Do-or-Die Bridesmaid

by Julie Miller

  During the lunchtime conversation, Laura also learned that more than 18,000 witnesses had been entered into the WITSEC program, and that not one of those witnesses had been harmed or killed so long as they followed the guidelines set up for their protection by the US Marshals Service and their regional and local task forces. Laura found the statistics reassuring, Alice charming and the food delicious. It gave her a momentary reprieve from the bleakness of her situation and the danger she’d thrust Conor into. But after a quick shower, fresh clothes and a good meal, he was ready to go again.

  And though it took a bit of cajoling and logical reasoning about fatigue and injuries and needing to be at his peak performance that even he couldn’t deny, Conor let her drive so that he could catch a solid nap. The terrain changed from one skyline after another to a seemingly endless landscape of snow-covered hills and valleys sprinkled with evergreen trees, a few red barns and dramatic rock formations as they left the heavily populated cities and drove across eastern Ohio.

  But his nap only lasted an hour or so before Conor was awake again, watching the other vehicles as they drove through Columbus, Ohio, and checking the side-view mirror for anyone looking interested in them or their nondescript sedan. “I’m glad Alice is doing well,” he said after a while, assured that they weren’t being followed, and that she wasn’t driving too fast or too slowly or in any way that would make them stand out to the highway patrol cops they occasionally saw. He scrubbed at the stubble shading his jaw, wincing as he got too close to the wound on his chin. “She reminds me of Mom.”

  Laura passed the semitruck in front of them and pulled back into the right lane before pointing out the obvious. “You understand how loyal these people are to you, don’t you? You may not have family, but you have connections, Conor. People admire you and care about you. Don’t you ever think you’re alone in this world.” Maybe he wasn’t ready to believe in love, or believe it lasted, but he had to understand that.

  “I was just doing my job.”

  “They’d be dead without you doing your job. I’d be dead.”

  “We’re not out of the woods yet.”

  Determined not to let that grim reminder spoil the peaceful reprieve of these quiet hours in the car, she speculated out loud about the people who had helped them today. “Alice is a widow, and you said Mr. Naso never married. Don’t you think they’d make a cute couple?”

  “Seriously?” His laugh went a long way to boost her own morale. “With two dead women, plus a drug-addicted artist, Cobb the Corrupt and whoever Mr. Suit Guy is—probably Marvin Boltz—after us, you’re matchmaking?”

  “They’d certainly understand each other—taking risks, starting new lives, keeping secrets.” Did she dare push him? “I think understanding who a person really is, their history, what they need, what they fear, what they want, is a good basis for a relationship, don’t you? Like Alice and Mr. Naso?” Like you and me?

  “I think you’ve helped enough people for now, okay, Squirt?” Squirt. She understood what that meant. He was keeping his emotional distance again, maybe focusing on the job, or maybe backing off from just how close they’d gotten since Lisa’s wedding. “Let’s get to Kansas City and survive this first, and then I’ll think about helping you use WITSEC as a dating program.”

  She hurt at the idea that Conor didn’t trust the world enough—maybe didn’t trust her enough—to give in to his feelings. But because she understood he needed to wall off his heart from his deepest emotions right now, she laughed at the joke as he meant her to and drove on toward the sunset.

  She wasn’t laughing later that night when she went up to the counter at the gas station and convenience store outside Troy, Illinois, just off I-70, to pay for the gas Conor was putting into the car and saw the news on the television over the clerk’s head.

  After twelve hours in the car, she was a little fuzzy from lack of sleep, but her eyes weren’t deceiving her. That was her picture displayed on the corner of the television while the anchorwoman from a cable news station talked on the muted screen. Laura’s wallet burned in her hand. That was her driver’s license photo—always unflattering, but now completely horrifying to see on a TV set over eight hundred miles from home.

  Laura read the words scrolling across the bottom of the screen. Suddenly, her blood was chilling as quickly as the temperature was dropping outside.

  ...she is wanted in connection with the murder of two women. Unknown at this time if she has been kidnapped or is working with the man accompanying her. Officials in the Arlington area warn citizens that the man she is with should be considered armed and dangerous. If you spot them, do not approach the couple yourself. If anyone has information regarding Ms. Karr, please call this number.

  She backed away from the television, forgetting her change on the counter. “He didn’t kidnap me.” She mouthed the words. “We’re not the bad guys.”

  The message played again. At least they had the wrong vehicle description. Stephen Naso’s replacement car wasn’t on any official press release. Law enforcement looking for their car or license plate number wouldn’t be able to identify them. But she was still there on the screen. Her picture. In a tiny town in Illinois. Across five state lines. A person of interest in two murders wanted by authorities in Virginia.

  How? Why did she ever think that leaving Arlington with Conor would make her safe?

  “Ma’am?” The clerk was looking at her with a strange expression on her face. “Your change?” The other woman turned to see what had Laura so transfixed. She read some of the words, looked at Laura, looked back up at the television, frowned. “Are you okay, ma’am?”

  “She’s tired.” A strong hand clamped around Laura’s arm and she startled. Her instinct to pull away vanished when she looked up into Conor’s dark blue eyes. “We have to go.”

