Reclaim My Life

by Cheryl Norman

Her mind switched gears from the fire to her missing friend. “Before we eat, I need to ask about Kris.”

  He pulled out a chair for her to sit. “I haven’t found her yet. I stopped by the high school and convinced the principal to give me her next-of-kin information. You said her parents were divorced, but she gave neither name on her application. Her next of kin was a brother, Jack Knight.”

  She pulled the tab on her Coke. “She never mentioned a brother.”

  “He’s on a cruise, compliments of the U.S. Navy. I doubt she’s gone to visit him. We’re trying to contact him, though, to track down her parents.” He opened his soft drink and took a sip.

  “Wilson, this isn’t good. You and I both know she’s in trouble. She’s a responsible adult who wouldn’t disappear without telling someone—at least the principal or another teacher.”

  “We’re doing all we can.”

  She exhaled a loud breath. “I know you are. I’m just so worried.”

  “By the way, didn’t you say you and your friends talked about personal safety strategies after Cathleen’s murder?”

  “Yes, of course. Why?”

  “Just wondering. I saw Sunny Davis bicycling north on County Road 12 past the high school.”

  “By herself?” At his nod, she groaned. “I warned her about that. She’s very athletic and thinks she can take care of herself. But she’s flirting with disaster, especially now.”

  He shook his head. “Well, darlin’, you can’t worry about her. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

  She reached into the box for a slice of pizza and slid it onto his plate; then she took a slice for herself. “I’m as careful as I can be. But I thought Kris was, too.”

  He took a bite of his pizza. “Did you hear the latest tropical update? The hurricane’s picked up speed and appears to be strengthening.”

  “I hadn’t heard that. So is it headed this way?”

  “I don’t think they know yet.”

  “After we eat, we can check on the internet. I’m still logged on in my spare room.”

  He nodded. They finished off the pizza without further conversation. Wilson stood and crumpled the box for the trash. “I’ll help you clean up.”

  “Why don’t I do that while you check on that hurricane?”

  “Deal.” He left the room but returned immediately. “What’s Mustang Sally’s Garage?”

  Oh, no. She’d forgotten to clear her browser. Maybe this was the opening she needed to tell Wilson the truth. The pizza lay heavily in her stomach, and her heart sank with dread. “Let’s sit for a minute, all right? I have a lot I need to tell you, starting with Mustang Sally’s.”

  Wil resisted the urge to take her in his arms. Unhappiness filled her eyes, and her shoulders drooped. Instead of grabbing her in a bear hug, he followed her to the sofa, where she sat at the opposite end and turned to face him.

  “What’s wrong, Elizabeth?”

  She gave her head a slight shake. “I’m not who you think I am.”

  “O—kay. Who are you?”

  “First, I need you to promise to keep secret everything I’m about to say. Please, Wilson, it’s important.”

  If it meant her confiding in him at last, he’d promise anything. “I swear, darlin’, I can keep a secret.”

  She didn’t seem convinced. “I hope you can. It’s a matter of life and death.”

  Whoa! Life and death? Several theories rushed through his mind, but he focused his attention on Elizabeth. “Tell me.”

  “Mustang Sally’s Garage belongs to my brother’s wife in Louisville.”

  “So you do have a living relative?”

  “I lied about the house fire. I lost my family because I’ve been forced to go into hiding. As far as I know, everyone’s alive except my father.”

  I have nothing left of my family or childhood.

  He’d figured out the fire was a tale when he’d found no report online of a tragedy fitting her story, but he wouldn’t admit to investigating her. “So you aren’t Elizabeth Stevens?”

  An invisible rope of tension seemed to tighten her shoulders. “My real name is Sofia Desalvo, Fia to my friends.”

  “Fia.” He tried out the name. It suited her, but so did Elizabeth.

  “I witnessed a murder and have to testify against the ring leader of a syndicate of bookies.”

  “Bookies? Maybe you better start at the beginning.”

  She chewed at her lower lip. “After the murder of my father and the—”

  “Your father was murdered?”

