Reluctant Witness (13 page)

“I’m putting your bag of clothes in the
closet,” he informed me, holding up my bag of goodies before
tucking it in beside his selection of assorted footwear.

“Great. Thanks.”

“The bathroom is this way,” he said, leading
me through a very plain Jack and Jill set-up with a rather ordinary
tub, sink, and toilet. A second door led back out to the tiny
hallway where he opened a set of double doors. “The washer and
dryer are here. And now it’s time for the last room on the
tour.”

We climbed the stairs to the loft, where
cardboard boxes and plastic storage bins were stacked beside an old
oak roll top desk. A wooden desk chair beside it was piled high
with color-coded files. Lincoln gestured with his right hand at the
wide open space. “This is the final frontier. I still haven’t
decided what to do with it. At the moment, it’s a catch-all
room.”

“It has great potential. It’d be a nice guest
room,” I paused to consider other options, “or maybe a home office.
Or even both.”

“Indeed. As you can see, I do sometimes work
up here.” He picked up the files and deposited them on top of a
plastic bin before moving the chair over by the wall. “Tonight I’ll
try it out as a guest room.”

“You’re sleeping up here...on the floor?” I
wondered, gazing at the clutter that was spread from one end of the
loft to the other. The thought of taking his bedroom and consigning
him to a night of bone-numbing discomfort sleeping on the floor
kicked my sense of guilt into high gear. Surely that leather sofa
downstairs would be a more pleasant alternative. More importantly,
what if someone broke in while we were sleeping? I confessed my
anxiety about having him so far away.

“Not to worry, Marigold. I’m fast on my feet.
Now,” he gave me congenial smile, “how do you feel about pizza for
dinner?”

We spent the evening
relaxing on the sofa, the dog curled up between us. Just after
nine, Lincoln’s phone chimed. I heard
Ding,
Dong! The Witch Is Dead
. Looking at the
screen, his brow creased in consternation. “Sorry, Marigold. I’ve
got to take this call.”

“No problem.” I watched him walk away,
speaking softly, as he padded up the stairs in his stocking feet.
It was obvious that the caller was someone he knew intimately. Was
it Deirdre or was it another woman?

Chapter Twelve

He came back and sat on the sofa half an hour
later, subdued and serious. By that time, I had switched the
channel to HGTV and was engrossed in a house tour. When he finally
spoke, it was to apologize.

“I’m sorry about that.” He cleared his
throat. “I didn’t mean to leave you on your own for so long.”

“Not to worry. Kary and I were just getting
to know one another. He’s a big fan of belly rubs.”

“Aren’t we all?” His half-hearted attempt at
humor couldn’t disguise the fact that he was distracted, a fact
drilled home to me when his phone rang again and he vaulted to his
feet. I heard the same tune. It had to be Deirdre. This time,
Lincoln sequestered himself in the kitchen. I heard him utter few
sharp words before he retreated to the far corner.

It was another ten minutes or so before he
returned. This time his mood was sullen, and he didn’t bother
trying to hide it. Lincoln sat back on the sofa, staring up at the
ceiling. Was he waiting for his phone to ring again? Judging from
the clenched fists, it looked like he was itching to have the last
word in the next confrontation. No doubt he was rehearsing the
words in his head, going over the points he wished to make. I
decided the best course was to let him be, so he could figure it
out for himself. At quarter to ten, I scooped up the dishes and
took them into the kitchen, where I loaded them into the
dishwasher.

Kary followed me into the kitchen, stopping
at his bowl for a few sips of water. He leisurely stretched his
body, like an athlete trying to work all the muscle groups, and
then padded toward the front door.

“I think Kary wants to go out,” I announced.
The dog gave a confirming bark, but Lincoln didn’t stir. I finished
what I was doing and grabbed the harness and leash from the hook by
the front door. Once he was buckled in, I tried again.

“Do you want me to take him out?” I called to
him. Those brown eyes stared at me for a few seconds without
registering, and then, as my hand touched the door handle, he came
to his senses and hopped up.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. I’ll
take him out.” Lincoln slipped his jacket on and zipped it up. “We
won’t be long.”

