by Laura Scott
Her stomach clenched. Was it possible that he still didn’t trust her? She half expected him to disconnect the phone from the wall, but then he walked past the device toward the connecting door between their rooms. “I’m going to leave this open an inch or so. Just give a yell if you need anything.”
She nodded. “Good night.”
“Good night.” Marc disappeared into his own room, leaving her to stare helplessly at the four walls surrounding her. She fought the urge to call him back.
Maybe she trusted him to keep her and her baby safe, but she couldn’t afford to allow herself to depend on anyone but herself.
Hadn’t Vince already taught her not to trust her instincts? Bad enough that she’d been foolish enough to fall for his act.
Tears pricked at her eyelids, evidence of hormones running amuck.
Five days. She needed to remain strong for the next five days. Once the trial was over, things would get back to normal.
Whatever her new normal might be.
* * *
Doing his best to keep quiet so he wouldn’t disturb Kari, Marc pulled his laptop computer out of its carrying case and set it on the small table. His witness deserved her rest, especially considering the condition of her ankle.
He wished there was more he could do for her, but it was better for him to focus on the case.
He’d gone through the bank-robbery case file more than once, but didn’t remember seeing anything about a former boyfriend named Vince Ackerman. Even if Detective Barclay had cleared the guy, shouldn’t she have at least mentioned Vince in the report?
Marc also needed to try to figure out who could have possibly leaked the location of the safe house. He doubted Kari had done anything on purpose, but he couldn’t ignore the tiny voice in his head telling him she might have let something slip by accident.
Maybe at the drugstore? When buying her prenatal vitamins? Or had she been followed?
He could almost hear his sister Madison’s voice in his head, admonishing him for being so cynical. And maybe he was. Not just because of his line of work, but learning the truth about Jessica and then losing the witness in his last case. A case that was eerily similar to this one. A young man from last year, who’d also witnessed a bank robbery.
Only Joey Simmons had been shot and killed on the way to the courthouse the morning of the trial, rather than a week before. They’d eventually proven that the man their star witness had been about to testify against had hired the gunman to kill Simmons. To this day, Marc felt guilty about that. As if he should have known or done something to avoid the outcome.
Was it any wonder he didn’t trust anyone?
His sister, Maddy, was a prosecuting attorney in the DA’s office, working hard to bring perpetrators to justice. She met all sorts of low-life criminals, yet still managed to maintain a positive outlook on life.
How she managed that feat was beyond his comprehension.
He booted up the computer, then drummed his fingers on the table as he waited for the operating system to kick in. As soon as the wallpaper image bloomed on his screen, he opened a browser and began a background search on Vince Ackerman.
He found several, but none in the right age range. Or what he thought was the correct age range. Somehow he couldn’t picture Kari with a guy fifteen years her senior.
Although what did he really know about her? Other than the basics?
Kari Ann Danville was twenty-six years old, grew up in Oakdale, Wisconsin, a suburb just outside Milwaukee. She’d been working at the Oakdale National Bank for the past four years, since graduating from college with an associate’s degree in graphic arts.
Graphic arts and banking didn’t necessarily go hand in hand, but he’d also found a freelance graphic-arts website hosted by KariAnn’s Designs. Maybe she was using the regular paychecks from her day job at the bank while she worked on getting her design business off the ground.
He wondered what she’d do once the baby was born. Not that Kari’s life or career prospects were any of his business. He couldn’t afford to let the aching loneliness in her eyes get to him.
Which brought him back to the baby’s father, Vince Ackerman. He scowled at the federal database he was logged in to. There were a few possibilities, but all of them were located on the other side of the country.
He sat back with a sigh. He should have asked for the guy’s age, and his last known address, but couldn’t bring himself to go next door to wake her up.
Marc scrubbed his hands over his face, knowing he should follow her lead and get some sleep, too. But he needed to figure out his next steps, not least of which involved contacting his boss.
The dead cop and empty safe house would raise an alarm when the relief officer arrived on the scene, in roughly—he glanced at his watch—two-and-a-half hours. His boss, Special Agent in Charge Evan White, would demand answers.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have any.
Since he’d ditched his phone, he had to use the motel phone. He reluctantly lifted the handset of the motel phone and dialed the main office number. No one would answer, but he could use a passcode to access Evan’s mailbox.
“This is Callahan reporting in,” he said into the voice mail. “I have our witness in custody, but the safe house was breached and the officer watching over her is dead, the result of a gunshot wound inflicted at close range. I don’t have my phone... I’ll let you know as soon as I secure a replacement.”
He disconnected from the call, relieved to postpone the inevitable confrontation with his boss.
They were safely isolated here for the moment, but they couldn’t just hang out here until the trial. He needed help from someone he could trust.
His family.
As the oldest, he didn’t like turning to his siblings for help. His brother Miles was the next in line, and also happened to be a detective with the Milwaukee Police Department. There were six Callahans total, and thanks to his parents’ crazy sense of humor all their names started with the letter M.
