She was wakened from the dream in the middle of the night when the guy next door came home. His truck was loud and unfamiliar.
She got up and, from behind the window curtain, watched him park the truck, tuck the keys above the visor, and get out. Jeez. Did people really still do that? True, they weren’t in the big city, and it wasn’t like he had anything to worry about to begin with—no one would want to steal that heap of junk. Lights came on next door, and she tried to remember what if felt like being happy to be home. Thoughts of her many homes over the years filled her mind as she wandered back to bed and drifted into a restless sleep.
Wendy knocked on the door to wake her up the next morning. It was probably the fifth day she’d been here, but Sam was losing track. After getting ready, she went to the kitchen for breakfast. Wendy actually smiled at her when she sat down at the table. Somehow the deputy being fake-friendly was worse than when she was being a bitch.
Wendy offered another smile. “How are you doing?”
“Fine.”
Sam’s inner alarm bells went off. They were not friends, nor was Wendy a chitchatty kind of person. Something was off.
“Would you like to play some video games?” Deputy Benson asked when they finished up the dishes.
He’d never asked her to play before. What was going on?
But her suspicions proved unfounded. The worst thing that happened was that she got creamed at most of the games. Clearly, Benson and Wendy spent a lot of time babysitting and playing video games.
After a few hours at the television, they made sandwiches for lunch. Deputy Benson left for a while in the afternoon. At dinnertime, they asked her what she wanted to order.
They’d pretty much exhausted all of the takeout places in town. “How about Thai again?”
It felt like a last meal as they sat around the table eating. Benson grumbled a few times about his food, and Wendy was called away to take a phone call. Sam pretended to need another napkin so she could go into the kitchen to listen in.
She paused at the door.
“…tomorrow night, then. I’ll be glad to get this over with—” Wendy stopped talking abruptly when Sam walked in.
Things seemed normal enough for the rest of the evening, but her Spidey sense was definitely tingling, so she paid attention to every detail.
When Wendy unlocked her phone to text someone, Sam noted the four fours. Very secure.
She was exhausted from stress when Deputy Benson walked her back to her room for the night.
Something he’d never done before.
“Good night,” he said, not looking her in the eye.
Just before she turned away, he glanced at her with pity. Like he knew she wouldn’t be waking up in the morning.
That was what did it.
Her stomach twisted and she broke out in a cold sweat. Her instincts were sounding all her inner alarms.
When he was gone, she closed the door stood with her ear against it for a few minutes, listening.
Nothing.
What were they doing?
Knowing she wouldn’t be able to sleep, she came up with an excuse to go back out to the living room. Wendy sat right up on the sofa when she came in. Benson wasn’t there.
“I was wondering if you might be able to go to the bookstore again. I finished the last—” Wendy’s phone interrupted her.
Before Wendy snatched it up from the side table, Sam was able to see the name on the tiny display.
Garrett.
Wendy glared at the phone and tossed it back down without answering. “Sure. I can do that tomorrow. You’d better get some sleep now.” She flashed that fake smile again, then glanced at the reality program on the television.
With Wendy’s focus distracted, Sam lifted the cellphone from the table and hurried back to her room.
She muted the phone so if it rang it wouldn’t give her away, and tucked it under her pillow. What would happen if Wendy looked for the phone? What would she say?
It was only an hour later when Sam heard someone at her door. Slowly, the knob turned, then stopped. Thank God I locked it.
Then, to her horror, she heard the quiet scrape of a key in the lock. Of course they have a spare. Her heartbeat went into hyperspace when the door slowly opened. Judging by the light footsteps, it was Wendy who cautiously crept into the room.
Sam stayed very still and did her best to keep her breathing normal. It was all she could do to let Wendy walk up to her while her eyes were closed. Every instinct told her to open her eyes so she would be ready for an attack. But she somehow resisted the impulse, and soon she heard the footsteps retreating and the door close.
A second later, Sam was out of bed with her ear to the door again. She listened intently, hearing heavy footfalls. Deputy Benson was back, then, and from the sound of it, he was pacing.
“I’m taking those Zara jeans,” Wendy said with a laugh as she sat down on the squeaky sofa.
“Seriously? That’s kind of creepy.”
“Why? They’re like, seventy-dollar jeans. No sense they go to waste.”
“I still think this whole thing is a big mistake.”
“She can put Howe in jail,” Wendy said, her voice impassive.
“I know that,” he said firmly. At least he didn’t seem to be happy about whatever they were planning that would leave her new jeans up for grabs.
Sam’s pulse was thundering so loud she almost couldn’t hear the conversation.
“Just make sure to hit me high enough that my hair hides the scar,” Wendy said.
Sam used the noise of the TV to relock the door. Clearly, a futile exercise, but she felt slightly better knowing she would have a few extra seconds to—
To what? Scream? Jump out the window?
Hell, did it even open?
“You’re a piece of work,” Benson said to Wendy. “I’m starving. I’m going to get some real food.”
“Bring me back a coffee, will you?”
