Witness On the Run

by Wylder Stone

  18

  Trista woke the following morning to find a bottle of water and ibuprofen sitting on her bedside table. There was a note from Owen propped against the bottle of water.

  Good morning,

  I went for a run, be back in a bit. Thought you could use the rest today. Take the ibuprofen, you’ll thank me later. Don’t go anywhere without me – especially shitty bars.

  - Owen

  p.s. I left something for you on the back deck.

  Owen’s attempt at humor made her giggle. It was obviously going to be a long time before she lived that one down. No words could express how grateful she was for the water and ibuprofen. It would be a long time before Trista could even look at tequila again – if ever.

  Excited to see what Owen could possibly have left on the back deck, Trista rushed through the house to find it. It was still early. The town was likely just waking up, so what on earth could Owen have picked up and left outside of all places? Disappointment struck her when she stepped outside, and he wasn’t there waiting.

  It was quickly replaced, however, with an overwhelming sense of joy. This man never ceased to amaze her. Sitting in front of her favorite spot was an art easel and blank canvas. To the right sat a small table with various supplies, all that Trista would happily use.

  A pink bakery box sat just at the corner with a note written on top. These are real food too, kind of like a smoothie. They won’t hydrate you, and they’ll give you pimples, but it’s worth it. I think they are vegan. Okay, they’re not, but we both know that doesn’t matter (remember the bar burger?) – Owen.

  Nope, Trista definitely wasn’t going to live down her weak moment of absolute chaos anytime soon. Grabbing the biggest donut in the box, she sat at her easel and began to create. It felt good to do what she had once loved. It felt good to know someone paid enough attention to know that this was exactly what she needed when she needed it.

  Trista’s heart swelled at the thoughtful gesture. Thinking back, she realized he had to have gone out and got it the day before, prior to her bar debacle. That meant Owen saw her hurting and wanted to help fix it somehow. For a man of few words, who got hives from emotions, Owen certainly knew how to mend a broken heart.

  She loved to paint but hadn’t in so long. That was when she decided she wouldn’t stop again. This was the first day of becoming the real Trista Ryan and all that she was meant to be. She hoped Owen stuck around to help her discover exactly who that was. At least for now.

  Her smile wouldn’t budge, and Trista couldn’t find a single reason to stop when Owen walked up the back steps of the deck, the intensity of his workout obvious. His sleeveless T-shirt put his enormous biceps on display as the soaked shirt clung to his chest and abdomen, highlighting every chiseled rise and fall of a well-defined body. His sweatpants hung low on his hips and hugged his thighs, leaving her to clench her own thighs together. Trista vowed not to ogle, but it was hard not to.

  “You like it?” he asked, causing her to choke on the inappropriate thoughts threatening to cross her mind at the sight of him. “Oh, my God! Are you alright?”

  She felt caught. They were just friends. Technically, colleagues or the like given she was in protective custody and he was her keeper. Despite the professional line between them, she was still a woman, and he a man. She could appreciate the effort he put into fitness and looked at it as if he were art. Worthy of appreciation. As long as it remained such.

  When he reached for her to offer a pat on the back or something of that nature, Trista stopped him where he stood by holding her hand out in front of her. If he laid a hand on her, she would be done for. “I’m good…I’m good. Um, do I like…?”

  “The easel and canvases. Did I get the right kind of paint?” Owen asked, completely unaware that Trista had just been looking at him in a way that threatened the line of friendship.

  “Oh! The paints! Yeah…it’s all so amazing and thoughtful. I love it. I can’t believe you remembered.” Relief washed over her at the realization he was completely unaware, and she was going to keep it that way.

  “Your drawings reminded me of your art studio. I thought this would give you something to do,” he added.

  “Yeah, it’s great. I wanted someone to do – something – you know – something to do.” A palm to the face would have helped hide the embarrassment flooding her cheeks, but it would also draw attention to her current state of mind-numbing obsession…a hard and sweaty Owen.

