by Susan Finlay
“Brad was close to retirement. He wasn’t really doing his job anymore because he didn’t care. He was getting sloppy and lazy. That’s what I meant about him not following rules. As a marshal you have to be on the ball, twenty-four seven. You have to see the bigger picture and analyze it, then take appropriate action. You can’t sit on your butt and play phone tag with your charges.”
Claire nodded, then asked, “Who shot Jose?”
“The hit man. Jose just got in the way. He had to shoot Jose because he needed to kill you, Claire, or he wouldn’t get paid.”
Claire gasped and Steve put his arms around her. She leaned into him and let him pull her closer.
“What about Callum?” Steve asked. “Did he take Marcus, or was that a trick?”
“We didn’t expect Callum to show up. But our watcher first spotted him near the high school and followed him to the preschool. He waited outside. When Callum came out with the child, he grabbed Callum and took him in.”
“Where’s my son?”
“We have him. He’s fine. He’s outside in one of the vans.”
Leo stopped and called someone on his phone. Minutes later a woman brought Marcus to the house.
Marcus rushed into Claire’s arms. Claire looked up at Leo. “Why did Callum take him?”
“Seems he’d been looking for you for a while. Claims he missed his son. Then he heard about the hit man. He said he was trying to protect his son.”
When Claire released Marcus, he ran into Steve’s arms. Steve held him tightly and stroked his hair.
“We have a vehicle en route to pick up you and your son. You know the drill. You can get your purse and coats. We’re moving you to a secure location until we have permanent arrangements.”
“But I’m not ready. I have work to do at the school.”
“They’ll have to manage without you.”
“What about my husband?”
“I don’t know, since we didn’t even know about him until now.” Leo looked at Steve, and said, “We need to talk about whether you’re going into the program, or whether you’re going to end the marriage. You have a lot of things to consider.”
“I know,” Steve said. “Claire and I have already discussed it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
RON AND KIM stood next to the registration desk in the admin office and re-read the note Claire had sent them:
‘I’m sorry I had to leave without saying goodbye in person. Maybe someday I will be able to explain why to you. I’m going to miss you, all of you at Midland. I’m so glad to hear that you’ve been appointed principal, Ron. You’re going to be great in that position. Keep going with the plans we started and don’t ever give up. Midland is going to be a great school. Good luck.’ CJ.
“I still can’t believe she’s gone,” Kim said.
Ron shook his head.
“Back when she first started I wouldn’t have believed I would say this, but I’m really sad she’s gone. You know, she did tell me once that she doesn’t stay long in one place. I thought she was saying it to placate me. I guess she was telling the truth.”
“I’m going to miss her, too. The whole school will.”
CLAIRE STOOD IN the middle of the living room in their new house and tried to picture the room with the furniture they’d purchased at the Home Furniture store, being delivered this afternoon.
Steve finished dressing for work and joined Claire in the living room. They’d all slept on air mattresses the last few nights.
“Well, I guess I’m ready to head over to the university. Wish me luck.”
She kissed him, and said, “You’ll be great. I can easily picture you speaking in front of a packed lecture hall. Are you sure you’re all right with this?”
“I’m actually excited, Claire. I mean, Amanda. Wow, it’s really going to be tough getting used to new names.”
“It always is. You’ll get used to it, Joe.”
He laughed. “I always liked that name. I’m glad they gave us an easy last name. Sinclair is pretty good.”
“It is.”
Joe said, “How is Eric dealing with the name changes? See, I’m getting better. I remembered.”
“I worry about him. He usually adjusts quickly, although now that he’s older I think he’s going to have a harder time. We practiced it all day yesterday before he started his new preschool this morning.”
“He’ll be fine. You worry too much.”
“I know, but I can’t help it. You know what worries me the most? What if the syndicate finds us again?”
“Then we’ll proceed with our backup plan, okay?” He pulled Amanda close and kissed her.
“You sure you don’t regret staying with me and entering the program? You don’t regret leaving your job?”
“Of course I will miss family and friends. That’s the toughest part. But I would have missed you and Marcus more. Besides, I don’t mind changing jobs. I’m getting too old to deal with the pressures and stress of the Superintendent’s job. I’d much rather have decent hours and time for my family.” He paused, and studied her face. “Remember, we’ll survive because we have each other and we have a plan.”
She looked into his eyes and smiled. He hugged her and kissed her again, then left for work. She stood by the window, with the curtains pulled back slightly, and watched him back out of the driveway. He was right. They had already discussed the future and came up with their own plan—Plan B, as they called it—because neither of them wanted to continue with witness protection if they were attacked again. Trying to get fake identification on their own and traveling to Europe or some other foreign locale wouldn’t be easy, especially now that they were expecting a baby. She hoped they wouldn’t have to resort to that plan. But they would do whatever was necessary to protect their family.
