by Jamie Hill
She heard the woman speak through what sounded like gritted teeth. “It can’t wait, Mama. I’m sending my partner over to meet with you. He’s up to date on the case, he’ll fill you in.”
Panic gripped Christine. “Who? How will I know him?”
“You met him when you moved here, remember? Doug. Tall, with short brown hair and a goofy smile. He’ll be there soon.”
“But Jordan—” Christine vaguely remembered the other marshal, but didn’t have good feelings about him. He’d been arrogant, and if her first assessment had been correct, he wasn’t so great with kids. I’d rather wait until Jordan is back on her feet.
“Gotta go, Mama. We’re at the ER. Doug will take care of you, and I’ll be in touch. See you!” The call ended.
Christine gripped her cell, panic threatening to overwhelm her. She turned and looked into the questioning eyes of her children. Seeing the worry in their faces reminded her that she had to be strong for them.
But who’s going to be there for me? She suddenly felt more alone than she ever had in her life. Damn you, Larry.
Chapter Two
Metropolitan Correctional Center
Special Housing Unit
Chicago, Illinois
Orange jumpsuits were not particularly dapper, though they were fairly comfortable. He stretched his legs out on the bed, wiggled this way then that way, but couldn’t relax. He’d heard lots of stories about prison--the hard work, the gangs, inmate pecking order, always being hungry--those things were true. The one thing nobody ever mentioned was boredom. Prison was damn boring, especially in solitary.
A guy could only read so many books. He could only work out for so long. Watching mindless TV? Well, that seemed to go on forever. But he could only stand it in short spurts.
He was used to being busy. The multi-million dollar company had kept him hopping, and he loved every minute of it. Things just grew out of control too quickly. And he’d gotten greedy. If only he’d backed off just a bit. Not tried to move so much stuff in such a short time. The more people that got involved, the greater the chances that someone would slip up. And someone had.
A soft vibration tickled his backside.
He stood and looked both ways down the hall in front of him. No one in sight.
Reaching under his mattress, he removed the cell phone and answered it. “Yeah.”
“Just checking in like you asked. Got a line on the woman and kids. They’re tucked into a nice little house, new identities and all that. Quiet neighborhood. Easy to keep tabs on them.”
His gut churned, thinking about people living ordinary lives while he was socked away in the slammer. “Keep an eye on them, but don’t do anything yet. I’ll let you know what and when.”
“Whatever you say, boss. You call the shots.”
“Don’t ever forget it. Call me tomorrow, same time.”
“Yes sir.” The call ended.
He turned off the phone and returned it to its usual hiding place, in the bottom of a fake can of shaving cream. He only pulled it out when he was expecting a call or needed to make one. The rest of the time it remained hidden, in case the screws decided to toss his cell, which they did on a semi-regular basis.
He thought back to the days when he didn’t go ten minutes without checking his smartphone. Stock updates, email, porn, all right at his fingertips. He no longer had access to any of those things, and it grated on him daily. Not fucking fair.
Nothing about this situation was fair. For that, someone had to pay.
* * * *
Topeka, Kansas
Doug Jackson stuck his sunglasses in his T-shirt pocket as he rang the doorbell of the cheery yellow house. In his profession, he knew all too well that looks could be deceiving. Not much cheer inside this house today, he suspected.
He heard shuffling on the other side of the door, but it didn’t open. Whipping out his marshal badge, he held it up so it blocked the peephole.
The dark-haired woman who opened the door squinted at the bright sunshine. “Got it, thanks.” She smiled wryly and moved back to allow him in.
He clipped the badge on his belt and stepped inside, glancing around. “Just making sure. Jordan said you didn’t remember me, which frankly, I found hurtful.” He touched a hand to his chest over his heart.
With an exaggerated roll of her eyes, she motioned for him to follow her. “Don’t take it personally. Not everyone is that memorable.”
“Zinger!” He trailed behind, clutching his chest. The family room was empty but she looked around anyway, as if to make sure. Doug’s gaze followed hers, taking in the setting.
Typical suburban home. Big TV, video game system at the ready, a couple of overstuffed chairs and a sofa with a handmade throw tossed over the back. Fireplace on one wall, he noted, thinking it’d be a comfortable space in winter with a fire burning.
At the moment, he could hear the central air unit struggling to keep up. Late morning, it wasn’t hot inside yet, but it was August in Kansas. Unless you were rich, it was tough to keep a house really nice and cool in this weather. Most people used a combination of AC and fans to get the job done.
He looked around once more until the petite woman moved in front of him and folded her arms across her chest. “I do hope you intend to take this seriously, Mr.—”
“Jackson. Doug Jackson. Again, I’m hurt.” He stared into her chocolate brown eyes for a moment before he blinked. “I assure you, I take my job very seriously. This isn’t exactly how I’d planned to spend my Sunday, you know.”
She looked over his ripped jeans and faded T-shirt. “Yeah, I see we caught you on your way to church. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
He gazed at her evenly. “I didn’t say it was an inconvenience. I said I might have had other plans. So what’s going on Chris? Jordan filled me in, but I’d like to hear it from you.”