When Deputy Benson left through the front door, Sam used the sound to cover the noise of opening her bedroom window—thankfully, yes, it did open. Cold air burst inside and she knew it wouldn’t take long for it to reach the rest of the house.
She quickly threw her few articles of clothing—including the jeans—into her bag and silently heaved herself out the window onto the gravel border around the house. Her elbow stung like crazy. She must have cut it on the window edging going out. She could feel the warm blood soak into her sweatshirt, and let out a small hiss of pain.
But this burn would be nothing compared to what she’d be feeling if she didn’t get away from the Death Detail. She pulled the window closed, wincing when it squeaked twice.
Instincts guiding her, she jumped over the rusty metal fence between the yard and the neighbor’s driveway, and crouched down by the old truck.
“Please don’t let it be a stick. Please don’t let it be a stick,” she muttered as she opened the door. “Damn it.”
She cursed her bad luck as she slid inside and shut the door only hard enough to make it latch.
Long ago, Lance had attempted to teach her how to drive a stick shift. His constant fretting about his car made the lesson challenging…as well as short. Hopefully, she’d remember enough to actually get it to move.
We’ll find out soon enough. She reached for the keys hidden under the visor.
“Push in the clutch to start,” she prompted herself. Thank God for her long legs, so she didn’t need to adjust the seat to push the pedal to the floor. And that her neighbor had backed the truck in so it was pointing toward the street. Every second counted, and once she turned the key, she would need to hurry. She ran over the plan in her mind, twice, before she started the ignition.
Shit. The truck sounded even louder than it had the nights it had awakened her. The thunderous rumble made her flinch.
Swiftly, she pushed the gearshift into first and let out the clutch as she pressed down on the gas. The truck lurched and bucked twice, but
then it caught, and she was moving. Down the driveway and out onto the street she went, turning right because she was sure Benson had taken the SUV in the opposite direction.
She stomped on brake, pressed the clutch in again, and whipped the gearshift into second. Or tried to. It made an unholy grinding noise, and she struggled for several precious seconds to slide the stick into the proper slot.
Please, please, please.
Finally, it slid home, and she let out the clutch again in relief. With another huge lurch, she headed down the street.
Thank God.
But before she made it past the neighbor’s house, she saw a light turn on. Damn. He’d heard his truck being stolen, and would no doubt call the police. The police would show up and Wendy would be alerted. Sam guessed she might have ten minutes before everyone on the planet was looking for her. How far could she get away in that time?
And would it be far enough to save her life?
Chapter Thirteen
Sam focused on not stalling the truck, and on keeping her speed down despite the urge to drive as fast as possible. Her plans would be cut short if she was pulled over for reckless driving.
Spotting a sign for the interstate in her headlights, she decided that was her best bet. She could get farther, quicker, on the interstate. Plus, it meant less shifting. According to the signs, they were on the outskirts of Baltimore.
Baltimore? Seriously?
Wendy must have driven around in circles to get there from D.C., since it had taken them the entire day to make a two-hour drive. No doubt done on purpose so Sam wouldn’t know where she was.
She headed south now, out of the city, while running through her options.
Obviously she couldn’t go back to D.C., let alone Baileys Crossroads. She was dead, after all. Even if she weren’t, it would be dangerous to get Nikki or Anthony involved in this mess.
The truck had three-quarters of a tank of gas, so that wouldn’t be an issue for a while. The bigger problem was with the ladder rack and the logo on the door—it was distinctive. The night was dark and moonless now, but in the morning that logo would be glaringly visible. She either needed to do something about it, or steal another vehicle.
It wasn’t likely that many other cars would have the keys tucked in the visor, so she decided to keep the truck and find a way to disguise it.
“Think, Sam, think.”
It wasn’t long before she recognized where she was. She’d come here with Nikki at the beginning of the summer, and they’d gone horseback riding and kayaking at an outdoor sports complex—the type that would be closed for winter.
She got off at the correct exit and, naturally, stalled the truck at the stop sign. The car behind her beeped in irritation as she restarted the engine and pulled out.
“Have some patience. It’s my first stolen vehicle, for crying out loud,” she muttered, and spared a second to give the guy the finger as he turned in the opposite direction. “Asshole!” she called after him, and shifted into third.
Thankfully, she was getting the hang of the stick. It helped that the road was fairly rural with little traffic this time of night, so she could cruise through any other stop signs without having to shift gears too much.
She let out a breath when she saw a billboard announcing the entrance to the Mountain Adventure complex was in two miles. The sign boasted hiking, horseback riding, tubing, and kayaking. It also said April through October.
It would have been the perfect place…if it hadn’t had a gate chained across the entrance.
According to the clock on the dash, it was nearly midnight. She got out and surveyed the problem. The gate wasn’t super heavy duty, just enough to keep normal people out, not crazy fugitives. If she crashed through it, she would dent up the front of the truck and maybe cause damage that would make it unusable.
Looking for a miracle, she climbed up into the back of the truck, dodging the ladder rack to reach the toolbox. Of course, it was locked.
