Witness in the Dark

by Allison B Hanson

  Things would get messy. He could lose his job.

  She could lose her life.

  She moved in her sleep, causing the chain curled at her feet to clink. He smiled at the memory of her running with the damn thing looped over her neck.

  She really had done an amazing job of keeping herself alive. He was more than impressed with her cleverness. And so far, he hadn’t heard much complaint about her situation. He hoped that would continue. Experience told him that complaining about one’s circumstances did nothing to improve them.

  His phone vibrated. He looked over to make sure she hadn’t woken before he answered.

  “Have you found anything?” Wendy asked as if she wasn’t responsible for losing Sam.

  “I wasn’t aware I was supposed to be looking for her. I thought that was your job. You’re the one who lost her.” His gruffness was genuine. He disliked the woman.

  “Is a little professional courtesy too much to ask for? All I want to know is if you have any leads.”

  “No. I have another job I have to get to. You guys are on your own.”

  “Let us know if you hear anything.”

  He looked over at Sam again. “You’ll be the first person I call.”

  “Thanks.”

  He hung up and focused on driving, hoping the woman next to him was having peaceful dreams.

  When he shook her awake a few hours later, she jumped away from him and reached for the door handle.

  “You’re safe. It’s me, Garrett.” It was still dark out, but the lights from the twenty-four-hour department store slanted into the vehicle. “We need supplies.”

  “Can’t I wait here?” She snuggled back against the door.

  He wished he could allow her to sleep longer, but it wasn’t safe to leave her alone. “No. We need to stay together.”

  With only a small groan of protest, she sat up and reached for the door handle. “Fine. I have to pee, anyway. Are we doing that together, too?” she grumbled.

  He chuckled as she hopped down from the Jeep. “If it wouldn’t draw too much attention, yes we would.” Which only made his imagination take off into inappropriate territory.

  He really needed to stop that.

  She pulled on a grimy ball cap. “Is that your personal vehicle?” She pointed at the Jeep.

  He’d told her he didn’t have a car. Which was the truth. Possibly stretched. “Yes.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous? Won’t they be able to track it easily?”

  “As far as anyone knows, I’m just carrying on with my usual job. Nothing strange about that. If I switched to a different vehicle, they’d suspect something was up.”

  She nodded. “Makes sense, I guess.”

  He looked her up and down with a frown. Her blonde hair was all tucked up under the cap. Her clothes were wrinkled and dirty in places. All expected, after the night she’d had. So it needed to be changed.

  “What?” She studied her feet where her tennis shoes her were untied.

  “What’s with the hat?” It was the biggest offender. It had an easily recognizable logo, which the neighbor would have mentioned when Tom and Wendy questioned him about the truck.

  “I look like a guy,” she explained.

  Was she serious?

  “Trust me, you don’t.” She had sweet curves that were extremely un-guy-like. Her skin was smooth and, no doubt, soft. He rubbed the stubble on his own face and shook his head. “Lose the hat. But don’t look at the cameras. Keep your head down. Just try to blend in until we can get you some different clothes, and maybe a scarf.”

  “Okay.” She didn’t ask any questions or balk when he took her hand as if he had every right. Men and women held hands when they went shopping. At least, he thought they did. He had no actual experience to pull from.

  Once inside, she turned toward the women’s restroom. He stood outside the door waiting, probably looking like a possessive jerk.

  The problem was, it was turning into an apt description.

  Chapter Seventeen

  When Sam saw her red, puffy eyes in the restroom mirror, she wanted to stay in there forever, hiding. But she had no doubt he’d come in looking for her if she didn’t go out again soon.

  She threw some cold water on her face and felt slightly better. She didn’t bother doing anything about her dirty clothes. He’d said she was getting new ones.

  As expected, he was tapping his leg impatiently by the time she emerged. She smiled in relief when he got a cart and headed for the clothing section.

  “Six long, right?” he said as he went to a pile of jeans.

  “Yes.” She looked down at the designer jeans he had bought for her after her escape. “Wait. I only have sixty dollars,” she informed him as he grabbed a pair of jeans, then turned to the sweatpants.

  He made a face. “We could be on the road for a while.” He tossed a zippered sweatshirt in the cart, and went over to the T-shirts.

  “I’m actually capable of choosing my own things,” she said, slightly irritated he hadn’t even consulted her on what clothing she preferred. Though she probably would’ve picked the same things. That wasn’t the point.

  “Okay, then.” He pushed the cart toward a long rack of hats. He gestured at the colorful array. “Pick whatever you want.”

  She hesitated, but chose a distressed, straw cowboy hat that would hide her face from prying cameras…and her hair.

  He grunted. “Good choice.” They headed for the toiletry aisle. “Grab some shampoo and stuff.”

  She chose something cheaper than she normally used. What did it really matter when one was running for one’s life? Then she picked out some conditioner and shower gel, and a box of tampons. Because when had that ever come at a convenient moment?

  Garrett had gone down the aisle a little farther and was looking at rows of boxes, each with a pretty woman smiling at them. “Brunette or a redhead?” he asked as he held up two boxes of hair color.

