Читать книгу Hidden Witness - Beverly Long - Страница 8

Chapter Two

By the time the plane had landed and Luis was hustling her through the airport, Raney had a headache that wouldn’t quit. They exited into a wall of very warm, humid air.

“I thought the Midwest was cooler than Florida,” she said.

Luis didn’t respond. He was busy looking at his phone. Then he signaled for a cab.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he said, sounding irritated. “I just got a text with a street address from my contact.”

“That makes me feel very secure,” she said drily. Sweat was gathering between her breasts and the hot sun made her feel sick to her stomach. “You’d think they’d at least spring for a car,” she said grumpily.

Again Luis did not respond, which surprised her. In Florida he’d been polite, almost chatty. He’d been quiet on the plane. Now he seemed edgy. It made her feel off balance.

The cab drove for about thirty minutes before finally pulling into an empty spot behind a brown UPS truck. The driver was out of the vehicle, stacking boxes high on a cart.

It dawned on her that she was just another kind of package. She’d been wrapped up and sent halfway across the country, to be handed off into someone else’s care. And they were going to cart her somewhere else and put her on a shelf for a month.

She looked at the sign in the nearest store window. It was a frozen yogurt shop. At least things were looking up. “Is this it?”

Luis didn’t answer. He was watching the street closely. They got out of the cab and hadn’t walked more than three feet before a big man, probably close to the age her father would have been, fell into step next to them. He had a plastic bag looped over one hand.

He nodded at her and spoke quietly to Luis. Luis extended his hand and the men shook. Luis turned to her. “This is police chief Bates. He’ll take over from here.”

“Great,” she said.

“We’re happy to have you in St. Louis,” the man said. “Thank you, Officer Vincenze.”

Luis nodded at the chief and looked at her. “Good luck,” he said before turning quickly away. He got back into the same cab they’d arrived in. Chief Bates waited until the cab had pulled away from the curb before turning toward her.

“Rest assured that we’re going to keep you perfectly safe,” he said. “Right now we need to get a few things taken care of.”

“What things?” she asked.

“I’ll answer all your questions,” he said. They walked past the frozen yogurt shop. Turned a corner. Walked another block. Turned another corner. Second store in, he stopped. “But first, let’s just step inside here.” He opened the door to what appeared to be a hair salon. The lights inside were dimmed and there were no customers. Just a woman standing behind the high counter.

“Morning, Marvin,” the woman said.

“Ms. Taylor, this is my sister, Sandy. Work your magic, honey,” the chief said to the woman.

The day was getting stranger by the minute.

An hour later, Raney’s shoulder-length brown hair had been chopped off and she was a platinum blonde. Without the heavy weight, her hair had a natural wave that surprised her. She liked that she could tuck the wispy strands behind her ears. She also had to admit that the new hair color made her light blue eyes pop in a way that eye shadow had never managed. It was a startling change and she had trouble taking it all in.

“She’s done,” Sandy said. They were the first words she’d spoken since she explained that she was going to lighten up and trim her hair. Sandy was clearly a master of understatement.

The chief, who had looked ridiculous perched on one of the small chairs in the waiting area, stood up. “Everybody else should be here soon.”

He was right if “everybody” was three men. She could see them through the glass window. One was in his midfifties with a camera around his neck, carrying what appeared to be a big bag of dry cleaning. The second was a handsome black man dressed in a nice gray suit. The third man, and the one who held her attention, was in a tux and carried a small suitcase with him. He was tall.

If Sandy planned to trim him up, she didn’t have much to work with. His dark brown hair was already cut short, maybe not military short but pretty close. It showed off his chiseled good looks.

The chief opened the door and locked it behind them. The room was suddenly filled with testosterone. Raney, who was still sitting in the stylist’s chair, felt at a disadvantage. She stood up quickly, tried to take a step, got the heel of her sandal caught in the lower rung of the chair and pitched forward.

Tuxedo Guy caught her before she landed on her face. His grip on her bare upper arms was secure but light. He gently pushed her upright and she passed within inches of his body.