  He was headed inside to shower when he said, “Hey, do you want to get out today? There’s some sort of festival going on, and I heard they even had a beer garden as part of it.”

  Her mouth salivated in an undesirable way at the mention of beer. It made her cringe. “I think I’ll pass on the beer, but getting out sounds great.”

  “Alright, I won’t be long. We can grab lunch while we’re there,” he said.

  “Sounds great. I’ll just finish this part and clean up.”

  “Oh, and Tris?”

  She turned and smiled. “Yeah?”

  “I saw you looking…” With a wink, he disappeared inside.

  “I…it’s not what you think…Owen…” Sitting all alone now, she really did drop her face to her palm and let out a long-drawn-out noisy sigh.

  19

  Spending the afternoon at the town’s Scandinavian-themed festival wasn’t all that different from its farmers’ market. The people were dressed in themed clothing, and more food booths were also Scandinavian influenced, except for the one Asian noodle booth. There was always a noodle booth, no matter what type of festival it was or what town you were in.

  It was just as lively and charming, full of must-haves and must-tries. They taste-tested several vendors’ offerings, sharing a plate at each so they would have room for more. It seemed Trista was exercising selective veganism because she didn’t hesitate to eat whatever was offered, and he was one hundred percent okay with that.

  They laughed and enjoyed each other’s company as they explored each booth, gathering only small trinkets and of course more fresh flowers. The flowers were becoming a staple around the house. They enjoyed a variety of pastries along with sweet tea that was available at every stand.

  It was a good day, and they were enjoying each other’s company. It was a nice change in pace and would make whatever time they had left together that much easier. He still didn’t talk much, but he smiled more, and that was enough for her.

  A small boy, not more than four or five, was sobbing on a street corner. Passersby stepped around him, hardly giving him any notice, but Owen did. He approached the little boy as Trista watched from across the way while paying for her flowers. He crouched down to eye level and spoke to the boy. She was just out of earshot with all of the noise from the crowd.

  Where most people only saw a spoiled child whose parents were probably nearby, Owen saw a little boy in trouble. Her heart warmed when the little guy jumped into Owen’s arms, and he carried him through the crowd with one arm while signaling Trista with the other, indicating he needed a moment. With a smile and nod, she responded, admiring his gesture.

  Forging through the crowd, he nodded and pointed, obviously talking the boy through their search and trying to figure out where he last saw his parents. Not a full city block later, they came across a frantic mother with a distraught father standing in the middle of the street with none other than the deputy sheriff from the night before.

  The little boy’s face lit up, and he clapped his hands as he pointed at the crying woman, who had to be his mother. Both joy and relief had crossed over the parents’ matching expressions. Grabbing her little boy and holding him tight, all the woman could say over and over was thank you. The mother passed the boy to his father and pulled Owen into a rigid, tearful embrace that Owen eventually relaxed into.

  After a high five from the boy and a handshake from the father, Owen found his way back to Trista. “Well, that was omething’.”

  “It was wonderful. You did such a g
ood thing when no one else seemed to notice,” she said proudly.

  “I guess he was feeding some birds behind his parents while they paid for something. Before he knew it, or they did, he had followed the birds just a few booths down, losing sight of his folks.”

  “Aw. That must’ve been terrifying for him and his parents. You were so good with him, though. Where did you learn how to speak kid?” She laughed.

  “I have a niece.” Owen shouldn’t have said that. Per usual, and it was worth reminding himself, the less Trista knew, the better. But today, he just felt like boundaries were less important. They were building something – trust – and they needed that if they were going to get through their circumstance together because the hard part they would face was yet to come and trust would be the foundation they stood on.

  “A niece?” She laughed. “You, with a little girl? How does that work?”

  “It’s great. She’s the only kid in the family, so she’s spoiled rotten. Ruby is her name. Total spitfire.”

  “Ah-ha. A bit sassy?”

