Reluctant Witness (30 page)

I turned my thoughts back to Jared. What had
I told him about myself? Only that I was in the witness protection
program. I had never told him about my family or the reason we were
in the program. I never even told him I had a family. For all he
knew, I didn’t have one.

I don’t know what time it was when I finally
drifted off to sleep. Nancy shook me awake just after eight.

“Sorry, buttercup. It’s rise-and-shine time.
We’ve got to hit the road in thirty minutes or Vince will have a
complete nuclear meltdown. You can sleep in the RV.”

Dismayed, I hopped out of bed and ran a
frustrated hand through my unwashed hair. Maybe tomorrow, I
groaned, grabbing a pair of jeans, a tee shirt, and clean underwear
on my way into the bathroom. Nancy stopped me as I went past
her.

“We’ll grab some breakfast on our way out the
door. In the meantime, want a cup of coffee? I’ve got a fresh pot
here.”

“Thanks,” I nodded, taking the cup she
offered as I headed into the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, I emerged. Nancy’s
suitcase was by the door, already packed. I grabbed my toiletries
bag and pajamas, tossed them into my case, and zipped it up.
“Ready.”

“Not quite. Did you take your
medication?”

“I did not,” I sighed, frustrated with myself
for forgetting. I pulled the pills bottles from my tote bag, and
while I counted out the pills, Nancy checked my ear for signs of
infection.

“Still looks pretty good, kid, all things
considered. Gunshot wounds can be tricky. People think you’re lucky
if you get hit in the hand or the foot....”

“Or the ear?”

“It might not be a vital organ, but you’d be
amazed at the problems you can have. A friend of mine once got shot
in the palm. The tendon damage was severe. Steve spent months with
a physical therapist, but never did regain the full use of his
hand.”

“More serious than an ear,” I remarked
lightly, not wanting to think about what a chewed up, spit out mess
my ear must be. She disagreed with me.

“Not necessarily. Your ears are shaped that
way to conduct sound efficiently. Without a proper one, you can
have a lot of distortion in what you hear, leading to communication
issues. For a protected witness, it can be a security thing,
especially if you can’t hear the bad guy coming up on you. And
let’s be honest -- it’s hard to wear glasses or use a Bluetooth
headset if there’s nothing there. Oh, the cosmetic scars aren’t
just a matter of vanity either. What if you want to wear earrings?
You’d be surprised how important those ears of yours are.”

“You’re just trying to make me feel better,”
I smiled. I appreciated the effort she made. Maybe I hadn’t come to
grips yet with actually being shot.

“Am I?” She poked around a bit. “Your wound
looks pretty good. There’s just a little bit of ear missing and
most of the scarring will be on the back, out of sight. You must
have been scared stiff when the bullet hit you.”

“Oh, I was well beyond terrified by then,” I
admitted. “I’d seen my handler shot, had some woman lock me in the
trunk of a car for several hours, and then, when she was shot and
killed, I had to scramble to get out of the sinking car before the
ice swallowed it up. By the time I got shot, I was already in
shock. I was wet, desperate, and suffering from hypothermia.”

“Maybe that’s what saved you,” she told me,
her expression thoughtful. “Gunshot wounds can be tricky. Your body
temperature was probably pretty low, and that would have affected
your blood circulation.”

“Maybe. The worst part was when I came to,
naked in the ambulance, with a bunch of men watching me. The
paramedic said I had to be careful not to move, because I could
trigger a heart attack.”

“Don’t be embarrassed, kid. Those guys are
usually so pumped up on adrenaline and focused on the subject of
their rescue, they don’t think about that kind of stuff until the
crisis is over.” Nancy gave me a gentle pat on the back.
“Interesting story, though. No wonder Jeff wants to know more about
you. For someone who’s been through this kind of experience, you
seem remarkably resilient.”

“Do I?” I looked at her, feeling less than
confident. “I’ve never really had much of a choice. It’s always
been about survival.”

“All the more reason you should put it into
perspective when you have the chance, kid.” She reached down and
grabbed her bags. I did the same. “Maybe that book you’re so
attached to is helping you to do that.”