Marcus, Miles, Mitch, Michael, Matthew and Madison. Matt and Maddy were twins, Matt the elder by three minutes. Maddy hated being the baby of the family, constantly lamenting the fact that she had five older brothers. His father had been thrilled to finally have a daughter, and while they were always protective of their baby sister, they’d all also spoiled Maddy a little too much.
He swallowed the painful lump in his throat when he thought about their father. Max Callahan had been a cop, and the acting chief of police, before he was killed six months ago, in the line of duty.
His mother, Maggie, and their grandmother, Nan, still lived in the house where they grew up. Sunday church service followed by brunch was a steadfast Callahan tradition.
Max Callahan had instilled a strong sense of duty and commitment to serving their community in all of his children. And the Callahan legacy lived on, as they’d followed in his footsteps in one form or another, well, except for Michael, who worked as a private investigator. Their father hadn’t been thrilled with Mike’s choice and had constantly badgered him to go back to the police academy.
It still burned Marc to know their father’s case remained unsolved. Especially since his father was murdered by a sniper during an investigation into a police shooting of an unarmed teenager. It wasn’t normal for the chief of police to go to crime scenes, but his dad had wanted to make a statement that they were taking these types of incidents seriously.
Only to be shot and killed for his efforts.
Marc had recently begun his own personal investigation into his father’s death, hating the thought that the person responsible might get away with the crime. But it was as if the shooter had vanished into thin air, without leaving so much as a shell casing behind as a clue to his, or her, identity.
Marc must be more tired than he thought, to allow
his thoughts to be sucked back into the past.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t allow his father’s death to become a distraction.
Not when faced with an immediate threat to his witness.
He picked up the motel phone again and punched in his brother’s number. Several rings went by before Miles answered in a raspy voice.
“Who is this?”
“Marc. I need a favor.”
As if by magic the sleepiness in his brother’s voice vanished. “What’s going on? Why are you calling me from an unknown number?”
“That’s the favor,” he said, avoiding a direct answer. “I need two new untraceable phones. Are you in the middle of something? Can you get them to me ASAP?”
“That depends on where you are,” Miles said. “Is this related to your serial bank-robbery case?”
“Yeah. The safe house where I stashed my witness has been compromised. I don’t want to call the Feds or the locals for help. Not until I have a better understanding as to what’s going on.”
Miles was quiet for a long moment. “That’s not good,” he finally said. “Okay. Prepaid phones, check. Anything else?”
He knew his brother would come through for him. “Not at the moment, but I’ll let you know if that changes.”
“Where are you?”
“Ravenswood Motel. It’s off Highway WW—on the right. You can’t miss it.”
“Okay, but it will take me some time to get there and I have to wait for the stores to open.”
“Understood. Thanks, I owe you.”
“Yeah, and don’t think I won’t collect,” Miles shot back. “Later, bro.”
Marc hung up the phone then glanced up in time to see Kari standing in the opening between the connecting doors. He was surprised to see her up and moving around on her injured ankle.
“Who was that?” she demanded.
“My brother.” Marc slowly rose to his feet. “How’s the ankle?”
“Don’t try to change the subject,” she said, narrowing her gaze. “Why are you calling your family? I thought we were supposed to stay off the grid.”
“We are. Relax. My brother would never betray me.”
“That doesn’t necessarily make me feel better.”
The edge of desperation in her tone made him frown. “You’re my witness,” he pointed out. “Of course Miles would protect you, too.”
“Really? I’m not so sure.” Sarcasm didn’t seem to be her style, but she appeared to be on a roll. “First Vince disappears without a trace, taking every cent out of our joint account, then I get robbed while working at the bank, and then end up running away from a gunman...”
Whoa, wait a minute. He backtracked a bit. “Vince stole money from you?”
Her eyes widened as if realizing what she’d said. With an awkward turn while leaning heavily on the wall, she disappeared inside her room, shutting and locking the connecting door behind her with a loud click.
Marc stared at the closed door, his thoughts whirling. Maybe the reason he hadn’t been able to find Vince Ackerman was because the guy didn’t really exist. His name, his entire identity, was likely fake.
A chill snaked down his spine.
Was Vince just another con man, out to score off naive women? Or was it possible Vince was involved in something more sinister?
THREE
Bracing her arm against the wall, Kari hopped on one foot over to the bed. When she’d gotten up earlier to use the bathroom, she’d heard voices. Seeing Marc on the phone had made her see red.
Now that the initial flash of anger had passed, she could admit that she’d overreacted. It was probably better that he’d called his brother, rather than anyone within the police department or FBI. He was right about one thing—his brother would likely do whatever was necessary to help them out.
If only she’d managed to control her temper. The slip she’d made revealing how Vince had taken all their money, most of which had been hers, anyway, hadn’t gone unnoticed.
