Hidden Witness

by Shirlee McCoy

  She nodded, swallowing a hard knot of fear.

  “Wait,” he said before she could take the next step. “Your shirt is too light. You’ll be easily visible. Put this on over it.”

  He shrugged out of his coat and dropped it around her shoulders. She shoved her arms into the sleeves and rolled them up, too focused on the impending climb to argue about whether she should take his coat.

  She eyed the mine opening, cold air bathing her hot cheeks. She didn’t want to do this, but Mac was right. If he climbed the ladder and it broke, they would both be stuck in the mine. If she made it out, she could call for help.

  “Anna? You need to get up there before your friends figure out that there are two entrances to the mine,” Mac urged, his tone just sharp enough to grab her attention.

  She nodded acknowledgment and started climbing, the rickety ladder shaking, her heart hammering. She wanted to pray for safety and help, but her mind was numb, her thoughts scattered. All she could do was hold onto the cold metal, pull herself up one slow steady step after another and trust that God knew exactly what she needed and exactly how to help.

  * * *

  The last thing Mac wanted to do was let Anna precede him out of the mine, but he couldn’t risk breaking the ladder before one of them escaped. There was no cell phone reception in the mine, and until they were out in the open, they had no way of calling for help.

  “Be careful,” he cautioned as she reached the halfway point. He could see her silhouetted against the circle of sky, his coat falling to her knees, her hands pale on the dark ladder rungs. Once she crawled out of the hole, she would be out of sight and too far away for him to help if she needed it.

  “Remember. Stay low when you get out,” he called, risking being heard to offer one more word of caution.

  She didn’t respond. He assumed she understood how easy it would be for her voice to carry through the opening and out into the night air. Sending her ahead was the riskiest thing he had done in a while. He could feel adrenaline coursing through him and the razor-edged focus that always came with it.

  Watch her climb out and follow.

  Quickly and carefully.

  Don’t spend time thinking about what could go wrong.

  Work toward the goal and achieve it.

  The thoughts rushed one after another through his mind as he tracked Anna’s upward progress. Five more feet. Two. She reached the lip of the opening and scurried over.

  He started up at a sprinter’s pace, the ladder shaking as his booted feet met old metal. The craftsmen had built the ladder to last, but it had been hanging for decades, the rungs giving just enough to make his heart pump harder.

  He was a halfway up when a rung gave. His foot slipped, and the ladder swayed. He swayed, too, his hands gripping slick metal, his heart thumping rapidly.

  “Are you okay?” Anna peered into the opening, her head and upper torso blocking the light.

  “Fine,” he responded, scrambling up the rest of the way.

  She grabbed his hand as it curved over the lip of the opening. Then his wrist, her fingers digging into his skin as she tried to tug him out.

  He didn’t need the help, but he didn’t tell her that.

  The less they said, the less likely it was that their escape would be discovered.

  “I tried to call 911, but there’s still no—”

  He pressed his palm over her lips. No pressure. Just a warning. Then dropped it away, motioning for her to follow. They’d exited the mine at the base of the hill. He scanned the area, searching for and finding lights moving along the ridge above. Two hundred meters away, they appeared and disappeared through the winter-bare trees. The ridge and hill were between Mac and the ranch. The main road that led to town was in the opposite direction, farther away but a safer option.

  If the gunmen didn’t realize that he and Anna had escaped.

  He took her hand, leading her away from the mine shaft and deeper into the woods. The moon was high and full, the forest easy to navigate without a light. This time of year, ground cover was sparse, the deciduous trees barren, their gnarled branches providing little cover. He stayed close to the trees, moving as quickly as he could. Winter silence made every snapping twig or breaking branch echo loudly through the cold air. In the distance, a man shouted, his words muted and inaudible.

  If the gunmen were locals, they would know about the mines that pockmarked the hills. They would be looking for a second entrance point, and if they found it, they might be able to track Mac and Anna.

  “Do you think we’ve lost them?” Anna whispered, the words puffing white in the frigid air.

  “I hope so.”

  “Hope?”

  “It’s better than the alternative.”

  “Which is?”

  “Hopelessness. We’ve got a head start. How about we focus on keeping it?”

  “I’m focused. I’d just like to know the plan,” she said, her stride easily matching his. If she was scared, she wasn’t showing it. His coat slapped against her knees, the cuffs falling over her hands. She had a layer of grime on her face and a bruise on her cheek. She had nearly been shot, nearly been buried alive and was being hunted by men who wanted her dead, but she was moving confidently, heading into the woods as if she didn’t have a worry in the world.

  That intrigued him.

  She intrigued him.

  From the moment she had arrived on the ranch, he had been drawn to her positive attitude and exceptional work ethic. She had been uprooted from her life in Boston. She’d gone from working as an attorney for the FBI to working as a cook on a dude ranch. She’d handled it with aplomb and grace.

  “The plan is we head to town.”

  “Isn’t the ranch closer?”

  “There are men with guns between us and it. Closer isn’t the better option.”