“Maybe. It’s nice to know I’m not the only
one with these kinds of problems,” I smiled. “Poor Nora’s up to her
eyeballs in trouble.”

“Ah, misery loves company. You might even
learn something from the heroine if she’s smart,” she chuckled,
opening the door to the hallway. Vince leaned against the hallway
wall, tapping on his cell phone, obviously waiting for us.
“Speaking of misery, good morning to you, oh fearless leader. How
long have you been out here? Five minutes? Ten?”

“Wow, you’re even funny in the morning,
Zemaki. How do you do it?” he growled in response.

“It’s a gift,” she grinned mischievously.
“Don’t you wish you had it, too?”

The trip to Kansas City was uneventful and
that was a good thing. Now that I was more than halfway through
Vanilla Orchid Magic, I found myself feeling increasingly uneasy.
The longer Nora remained on the island of Guadeloupe, the more
perilous her life became. How could she get away from her ruthless
husband? There were only two ways off the island -- by boat or by
plane; either way, Le Scorpion was likely track her down wherever
she went in the Caribbean and send someone after her. He not only
had the money, he had the resources, and he was all too aware that
Nora knew more about his business than she pretended.

That kind of fear was familiar to me. It’s
hard to accept someone wants to harm you, not because of something
you’ve done wrong, but because of circumstances beyond your
control. Nora and I were both hunted women.

For so long, I wondered how I had come to be
in this mess. Neither of my sisters seemed to have these kinds of
problems. Was it because they lived overseas? Or was it something
else that made me vulnerable, something of which I was unaware?

When Jared was murdered, I assumed it had
been because of our family history, my father and grandfather’s
research into poppies, but what if that was wrong? What if it had
something to do with Jared himself?

Looking back, I could admit that my life in
witness protection was fairly ordinary, up until the time I moved
to Rhode Island. For several years, I had a fairly comfortable
existence. I’d gotten my degrees, worked steadily, and gotten
valuable experience I put to good use.

That had all changed when Jared entered my
life. Suddenly, I entered a new world of high rollers and big-time
money. Jared’s unexpected proposal a short time later led to our
meeting with my handlers. That’s when things began to unravel for
me.

It was Shaun who first raised his concerns
about Jared’s attitude when he called me to meet him for coffee,
ostensibly to discuss my impending marriage. We sat at a corner
table with our paper cups, away from the crowd, making small talk
as the minutes passed. It took Shaun a while to come to the point.
The marshal wanted me to know that he thought the world of me, but
he was worried that I was putting myself in danger by getting
involved with a man who did so much business outside the United
States. I pointed out that he and the others had no objection when
I asked for permission to travel with Jared. That seemed to be a
fine idea. What had changed? Shaun wouldn’t answer my question. He
had merely continued his efforts to dissuade me from marrying
Jared. But without a solid reason, how could I break off my
engagement?

Shortly after that caffeine-laced meeting, my
whole world crumbled into an unfixable mess, one that even Humpty
Dumpty couldn’t put back together again. The first cracks came when
Jared insisted that it wasn’t necessary for me to stay in WitSec.
He told me he could hire people to watch out for me. But I knew
that if I left WitSec, I’d also lose the chance to get together
with my father and sisters. I wasn’t really prepared to let go of
my family. Couldn’t there be some kind of compromise?

Over a couple of weeks, my relationships
began to fracture. My handlers were mad because I continued to make
wedding plans. Jared was furious because I wanted to work things
out with my handlers. With everyone so unhappy with me, I could do
nothing right, and that left me feeling miserable.

The memory stayed with me through the rest of
the day. It lingered in the back of my mind, haunting me. By the
time we prepared to stop at a hotel on the outskirts of Kansas
City, Missouri for the night, it was too close for comfort. What if
Jared died because he wanted me to leave witness protection for
some reason? Had he been killed for failing his assignment?

“Rocky should be here shortly. He wants to
update us on the investigation,” Vince announced. He had booked
three rooms, since Rocky was planning to stay over after our
meeting. “Slow down, Zemaki. The hotel is just about a quarter mile
down the road. Look for the sign for the Sheraton Overland
Park.”