Then again, she doubted that there was much that passed by Agent Marc Callahan. For some odd reason, knowing he had family, at least one brother, made him seem more human.
Plopping back down on the bed, she lifted her injured ankle and set it gently on the pillows. The ice inside the towel had melted, but she wasn’t in the mood to ask Marc for more.
Later, she’d find the energy to get up and get more ice herself.
There was nothing worse than feeling helpless, than being at someone else’s mercy. But that was the situation she was in, at least for now.
She managed to fall asleep, despite the throbbing in her ankle. The next time she opened her eyes, the sun was shining brightly through the narrow opening between the curtains hanging over the window. Gingerly taking her leg off the pillows, she rolled onto her side and sat up, pushing her dark hair away from her face.
Gathering every ounce of strength, she took another hopping trip to the bathroom, making use of the shower this time. When she emerged fifteen minutes later, she felt better.
Hungry.
She limped over to the bed, threading her fingers through her damp hair, wondering if she should open the connecting door and wave the white flag of truce. There was no reason to be at odds with the man protecting her. Especially considering they would likely be in close proximity for the next five days.
A knock on the door startled her. Not the connecting door, but the main motel-room door. Before she could hobble over to open it, she heard the lock disengage. The door opened, revealing Marc holding a tray of takeout food.
The enticing scent of bacon, eggs and coffee made her mouth water.
“Good morning,” he greeted her cautiously, as if trying to gauge her mood. “I thought you might be ready for breakfast.”
“I am,” she agreed with a tentative smile. “Thanks.”
Marc set the tray down on the table and then pulled a white drug-store bag out from beneath his arm. “I bought a bottle of prenatal vitamins as well as some ibuprofen for your ankle.”
“I’ll take the vitamins,” she said, making her way over to the table. “But nothing else.”
He opened his mouth as if to argue, but then must have decided against it. “Okay. What about coffee?”
“Decaf,” she said with a sigh. She really, really missed regular coffee.
Marc nodded, then crossed over to the small coffee pot located on the dresser to prepare a cup of decaf. Her stomach was rumbling, but she waited for him to return to the table before bowing her head in prayer.
She thanked God for keeping her safe and for the food they were about to eat. She was still new at this prayer stuff, and tried not to fidget beneath Marc’s intense gaze.
He waited until she’d opened her disposable container before digging in to his. She unwrapped her plastic silverware and then dug in to her scrambled eggs.
“Delicious,” she murmured between bites.
A tiny corner of his mouth lifted in what she suspected was his version of a smile. “I’m glad you like it. I wasn’t sure what you preferred, so I got a little of everything.”
“I love all breakfast foods,” she confessed, nibbling on a slice of toast. “Especially now that I’m not having very much morning sickness.”
Instantly, any hint of a smile vanished. “Listen, I think we need to talk about your ex-boyfriend, Vince Ackerman.”
Her eggs suddenly tasted like papier-mâché. “Why?”
“I don’t remember seeing his name in Detective Barclay’s report.”
She grimaced and sighed. “So what? I don’t see what Vince has to do with anything.”
“Didn’t any of the officers who questioned you ask about him? Do any sort of investigation into his background?”
“Not that I know of.”
She was beginning to get annoyed. “They only asked about the robbery details. Then I was only questioned by Detective Barclay and you. No other detectives questioned me. And you were the one who told me that there were almost a dozen bank robberies in a very short time frame. And they all took place after Vince left me. What kind of connection could there be?”
“I’m not sure, but I think we should try to find out.”
She wondered what it was like to go through life being suspicious of every little thing. Not the way she wanted to live, that’s for sure.
“You can do whatever you like. Personally, I wish that idiot hadn’t chosen my window to demand the money. And that the customer hadn’t jumped him, jerking his hoodie aside and revealing the tattoo.”
“I’m not trying to be difficult,” Marc said, obviously sensing her irritation. “It’s my job to anticipate the worst-case scenario, every single time.”
“I get that. But I don’t think Vince is involved.”
“What did he do for work?” He finished his eggs and bacon, then started in on the hash browns.
“He was a salesman.”
Marc frowned. “What did he sell?”
“Party supplies, trinkets. You know, the kind of thing you might see in corner drugstores.” She lifted a brow. “Not exactly the bank-robber type.”
“Probably not. But we also don’t know who Terrance Jamison’s accomplices were. I can’t ignore the remote possibility that Vince was one of them.”
“I guess, but I can’t see him doing something like that.” Although simply talking about what Vince was capable of ruined her appetite. She dropped her half-eaten piece of toast back into the container. “What exactly are you suggesting? That Vince used me to case the bank? That he actually went out to every city where his buddies targeted a bank for the sole purpose of getting one of the tellers to fall in love with him? To propose marriage? That doesn’t even make sense.” She huffed out a breath. “I’m telling you, the timing is off. He left me days before the first bank was robbed. And from there it was almost another two weeks before my bank was robbed.”