  “That report said you’re armed and dangerous,” Laura whispered.

  “I am.” He flashed his badge at the woman behind the counter, too quickly for her to read his name or even confirm what agency he was with. “The situation is under control, miss. No need to worry. We’re running an undercover operation. We were never here.”

  “Okay.” The clerk didn’t sound convinced that there was nothing to worry about. “Can I hear that from her?”

  “I’m fine.” Laura pointed to Conor and faked a smile. “He’s one of the good guys.”

  Looking as if she thought they were both batty, the clerk pushed the money across the counter. “Do you still want your change?”

  Avoiding any more eye contact with the other woman, Conor swiped the money off the counter and pulled Laura out the door with him.

  “We’re on the news,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “Cops across the eastern US are looking for us.”

  “Talk later. Go now.”

  “How do they know about us here in Illinois?” Laura asked as Conor pulled away from the gas pump and headed back toward the interstate. “You’re a kidnapping arsonist, and I’m a murder suspect.”

  “I miscalculated. Whoever is calling the shots is much bigger than either Cobb or Boltz.” He pulled his cell phone from his coat and handed it to her. “Find Thomas’s number and call him. We need answers. We need to see if he’s found who Vinnie Orlando is, and why so many people are willing to kill to cover up his mistakes.”

  She craned her neck over her shoulder, trying to decide whether the clerk was searching for a number to call and report them, or if she’d gone back to reading the magazine she’d been perusing when they’d arrived. “I’m always going to be on the run from these people, aren’t I?” She sat back in her seat and looked over at his weary profile as they merged onto I-70 again. “I can’t live this way. My family can’t stay away from home forever. I have a job. I have friends. I’ve got a whole life planned out. I’m pretty flexible, but none of this is even on a contingency plan.” She reached over to grip the sleeve of his
coat and the unyielding strength underneath. “You can’t protect me the rest of your life—I can’t ask you to do that.”

  He took his left hand off the wheel to squeeze her fingers. “Call him, Squirt. Once we figure out who’s behind all this and expose them, either through the media or because we arrest them, it’ll be over. They want to stay in the dark. They want Vinnie’s problem to go away, not be broadcast or put on any police report database.”

  Broadcast. Laura turned her hand to squeeze his fingers before she pulled away. She was done with reassurances. She’d made a decision. “I’m going to give them what they want.”

  “No.” Conor glared at her across the car.

  But she wasn’t backing down. “You haven’t even heard what I’m going to say.”

  “I know what you’re thinking. You want to meet with these people and turn over that flash drive. Then you’re going to promise them that you’ll never tell anyone what you saw.” He shook his head, his expression raw as he glanced her way again. “One of those men, or someone they hired, beat your friend to death to cover up that video. What do you think they’re going to do to you?”

  “I’m not promising to keep secrets. I want everyone to know what’s on that video. Chloe was right about one thing. She decided to fight for her happily-ever-after. Maybe she didn’t go about it the right way, but she fought for it right up to the end. This is me fighting. I’m not going to spend the rest of my life running or hiding. Besides, Chloe didn’t have you to help her.”

  Bless his heart. Conor was a good-looking son of a gun even when he cursed and frowned. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

  “Probably not. But I think I’ve got a pretty solid idea.” She reached behind the seat to unzip his bag and pull out the plastic bag that held the flash drive. She turned the evidence over in her hand before tucking it into her own coat pocket. Then she scrolled through the names on his phone to find Thomas Watson’s. “How connected are your friends in Kansas City? Will Thomas help us?”

  “With what?”

  Chapter Twelve

  “She’s married to a senator?” Laura sat at the kitchen counter in Thomas Watson’s house in Kansas City while his wife, Jane, a registered nurse, sterilized the gash in Conor’s chin and glued it shut. Laura could see why Jane had been so taken with the handsome older man, with his chiseled features and neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair. His easy air of authority that commanded the room made it easy to see why Conor respected him so much, too.

  Thomas’s pregnant daughter-in-law, Melanie, a med student, worked as Jane’s assistant, taking away the soiled gauze and disposing of instruments, and preparing ice packs that none of them had been able to get Conor to use on the ugly bruises and swelling around his rib cage where he’d fought with Don Urbanski. They’d been lucky to get him to sit still, period, to have his injuries taken care of. But she learned that Mel was a gentle, patient soul, and with Laura’s help, they not only got Conor’s ribs wrapped with a protective bandage, but also had him holding an ice pack against his bruised flank. Of course, it helped that the Watsons had shifted their command central to the kitchen, so that Conor could hear every bit of information being exchanged, and so that Thomas and three of his four grown children—all members of law enforcement—could keep him in the loop as they made phone call after phone call to set Laura’s plan for ending this nightmare into place.

  She raised her gaze to Thomas, asking him to confirm the information he’d just shared with them. “Senator Webb Adams from Florida is Vinnie Orlando’s stepfather. It took a little doing to get the court records unsealed—that’s why we couldn’t make the connection sooner. Vinnie’s mother, Mona Orlando, legally changed her name years ago, probably to sever ties with her son’s criminal activities before marrying the then state representative. Now she’s Carla Adams. Her name’s on the letterhead of a half-dozen foundations in Miami and DC. Between her charitable work and Senator Adams’s political career, I can’t imagine that this is the first time they’ve gone to extreme lengths to distance themselves from anything Vinnie has been involved with.”

