Sanctuary Lost WITSEC Town Series Book 1

by Lisa Phillips

  The marshal to the right side of the door cracked a smile.

  The U.S. attorney’s face lost whatever pleasantness he’d tried to bring with him. “It’s a shame you won’t be going back home.”

  The marshal left of the door reached behind his back and drew out a pair of handcuffs.

  Here it was: the end.

  “Deputy Marshal John Mason seems to feel you should be cleared of the charges. But the fact remains your WITSEC contract, the Memorandum of Understanding you signed, clearly states murder revokes all concessions you’ve been given. For you to kill someone violates the contract and voids the immunity agreement offered to you by my office. Even if the director of the marshals also wants to dismiss the charges. As though I’m going to be swayed by the simple fact he and the sheriff in charge of the case are brothers. Their opinion of the situation is one thing. But it doesn’t excuse the fact a law enforcement officer is dead.”

  His statement made her wonder if he knew anything about Sanctuary at all.

  He looked at her for a long moment. “Despite your statement, self-defense does not excuse you in this instance.”

  Andra swallowed. “I—”

  “These marshals will remain here.” He shut the lid of his laptop and stood. “You will be issued a new identity and go to trial for the crimes you committed prior to being accepted into witness protection.”

  He should have added, “Have a nice life” but he didn’t. Which was a shame, since he was essentially giving her the kiss of death. Life in prison was what she had to look forward to, if not the death penalty. It was a good thing John wasn’t here, especially since he would try to stick up for her. The last thing she wanted was to see his face when she was taken away.

  Someone’s cell rang. The marshal on the right of the door pulled out his phone and looked at the screen. He ducked out the door and shut it behind him.

  The other marshal smiled, more of a sneer than anything that could be construed as amusement.

  The U.S. attorney wrapped his coat over his arm and picked up his briefcase in which he’d stowed his laptop. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Caleri.”

  The marshal snorted.

  Despite what had happened, Andra managed to smile. “I’m sure the pleasure was all yours.”

  He gave her his back and walked out.

  The marshal clipped one bracelet of the handcuffs to the bed rail and attached the other to Andra’s wrist, just below the hospital ID bracelet.

  He shut the door and Andra closed her eyes. She’d told the truth, and in doing so had incriminated herself. In this case, the truth wasn’t going to set her free. The real truth—Jesus—had already done that. Still, in this life Andra would only know incarceration.

  The U.S. attorney had chosen not to take Grant and John’s word for it and release her to return to Sanctuary. She’d had it good and been blessed with a facsimile of freedom for ten years. Now it was time to go back to the real world. Mercy had been granted to her, liberty from the price of her sin. But the crimes she’d committed still had to be paid for.

  Andra was going to have to live the rest of her life knowing the taste of what could have been. The dream of a family with John and Pat, and spending time with Nadia and Hal, was gone now. And that taste was going to have to sustain her in the desert of the rest of her natural life.

  **

  John strode into the hospital lobby with Grant just after eight in the evening.

  One of the marshals on Andra’s detail was waiting. When John approached, the guy stuck out his hand. “Mason.”

  John nodded, waiting while the man shook hands with Grant.

  “Director.”

  But John didn’t want to wait through more pleasantries, so he cut to the chase. “What happened?”

  The marshal rubbed the side of his head, wincing in sympathy at John’s injuries. “She’s cuffed, in protective custody pending trial. He isn’t backing down even though it was self-defense.”

  “How is she?”

  “Quiet.”

  John nodded. He didn’t expect much besides stoic acceptance of her fate. But that wasn’t going to stop him from doing everything he could. “I need to speak with Ms. Caleri.”

  The marshal nodded. John moved to follow him down the hall, but Grant grabbed his arm. His brother’s face was hard. “I have a couple of calls to make.”

  As they walked to her room, John tried not to think about what she was going to say. He said a prayer that she would actually admit she felt the same way he did, that she would fight for her own life for once.

  The marshal on the door looked John up and down. “Nice of you to join us.”

  The one who’d met John in the lobby sighed. “Sanders.”

  He’d met them both before on different jobs that never required him to make friends with them.

  Sanders motioned to the door he was guarding. “You need something, Mr. Director’s brother?”

  “Yeah. A minute with Ms. Caleri.”

  John didn’t know what they knew past Andra’s basic details. Probably nothing about Sanctuary or the fact John Mason was now both a small town sheriff and a U.S. marshal. Neither would be allowed to write up what had happened in any report, and the likelihood was he wasn’t going to see either of them beyond this.

  He turned to the marshal beside him. “It was good to see you, man.”

  He grinned. “You too, Mason. Take care.”

  John let himself in the room. Andra’s face didn’t look much better than the last time he saw her, though she had color in her cheeks. Her eyelashes were fanned out on her cheeks, dark against her pale skin.

  He took her hand, cradling her fingers in his. “I should just wheel you out of here right now. Have Grant create a diversion. Bust you out of the hospital and get someone to fly us back to Sanctuary.” He smiled to her sleeping form. “I could do it. I’m getting pretty good at rushing around on airplanes. And no one would be allowed to come to Sanctuary and look for us. Grant wouldn’t give them the clearance.”