There was a commercial on TV, so I took
advantage of it and used the bathroom. After washing up, I checked
my ear in the mirror, turning this way and that to see for myself
what the injury looked like. It was still quite red, reminding me
to take my medications. I grabbed my bag from the closet and popped
the lids on the plastic bottles, counting out the requisite doses
before replacing them in the bag and the bag in the closet. With
pills in hand, I made my way to the kitchen for a glass of water.
That’s when something odd happened. I heard a strange little
scratching at the door. For a brief second, I thought it might be
Kary pawing the door, but then I ruled that possibility out as the
door handle jiggled. A cold shiver passed through me. There was
danger on the other side of that door -- of this, I had no
doubt.

Tiptoeing across the wooden floor in my
stocking feet, I pressed my eye to the peep hole. Sure enough,
there was a dark-haired man trying to work the lock.

Some women might have screamed or bolted the
door and thrown on the chain lock. Others might have reached for
the phone and dialed 911. But I’m not an ordinary woman. I’ve been
on the run, off and on, for nearly twenty years. For me, survival
is the name of the game and decisions have to be made quickly. I
did the only thing that came to mind. I bolted up those carpeted
steps to the loft and made a beeline for the only place I thought
would give me cover. Backing into the narrow space under the
antique roll top desk, I pulled a couple of cartons towards me,
making sure they were tall enough to hide me, and just in time,
too, for I heard that front door latch click into place as the
intruder let himself into Lincoln’s condo.

I could feel the thump-thump-thump of my
heart against my chest. Biting my upper lip, I forced myself to
keep still. This is not a good time to hyperventilate, I reminded
myself. Steady breathing was in order. I was fairly confident that
the intruder wouldn’t think to look under the desk. But what would
happen when Lincoln and Kary returned? Would the FBI agent and his
little dog come face-to-face with the man who broke in? What if it
ended the way it did for Tovar, with my protector being shot? I
would never be able to forgive myself.

As I huddled in my tiny rabbit hole,
terrified, I could hear sounds downstairs. Doors opened and shut.
Was the stranger searching for me? Time seemed to slow to a crawl
as my knees cramped up on me. How long had Lincoln and the little
dog been gone? Surely Kary had time to mark every single bush in
the courtyard by now.

Even as I tried to envision my options, my
mind raced forward to the worst case scenarios, and I cringed as I
mentally flipped through the possible results. I wasn’t sure
Lincoln was wearing his weapon, but it was likely his potential
opponent was armed and dangerous. If only I had a phone. If only I
had Lincoln’s number.

A soft footfall interrupted my musing. Was
that stranger creeping up the stairs? Without moving a muscle, I
strained to look through the narrow gap between plastic container
and desk. I could see the top of a dark-haired head. I was about to
get a glimpse of the eyes when a tiny buzzing sound startled the
furtive figure and he dropped down onto the step.

“Yeah?” The voice was raspy. “Okay. No.
Nothing. No sign of her. Maybe he dropped her off somewhere before
he got home. Right. I’m leaving now. I’ll meet you out front.”

Abandoning all pretense of being quiet, the
man rose and hurried down the stairs, threw open the front door,
and let it slam as he ran away.

Thirty seconds later, Lincoln came busting in
with a barking dog. There was panic in his voice.

“Marigold! Marigold, it’s me! Are you okay?
Where are you?”

“I’m up here,” I called out, moving my
makeshift barricade away from the roll top desk. The lean,
long-legged FBI agent took the stairs two at a time and was by my
side in time to help me stand up.

“Did he hurt you?”

“I’m fine. How did you know?” I wondered.

“He came to the window just as I was looking
up.”

“You saw him?”

“I did. He didn’t see me.”

“I heard him on the phone, Lincoln. He was
looking for me.” I briefed him on the details. His dark eyes
reflected his concern.

“Hmm, not good. We have to get you out of
here, just in case these guys decide to come back. Come on,” he
urged me. He hurried to the master bedroom, threw open the closet
door, and grabbed my bag. On the way through the living room, he
stopped at the closet and pulled out Kary’s crate and my jacket.
“Hurry up. I don’t know how much time we’ll have.”