  “A lot sassy. But she’s a good kid, smart, cute as hell. She doesn’t take any crap either. My parents didn’t come from much, made them tough, so those roots run deep, and Ruby has the same fire.” Owen laughed, speaking of his niece.

  Walking alongside him, Trista looked up, taking in every word and enjoying a glimpse into this side of him. “That’s very sweet. She’s lucky to have a doting family like that.”

  “She hasn’t always been lucky. Her mom died a few years back. It destroyed my brother. We all try to…chip in where we can. She makes it easy.” So much for boundaries. Owen wanted to tell her more, but he feared he’d already told her too much. It was time to rein it in and get back to business.

  Their fun-filled afternoon stretched into a delightful evening of getting to know each other, though Owen let her do most of the talking. He wasn’t much for words, but he was a great listener and didn’t miss a single detail.

  It all came to a screeching halt when Owen grabbed Trista’s arm, abruptly stopping them where they stood in the crowd of people. His body stiffened, chest puffed out, and his expression went cold and steely. Trista hadn’t seen this side of him for days. Weeks maybe – she’d lost track of their time together. Something was wrong, and she felt the cool shiver to her core.

  Following his stare, she was unable to detect what had Owen on high alert. Perhaps the men from the previous night’s bar brawl? Turning quickly on his heels, he pulled her behind him as they disappeared into a nearby alley and began to run at a pace she could barely manage.

  “Owen,” Trista huffed, trying to catch her breath and keep up, “what’s wrong?”

  Turning briefly, he saw her fear and didn’t want to paralyze her with the truth, “We need to go – just hurry – we need to get to the car.”

  Zigzagging from alley to alley, they bounced around from block to block until they finally reached the vehicle. They had made a wide circle on the outside of the town square, landing in the complete opposite direction from where they had stood only a moment before. She understood now why they parked where they did, and why they always took odd routes wherever they were going. She was completely turned around and anyone giving chase would be equally lost.

  A piercing silence hovered over the thick tension in the air. Owen’s jaw was clenched tight – a small muscle pulsed, matching the flex in his muscles. He was fuming, and Trista didn’t know why.

  He pulled in front of the house and came to an abrupt stop and charged out of the car. He barreled straight up the front walkway and into the house. There was purpose in every step. And every step felt more urgent. The quick ride home had felt like an eternity due to the dead air between them. It was nearly painful, going from happy-go-lucky to an eerie distance that reeked of danger or mischief.

  20

  Owen’s demeanor had become icy and frightening as Trista followed him inside. He had reverted back to the emotionless bodyguard she originally knew him to be. Suddenly, she felt alone and afraid.

  “Where’s your purse, Trista?” Owen asked in an accusing tone.

  “I…I didn’t take it with me.” Her quiet, nervous tone did nothing to calm him.

  “Dammit, where is your purse?”

  With wide eyes full of moisture threatening to spill over, she could hardly speak at an audible level. “Wh-what’s going on? You’re scaring me, Owen.”

  He walked closer to her, only inches from her face, and looked down. His heat rolled off his body, and the green of his eyes darkened to a menacing tone – Owen was angry with her. “Cesar’s men were back there. Two of them, Trista. Two of his fucking guys are here! How the hell did they find us?”

  Rushing to her room, he tossed a jacket hanging near the door to the floor, then a folded blanket and pillow from a chair in the corner. He finally found what he was looking for hanging in her empty closet.

  Emptying the contents of Trista’s purse on her bed, Owen rummaged through the pile.

  “Owen, what are you… Oh, no!” Closing her eyes as the memory came flooding back, Trista began to sob.

  It was her fault they were in town. Owen had warned her, and Trista didn’t listen, and now they were practically on her doorstep. During her previous night’s drunken shenanigans, she had done something. Something horrible.

  A step ahead of her, Owen picked up her oversized wristlet wallet and squeezed it, testing its firmness. When he unzipped it, the cell phone fell out. A cell phone he hadn’t given her.