“Why can’t a girl catch a break?” she said with a huff, and hopped down from the truck again. Taking a rock from the landscaped border by the entrance sign, she tried to break the lock on the toolbox. The first hit came down fairly hard, but not hard enough. Again. Again.
Again.
Once more, and the lock finally gave way. The top of the toolbox sprang open and almost hit her in the face. She jumped back and fell against the ladder rail, hitting her head. Ow. Some master thief she was.
After taking a moment to shake off the pain, she began rummaging through the box for something useful.
From inside, a beautiful chrome chain glistened back at her in the light coming from the sign overhead. It looked like a glorious silver snake. Though it was heavy, and longer than she needed, the links were as thick as her fingers.
Yes, this would do very nicely.
She hooked one end to the trailer hitch on the back of the truck, and the other end to the gate, once she’d managed to back the truck up into position. After stalling three times, she was finally ready to pull the gate open.
“This is such a bad idea,” she said as she put the vehicle in first gear and pulled away as steadily as she could manage.
The gate opened.
After unhooking the chain, she closed the gate behind her before continuing down the bumpy lane to the parking area next to a small creek. She knew from her time there that the little creek fed down into a bigger creek, and then eventually into the Potomac River.
If it weren’t the middle of October and freezing out, maybe she could have stolen a canoe and paddled to safety, but it was too risky. She didn’t want to deal with hypothermia along with all her other problems.
She parked under the dusk-to-dawn light on the building that sold sports equipment, and got out of the truck, ready to make the logo unrecognizable.
As she worked, she thought about her next step. Where would she go? She had nowhere to hide, no one to help her. She was all on her own.
And people from both sides were out to kill her.
How the hell was she going to survive?
Chapter Fourteen
When Wendy didn’t answer his call, Garrett wanted to brush it off. After all, Sam wasn’t his responsibility anymore. His job had only been to deliver her to safety, which he’d done.
The boss had given him a few days off before handing him his next assignment. Only, Garrett’s gut wasn’t letting him off the last job just yet.
Something didn’t feel right.
Even though Wendy and Tom were fellow deputy marshals, they weren’t from his team. Garrett had checked them out thoroughly. He’d searched for evidence of them living over their means, any large deposits into their bank accounts, new luxury items, the usual stuff. He’d found nothing.
But that didn’t mean one or both of them weren’t dirty. The best people at hiding corruption from the system were the people in the system.
After a few more minutes of inner debate, he gave in to his instincts and pulled out his phone to call SD Thorne.
“Yes?” his boss answered, emotionless as always.
“Has Wendy or Tom checked in with you today?”
There was a brief pause. “No. Why?”
“I called them and got no answer.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”
“I know, but…”
“What?”
“Something’s not right.” The words sounded just as stupid as the last time he’d said them. He didn’t have a single reason to doubt the other marshal’s abilities or integrity. Still…
“I’ll send you the safe house address,” Thorne said. “Check it out and get back to me immediately. That witness is very important.”
Garrett knew exactly how important she was. “Thanks, boss.”
He ended the call and grabbed his jacket and keys. A few seconds later his phone chimed with an encrypted text giving him the address to Sam’s safe house.
He checked his weapons, holstered them, and head
ed into the unknown.
As he drove, it wasn’t the possibility of danger that distracted him. No, it was that stupid kiss in the hall…and the way she’d felt when he’d pulled her against him in that alley.
The way her height made their bodies align in the most amazing way.
“Get it together, dumbass,” he said, shaking off the thoughts so he could focus on the task ahead. If she ended up dead, it wouldn’t matter how much he wanted her body.
When he arrived at the house an hour later, everything was in upheaval.
“Where’s Sam?” he asked Wendy.
“How the hell did you know where we were?” she asked instead of answering, which pissed him off.
He just glared at the woman, fighting the urge to shake her. “Where. Is. The. Girl?” he repeated, enunciating each word.
Wendy ground her teeth. “I don’t know. She took my phone and ran off.”
Garrett narrowed his eyes. “Why would she do that?” He didn’t believe Sam would run off without a good reason. He turned to Tom. “Well?”
“I have no idea, man. You know how some of them get when reality sets in.”
Garrett did know, but he also knew Sam had a steady head on her shoulders, despite her initial issues under pressure. It hadn’t taken her long to put the pieces together regarding her future in witness protection. She’d seemed resigned to her fate, albeit a little sad. She was intelligent enough to know the program was her best chance at surviving her situation.
“How did she get away?” he asked.
“We don’t know. We’re pretty sure she’s on foot. We’re canvasing the neighborhood,” Wendy offered like a puppy with its tail wagging.
“No vehicles were reported stolen?” he asked.
He detected a hesitation before Tom shook his head. “I haven’t heard anything.”
Local law enforcement was on the scene by then, but Garrett cleared the room where Sam had been staying so he could look for clues.
Obviously, she’d crawled out the window.
He did the same thing, stepping into her shoes so he could understand what had happened. He panned his flashlight across the small fenced-in yard. It would have been pitch-dark out here when she escaped, but she could have easily climbed over the fence.
Witness in the Dark Page 6