags into a large suitcase to support the ruse. Before they could leave, however, Trista had a final performance – a note. The staff wandering the property that time of night was mostly made up of muscle and only a single night maid who was currently distracted by the muscle.

  Trista left a note in Cesar’s office saying she was hurt, leaving for a few days, and they could talk when she returned. Trista told him not to worry, that she had the baby, and Keith was escorting them. They had to sell it and sell it good if they were going to get away with this. Trista had to write the three words that used to come so easily but now roiled her stomach with the simple thought. She needed him to believe her, and these were the three words to seal the deal and leave Cesar with the belief that she was having a fit and would return in a handful of days. Her hand shook as she wrote, I love you.

  4

  Leaving the mansion was a weight off their shoulders because it meant they were one step closer to being out of Cesar’s reach. Heading west, Keith did just as he did before – watched the mirrors, took extra turns, and even backtracked on the freeway a time or two, literally driving in circles.

  “This isn’t the way to the airport. We are getting farther and farther away in the wrong direction. Won’t that give them time to get there before we do?” she asked, full of concern.

  “Just making sure they aren’t following us. If they are, I want them headed the wrong way before we lose them.”

  “Why don’t we just use our head start and get out of here? Isn’t the jet ready?”

  “We aren’t taking the jet. Well, not that jet anyway,” he said, referring to Cesar’s private plane.

  Surprise and what was probably concern had her hot and off guard. “What? Why not? We can be out of here faster! I left a note, so he knows I’m leaving. It makes sense to take the jet.”

  “We aren’t running away and disappearing using his jet! We may as well text him directions!” It wasn’t like him to be so condescending, but it also wasn’t like her to be so dense. She was quite the opposite actually. He chalked it up to raw nerves and fear. “He probably won’t even realize you are gone or see the note for a while yet, and by the time he does, we’ll be in the wind.”

  “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. Then my family jet! I can make a call. It wouldn’t take long—”

  “Trista,” he interrupted, “we can’t use that for the same reason we can’t use his jet, our cell phones, credit cards, and so on. He can trace everything. Going into hiding means we disappear, leaving no bread crumbs for them to follow. We’re using a different jet and a different airport altogether – one that doesn’t exist as far as civilians are concerned. The less you know right now, the safer you and Mason are.”

  Holding up her cell phone, Trista was quiet while she reconciled all that Keith just said. Hiding, secret airports, untraceable – that meant they really did have to disappear completely. Her panic was returning, threatening to take hold again. How the hell was she supposed to live? No money, no resources, no connections. She had a son to feed and diaper. How would Trista do all of that with nothing?

  “Hey,” he soothed, grabbing her hand, “it’s going to be okay. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to either of you, okay? Everything is taken care of. You just have to trust me.”

  For the second time all night, she smiled. It was weak, and it wasn’t full of joy, but it was sincere. Trista believed Keith and trusted him. They were still alive, and it was thanks to him. A glimpse of the nice guy she had come to know was looking back at her and gave her an encouraging nod.

  “Where are we going from here then?” Trista asked, resting their hands on the center co
nsole between them.

  “Atlanta first. We need to get Lizzy.” Keith gave her hand a gentle squeeze to remind her he had this, they were safe for now, and he promised to protect them.

  Trista sat up straighter in her seat until she felt him squeeze, a silent reminder that she needed. “Why are we going to Lizzy? I didn’t really call her. You said not to call her. Did I screw up? Is she okay? I need to call her. Lizzy has no clue.”

  “She’s fine. And you weren’t supposed to call her, nor will you. The less Lizzy knows, the safer she is. Cesar will use her as leverage to get to you if we don’t get to her first. She’s a part of the plan, Tris. He can’t reach her right now, and she’ll be long gone by the time he can. My people are on it.” He used her nickname again, something he didn’t often do, and he wasn’t sure why he had been using it all night. He’d deal with that later. It was too personal and needed to stop. This wasn’t personal. It was a job.

  “What if Liz isn’t there?”

  “She is,” he answered.

  “How do you know that?” Trista didn’t like being out of the loop. She was usually the one holding the reins and one hundred percent in charge. These half-assed, less you know, the better, bullshit answers were getting to her.

  “I know,” he shot back, aware he was pissing her off but clearly, not giving two shits about it. He needed Trista to trust him, not like him.

  Trista wondered what Keith meant, how he knew, and considered it along with all that she did know so far in the ensuing silence. It didn’t take long at all for her to figure it out.

  “Oh, my God! You’re watching her,” Trista guessed, sliding as far to the right in her seat as possible in order to gain every inch of distance from him as she could. “How do I even know you’re safe? You were right there, watching those men die. I just got in a car with you, with my son no less, when you’re no better than those men! What have I done?”

 

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