  She nodded, her eyes filling. Bravely, she blinked away the tears. “That’s an unrelated story. After his death, I broke up with my fiancé because he betrayed me in the worst way—” She raised her hand in a halting gesture. “Don’t ask. I still can’t talk about it. Anyway, I was at loose ends.”

  Saying nothing, he waited as she pulled herself together. He stifled his curiosity about her father’s homicide but yearned to know if he’d died from a gunshot wound. If so, it would explain her aversion to guns.

  “As you’ve probably guessed, I was a veterinarian. I earned my DVM at Auburn—”

  “Auburn? Were you a student when Cathleen Hodges went there?”

  She shook her head. “Although she and I are about the same age, she entered veterinary school later. I told you the truth about meeting her when she treated Ian’s cat.”

  “You were saying you were at loose ends?”

  “Yes. My brother encouraged me to start my own practice. I love horses, but they’re difficult for the owners to trailer in for treatment. I saw a market niche in the Lexington area I could fill and vóila! Horse Calls was born.”

  “Horse Calls. Like a doctor who makes house calls?”

  “Exactly.” For the first time since she’d begun her confession, she had enthusiasm in her voice. Her face glowed, as if she were reliving the excitement of starting her own practice. “I bought a van-type motor home, and Sally fixed it up for me. She made sure it was mechanically sound and modified it for storing my medicines and equipment. Plus, it had a bed over the cab, where I could sleep.”

  “You slept in it, too?”

  She shrugged. “I lived in it. It kept down expenses. Plus, sometimes I needed to stay over to watch a sick horse or to deliver a foal. The owners of the horse farms gave me a place to plug in and get water. I dumped my holding tanks at a campground near Lexington where I sometimes stayed.”

  “Did you do well with the practice?”

  She gave him a brief smile. “Better than I ever imagined. After only four months I had all the patients I could handle. I lived like a gypsy and got to be around horses. Life was good.”

  “Sounds lonely.”

  She snorted. “You don’t know what lonely is until you enter the Witness Security Program.”

  A lot of the pieces of the puzzle matched up. Elizabeth’s penchant for nondescript clothes, her lack of roots and attachments. Her reluctance to date. “Tell me what happened seventeen or eighteen months ago.”

  She clenched her hands in her lap and stared at them. “That’s when the nightmare began. I was called to Versailles Downs after a race to treat an injured filly. She’d been the favorite, but something went wrong during the last stretch. I didn’t watch the race, so I’m not sure, but she damaged her tendons in one leg.”

  “Was this at night?”

  “Yes, after the last race. Anyway, I guess no one could see me in the stall where I worked with her. I overheard voices and peeked out—curiosity killed the cat, you know.” She gave a humorless laugh.

  “Did you recognize the people you overheard?”

  “Doctor Frank Sullivan, a well respected physician in Lexington, was with a rough-looking goon I’d never seen. They were on either side of Ollie Breckinridge—”

  “The Kentucky Derby-winning jockey who was murdered.” Wil nodded, recalling the news story. “I remember.”

  “I gathered from their argument that he was supposed to lose a race he’d
won. Ollie claimed he couldn’t hold back his horse without being obvious, probably something to do with the injury I was treating. Sullivan said he’d cost them more money than his life was worth. Then while the goon held Ollie, Sullivan injected him with something fatal.”

  “You were the witness? Oh, shit!”

  “Yes, ‘oh, shit’ sums it up. I didn’t realize you were familiar with the case.”

  “I don’t remember the details, but wasn’t Sullivan charged with racketeering in a huge, multi-state illegal gambling ring?”

  “Yes. I’ll have to testify against him in the murder trial, if I can stay alive. He’s rumored to have hired a contract killer to make sure I don’t. Or to make me pay later if I do.”

  “So why didn’t you tell me this in the first place? I’m law enforcement—”

  “I was instructed not to inform anyone, even you. Don’t tell me you think all law enforcement is above Sullivan’s reach.”

  “So why tell me now?”

