Witness (Otter Creek Book 1)

by Rebecca Deel

  “It’s only a matter of time before they come after me, Ethan.”

  “What are you talking about?” He’d done his best to keep her away from the line of fire. The thought of her hurt or worse sent cold chills rushing over his body.

  “Coronado and his pal are searching each place where Pam spent a lot of time. Sooner or later, they’ll come to me looking for the flash drive.” She reached across the seat and covered his hand with hers. “If they think I might have the information, they’ll keep an eye on me. It may give your friends enough time.”

  He didn’t want to expose Serena to any more danger, but her argument held merit. He’d called in a favor with some ex-Army Rangers now in various branches of law enforcement. They took Pam to a remote location where they could see anyone coming. As good as these men were, every day they had to prepare for an assault gave Pam an increased chance for survival.

  He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. “If I agree to this crazy scheme, how will you get word around you may have the flash drive?”

  She chuckled. “That’s the easy part. I’ll let the town grapevine do the work.”

  “Serena, you don’t know who we’re dealing with.” He threaded his fingers through hers, and tightened his grip. “No one knows what the hit man looks like.”

  “We can do this for a few days, Ethan. I know you’ll find them.”

  Ethan wished he felt as positive that he’d find these guys soon. Before he tangled with The Fox five years ago, he would have agreed with her. His throat tightened. Serena trusted him to keep her safe. He’d made promises to Kate Barlow, too. Empty promises.

  He glanced at her, squeezed the hand nestled in his and focused on the road. She deserved the truth before she placed her life in his keeping. “Five years ago, I was a homicide detective in Las Vegas. One night in October, my partner and I were dispatched to a homicide, a fifteen-year-old victim of human traffickers.”

  Esperanza’s sightless eyes still haunted his dreams. “A man named Holt operated the trafficking ring. Brought in illegals from Mexico and South and Central America and sold them. When this teenage girl refused to cooperate, Holt killed her.”

  Serena gasped. “Oh, Ethan. How horrible!”

  “Holt didn’t realize his girlfriend, Kate Barlow, had seen him kill the girl. I convinced Kate to testify against Holt, promised her protection.” Ethan’s hand clenched the steering wheel. “The night before his trial began, Holt was murdered during a brawl in the prison cafeteria.”

  “So Kate didn’t have to testify?”

  Ethan shook his head. “Holt had a contract out on her, though. He’d hired a guy known only as The Fox to kill her.” He sighed. “When Holt died, I thought the danger to Kate died, too. There was no reason for her to testify, she should have been safe. I pulled her protection.”

  “What happened?”

  “Once the money is received, this hit man fulfills every contract. The Fox killed her two days later.” Ethan swallowed hard. “Her five-year-old son was in the bedroom next door.”

  Serena’s hand gripped his. “Did he . . . ?”

  “No. After killing Kate, he called 911 and left.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Even the worst criminals follow a code of their own. The Fox doesn’t kill kids.”

  They drove a few miles before Ethan broke the silence. “I don’t know if I can protect you, Serena.” Guilt over his failure to protect Kate paled in comparison to the fear surging inside as he contemplated using Serena for bait.

  “I trust you, Ethan.”

  Three simple words. Words that stole his breath. The real question was could he trust himself?

  #

  “Serena, wake up.”

  Raising heavy eyelids, Serena peered through the windshield at her dimly lit house. At least, she thought the house belonged to her. Hard to tell with two hours of sleep and blurred vision. “What time is it?”

  “Almost 4:00.”

  She rubbed her eyes and stretched while Ethan climbed out of his truck and circled the hood. He helped her down and grabbed the picnic basket. “Next time we do one of these midnight picnics, let’s bring coffee along.”

  She smiled. “Deal.”

  On the porch, Ethan set the basket at her feet and held out his hand. “Give me your key. I’ll check the house.”

  “That’s not necessary.” He looked exhausted. Guilt surged through her for keeping him up most of the night.

  He continued to stand there with his hand outstretched.

  She sighed. “Are you always this stubborn?” Resisting would only keep Ethan from his bed that much longer. She dropped her keys in his hand.