  “Neither,” she said firmly.

  “We need to change your appearance. They’re going to be looking for you. Let’s not make it easy on them.” He held up the boxes again.

  “I’ll wear the hat,” she reasoned.

  He looked up at the ceiling as if praying for restraint. “Right. But the hat isn’t enough. So, it’s your choice. You can either be a blonde corpse or a living brunette or redhead.”

  She already recognized that stubborn tone. She wasn’t going to win this argument. Besides, she was just being a baby. “Fine,” she muttered. “Whichever. I don’t care.”

  “Redhead, it is,” he said with a wink. “You seem more like a redhead than a blonde, anyway. Sassy, and all.”

  “I’m not sassy,” she snapped, sounding… Okay, sassy.

  He went over and picked out a pair of scissors from the rack.

  Alarm shot through her. “No. You are not cutting my hair.”

  She took a few steps toward the entrance of the store, as if about to make a run for it. Even though she wouldn’t stand a chance against him if he decided to chase her…or against the congressman’s henchmen if he decided not to bother.

  He clamped his jaw, and she knew she wasn’t going to win this argument, either.

  They didn’t say much else as they went to the grocery section and he picked out a ton of soup, canned beans, boxed mac and cheese, and cereal.

  “Was there anything you wanted?” he asked when she just stood there.

  “No.”

  “We’re going to be hiding for a while. Speak now, or it’s soup and cereal for a month.”

  “It’s fine.” She wasn’t sure she’d last a month, anyway. It seemed like a waste to spend money on food when someone could be waiting to kill her at the Jeep at that very moment.

  He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Come on. There must be something.” It was obvious he was trying to cheer her up.

  She shook her head. “This is already costing you—”

  “Not me. The Marshals have a budget, Sam.
Put something you want in this goddamn cart right now.” He lifted his eyebrows in irritation.

  “Fine. Coffee, then. And can we get ice cream?” She didn’t know where they were going. Maybe there wasn’t a freezer. Maybe they’d be staying in a tent.

  He blinked. “It’s forty-eight degrees out and you want ice cream?”

  “I have ice cream every night before bed while I watch TV.” She blew out a breath. What was she, five? “Never mind. It’s stupid.” How many ways could she embarrass herself in front of this man?

  “I like ice cream, too. What kind should we get?” He pushed the cart toward the freezer section.

  Maybe he was human, after all.

  “What do you like?” she asked. She wasn’t picky, as long as it wasn’t cherry vanilla.

  “Mint chocolate chip?” he suggested.

  She grinned, and would have hugged him if she wasn’t sure he’d pull a gun out of the back of his pants and cap her where she stood. “That’s my favorite.”

  “Cool.” He plucked three containers from the freezer and put them in the cart before heading to the front register. Along the way, he stopped and piled in six two-liter bottles of soda.

  The total of their purchases was nearly three hundred dollars.

  “Garrett, it’s too much,” she said.

  “Budget, remember? And we’ll need this stuff.”

  She didn’t know how he could use the word need when their cart held three containers of ice cream, but she let it go. If she survived to testify against a corrupt, homicidal congressman, she supposed the country wouldn’t begrudge her a few lousy gallons of ice cream.

  After paying, he handed her some of the new clothes. “Go change. Then let’s get out of here.”

  When she emerged from the restroom, he plopped the new hat on her head, then pushed the cart out of the store. “Head down,” he reminded her.

  Wordlessly, she helped load the bags into the back and got in the passenger side. “I can help drive if you need me to,” she offered, deliberately not looking at the stick shift. She was pretty sure she could manage after her extensive training with the stolen truck.

  “I’m good, but thanks. You can go back to sleep if you want.”

  “I’m fine now.” It was almost six in the morning.

  He turned on the radio and tapped his leg to the music. Before the first song ended, she lowered the volume and turned to him. “Why are you doing this?”

  Doing his job was one thing, but he’d said—several times—his only job had been to pick her up and get her to her protection detail. This went way beyond that. Despite his talk of budgets and the Marshals, he had clearly gone off grid with her. He could be risking his job, as well as his life, to keep her safe.

  “Doing what?” he asked.

  “Why are you helping me? What’s in it for you?”

  She’d wondered about that since he called her, though up until now she hadn’t wanted to think about it too much. But it was her experience thus far that Garrett told her the truth, even if it wasn’t in his best interest. She trusted that if she asked, he would tell her, whether or not she liked his answer.

  Maybe that was why she hadn’t asked until now. She was too afraid to hear the truth.

  “I figure since the protection detail I took you to didn’t end up protecting you very well, I haven’t completed my assignment yet.”

  “Oh.” A sense of duty. It could have been worse. “How did you know so quickly?”

  “I was keeping tabs on you. I knew you wouldn’t have run away without a good reason.”

  He’d been keeping tabs? She wasn’t sure how to feel about that. “Why keep tabs on me?”

  It took so long for him to answer she’d nearly forgotten the question.

  “Because you’re going through a lot of shit in order to do the right thing,” he finally said. “If you’re willing to risk everything not to give up on doing the right thing, shouldn’t I be willing to do the same?”