Her face clouded as she obviously struggled for composure. She finally cleared her throat and mumbled, “No one calls me Chris. It’s Christine.”
It was Doug’s turn to roll his eyes. He walked away, nosing around the hallway and eventually ending up in the kitchen. Aware she was right behind him, he turned and raised his hands submissively. “Whatever you say, ma’am. I’m just trying to get to the bottom of things.”
She stared at him with a hard gaze for a moment before eventually giving in, perhaps deciding they were on the same side. She motioned to a kitchen chair and pulled a pitcher of tea from the fridge, holding it up.
Doug nodded.
She poured two glasses and added ice.
He sat and observed, trying to ignore the shapely curve of her hips in the snug jeans. She was thin for a woman with two kids, he mused, but had curves in all the right places. Straight brown hair fell past her shoulders, giving her a youthful appearance. He knew from her case file she was thirty-five, but he’d never have guessed it.
“Sugar?” She set a glass in front of him.
“Yes, dear?” He blinked at her innocently.
She started for the cabinet before pausing, his words apparently registering as she turned back to look at him. A bright red flush started at her neck spreading upward, and she screwed up her face. “I was asking if you’d like sugar in your tea.”
Doug grinned. “I knew what you were asking. I just like to see you blush. You’re easy to fluster, you know.”
Christine’s eyes flashed for a quick moment, then she pointed to the cabinet. “Well?”
“No, thank you.” He raised his glass and drank.
She sighed and sat across from him, poking the ice in her drink. “I have reason to be flustered, don’t you think? Someone is watching my house. Following my children. We’re not safe here anymore.”
Doug listened as she retold the story he’d heard from his partner Jordan. He drained his glass and she refilled it, talking the whole time. She stopped only when his phone barked.
Christine’s eyes widened.
He smiled sheepishly. “Text message. Excuse
me.” Pulling the phone from his pocket he scrolled the screen a few times and read the message.
“That would get annoying,” she muttered.
Doug’s fingers flew as he replied to the message quickly, and stuck the phone back in his jeans pocket. “I change it up a lot. It used to burp.”
“Great. Don’t let my son hear that.” She shook her head.
“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to talk to your son, but it looks like that’s not going to happen. Jordan has a broken ankle. They’ve splinted it and once the swelling goes down they’ll have to operate. She’s out of commission for the foreseeable future.”
“Oh no!” Christine looked as if she might burst into tears.
He reached out and touched her hand. “She’ll heal. It’s just her ankle. Jordan’s a strong woman. She’s going to be okay.”
“I know she will,” the woman sniffed. “I feel awful for her, I truly do. And I don’t mean to sound crass...but what about us? Are we going to be okay?”
Realization dawned on Doug and he felt like an idiot. This woman wasn’t concerned about his partner, someone she barely knew. She was afraid for her family, her children, her own life. He silently cursed the man who put Christine in this unenviable position. How could a husband do such a thing to his wife and kids?
Not that Doug really knew what a husband might be capable of. He’d come close to getting married once but the bride and groom got mutual cold feet and split up before they could go through with it. Since then, he’d been a happily unattached ladies’ man.
Pushing old memories aside, he cleared his throat. “Of course you are. Listen, we don’t know what this bald-headed guy is up to. Right now we’re waiting and watching. We don’t want to do anything hasty.”
“Hasty?” Her eyes flashed. “He gave a gift to my son!”
“Which in itself is not a crime, Christine. Keep a clear head about this.”
“A clear head?” She rose, her voice also rising in pitch. “How can you say that to me? We have no idea what this man is capable of! What if someone from the Russo family sent him? He could be a hit man. What if he does more than talk to Ethan the next time? What if he snatches him and I never see him again?”
“Whoa!” Doug stood and grasped one of her arms. “Slow down the ‘what if’ train. Worrying about stuff like that will only make you crazy.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re the one who’s going to make me crazy. I’m a mother. It’s my job to worry. Do you have any idea what those people from Chicago are capable of? There’s a reason my family and I are here, remember?” She shook her arm to release his grip.
He didn’t let her go. “Yeah, I remember. Dealing with people like this is my job, do you remember that? Hundreds of people have passed through my life in the Witness Protection Program and not one of them who followed the rules has gotten killed. The key to that is following the rules. And staying calm. Don’t freak out on me, Christine. Your kids need you. Jordan and I need you to remain in control.”
She took a deep breath and exhaled. Visibly calmer, she eyed him and the grip he maintained on her arm.
Doug let loose and took a step back.
Christine nodded. “I can stay calm, but you need to talk to me. I’ve got to know what you’re doing, what anyone is doing, to keep my children safe.”
Her son entered the kitchen and looked from one of them to the other. “Is Jordan here?”
Composing herself, his mother went to the boy and put an arm around his shoulder. “No, sweetie. Jordan has apparently broken her ankle. One of her friends is going to be helping us out. This is Mr. Jackson.”
“Call me Doug.” He stepped forward and extended a hand to shake with the boy. “You’re Ethan. I remember meeting you last winter.”
Seemingly surprised but well-mannered, the child nodded, shook hands and then stepped closer to his mother.
“I’m Jordan’s partner,” Doug corrected.