  Ethan unlocked her door and glanced over his shoulder. “Only with someone I care about.” He slipped into the house. Within a couple of minutes, he returned and handed her the keys. “What kind of dog do you have?”

  “Jewel is a West Highland white terrier.”

  He smiled, and cupped her chin with his hand. “She’s beautiful, just like her owner.” Ethan tilted her face up to meet his. “How sore is your lip?”

  Her brow furrowed. “What?”

  “Never mind,” he whispered and brushed his lips against hers, the pressure as light as a soap bubble. With a sigh, he pulled her into his arms. “I’ll be gone most of the day delivering our package, but my cell will be on.”

  Serena closed her eyes, content listening to the deep rumble of his voice and steady beat of his heart. She could get used to this.

  “If you feel uneasy at any time, call Rod. I’ll alert him to what’s going on.” Ethan tightened his arms for a moment, then released her and stepped back. “I’ll call you when I return.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Serena woke to bright sunlight streaming through the bedroom window. She squinted at the clock, rolled out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen. Maybe she should adopt the coffee habit. A double espresso sounded great right now.

  She rummaged through her cabinet. Chamomile, mint, orange spice, raspberry, blueberry. Ah ha. She seized a box of red rooibos tea. An energy kick from nature might jumpstart her sluggish body and brain.

  Yawning, Serena opened the back door for Jewel and filled the teakettle. Her gaze fell on the picnic basket still sitting on the kitchen table where she left it a few hours earlier. She smiled, sweet warmth enveloping her.

  At the dog’s yip, she opened the door for her pet, laughing as Jewel raced around the kitchen and dining room. “Wish you could lend me some of that energy, girl.”

  While she ate breakfast and showered, Serena’s thoughts revolved around Ethan. She understood his concern for her safety, but she worried more about him than herself.

  She promised to lay low a few days until Ethan caught Coronado and The Fox. In the meantime, he tracked a killer, helped nail the mob, and protected her and Pam, which made him a target.

  Serena grabbed a change of clothes and her purse, and drove to Wilson’s Grocery. She had just enough time to buy ingredients for tonight’s dinner at church and pick up Ruth so they could attend George Miller’s funeral.

  #

  “Oh, dear.” Ruth peered beyond Serena’s shoulder. “The wolf’s heading this way.”

  Serena glanced back. The four-legged or two-legged variety? She noted grave markers and milling church members walking to the graveside. When the crowd shifted, she caught sunlight glinting off the approaching man’s blonde hair. “Perfect description,” she muttered to her friend.

  “Serena, I figured you would be here.”

  Mitch Harrington’s words grated on Serena’s resolve to be distant, but civil. “Mr. Miller’s funeral was at my church. Most of the church family’s here.”

  “None of his family is here.”

  Serena stared into his frigid eyes. Despite the day’s heat, she shivered. Was Mitch fishing for information, or had he somehow discovered the name of Miller’s granddaughter? “Did he have family around here?”

  Mitch shrugged. �
��I thought you might know since you worked for him.”

  “Mr. Miller didn’t talk much.” Serena glanced at Ruth. “I don’t think you’ve met my friend Ruth Rollins. Ruth, this is Mitch Harrington.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Harrington.” Ruth released one crutch to hold out her hand.

  After a brief hand clasp, Mitch returned his attention to Serena. “We’re both going to the Pot o’ Gold Saturday evening. Shall I pick you up about 6:00? We can discuss the next step in our relationship as we drive to the hotel.”

  Serena pressed her lips into a tight line and tilted her chin. “There isn’t a next step, Mitch. We don’t have a relationship. I thought I made that clear last week.” Ruth’s hand touched her back, offering silent support.

  “I apologized for that already. I misread your signals, Serena. Can’t we restart where we left off? I don’t want to lose your friendship.”

  “No thanks, Mitch,” Serena said, her words clipped. “You made your intent hard to miss. I’ll pass on the offer of a ride and a relationship.”

  “I’m surprised to see you here, Harrington. Thought you’d cover the Garden Club luncheon. Seems to be more your speed.”