  She thought about that. “Am I doing the right thing? Or am I just being a stubborn idiot?”

  “I’m sure both points could be argued.” He threw her a wink. “I choose to think you’re brave, not stubborn. And you’re much too smart and resourceful to be an idiot.”

  She felt her face grow warm with his praise. “Thanks. I hope you won’t end up regretting all this. If someone finds us, you should get the hell out of there. I don’t want you to get hurt because of me. In fact, I want you to promise me if it comes to that, you will run.”

  He laughed. Loudly. “Sorry. I’m not going to promise that.”

  “Why the hell did I drag you into this?” she muttered to herself.

  “As I recall, I’m the one who grabbed you in that alley. And I’m the one who called and told you to meet me.”

  True enough. So, why did she feel like she was the one putting him in danger?

  “Everything has a price, Sam,” he said quietly. She watched in the early morning light as his face turned somber. “Every decision we make has a cost. There’s a cost for telling the truth, too. Not many people are willing to make that sacrifice. Especially when the truth doesn’t directly affect them. When someone takes that risk, they’re a hero.”

  A hero? He thought she was a hero?

  “You’re nuts,” she told him, but smiled shakily.

  She turned the radio back up. As they fell silent and drove, he listened to the rock music and hummed along with several of her favorites. That made two things she had in common with this man, which made her feel a little better.

  And relax enough to fall asleep again.

  When she woke, the Jeep was bumping down a lane that didn’t look wide enough for the vehicle. There were more puddles than gravel.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “Almost there,” he told her as her head whacked up against the glass.

  After what felt like miles going uphill, the lane evened out and turned into a gravel parking area next to a modern log cabin nestled into the hillside. An expansive deck took up the entire right side. The front of the structure was mostly large panes of glass that came to points at the top.

  “Welcome home,” he announced with a flourish.

  She stared at the beautiful cabin. This place didn’t look anything like the rundown safe house she’d been stashed in. The Marshal Service might have given him a budget, but she was pretty sure it didn’t cover a gorgeous property like this. Which meant…

  “Is this your house?” she asked cautiously.

  Surely, he wouldn’t bring her to his own place. He wouldn’t want to risk his personal home, if they should come under attack. But she could see him living in a place like this. Rustic and masculine. Out of the way.

  “It’s one of them. I have four houses, completely off the grid, owned by shell companies. No paper trail back to me.”

  “Why four?”

  “I’ve seen how badly things can go wrong. How your life can be spun around in a split second. I like to have plenty of backup plans.”

  She gazed at him, seeing him—really seeing him—possibly for the first time. “So, your mind doesn’t ever stop, either.”

  He gave her a humorless smile. “No.”

  “And you’ve gotten used to that?” If he’d figured out how to cope, maybe she could, too.

  “You never get used to it.” His words sent a shiver through her as she got out of the Jeep.

  When she met him at the back door to help carry in their stuff, he had a manila envelope tucked under his arm. She hadn’t seen it before.

  He answered her unspoken question. “I stopped for a couple of minutes on the way. You were out cold, and I didn’t want to wake you again.”

  She said nothing. It was none of her business.

  He put the key in the lock and held his palm to a digital panel on the wall beside the door. After a blue light moved up and down his hand and beeped, the lock clicked, and he opened the door.

  The house smelled like stale air and
pine. It felt colder inside than outside.

  “Make yourself at home. I’ll start up the generator,” he announced, and disappeared down a dark hallway to the left.

  She put the ice cream in the freezer, which was actually cold, thanks to the temperature in the house, then started unloading the rest of the groceries. A few minutes later, the refrigerator started to hum. The microwave beeped and blinked twelve o’clock. The vent in the floor started to blow warm air.

  She smiled and finished unpacking the groceries, leaving her clothing and shampoo in the bags.

  Garrett came into the kitchen. “So, what do you think of the place?”

  “I think I wish I had been chased by a psychopath sooner,” she joked. Yeah, in poor taste, but he grinned. “It’s beautiful.” She gazed over at the two-story stone fireplace and cozy furniture. “It makes the last safe house seem extremely…not this.”

  He seemed pleased. “Before you get comfortable, I need to show you a few things.”

  “Okay.”

  He held up a finger. “Guns. There’s one in this drawer.” He pointed to the island and opened it to reveal a small black handgun.

  She stepped back. She didn’t do guns.

  “Another one in the coat closet by the front door.” He opened it, showing her a shotgun resting in the corner. “Another in my bedroom in the nightstand next to my bed. Last one in the bathroom linen closet. I’ll move it lower so you can reach it.”

  Alarm trickled through her. “Why would I need to reach it?”

  “You need to be able to defend yourself.”

  “But I don’t know the first thing about—”

  “You will very shortly. Follow me.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  To Garrett’s surprise, Sam followed without protest. She was right behind him as he opened the glass doors that led out to the deck.

  The deck had a flight of stairs going down to the ground. She turned to them, but he shook his head and went the opposite way. Using the stairs probably made more sense, but he was going to show her how to survive.

  This was serious business, and he intended to be tough on her. Enough to get the point across.