“That will be all.” Troy glances at the jury and sees that most of them have scowls on their faces as he departs from the stand. He’s escorted from the room and takes a seat on a bench to calm himself. The agents that escorted him inside the building wait patiently for him to stand. He doesn’t want to wait around to see what the verdict is. If Killian Yukon makes it out of that courtroom without a sentence of the death penalty, Troy will enact his own.
* * *
The hash browns are mush, the sausage is overcooked, and the egg is not sunny side up. Overall, his breakfast the next morning at the hotel room is less than mediocre compared to Grant’s cooking. He hasn’t spoken to anyone other than the two agents in the room with him, and they’re not much for conversation. In fact, they try to avoid speaking with him at all costs.
After breakfast, he grabs a quick, hot shower and tries to force the thoughts of Cassidy to the back of his mind. They’ve already told him that he won’t be going back to the Grant farm, and Troy’s beginning to think it’s for the best. He doesn’t want anyone at the town to recognize him now that his face was all over the News this morning. It’s a good thing only a few people actually saw him on the Grant farm.
His forehead is pressed to the tiled wall of the shower with his hands on either side of his head, and with his fingers splayed against the tiles. Flashes of the way Cassidy felt beneath him haunt him as he grits his teeth against the building regret. He tells himself over and over again that she is better off without him, but it doesn’t help.
Someone knocks on the bathroom door, and he quickly shoves his head under the spray of the showerhead to hide the tears. Robert Trenton never cried over a woman, but Troy Red is tearing up at the thought of never seeing her beautiful face again. Fourteen days of heaven and hell combined, and he’s been whittled down to a sniveling fool. Angry with himself, Troy turns off the water and puts a towel around his waist.
“What?” He calls out angrily.
“Just wanted to make sure you didn’t drown.” One of the male agents calls back. Troy sits down on the toilet with the seat down and runs his fingers through his wet hair twice before he stands up. He shakes himself off like a boxer would before a fight, and brushes his teeth. Today he will wait, but after the verdict is delivered tomorrow morning, he will be off to his new location.
He can only pray that it won’t hold anymore captivating women.
* * *
The alarm clock rings through the hotel room and Troy tosses if off the nightstand in his effort to get it to shut up. He rubs at his eyes and immediately thinks of what he has to do to be ready for when they whisk him off to another destination in the middle of nowhere. The dream he was having of Cassidy flashes before his eyes, and he grunts as he swings his legs over the side of the bed. The television is on in the living area of the suite, and the two agents are already up eating breakfast.
Feeling empty, Troy jumps into another scalding hot shower, and turns it to cold right before he hops out. He doesn’t look at himself in the mirror as he brushes his teeth, and leaves his hair in disarray. Maybe this will be his new look since he can’t bring himself to look into his own eyes.
“Guilty!” One of the agents roars as if someone just scored a touchdown in a football game. Troy doesn’t rejoice with them. He just stares at the man who will be sentenced to death for his crimes. But first he must go through another trial for more deaths, with more people as witnesses. But Robert Trenton is not needed anymore, and Troy Red needs to die.
“What’s my new name?” Troy asks as he pulls a shirt over his head. He’s wearing a pair of jeans and another black t-shirt, but these don’t smell like Cassidy.
“Huh?” One of the agents turns with a forkful of eggs almost to his mouth and pulls a driver’s license from his pocket. He studies it for a second, and then he tosses it at Troy. His mouth curls up at the corner with disgust as he stares at his new name.
“Jack Evans?” The other agent sneers at him and returns his attention back to the television. Neither one of them want to be bothered with a man they believe should be rotting in a jail cell right now. They’re not the only ones in the room who believe that.
As soon as they’re finished breakfast, they escort Troy to the same elevator from the day before, and they put him in the back of another black SUV with tinted windows. The drive to the airport is quick, and the two male agents leave him with another male agent. Troy is starting to understand the pattern. They’re not going to trust him with another female agent, and he’s starting to understand why.