“Here we are,” Nancy announced, pulling into
the driveway and stopped the RV at the curb about thirty feet from
the front door. “Let’s grab our luggage, buttercup, and we’ll
register. Vince, it’s all yours. Try not to dent it.”

“Cute, Nance.”

Nancy and I left him to find overnight
parking for the RV while we checked in and went up to our room. She
explained her philosophy on the way up in the elevator.

“If I tried to convince Vince that I could
find safely park that beast, he’d spend all his time worrying that
I wasn’t doing it right. I already know I’m capable of handling the
task, so I’ve got nothing to prove. Besides,” she grinned
mischievously, “I’d much rather be lounging in a hotel room,
watching TV, than schlepping all over for just the right extra
long, extra wide parking space, with Vince calling me every five
minutes to check on my progress.”

“That sounds like the secret to your success
in working with him,” I laughed, slipping the key card through the
lock slot.

“Honey, if it’s one thing I learned from
working with men it’s that sometimes the mindset has got nothing to
do with testosterone. Vince was our equipment guy, Mr.
Accountability. That’s his training and expertise. Me, I’m the
firearms expert. You’ll see Vince defer to me on that subject. He
respects my proficiency on the firing range.”

“Oh,” I nodded, stepping into the room. A
thought suddenly occurred to me. “Is that why you’re the one with
me most of the time, because you’re the better shooter? I thought
it was because you’re a woman.”

“Honey, no way would I get the assignment to
protect you if I was just a pretty face. You can bet your sweet
fanny I’m a quick draw. Don’t get me wrong. Vince is a pretty good
shot, too. But I’ve got five titles to my name.”

“Good to know,” I decided. It was true. I was
confident that if anyone came after me, Nancy was more than capable
of dispatching the bad guy.

We spent the afternoon relaxing. Nancy made
some phone calls while I watched TV. A little after three, she and
I went for a long walk, to stretch our legs and get some exercise.
Vince spent his afternoon cleaning the RV. Nancy said he liked to
do it whenever he had something on his mind.

“It helps him sort things out, so I just
leave him be.”

Rocky picked us up at the Sheraton Overland
Park in his rented SUV just after six. We ate at Jess and Jim’s
Steak House, chatting about general subjects over crisp salads,
garlic toast, tender filet mignons wrapped in bacon, and twice
baked potatoes.

“Now that’s what I call a Kansas City steak,”
Rocky told us, putting his napkin on the table as he picked up the
tab. “Delicious.”

“It sure was,” Nancy agreed. “You chose well,
Vince.”

We went back to the hotel for after-dinner
drinks in the OP1906 lounge. Nancy and Vince excused themselves,
taking seats at the bar, while Rocky and I sat down at a small
table for a conversation.

“How’s life treating you?” he wanted to
know.

“Okay, I guess.” I took a sip of my toasted
almond, feeling the Amaretto slide down my throat, sweet warmth
that soothed. I found the courage to pose a question that had been
with me for the last several hours. “Rocky, can I ask you
something?”

“Go for it.”

“In the WitSec program, is it usual for you
to keep the same team from state to state?”

“I don’t follow you, Marigold. What do you
mean?”

“After Jared was murdered, I was moved to New
York, but my handlers were still in Rhode Island. Is that
normal?”

“You didn’t have a local handler?” His
eyebrows shot up, a quizzical expression on his face. “Are you
telling me your WitSec team kept the information on your location
in Rhode Island? They didn’t turn it over to the local office in
New York? Those guys were what, five or six hours away by car.”

“Five hours,” I replied.

“Who were you supposed to call in an
emergency?”

“Tovar told me that if I had a problem, I
should just call him and he’d dispatch someone to help me.”

“How is that supposed to help you in an
emergency, when time is of the essence?” The information seemed to
disturb Rocky. “That sounds like a rogue operation run outside the
United States Marshals Service.”

Chapter Twenty
Eight

“So, maybe it’s not a coincidence that my
handlers were all attacked,” I suggested. “Or that people came
after me in New York.”

“Something definitely smells fishy here. Give
me the specific order in which things happened, Marigold.” He
leaned his elbows on the table, clasping his hands together, the
veteran investigator sniffing the scent of a case. “Think. Who got
hurt first?”