“You’re a marshal too?” Ethan sized him up. “I kind of remember you. There were a lot of people those first couple days.”
“Yes there were. The first few days in Witsec are usually a confusing mess. I seem to recall you made it through okay. With the help of a handheld video game, that is.” He smiled.
Ethan grinned.
Christine kept a protective arm around his shoulder. “He doesn’t go far without that.”
“I didn’t use to, either. ‘Course in my day, the games were a lot bulkier. And the graphics were laughable. Ever play Pac Man, Ethan?”
The boy shook his head.
“Space Invaders? Missile Command?”
He shook his head again.
“Tsk, tsk,” Doug looked at Christine. “Kids these days, don’t know what they’re missing.”
She gazed at him coolly. “He can access the internet from his video game. He can stream music, videos, movies, whatever he wants, and watch them on the handheld or the TV.”
Doug resisted the urge to make a snarky comment and simply said, “Kids shouldn’t be on the internet. It’s a dangerous place.”
“Like the world we live in is not,” she countered. Christine looked at her son. “I need to talk to Doug, honey. Can you please go to your room for a while longer? I’ll call you when we’re done.”
“I’m hungry.” He glanced over her shoulder to the counter.
“Here.” Christine released him and stepped back. She opened a plastic container and pulled out some cookies, putting them on a plate. She poured a glass of milk and grabbed a napkin, handing the snack over to her son. “Have this now. We’ll fix lunch in another hour or so.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Hands full, he nodded to Doug on his way out. “See you later.”
“Yeah, you will. Enjoy those cookies.” Doug sided up to the counter and sniffed longingly.
With an air of irritation, Christine put one more cookie on a napkin and handed it to him.
He smiled. “Chocolate chip. My favorite.” He ate while she laid into him.
“Don’t try to get all friendly with my son. You have a job to do here, Mister, and I expect you to focus on that. Not video games. I asked you before and now I’m asking again. What are you doing to keep my family safe?”
Doug folded the napkin, wiped his mouth, and tossed it in the trash can at the end of the counter. He faced Christine. “The Topeka Police Department is checking out the white sedan our mystery man is driving. We’ve got a couple contacts over there. They’re keeping an eye on your house and on the car, if it shows up again.”
“Can they arrest him?”
“He hasn’t done anything. All we can do is keep him under surveillance for now. If he tries anything—”
“Like snatching one of my children?”
“You’re awfully focused on that idea, aren’t you? What makes you think anyone wants one of your kids?”
“Oh, gee, let’s see. Maybe because my husband hasn’t testified yet at one of the biggest trials Chicago is going to see this year?”
He couldn’t resist. “Ex-husband.”
She looked surprised for a moment, then nodded. “Ex-husband. His employer, Valcor, was a multi-million dollar corporation. Their CEO, Martin Newsome, paid Larry well to fix their books and launder drug money. Larry has crucial information that’s going to put Newsome away for a long time, if not forever. Nobody really knows if that information is going to incriminate Sal Russo, who heads a Chicago crime syndicate. But my suspicion, and the suspicion of the folks who grabbed us up and stuck us in witness protection, was that Russo thinks Larry might have dirt on him.”
“I understand all that,” Doug tried to get a word in edgewise.
“And my poor, misguided ex-husband, who thought accepting huge bribes of drug money would help our family rather than hurt us… despite all the stupid things he did, he loves his children. That’s the one good thing I can still say about him. He has always loved his kids. If something happened to Peyton or Ethan, it would no doubt influence Larry’s testimony.
Russo has to know that. Doesn’t that make my kids pawns in this twisted, sick game?”
Doug shook his head. “Larry is totally isolated in prison. Nothing is going to happen to you or Peyton or Ethan. But hypothetically speaking, if it did, your ex-husband would never know about it. The DA would make sure of that. They’ve taken great pains to ensure that everyone else knows it, too. They want to decrease the appeal of hurting your family as much as anybody.”
She looked at him incredulously. “Decrease the appeal of hurting my family? Please try to remember, we’re real people here, Mr. Jackson. Not just another case to be worked.”
Doug started to reply then checked himself, and took a breath. “I understand that,” he finally said. “Look, I know you’re scared and right now it seems like everything is falling apart. But I really think you’re okay. We’re monitoring the situation, and if things don’t feel right we’ll take you and the kids to a holding place until we can decide what to do.”
“What kind of holding place?” She sniffed.
“Usually a safe house the service maintains, sometimes a hotel. But listen, that’s our last resort, only if we’re sure there’s a credible threat. If we take you away from here, you won’t be coming back. You understand what that means.”
Christine leaned against the counter and closed her eyes. “New city, new home, new identities. New job, new schools…” She opened her eyes. “I’m not sure we can do that, Doug. I’m barely keeping things together as it is.”
The look in her eyes tugged at his heartstrings. He stepped forward and squeezed her left hand. “Of course you can. You’ll do whatever it takes to keep your family safe. We’re just discussing possibilities right now, Chris. I told you, I think you’re safe. When I don’t think that anymore, you’ll be the first to know it.”
She stared into his eyes. “And I told you, nobody calls me Chris.”