  “Because I’m afraid. Not for me, but for my friends. What if Cathleen and now Kris were mistaken for Sofia Desalvo?”

  “Why would they—”

  “Because.” Angry red blotches mottled her face, and tears glistened in her eyes. “Sofia Desalvo was a thin, brown-eyed brunette who usually wore her hair in a single long braid. She majored in English, then in veterinary science. First a vet, now an English teacher—”

  “Jesus.” Her distress must have been contagious, because anxiety grabbed his gut. “But how did you become—”

  “Fat and dowdy?”

  “That’s not what I was going to say.”

  She plowed on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Deliberate gluttony, along with nerd glasses and clothes at odds with what I wore in my former life. I lost the long hair and lightened it. They even took away my engraved locket and anything else that might betray me. I’m afraid to do any of the things I would’ve done before entering WitSec.”

  “Such as?”

  “I love horseback riding and hiking. And dancing. Not only are those Sofia Desalvo’s pastimes, they’re physically active and could make me lose weight.”

  She patted her abdomen, which by her standards might seem fat. All he saw was a womanly figure—an attractive, womanly figure. “How’d you land the job at the college?”

  “I first relocated to Athens and studied for my masters in an accelerated program at the University of Georgia. Then my handler sent me here. He arranged the job. I didn’t ask how.”

  Wil knew how—with a sizeable donation to the college —but he kept quiet.

  “As long as I keep my end of the bargain, the government provides me with an identity, a job, and a little bit of cash to start over. Nothing extravagant, and nothing I can’t leave in a moment’s notice.”

  His respect for her escalated. Many witnesses under protection couldn’t live by the rules. Sooner or later, they made a phone call or revisited an old haunt—something that betrayed their identity. Yet she’d shown amazing self-discipline. “Hell of a way to live,” he said.

  “Well, ‘live’ is the operative word. I don’t want to die, Wilson, but I don’t want others to die because of me.”

  Wil didn’t, either, but a professional hit man didn’t fit Ronda Lou’s profile. Now Elizabeth believed she’d brought murder to her friends. “Ah, darlin’, don’t do this to yourself.”

  Her shoulders relaxed a fraction, and her fisted hands opened. “I thought you’d be angry with me.”

  “Angry? Why?”

  “Why? I lied to you—”

  “You followed instructions necessary to keep you alive.”

  She gave her head a slow shake. “I withheld information that may help your investigation into Cathleen’s murder.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “You don’t know me—not the real me. Everything I’ve done since entering the program has been like playing a role in one of those student theater plays. I’m acting a part but with little training.”

  “Lots of people play roles. The difference is you know you’re pretending.”

  She stared at him for a moment. “Gee, that’s deep.”

  Too philosophical for a sheriff in a small rural county? “I’m not a total hick, Elizabeth.”

  “See, that isn’t my name and yet we have to use it.”

  “I can live with that. And you can, too.”

  “And I don’t think you’re a hick. In fact, you’re probably the first man I’ve trusted in a very long time.”

  Her admission reached deep within him and squeezed his heart. How he’d hoped she would open up to him, and now she had. “That means a lot to me to have your trust. Because I intend to keep you safe.”

  He meant every word. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing Elizabeth, not that he’d tell her. Not yet. She might be spooked into running for sure if she knew he’d fallen in love with her.

  Elizabeth looked into his green eyes and shivered, although the heat from his gaze should’ve melted her like a Florida snow. She’d expected his wrath, not his support. No, more than support, he regarded her with affection … strong affection. How could he?

  She broke eye contact. “I’m not asking you to keep me safe—just keep my secret. That’s a lot to ask of a county sheriff, but I’m asking.”

  “I keep my promises.”

  Like she hadn’t heard that before. Her cynicism after Brendan’s treachery had lost some of its muscle, however, and she chose to believe Wilson. “Thank you.”

  “Now that I know what’s going on, I can help you. I know you don’t like guns, but do you—”

  “No! Don’t ask me to keep a gun.” She shivered again, this time from the image of her father slumped over his desk with a bullet in the brain. Not that she’d seen it. The police had spared her and her family that scene, thank God. But she’d pictured it over and over in her mind until it had become a memory as real as if she had witnessed it. “I can’t.”