  She sucked in a breath and John watched her push it out through the tube in her nose. He closed his eyes and thanked God she was still alive. Andra had a long way to go before she would be up and running again, but she had time enough to get there.

  John pulled up a chair and sat with his forearms on his knees and his fingers linked. He wanted her to wake up. He wanted her to cry and say she didn’t want to go to jail, that she needed his help to escape her fate. They’d have to pick up Pat on the way, but John had absolutely no problem running with her.

  He’d miss the rest of his family, but they could make a new life together. A home and babies of their own. Little girls with Andra’s dark hair and eyes, pleading with him to watch them twirl and dance—girls who would have Pat as their big brother. His son would make a great big brother.

  Now he just had to convince Andra how good it could be.

  **

  U.S. Attorney Thomas Rutherford the third set his belongings down on the hotel room desk and slumped into the chair. He’d never liked plane flights and today’s tiny prop combined with high winds had left his stomach unsettled all through the interview.

  Tomorrow he was going to have to take the same journey home.

  He flipped open his laptop and stared at the statement. Although perfectly reasonable, his decision had left him uncomfortable in an area inside of him that he rarely bothered with. Long ago he’d have let emotion sway his decision. That was then.

  His life wasn’t going to follow the course he’d mapped out, if he didn’t endeavor to lead it that way himself.

  His phone rang.

  Thomas nearly dismissed the blocked number, but tonight he was in the mood to give a telemarketer a few choice words. “What do you want?”

  “Thomas Rutherford, U.S. Attorney?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please hold for the President.”

  **

  Andra shut her eyes and tried to think of what to say. “Tired.”
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  “You’re right, I’m sorry.” He looked so disappointed. “You’re not well enough for this.”

  “John.”

  He turned back, already twisting the door handle. “What?”

  “Sit down, John.”

  His eyes sparked with something dangerously like hope and he settled back into the chair. Andra tried to untangle her thoughts long enough to figure out what she wanted to say.

  “You didn’t leave because you wanted to.” She spoke slowly, trying to match her words with the speed her thoughts were able to generate them. The hospital room was dark, except for the light above the tiny sink in the corner. “Pat was in danger and you had to go save him. So you sent your mother to sit with me.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “She seems nice.”

  John laughed. “She likes to feel needed and we like having her around so we try to include her when something is happening.”

  Andra blinked her nod. Her eyes drifted closed and she sighed.

  “Does it hurt?”

  She shrugged by crinkling her nose. “Fuzzy. Tired.”

  “Sorry.”

  She reached out her hand, her eyes still closed; her thoughts like wisps of smoke. “Don’t go.”

  “Honey, I need you to speak English. I only know a couple of cuss words in Spanish, and how to ask where the bathroom is.” John’s warm fingers interlaced with hers.

  Andra wanted to laugh with him, but she had to concentrate real hard. “Don’t go.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  His fingers twitched. She heard him shift and then felt his breath on her face. His lips touched her forehead, lingering. “John.”

  She heard him chuckle a slight expelling of breath. “I like the way that sounds. I’d like to hear more.” He paused. “You’re out of it on whatever medication they gave you and half asleep, but this might be my only opportunity to get an honest answer out of you so I’m going to say it anyway.”

  She was still smiling. “—kay.”

  John laughed again. “Andra, do you want to come back to Sanctuary with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want to go out to dinner with me?”

  Dinner? Andra felt her eyebrows draw together. How about get married and give Pat some little brothers who adored him and had the same coloring, John’s coloring.

  “No?”

  Andra opened her eyes. The look on his face wasn’t good, but she still shook her head. The promise of dinner wasn’t going to cut it. “I’m going to prison.”

  “What if you don’t?”

  “Then no, I don’t want dinner.” She took a breath. “I want…the rest of…all of it.”

  He cracked a smile. “Is that supposed to make sense?”

  “¿Quieres casarte conmigo?”

  “What—”

  She had to stop and think it through, so he would know what she was saying. She wanted him and she wanted the question. The one said on one knee. “Marriage. I want to get married. I want Pat.”

  “What about kids…our own baby?”

  She didn’t hesitate. She wanted that more than anything. “Yes.”

  His smile got wider. “What if our house had a room for Aaron?”

  “Good.”

  He laughed.

  It was a nice idea, but was it going to be possible?

  “No, don’t do that.” He shook his head. “I can see it on your face. Don’t think about it. I only want you to worry about getting better. The rest of it I’ll figure out.” He scratched the side of his head. “Somehow.”

  Andra shut her eyes and took a long breath. “Te amo.”

  **

  John watched the clock tick around. He watched the rise and fall of Andra’s breathing. His “minute” with her had turned into hours as he sat waiting for her to wake up and remember their conversation. He’d borrowed a smart phone and completely mangled the spelling, but the internet had told him what she said. Quieres casarte conmigo.

  Marry me.