  “So, we’re walking to Briarwood.”

  It wasn’t a question, but he nodded. “It’s the closest town. We can head straight to the sheriff’s office and see if we can get some protection out at the ranch. I’ll call Daniel from there.”

  “He won’t be happy. Someone leaked my location to Moreno. Only a few people are privy to the information.” She shoved her hands into his coat pockets and frowned. “You better take this back. It’s cold.”

  He stopped her before she could shrug out of the coat. “Keep it on. I’m wearing dark clothes. You’re not.”

  “I wasn’t thinking about trying to stay invisible out here when I left the ranch.”

  “You shouldn’t have left the ranch,” he pointed out. No judgment. Just a fact.

  “I know. It’s just...”

  “What?”

  “Six months is a lot longer than I expected to be here. It’s a long time to be away from home. I’ve been restless. Ready to get back to Boston.”

  “Your family will be there when you return.”

  “I don’t have any. But my job keeps me busy. I like the people I work with. I like the mental challenge. No offense to chefs and cooks, but peeling potatoes and cutting up onions gives me way too much time to think.”

  “About?”

  “All the things I should have done before I got myself into this mess.”

  “You didn’t get yourself into anything. From what I understand, you happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “It was the right time, if you’re the prosecuting attorney in the case. A clear-minded witness who is absolutely certain of what she has seen is a rarity in a murder investigation.”

  “But, it’s not the murderer that Daniel was worried about when he sent you here,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. The lights were still there, moving through the woods behind them. Not coming in close, but not getting farther away.

  It seemed improbable that the gunmen knew the direction Mac and Anna were tra
veling. It would make more sense to head back to the ranch. Less than two miles away, it was the easier path to safety.

  “No. He was worried about Archie Moreno. Godfather of a mob family in Boston,” she said.

  “I’m familiar with him.”

  “Prosecutors have been able to link him to the shooting I witnessed. They think, with enough pressure, the gunman will confirm that Moreno paid for the hit. If Moreno can silence me, the prosecution won’t have a strong enough case and their bargaining power will be gone.” She glanced back. “They’re still coming.”

  “I know.”

  “They can’t possibly know we got out of the mine. Can they?”

  “I don’t know, but how about we keep quiet and keep moving?” He cupped her elbow and picked up the pace. He didn’t bother telling Anna that he knew everything about the shooting she had witnessed and everything there was to know about Moreno. Daniel had filled him in before Anna’s arrival. Forewarned was forearmed. Mac had been on high alert, his security systems and security staff working overtime. For six months everything had gone well. And, then, Anna had broken the rules, left the ranch alone and ended up on the wrong side of several guns.

  Someone had been watching the ranch, waiting for an opportunity to strike. Anna had unintentionally given it to him.

  Mac was going to make certain that didn’t happen again. From now until the trial, he was going to be glued to her side.

  “See the hill in front of us?” he asked.

  “It would be a little hard to miss,” she replied wryly.

  “The road to town is on the other side of it.” He glanced back, his pulse jumping when he caught a glimmer of light through the trees. It was closer, their pursuer obviously moving in.

  “What’s wrong?” she whispered.

  “Maybe nothing.”

  “How about you give me worst case scenario?”

  “They’re closing in because they have someone in front of us who can cut us off from the road.”

  “How is that possible? They were nowhere around when we left the mine. We’re not using a flashlight. They shouldn’t be able to see us.” She glanced back, tripped over a fallen tree and nearly tumbled over.

  “I don’t know. We still have distance between us, so let’s just keep focused.”

  “Right,” she muttered.

  He picked up the pace, leading her straight up the side of the hill. If he had the higher ground, he could hold off gunmen for a while. He would rather not have to do that. He wanted to get to safety, get backup and figure out who had leaked Anna’s location to Moreno. Until he did, she wouldn’t be safe.

  He was being paid to hide her on the ranch, but his obligation went deeper than that. He had to keep her safe. He had to get her to trail. Mac was completely committed to making certain both those things happened.

  No matter what it took.

  THREE

  Mac was a straight shooter. She had asked for the worst-case scenario. He had provided it. And now, she wished she hadn’t asked, because the hill was even steeper than it had looked, the terrain rock-strewn and covered with fallen trees and brambles. Making progress felt like slogging through chest-deep mud—painfully slow and difficult. She told herself not to look back, to keep her eyes and her mind focused on what lay head.

  But, of course, she didn’t listen.

  Just like she hadn’t listened to her smarter, wiser self when she decided to go for a run outside the perimeter of the ranch. She had gone against the little voice in her head that had told her she was still in danger and that she shouldn’t let her guard down and wander away from the safety of lights and people.

  And this had happened.

  Life didn’t work out well when a person got distracted from the goal. She knew that. She should have applied that maxim. Even here, at the edge of civilized and modern life, where trees were more abundant than people and giant wild hogs roamed the underbrush, it was better to have a plan and stick to it, to reach unwaveringly toward the final prize. No looking back and wondering or worrying that a wrong choice had been made.