  “I can teach you how to use one safely—”

  “No.”

  He recoiled at her outburst. “All right. Then let’s talk about a security system for your house.”

  “Yes, I can do that. Whatever you think. Just … no guns, please.”

  “Someday you’re gonna have to tell me what happened to make you so terrified of firearms.” He stood abruptly and stalked to the front window. “We need sensors on all the windows. And doors. I know a good security guy, a former Columbia County SWAT team member.”

  Thankfully, he’d dropped the subject of guns. “That’d be great. I wouldn’t know who to call.”

  He nodded. “I’ll handle it. Meanwhile, there are other self-defense measures we can discuss.”

  “You mean like carrying my car keys like a weapon when I walk to my car, and staying aware of my surroundings?” Her handler had drilled her on personal safety and sensible behavior.

  “For starters. There are several moves I can show you—”

  “Like Sandra Bullock demonstrated on Benjamin Bratt in Miss Congeniality?”

  Wilson shrugged. “Haven’t seen that one. Do you have it?”

  “Yes, I do.” She refrained from mentioning Benjamin Bratt a second time or offering the accompanying eye-batting. “We could watch it tonight.”

  She braced herself for a stern look and a rebuke. After all, they were discussing how to safeguard her life. But Wilson grinned and wiggled his eyebrows, saying, “Does the movie come with popcorn?”

  She returned his smile. “Buttered.”

  “Then I think in the interest of learning self-defense moves, we should pop in that DVD.” He turned toward her stack of DVDs. “May I?”

  He asked permission. She liked that he didn’t take over like other men—especially Brendan, her evil ex. “Be my guest. It’s near the bottom of the stack. I haven’t watched it for a while.”

  While Wilson searched for Miss Congeniality, Elizabeth headed for the kitchen. After three large pieces of a supreme pizza, she wasn�
�t sure she had room in her stomach for anything else. But sharing a bowl of buttered popcorn with Wilson appealed far more than she expected. The closer she grew to him, the more she’d suffer when WitSec yanked her from Drake Springs to relocate, but that thought did little to deter her growing affection for him.

  Although danger remained a constant in her life, the burden on her shoulders seemed lighter tonight. Unloading hadn’t lifted her spirits as much as Wilson’s reaction had. Instead of anger, he’d given her support. Under normal circumstances, she’d have him in her bed before the movie ended. Normal. Now, there was a concept.

  She stopped her pity party in its tracks and focused on making popcorn. Since she owned very little cookware, she decided to use the microwave variety of popcorn. Pulling apart the plastic wrapper on the bag, she didn’t hear Wilson’s approach behind her. But his woodsy cologne announced his presence.

  “Need help?” He crowded her without a touch. His body heat pressed into her back and enveloped her, filling her with a deep, needy longing.

  She swallowed. “Not with the popcorn.”

  His hands settled on her shoulders, and his lips brushed her ear. “Darlin’.”

  The warmth of his breath heated the delicate skin behind her ear. She leaned back, sinking into the seductive caress. He slid his hands down her arms, then drew her against him. She’d missed physical contact with a man, but more than that she’d missed having a confidant. Now that she’d crossed the line and revealed her secret to Wilson, she allowed herself to take pleasure in his embrace. Closing her eyes, she sighed.

  Wilson must have sensed her acquiescence, because he nuzzled her neck. Then he kissed a trail along her throat and jaw until his lips found her mouth. Turning her body to face his, he pushed her against the counter’s edge, his mouth hungrily kissing her. His tongue sought entrance and she opened to him, angling her face to allow him total access. She gave; he took. Then she assumed the role of aggressor, her hands holding either side of his face while her tongue and lips touched and tasted. His hands massaged their way up either side of her body until they found her breasts. With his thumb, he rubbed a tantalizing circle around her nipple. Sweet, hot desire shot through her, and she moaned.