The flight is eventless and boring. The only good part about it is Troy gets to listen to music on headphones. The agent has his own iPod, but he has mostly bluegrass music which Troy cannot seem to enjoy. He has to hand it back when they begin to land and realizes that the sour taste in his mouth is disappointment. They’re nowhere near Pennsylvania.
“Hungry, Jack?” This guy is a little more understanding with his brown eyes and black hair. He’s tan and probably of Italian ethnicity.
“No, I’m not hungry. Let’s just go.” They board their second flight to Alaska, and Troy groans when he realizes he might be cold for the rest of his life. Ben, the agent, laughs as they are seated.
“Don’t worry, just another stop along the way.” Troy inwardly feels relief and tries to forget about the blossom of hope in his chest. When they land in Alaska, Ben and Troy consume a rather hurried dinner before they get onto a private jet. It’s a small jet with nothing terribly exciting, and Ben disappears into the cockpit for the remainder of the flight.
Troy attempts to catch some shut-eye before they land again.
* * *
Someone’s shaking him and he has to wipe a dribble of drool from his chin to maintain his dignity. Ben looks amused as he takes a step back with a cup of coffee in his hands. He offers it to Troy, but the burly man shakes his head and stretches his arms above his head. He’s not in the mood for caffeine.
As they walk into the warm air, Troy realizes that he’s somewhere in the south. He narrows his eyes as he looks around at the sand surrounding him, and feels his heart sink. At least it won’t remind me of Pennsylvania. He thinks as he gets off the plane.
“Welcome to Colorado, Jack!” He winces when Ben calls him by his new name, and tries to remind himself that he will have to get used to it.
“Thanks. Don’t tell me I’m staying in Denver.” Troy’s secretly hoping for Aspin. Maybe he’ll be able to chase some wealthy tale there and forget all about the horse loving farm girl he left behind. The thought makes him want to vomit.
“No, you’re staying in Arriba.” Ben smiles cheekily as he leads the way to a white sedan with tinted windows. It’s a four door, but Troy hops into the front before Ben can get any ideas.
“You have got to be kidding me. You are, right?” Troy looks hopeful, but Ben dashes his hopes against the rocks when he chuckles and shakes his head. They don’t speak much on the ride to Troy’s new home, which consists of a small one story home on two acres in the middle of nowhere. It has air condition, at least.
He stares at the sand around him and feels his throat close up with fear. It’ll be lonely here, and it’ll be Hell. He imagines that the hottest days here will undoubtedly feel like Hell.
“Welcome home, Jack Evans! You already have a bank account setup; the information is inside on the kitchen table. Oh, I almost forgot! Here’s your new birth certificate, and here’s your passport. You get one of these now.” Troy takes the envelope from the agent with numb fingers and wonders if anyone will hear him screaming out here. He might actually lose his mind and do it eventually. Maybe he’ll suffer from isolation sickness.
“Thanks,” Troy whispers as he stares, horrified as a tumbleweed blows past the house. This feeling is much worse than the one he had when he was dropped off at Grant’s farm. This is supposed to be permanent!
“Alright, well, go on in and you’ll find that it’s already stocked with the necessities. An agent will
check on you every few days for the first few weeks, and then contact will be cut off. You know how to reach us. Good luck, Jack.” The man claps him on the back and watches as Troy walks, stiff-legged, towards his new home.
The inside is cozy and modern with tile floors to keep the place cool. It’s nothing like the Grant farmhouse, and it feels nothing like home. There’s barely room for a bed in the master bedroom, but he’s only one person. There’s an extra change of clothes on the bed, and there’s an envelope on the kitchen table with his banking information in it, along with a debit card. The sound of the sedan starting up reaches his ears, and before he can go outside and tell the man he’s changed his mind, the car is gone.
Glancing around the perimeter to make sure that there are no nearby homes, Troy raises his face to the sky and lets it rip. His roar of anguish doesn’t even echo back to him it’s so flat and foreign. He slams a palm against the post of the porch and tries to get the pain to ebb, but it’s overtaking him. Cassidy’s name is on his lips as he puts his forehead to the wooden post and lets the moisture flood his eyes.