I expected him to lead me to the elevator and
down to the parking garage, but instead, we took a left and
followed the seemingly endless hallway almost all the way around
the entire building. We passed more than forty doors on our
journey. I know, because I eventually stopped counting.

“Where are we going?” I finally asked,
breathless as I struggled to keep up with the long stride of the
FBI agent.

“No conversation. I need to concentrate,” was
all he said.

Little Kary was as confused as I was as he
was jostled along in his master’s arms. We were both relieved when
Lincoln finally slowed long enough to knock on a door. A moment
later, it was opened by a middle-aged woman with a cane. I could
see she had a black surgical boot on her left foot.

“Emergency,” the FBI agent told her. She
stepped aside long enough to let us in. Seconds later, she shut the
door and bolted it.

“Tom!” She crossed through the living room
and hollered up the stairs. “Company! It’s Linc!”

“Be right down!”

“Make yourselves at home,” she suggested,
waving us over to the sofa. “Kary, have you come to stay?”

“Not the way you think,” Lincoln
acknowledged. “I’ve got a serious situation and I need some
cover.”

“Ah,” she nodded. “So, this isn’t the
dog-sitting we talked about on the phone.”

“No. Marigold,” he said, turning to me, “this
is Joanne, better known as Jojo. She’s one of the best support
services coordinators I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with at
the FBI. She helps coordinate our surveillance teams.”

“Hi.” I put out my hand and shook hers; I was
still not sure what was going on or why we were here.

“Nice to meet you, Mari....” the tall,
handsome woman greeted me. She was on the other side of fifty,
slightly plump, with round, cornflower blue eyes and a mellifluous
voice that made me think of spring, of butterflies and buttercups
and picnics on a blanket in a verdant meadow.

“Marigold, as in the flower,” I smiled. I
caught her glancing at Lincoln as I said that. A barely perceptible
nod confirmed that Marigold was indeed my name, at least this time
around.

I caught the sound of footsteps coming down
the stairs and a moment later a man appeared. He was grizzly
bear-large, at least six-foot-six, with wide shoulders. He looked
like he was carrying an extra twenty pounds in anticipation of his
winter hibernation, but he had a pleasant-looking face and a rich
baritone voice.

“Cornwall, what’s up? How was the skiing in
the Catskills? You find yourself a new ski partner?” He looked from
Lincoln to me, put out his hand, and greeted me like I was joining
the family. “Hi, I’m Tom Erikson. How are you?”

Even as I reached up to shake his hand,
Lincoln got between us. “No time. I got tracked back here by a
couple of professionals and one of them just broke into my place
while I was out with the dog. They’re looking to snatch Marigold,
and we’re still trying to tie loose ends of a case together, which
means she’s not yet in Witness Protection. I need some temporary
shelter for her and I need to make transportation arrangements to
get her out of here, sight unseen.”

“No problem,” Tom replied, sinking down onto
the sofa beside Jojo. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need you to watch her for a couple of days
and then put her on a plane with Kary down to Atlanta, where I’ll
have Jeff arrange to pick her up. Think you can handle that for
me?”

“Not a problem,” the other man agreed.

“Okay. I’ve got to go lay down some tracks,
in case they’re watching me. Jojo, do whatever you have to do to
transform her; no ifs, ands, or buts.”

“Will do. And don’t worry, we’ll look after
them both,” she promised.

Lincoln stood up, kissed the cheek offered by
the lady in the black boot, and then shook hands with Tom. “I
appreciate this.”

A wave of panic swept over me as he stepped
towards me. Was he really going to abandon me that easily? Who were
these people and who was Jeff?

“You take good care of my little dog,
Marigold. I expect to see him in one piece when he returns to
me.”

“Oh,” I sighed, fighting back the unexpected
tears. “I will.”

“Now, you do everything Jojo tells you to do,
okay? She’s the best of the best. By the time she’s done with you,
no one will recognize the old Marigold. And Tom’s a crackerjack
shot. He’ll make sure no one harms you.”

“Okay.” Why was I so
reluctant to see him go out that door?
He’s
the only one here who knows anything about me. He’s the only one
here who knows my WitSec team was attacked.