  Tension dissipated in Serena’s body at the sound of Rod Kelter’s voice. She flashed a smile at the detective now standing by her side.

  Mitch scowled. “I don’t do old ladies’ luncheons.”

  “So you’re on the clock?”

  “Why else would I be here?”

  Rod’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Interesting question. Now, buzz off, Harrington. You’re interfering with my dates.” He turned his head to the two women. “Sorry for the delay, ladies. May I escort you over this rough path?”

  “Thank you.” Serena rested her hand on the detective’s arm. “Ruth, how can we help you?”

  Ruth smiled. “Kick loose rocks out of the way. I’d rather not wear this blasted cast any longer than necessary.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Rod guided Serena over the path toward the burial site. When Mitch stood several yards behind them, Rod leaned close to Serena. “How are you?”

  She glanced at him, a smile curving her lips. “Ethan called you, huh?”

  “About 4:30 this morning.” He patted her hand. “He delivered the package and should return in a few hours.”

  Serena didn’t want to embarrass Ethan, but she had to know. “Is he all right?”

  “He’s fine, and it’s funny you should ask.” Rod’s eyes twinkled. “He wanted to know the same thing about you.”

  She cocked her head, suspicion forming a question in her mind. “Did he send you to babysit me?”

  “Among other things. The Chief wants us to stake out the funeral.”

  “Why?”

  “See who’s here.” After seating Serena and Ruth in chairs near the graveside, Rod pulled a digital camera from his pocket. He knelt beside them and whispered, “I’ll be close by if you need anything.” Rod squeezed Ruth’s hand and slipped through the crowd.

  #

  Rod shifted the angle of his camera and extended the zoom lens. He’d snapped over one hundred pictures and, in the process, captured the image of every person attending Miller’s funeral. Could the killer be walking among the mourners?

  Madison Cahill, the knitting shop owner, moved into his line of sight. He brought down the camera, and watched her hug Serena and the Chief’s aunt.

  His glance drifted around the cemetery. The gut-wrenching sight of the white angel brought his perusal to a halt. He forced his attention to the scene below him.

  Sweat beads gathered on his forehead, yet his hands felt as if he’d rolled a dozen snowballs. The knots in his muscles eased as the crowd drifted away from the burial site. A few more torturous minutes.

  Rod changed his angle and snapped more pictures. His final picture ensnared the concrete marker in the foreground. He cursed his clumsiness. He didn’t want to review a crowd shot containing his family’s cement guardian with Blackhawk.

  He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt collar as he trudged down the hill. Why didn’t these people leave? He preferred visiting over a cup of coffee at Delaney’s instead of talking in the cemetery any day. Rod shoved the camera into his pocket. Hands clenched, he halted in front of his family’s resting place. The ever-present heartache exploded into searing pain. His vision blurred.

  “Sometimes the pain is so deep it’s hard to breathe.”

  The soft voice acted like a bucket of cold water on his inflamed emotions. Rod gave a slight cough and forced a response from his tight throat. “Yeah.” He glanced at the woman standing beside him.

  Madison Cahill nodded at a large black headstone a few yards away. “I still feel as though I lost Luke and the baby a few weeks ago instead of fifteen months.”

  Rod refocused his watery gaze on the angel. “How do you bear it?” he whispered. The hole in his heart dwarfed the Grand Canyon. Most of the time, he didn’t want to live without Erin and Kayla.

  “I’m involved in my church.” She turned from the monument with a smile. “And I knit enough winter woolies to clothe an army. Ask my brother Josh how many winter sweaters he’s holding for a cold assignment. He doesn’t need them in Afghanistan.”

  Rod smiled, glad to turn his thoughts from the emptiness inside him. He slipped his hand under Madison’s elbow, supporting her over the rocky terrain. “How is Josh? I heard he was injured during his last assignment.”

  “Recovering from a gunshot wound to the leg.” Madison paused by her car. “He’s in physical therapy several times a week at a nearby rehab center. The Army gave him permission to stay with Mom and Dad while he recuperates.”