  She glanced back anyway, just a quick look to see if there were lights below. She slipped on shale and leaves, her feet going out from under her so quickly she had no time to respond. She grabbed for a tree or bush—anything to keep from tumbling down the hillside.

  Mac grabbed the back of her collar, halting her progress. He didn’t release her as she scrambled to her feet, panting hard, heart bucking like the wild horses she’d seen being tamed in the corral in the west pasture of the ranch.

  “Focus,” he said quietly. No heat or panic in his voice, no hint that they might run out of time if she didn’t get her act together and start climbing again.

  “Right. Sorry.”

  “No apology necessary. Just keep moving.” He let her go and headed up again. He moved like she imagined a mountain lion would—sure-footed and confident.

  She was more like a newborn giraffe, tripping and slipping, tumbling and getting up again. She grabbed a sapling tree, tested it for strength and hauled herself another few steps.

  “Are you sure this isn’t a mountain?” she whispered, her lungs burning with effort. All the marathon running sessions in the world could not have prepared her for this kind of hustle.

  “Does it matter? We have to climb it one way or another.” He responded in the matter-of-fact way he used with the city-dwellers and suburban families who paid good money to vacation at Sweet Valley Dude Ranch. Most of them were as clueless about ranch life as Annalise had been when she’d arrived. He never treated them like they were stupid or inept, but he seemed to have perfected the fine art of breaking information into manageable snippets that even the most clueless guest could understand and apply.

  “Right,” she murmured, refusing to look back again, but also determined to not look any farther ahead than was necessary. She didn’t want to know how much farther they had. She didn’t want to think about how much her lungs burned and her legs hurt. She sure didn’t want to imagine what would happen if she gave in to exhaustion and sat for a while.

  They climbed for what seemed like another hour but was probably only minutes. Then, like the first streaks of dawn after the darkest night, the ground leveled out and they were done.

  There was no celebration, of course.

  No victory dance under the full moon.

  A group of men had been hired to kill her, and Annalise could no longer pretend that maybe the US Marshals had overreacted. That maybe the Justice Department was worried about nothing. She had to face the facts that she had been avoiding since she had agreed to leave Boston. She could die. Just like Thomas Ryland had.

  She could still hear the bullets, if she let herself. She could see the look of shock on Ryland’s face as the first bullet struck him in the chest. She had been feet away, heading down the stairs outside the courthouse. Feeling great about winning another case. It had been way past time for her to be home, the late spring evening ripe with the scent of fresh-cut grass and exhaust. She had no one to go home to, and she had hung out at the courthouse way too long, chatting with other attorneys, with judges and with the bailiffs she had come to know so well during her time as an FBI defense attorney. The place had emptied out, and she had been alone, packing up her briefcase and heading out for another quiet night in her apartment.

  She had seen Thomas Ryland as she exited the elevator. She’d had no idea who he was. The criminal case against his boss had made the news, but she had been nose-deep in her own case, working to defend a special agent who had been accused of excessive use of force. She’d had no idea who Ryland was. She’d only noticed him because he was in ankle shackles and cuffs, flanked by uniformed officers. Edmund Richards was a few feet ahead, looking through a file folder. Richards had been the state prosecuting attorney. She’d been up against him enough to know how tough he was.


  They had walked out of the courthouse just ahead of her. She’d been lollygagging, not ready for the long weekend that was ahead. She’d had no plans, and she had been telling herself she didn’t want any. She liked being alone. She liked her independence. She liked having no one to answer to but herself.

  She had been giving herself that pep talk as she stepped outside, heard the squeal of brakes as a car sped around the corner. She had looked and seen the vehicle, the bright streetlights glinting off its black hood. The passenger window had been open. She’d seen a face she had recognized, and then the first shot rang out.

  She shuddered, not wanting to remember the fear on Ryland’s face. The shock. Not wanting to think about the blood spurting from his chest. The frantic shouts of the police as they pulled firearms. Richards falling, the folder spilling papers across the courthouse steps.

  “It’s okay,” Mac said, suddenly standing in front of her, his hand on her cheek, warm palm against cold skin.

  “I know.”

  “Then why are you crying?”

  She hadn’t realized she was. She wiped the tears away quickly. Crying had never done her any good. It certainly wasn’t going to help her now.

  “It’s cold. My eyes are watering,” she lied.

  “Okay.” He studied her for a moment, his hand still resting on her cheek.

  It felt oddly intimate and comforting.

  Surprised, she stepped back.

  His hand dropped away, and he began walking again, as briskly as before. She matched his pace, following him across the hilltop and down the gentle slope of its west side. Unlike the climb up, the way down was easy—moonlight brightening the forest, the tree growth sparser. They wound their way downhill, then onto flat ground split by a narrow creek. She didn’t ask if they were close to the road. She didn’t want to know if they weren’t. Right now, she was focusing on taking the next step.

  A light flashed in the trees, straight ahead and moving quickly.

  “Was that a car?” Annalise whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “We made it.” Her legs went weak with relief.