When Joe was out of sight, Amanda sat down on a folding chair in front of the desk they had bought and assembled the day before. She opened up her new laptop computer and turned it on. While she waited for it to boot up, she thought back on the two months they’d recently spent living in WITSEC headquarters while Steve—now Joe—was being processed into the program, and then the transfer a week ago here to Bloomington.
Four days ago, she and Joe had both met with the local university’s Board of Regents. Although their new handler and his boss had helped with the introductions and interviews, Joe had insisted they obtain jobs on their own merit and with the potential employers knowing their situation and true backgrounds.
Yesterday, Joe was offered a full-time job as a Professor of Education. Amanda was also to be affiliated with the university, but as an adjunct visiting professor. She would teach part-time for now, giving her time to continue her research which she’d begun while at Weymouth. If everything went well, she would publish under a pen name.
Late in the afternoon, Amanda heard the rumble of a truck outside. She peeked out the window at the furniture store delivery truck. After a few minutes, two men got out and walked to her front door. She held her breath as she braced herself to face the strangers.
“We have some furniture to deliver to a Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair.”
“Yes, we’ve been expecting you.”
After they unloaded everything and assembled the beds, one of the men brought a clip board over to her.
“I just need your signature here to confirm your receipt of your furniture.”
“Sure.” She signed her new name and handed the clip board and pen back to the delivery man.”
“Are you new to town, mam?”
“Yes, we are.”
He nodded and said, “Welcome to Bloomington.”
After they left, she walked around the living room, running her hand over the seat of the tan leather sofa, then looked up at the lovely painting of Pike’s Peak hanging on the wall above it. The same tan color was reflected in the painting, along with grass-green and sky-blue, reminding her of her first date with her husband, when he’d told her about the mountain and the cog-rail tr
ain. She smiled, sat down on the sofa, and closed her eyes. Everything was going to be okay.
The sound of a rumbling truck out in front of the house again made her open her eyes. Then the doorbell rang again.
They must have forgotten something. Ah, they didn’t give me a copy of the delivery receipt. That must be it!
She opened the door and stared in shock at the barrel of a gun. Oh God! What do I do? Her heart pounded so hard she could barely think straight. She tried to slam the door closed, but the man was standing in the doorway. The door hit him hard, knocking the gun out of his hand and he groaned in pain.
Not waiting around, she turned and ran toward the kitchen in the rear of the house, hoping to reach the back door before he caught up to her. Her bare feet tore across the living room’s wooden floor and onto the kitchen’s ceramic tile. As her hand reached out for the doorknob, she thought—yes, I’m going to make it—and then she felt something pierce her in the back as she flew forward and hit the door and her feet gave out from under her. As the doorknob faded from view, and an intense pain shot through her, she rebounded back onto the hard tile, her last thought being—Guess I’m not going to make it— and then everything went black.
STEVE—NOW JOE—sat at his wife’s bedside, holding her hand and hearing the nearby machines make their periodic beeping sounds, monitoring and apparently providing life support to his damaged wife. He’d driven like a madman to the hospital the moment he’d gotten the call from the police.
The air smelled of antiseptic, reminding him briefly of years ago when his grandmother had lain in a hospital bed hooked up to similar machines, tubing in her nostrils and wires going everywhere, scaring the whole family. He rubbed his eyes and tried to hold back tears. Amanda’s a fighter. She’ll pull through. He couldn’t allow himself to think otherwise. The numbers on the machine seemed to look okay to his untrained eyes. His eyes followed the wires back from the machines down to Amanda. She looked almost peaceful until one noticed her sallow features, the grey around her sunken eyes and her shallow breathing. The wires attached to her hands momentarily brought to mind a puppet. God, how many times had she told him that she felt like a puppet because her life was not hers to control?
Trying to push that thought from his mind, he turned his attention to the nurse, who was standing at the foot of the bed, writing something on a clipboard. The doctor had already told him that the surgery had been successful, not causing any major internal damage. But now it was more the head trauma they believed she had suffered from impacting the door and then the tile floor after being shot, that was the problem. “Is she going to be all right?” Joe asked. “Has the doctor given you any news?”
She looked up. “The next twenty-fours will tell us more. We’re waiting for the swelling to subside.” She scribbled something else on the chart, then looked back at him. “You know, she may be able to hear you. Stay with her and talk to her. Maybe she’ll respond. Does she have a strong will to survive?”
He glanced at Amanda, squeezing her hand. “Yes, she does.”
AMANDA SMILED AS Joe helped her ease into the front passenger seat of their car, grateful for his gentleness with her, both this afternoon and during her two week hospital stay. Several nurses, over the past week since she’d awakened from the coma, had nothing but praise for her husband, how he’d sat beside her every day, holding her hand, talking to her, and reading to both her and their son.
He rushed around to the driver’s side and entered.
“Dad packed our stuff and said we’re going on a trip,” Marcus—now Eric—said from the backseat as they drove away from the hospital.
“That’s right, sweetie.” She glanced sideways at Joe and gave him a half-smile, knowing they were launching Plan B, for better or for worse.