  She opened her door. “I have to re-open The Bare Ewe or I’ll have knitters wailing in the streets.”

  “Madison, thanks.” The words seemed pale next to the knowledge that someone nearby understood his loss. Her words stirred his conscience. For the first time, he wished he’d gone to church with Erin and Kayla instead of using work as an excuse. His new chief found time to attend services. Maybe he’d tag along one day.

  “You aren’t alone, Rod.” She pulled a business card from her purse. “If you need to talk, call me. Or if you’d rather speak to a clergyman, call Marcus Lang. The healing process takes time. Don’t get so caught up in your grief, though, that you fail to honor your loved ones with your life.”

  #

  Weariness settled on Ethan’s shoulders like a soggy wool blanket. He hated flying, but any time spent away from Otter Creek right now courted danger. He’d arranged a meeting with the Organized Crime Task Force in Washington, D.C. and presented Pam’s statement along with the flash drive.

  Craig Jordan and the Task Force grilled him for five hours and wanted more time. Afraid to be gone any longer, Ethan informed them any other questions would have to wait.

  He turned into the church parking lot, already anticipating seeing Serena. She reminded him of an invigorating mountain breeze, refreshing to be around.

  He walked the deserted hallway, following the mouth-watering scent of oregano, garlic, and onions. Spaghetti? His stomach growled. The sounds of laughter, conversation, and children reached his ears as he approached the fellowship hall.

  Ethan scanned the crowded room for Serena. Not finding her, he opened the kitchen door. He grinned. Drying a large pot, Serena sang along with a song pouring from the iPod on the kitchen counter. She stowed the pot in a cupboard and spun, catching sight of him.

  “Hello, beautiful.”

  “Ethan.” Her eyes sparkled and a broad smile appeared on her face. She rushed into his open arms.

  He held her close for a moment, then caressed her cheek with his hand. Conscious of their surroundings, he refrained from kissing her. He’d capture a kiss later. “I hope you saved me a few bites. Looks like you have a big crowd tonight.”

  “We always have a full house.” Serena retrieved a covered plate from the counter. “I hoped you would make it back so I fixed your plate first. Don’
t tell on me, but you have the best of everything.”

  “They won’t hear it from me.”

  “I have a few more dishes to wash. Why don’t you sit with the chess players in the corner. They love to play so much you won’t need to talk.” She handed him the plate and a Coke. “You’ll have a chance to eat and relax a few minutes.”

  “Thanks.” Guess the fatigue showed. He could use about six hours of uninterrupted sleep. Catnaps on the plane hadn’t helped much, especially since his dreams were haunted by a faceless man closing in on Serena.

  “Evening, Chief.”

  Ethan shook hands with Zach Reagan and Charles Nolan and sat a couple of chairs away from them. While he ate, he half listened to the conversations swirling around him. After dealing with the FBI for hours, mundane dialogues about the dry cleaning, new playground equipment, and gas prices inching up again helped diffuse the day’s stress.

  Ethan swallowed the last bite of garlic bread as Serena joined him. She passed him a steaming cup of coffee. “Hey, guys,” she said to his tablemates. “How’s it going?”

  Charles Nolan grunted. “It’d go a lot faster if old Zach here would quit lollygagging around between moves.”

  Zach sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I think about each move before I make it. You play kamikaze style.” He winked at Serena. “You hit another home run tonight, honey.”

  Serena’s cheeks flushed pink. “You just love to eat, but I appreciate the compliment.” She grinned at Ethan. “Zach is the man who helped name my chef service. He was my first client.”

  “Is that right?” Ethan smiled, noting the interesting interaction between Serena and Zach.

  “I remember the first meal she made me.” Zach chuckled. “Oatmeal cookies.”

  Ethan raised his eyebrows. “Cookies?”

  Serena laughed. “I was 10 years old, and dying to try my hand at cooking. Mom made it look so easy. Zach bragged about everything I tried. No matter how weird or burnt, he ate every bite I brought him.”

  “And I always told her she hit a home run.” Zach chuckled. “Figured if I kept encouraging her, someday Serena would surprise me with something edible.”