Chapter Nine
“It’s been five weeks.” Grant says to his daughter as she grooms the foal. He’s exhausted from taking shifts during the night and the day so that she can sleep. Her hand flutters as she lifts the brush off the foal’s side and puts it back. He cannot understand why she’s so intent on believing that Troy Red will return, but she maintains that he must.
“I know, Dad. But maybe he has to stay away for a while.” Her voice doesn’t quiver, but her hand does when it comes up again. Reese’s Pieces senses her distress and takes a step away from her, nervous.
“Look Cass, you have to face the facts. He was here for a short time, and he took advantage-” Cassidy turns a glare on him that would make any other man turn and run, but he’s her father. “Of you.” He finishes. Her gaze hardens and he turns at that point to run, and he tries to quell the fear inside his heart.
“He has to return.” Cassidy whispers as she takes her free hand and puts it on her abdomen. Her father is too far away to hear her unusually quiet sob as she puts her forehead to Reese’s Pieces shoulder. He’s getting quite large and eats like, well, a horse. She sniffles and tries to hide the anguish that she’s feeling.
Cassidy Grant puts down the brush and grabs her purse from the tack room. She gets into her car and turns the key without saying goodbye to her father, and blasts the radio as she makes her slow departure down the rocky driveway. Reese’s Pieces has been socializing with the other horses much more often now, and he has no need for her anymore.
The ride home is slow due to a few people pulling out in front of her, and the test within her purse seems to be burning a hole in it. Cassidy groans as she pulls up to her house and rests her forehead against the steering wheel. She’s thirteen days late, and she’s never been late in her life. Her heart hammers in her chest as she grabs the purse and stomps up the short walkway to her front door. Her hand shakes as she puts the key into the receptacle, and twists.
Trying not to panic, Cassidy closes her front door and locks it again. She has a message on her answering machine and tries not to let her finger shake as she pushes the play button. Each time she has one, she tries to tell herself that it wouldn’t be Troy. But that spark of hope always hits her. It’s a hang-up.
The weight of the world seems to be crushing down on her as she pulls the box out of her purse and stares at the kit with three tests in it. She wants to make sure. Ripping it open with her hands, she takes the little pee sticks back to her bathroom and squats over one. It’s not very amusing, but she chuckles anyway at the absurdity of this.
It was one night, she tells herself to calm her fears. Without looking at the test, she puts it on the sink counter and holds her breath as she waits. She has to take in four new breaths while she counts the minutes away, and then looks at the test. The negative sign has her heart fluttering in her chest as she laughs at herself.
“I’m just stressed,” she mutters as she cleans up the test and wipes down the counter with disinfectant. The other two tests sit on the back of her toilet, and she goes about her afternoon chores of cleaning and preparing dinner. She hasn’t been spending as much time at her father’s farm because it reminds her of Troy, but soon she’s going to have to get over that. Her father is too old to be doing all that farm work on his own anymore.
With a lighter soul, she sits down at her computer to do some trading of stocks. Troy Red is still on the back burner of her thoughts, but she’s getting used to him always being there. It’s like a tiny feeling that she just can’t get rid of. Troy Red will forever be the love of her life, even if he was only that for less than twelve hours.
The phone rings, and she jumps up to grab it. Checking her hope as soon as it sparks, she picks it up to check the caller I.D. It’s an unknown number, so she hits the answer button and puts it to her ear. Before she can even say anything, the person on the other end of the line speaks.
“Cassidy Grant?” It’s a man’s voice, but it’s not Troy. Her eyes narrow as she thinks about whether or not she should answer. A conversation she had with Troy that night replays in her hand in record speed.
They might come looking for me one day. Even if you have the slightest suspicion, call this number for help and get out of there, Cassidy. I don’t want you to end up like my sister, my niece.