  They’d both made a mess of their first marriages. There was no guarantee things would be perfect this time. But the promise of what they had swelled in him until he didn’t even care about statistics and rationality. He was in love with her and he wanted to build a life with her in Sanctuary while he worked as the sheriff and Andra did whatever she wanted to do that made her happy.

  He sat back and rested his arms on the chair. The last week felt more like a year so he had no problem talking to Andra about marriage. It didn’t mean they had to get married tomorrow. These things took time to plan, but at least they’d be heading in that direction.

  The door cracked open and Grant walked toward him.

  John stood up from the chair and took the paper his brother handed over before he ducked back outside.

  John unfolded it a faxed paper from the president. Pardoned of all crimes.

  He scanned the printed text and sank back onto the chair.

  However, since the witness has resided in the WITSEC community of Sanctuary, it is the decision of this Office that she be allowed to return to her home instead of being released from the program. If she chooses to be released from the witness protection program, Ms. Caleri will be required to sign a new agreement prohibiting her from returning.

  She needed to choose: return to Sanctuary or leave forever.

  John had chased her halfway across Idaho, determined to get her free of Palmer, Thanes and the murder charges. He’d done that. Pat was safe, Elma had confessed. Palmer and Thanes were both dead. John’s threat had been eliminated, too. It was up to Andra now if she wanted to come back to Sanctuary when she was released from the hospital. Likely that day would be weeks from now when she could walk under her own strength. When her ribs were healed and the chance of infection or any other lingering complications had passed. He’d gone over it with the doctor while she slept, but when did they ever give you a definitive answer?

  John was a package deal, a built-in family and a life in Sanctuary that meant she’d never be able to visit her child. Not to mention more extended family than she’d probably know what to do with, given how she reacted to his mother. John allowed himself a small smile. Life would never be dull, and there could be a considerable amount of kick-back from the town now they knew her past.

  Could he convince them all she was in the clear, given it was down to Elma Pepper and Deputy Palmer? John would have to earn their trust, to show them all that life could be good. There was a drug problem and Bolton had mentioned someone making moonshine. He didn’t think the sheriff’s job would be dull, given the amount of trouble people who got stir-crazy could think up.

  John stepped to the side of the bed. He pushed back a strand of her hair and let his fingertips linger on her face. When she woke up, she’d have to decide. And that was all her. In the meantime there was plenty he could do—especially if he was going to make his and Pat’s living space actually livable. Nate and Ben were still in Sanctuary and there were plenty of other guys who could lend a hand. Perhaps the town would warm up to John and Andra if they saw him building a permanent life there. He should rebuild her cabin, too. See if any of that was salvageable.

  He held her cheek in his hand, traced the bruise around her swollen eye with his thumb and said the other words he’d looked up.

  “Te amo también.”

  Epilogue

  Four weeks later

  John stood over the body of Harriet Fenton. Her living room was trashed and an end table had been knocked over. The lamp now lay in a mess of broken glass. Harriet was stretched out on the couch haphazardly as though she fell and landed that way.

  John picked up the needle and deposited it in its evidence container.

  “Hey.”

  Bolton stood in the doorway, his face resigned like this was a scene he’d witnessed many times.

  “Hey.” John’s eyes were hot and gritty, his jaw rough since he hadn’t bothered to shave in days. He’d discarded the Sheriff’s uniform almost
a month before in favor of jeans and a button down shirt with his marshal’s star clipped to his belt.

  When his vision tunneled, he stepped back and looked again at the room at large.

  “Overdose?”

  John worked his jaw back and forth. “Likely the oxycodone that went missing from the medical center yesterday morning. We won’t know until the autopsy for sure.”

  “You’re thinking suicide?”

  “Disgraced, marriage disintegrating. Accusing Andra of murder and then finding out it was Mrs. Pepper.” John sighed. “Suicide would be my guess.”

  “How is Doctor Fenton?”

  “I told him there was nothing he could do to help. He went back to work.”

  Bolton made a noise, deep in his throat. “Right.”

  John’s radio buzzed the noise that preceded Pat’s voice, “Dad!” John pulled it from his belt. “Dad, are you there!”

  John smiled and pressed the button. “Yeah, Pat. I’m here.”

  “Dad a helicopter is coming, just like Uncle Grant said.”

  John’s stomach looped itself into a knot and he glanced at Bolton who tilted his head to the side, indicating John should go. John hit the button again. “I’ll pick you up on the way.”

  He raced out to his Jeep and sped down Main Street, pulling up outside the sheriff’s office. Pat ran out, followed by Aaron. The young man had recovered from the assault and was back to his normal self—although now considerably happier since he’d moved into a spare room at John’s house.

  John set off toward the ranch.

  His son’s face was bright, the same way it had been every time he walked back from the library after Skyping Andra over the last month, while she recovered in the hospital and then at John’s mom’s house under marshal guard.

  John had spoken to her over the phone a couple of times but she’d been cautious with her words and he’d been scared to ask what she decided.

  Still, he’d gone ahead with the remodel of the apartment. The neighbors hadn’t been using their upstairs space, so he’d had Grant sign it over to him and immediately knocked down the wall between, making the living room and kitchen area twice the size.