  “Yeah, oh no! They’re fucking here, Trista. What the hell did you do?” Owen’s tone was harsh and condemning, his glare worse.

  “I-I barely remember! Let’s see. I went for a run to blow off steam and get my head straight. I ended up in town. I decided to have a couple of cocktails before heading back,” Trista started.

  “A couple of guns for hire don’t show up because of cocktails.” Owen wasn’t letting her off the hook with this one. Trista had brought danger to their front step.

  Pacing back and forth, she kept her eyes to the ground, unable to look at him. She could feel the disappointment in Owen’s stare as it was, and she couldn’t bear to see it, too. “I know! I know! I’m trying to remember it all.”

  Trista ran her hands through her hair and let out a deep sigh. She knew exactly what she had done, and now Trista was just as disappointed in herself as Owen was in her. Finally ready to face the music, she pulled her shoulders back, held her head high, and turned to face him, and put it all out there.

  “I went into that little drug store. Shit! I was feeling so sorry for myself. I was missing Liz and Mason so bad – I bought that phone. I used it. Then I went to the bar where you found me.”

  “So, you bought a burner phone. Wait, you didn’t start at that bar?” he asked as he scrolled through the call log.

  “No. I started at that little pub type place. The one in town. They cut me off, said I’d had enough.”

  “Great, kicked out of the first bar and nearly assaulted and arrested at the second. Who do all these numbers belong to?”

  Trista cringed as she looked over Owen’s shoulder and read the numbers, unsure of who she attempted to call during her fit of self-pity. “Umm, Lizzy’s cell phone, and both of her landlines in Atlanta. I called my phone to check messages, and there weren’t any from…him. He never even tried to find me. Then I called…Cesar’s cell phone. The one he kept only for me to call on.”

  “You called Cesar? Jesus, Trista, why didn’t you just, I don’t know, send up a bat signal?”

  “I’m so sorry. I had been drinking and wasn’t thinking at all. You told me they could find us this way, and I just…just didn’t think.”

  “No, you weren’t thinking at all. You could have gotten both of us killed just now. Do you understand that? I was distracted, talking, laughing, I almost didn’t see them! We almost walked right into our own murders!”

  Owen stormed out of the room with the cell phone still in his hand. “We
’re leaving. Go to the garage and get in the other car. Make sure your bag is in there. We’re leaving now.”

  After putting her things back in her purse, she followed him to the kitchen where he pulled a manila envelope from a drawer and began to address it. “What about all of my art stuff, and…”

  “Leave it. Leave all of it. We should have already been on the road! Go get in the damn car!” Owen put his own phone to his ear and tossed her burner phone in the envelope.

  Talking into the phone, he said, “We’re on the move. Right now…need a cleanout…got it.”

  He looked up at Trista, and whispered, “Car!”

  With the envelope in hand, Owen followed Trista to the garage where their getaway vehicle had been stored since arriving. She could hear his side of the angry phone call. “That’s too late. Now! Make sure you follow them, see if they lead you back to Perez. I’ll check back in twenty-four.”

  He hung up his phone before getting into the car, stuck it in the envelope with the one Trista bought, and sealed it.

  When Owen pulled out onto the street, Trista watched as their little cottage disappeared behind them. “What about the rest of our stuff and the other car? Owen, what’s…?”

  Cutting her off, he answered her question without so much as a look her way. “The team will take care of it.”

  On their way out of town, Owen pulled into the post office parking lot, right up to the large blue mailbox at the curb, and dropped the envelope of phones inside. The address read Maine. He was sending their would-be assassins miles and miles in the wrong direction.

  As if their journey to this point hadn’t been real enough, today’s events became even more so. Guilt overcame Trista. What had she done?

  21

  They drove the rest of the evening and into the night to parts unknown. Owen seemed to have a plan and knew where he was going, but Trista didn’t. And she didn’t dare ask. Riddled with guilt, she finally gave into a fitful sleep after many silent tears.