“Yes?” She answers after a half a second. It could be a telemarketer. The phone goes dead, and she realizes that she might have just made the biggest mistake of her lifetime.
With shaking fingers, she puts the phone back in its cradle and stares at it. I’m overreacting, she tells herself, but she picks up her cellphone off the kitchen table and dials her father’s number anyway. He picks up on the second ring.
“Dad, did you just get a phone call from someone who asked your name and hung up?” She tries to sound normal, but the undertone of panic is still prevalent.
“How did you know?” She inhales sharply and hangs up. The number for Moonlight Rogers is on her fridge. She grabs it and takes her laptop and cellphone with her as she gets into her car. Someone has come looking for the people who helped a hit man, and they’re not going to be happy when they realize that Cassidy and her father have no idea where Troy Red is.
* * *
The porch light is on as she pulls up to her father’s house, but the sun has not set yet. Suspicious, Cassidy sits in her car for a few seconds before she pulls out her cellphone. If she’s lucky, this phone number doesn’t belong to a disposable phone that has been trashed. Her heart hammers in her chest as she listens to the ringing on the other end.
“Hello?” His voice sounds groggy as if he was sleeping, but she doesn’t have time to worry about why he sounds that way.
“Moonlight Rogers?” Cassidy is staring at the front door of her father’s house and wonders why he hasn’t come out yet.
“Who is this, and how did you get this number?” She almost breathes a sigh of relief, almost.
“My name is Cassidy Grant, and I got this number from Troy Red.” Realizing that his name is most likely different now, Cassidy swallows her fear and quietly steps out from her car. The horses are not in yet, so she wanders down to the barn first.
“Well, Ms. Grant, what can I do for you?” Moonlight must know something about Troy and her. His tone suggests it.
“Listen, I received a phone call where a man asked my name, and hung up when I confirmed. My father received the same type of phone call around the same time. I’m at his house, and right now I can’t find him. I think we’re in trouble.” There’s some shuffling on the other end that sounds like someone sitting up out of bed, and she imagines this Moonlight Rogers wrapping a sheet around his waist.
“Uh huh, and you’re sure it wasn’t a telemarketer? We’ve never had a breech, sweetheart. I doubt it’s happening now.” Cassidy doesn’t respond because she’s at the entrance to the barn. Her heart is fluttering in her chest as she stare
s at the carnage before her, and her eyes begin to tear up. The lump in her throat makes it impossible for the scream to be anything but a whisper, and yet Moonlight Rogers hears it.
“Cassidy?” He asks in an attempt to grab her attention, but she’s not listening anymore. The phone slips from her fingers and hits the gravel outside the barn. It’s still on, and he can hear her slow, deliberate footsteps.
Keeping the line alive, Moonlight Rogers pulls the sheet off his waist and shimmies on his pants and a shirt. He puts his own phone in his shirt pocket, runs a hand through his hair, and grabs the keys to a much more appropriate vehicle. He’s an hour and a half away, but he can call backup. As soon as the Viper is started, Moonlight dials a close friend and agent’s number who lives much closer than him.
“Blake?” He asks as soon as he hears the ringing cease.
“Rogers? What the Hell do you want?” Phone calls are used for emergencies only, especially when they’re to the agent’s home number.
“The farm not far from you has been compromised. The daughter was on the phone with me and then she was gone. I need you to go there and get them out.” Moonlight says each word deliberately so as to get his point across, and then he hangs up the phone as he breaks every law imaginable on the roads. At this speed, he’ll make it there in half the time if a deer doesn’t jump out in front of him.
* * *
Blake Adamson grabs his firearm out of the nightstand drawer and glances over at the woman in his bed. He’s been seeing her for the past few weeks because he thought this place was secure, and he wouldn’t have to leave again. Her crimson hair falls over her face as she rolls over, and she doesn’t wake when he pulls on his pants. Gently, he lays a kiss on her forehead as he goes to do his job, and wonders if he’ll be coming back.
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