  “You mean cover up,” Conor grumbled, wincing as Jane gave him a shot of antibiotics. “Between drugs and murder, Vinnie’s a guaranteed scandal.”

  “All the more reason to contact the press, right?” Laura still believed her plan was the only way to make the threats and the attempts on her life stop. “They literally keep their dirty secrets in the shadows. I want to bring them out into the light.”

  Conor reached over to squeeze her knee. “I’d still rather have Olivia or another female police officer stand in for you at the meeting.”

  Thomas’s daughter, Olivia, was a good four or five inches taller than Laura. “Um, five-foot three? Nobody’s going to pass for me but me.”

  “And you don’t want anyone else to fight your battle for you.”

  Laura covered his hand with hers. “No. I don’t.”

  Not even you, Conor Wildman.

  As if he’d read her mind, Conor shook his head and pulled away, submitting to the last of Jane and Melanie’s ministrations with an impatient huff. “Don’t even think about it, Squirt. I intend to be with you every step of the way.”

  Thomas’s phone rang again. She really hadn’t understood the complexity of setting up an operation like the one she’d proposed. “Excuse me. I need to take this.” He patted his wife’s shoulder before limping out of the room and answering the call.

  Getting Conor to sit still and allow the others to help them had also given Laura a chance to know the Watsons better. She’d learned that Jane was Conor’s witness in the WITSEC program that had brought him to Kansas City, and that they had grown especially close to the Watson family after relocating here. It was because of Thomas and his family’s help that Conor had been able to save Jane.

  Watching all this happy sort of chaos surrounding her, it seemed that Conor, Thomas and his family were going to save her, too.

  She’d met Thomas’s four grown children and their spouses over the past few hours since they’d arrived in the middle of the night. His middle son, Niall, had been called away to the crime lab to perform an autopsy, but she’d met him, his wife, Lucy, and their adorable toddler, Tommy, the night before when Niall had brought them a cleaned-up copy of the video, which clearly identified T. J. Cobb, Marvin Boltz and the two men who’d burned down Conor’s home. There was still no ID on the dead woman, but Niall had launched a search with her general description on missing persons databases. Laura had also met Thomas’s father, Seamus, and Seamus’s wife, Millie, who puttered about the kitchen, making coffee and refilling plates with breakfast burritos that everyone seemed to be picking up or polishing off as they passed through to report on the results of all the phone calls they’d been making.

  “All right, hon. Thanks. You and Jim be careful.” Thomas Watson limped back into the room, disconnecting his call and pulling out a stool on the other side of Jane to sit at the counter. “That was Olivia. She said the precinct got a call asking for intel on you relating to an arson investigation and murder.”

  “I shot that guy in self-defense,” Conor insisted. “There wasn’t exactly time to file an incident report.”

  “You should do that here. Make sure there’s an official record of events.” He directed the information to Conor. “They wanted your home address. I sent Olivia and her partner, Jim, over there to keep an eye on things. They’ll let us know if anyone shows up there before we’re ready for them.”

  Laura set her mug on the counter. “Are you sure it’s okay if we stay here? I feel bad about endangering more people.”

  Millie, the older woman at the stove, tutted her tongue behind her teeth. “Nonsense. It’s good to have the house so full again.” She carried the pot of coffee over to refill Laura’s mug before she patted her hand. “I’m sorry for the cause, of course, but we’re glad to have you. Our Conor doesn’t
ask for much. I keep trying to fatten him up, so anytime I can get him over here to eat some good food, I’m all for it.”

  “Our Conor?” Laura echoed, glancing over to see if he’d heard the inclusion into this big, close-knit family.

  But he was focused on Thomas’s phone call. “Did Liv get an ID on the caller?”

  Thomas nodded. “Sheriff’s department in Arlington County Virginia.”

  Conor swore. “Cobb. That guy’s got a lot of nerve.”

  “He claims he’s flying in to get your eyewitness testimony to events that happened there,” Thomas explained. “Laura’s, too. He’s asking for interdepartmental cooperation.”

  “I guarantee you he won’t be alone. And he’s not getting anywhere near Laura.” Conor pushed away the ice pack that Melanie was trying to secure in place and reached for the clean T-shirt one of the sons had lent him. “Does he think calling me a suspect is going to stop me?” As he stood to pull the shirt on over his head, he accidentally knocked the ice pack from Melanie’s hand. When the woman with the swollen belly tried to bend down to retrieve it, Conor knelt to pick it up and hand it to her. “Sorry.”

  “Too much caffeine?” Laura teased, attempting to ease his tension.

  “Not enough control of the situation yet.”

  Melanie tossed her long red braid of hair behind her back and smiled at Laura. “Let me guess, his idea of control is locking you up in your room while he faces down the bad guys all by himself?”

  Laura grinned at the commiseration of what she was feeling. “Sounds like you’ve gone through something like this yourself.”