He smelled delicious, an earthy citrus that evoked images of a tropical rainforest.

“Okay?” he asked, his voice low, sexy. His skin was very tan and his eyes were an odd shade of brown, almost amber.

“Ah, sure,” she managed. She’d been off balance since leaving Florida and the past fifteen seconds hadn’t helped. Who was this man?

“Ms. Taylor,” Chief Bates said. “You need to get changed.”

Huh?

The man with the camera extended his dry cleaning in her direction. She automatically reached out, noting the bag was heavier than it looked.

Sandy pointed to a door. Raney stood her ground. “Maybe you’re thinking that someone has explained to me what’s going on, but nobody has. And I don’t think I’m changing my clothes or anything else until somebody does.”

The black man looked at Chief Bates. Tuxedo Guy was staring at her, and she thought she caught a glimpse of appreciation in his eyes.

“Of course,” the chief said. “I apologize. I’m just anxious to get you to a safe place. This is Officer Henderson. He’s a photographer for the police department. This is Detective Roy and Detective Hollister.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Why do I need new clothes? I have my own,” she said, inclining her head toward her suitcase, which was still sitting near the front door.

“There’s a wedding dress in there,” the chief said. “You need to put it on and Officer Henderson is going to snap a few pictures of you and Detective Hollister as the happy bride and groom. He’s assured me that he’s managed to manipulate the date on his camera so if anyone digs into the pictures, they’ll believe they were taken several weeks ago, on August 15. We’ve filed a license with the county clerk’s office dated that same day in case someone bothers to check. Under a different name, of course.”

She felt her face grow hot. What was this guy smoking? Wedding dress? Marriage license? Different name? “I’m not getting married,” she said. She’d been married. It hadn’t gone well.

Chief Bates looked as if he wasn’t used to people disagreeing with his plans. Detective Roy stepped forward. “Of course not,” he said. “Your cover for the next month while we await Harry Malone’s trial will be as Detective Hollister’s wife. You’ll be living at Chase’s parents’ home in rural Missouri, about two hours from here.”

Her head, maybe feeling light because she’d lost a lot of hair or maybe because she was in an alternate universe, swiveled on her neck. She stared at Tuxedo Guy. “We’re going to be married,” she repeated. “Actually, we’re already married, if the wedding was August 15,” she said, rather stupidly she thought, the minute the words were out of her mouth.

“I guess that’s right,” he said.

“And we’re going to live with your parents?”

He shook his head. “They’re dead. The house is empty.”

She rubbed her forehead. “What’s my new name?” she asked.

Chief Bates stepped forward. “In these types of situations, it’s better if we can keep your first name the same. Less confusion for you. In the event of an emergency, you’ll react to it better. We’ll list your maiden name on the wedding certificate as Lorraine Smith. It’s common enough. Then, of course, you’ll be Lorraine Hollister for the duration of this assignment.”

“Somewhere in Missouri,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Chief Bates said.

She clutched her wedding dress tighter. “I swear to God, if I ever get a chance at Harry Malone, I’m going to kill him myself.”

* * *

THE BLOND HAIR had set him back because it was such a dramatic difference from the picture he’d studied on the way over to the hair salon. In the photo, her brown hair had hung past her shoulders, her face had been pale and her eyes had been dark with fatigue. It had likely been taken the morning that she’d first been interviewed by the Miami police after her ordeal with Harry Malone had ended.

Today, she looked amazing. The hair was sexy, her skin was clear and fresh and her blue eyes were gorgeous. She would make a pretty bride.

Once Chief Bates had determined the plan, they’d swung into action. The chief had left to intercept Lorraine Taylor. Chase had been dispatched home to pack a suitcase and then to the mall to get a tux. He had met Dawson back at the police station and they’d picked up Gavin Henderson, who’d been busy in his own right. He’d been sent home to get his daughter’s recently cleaned wedding dress. All of them, including the chief, had been at her wedding five weeks earlier.

Dawson had managed to pull him aside before they’d piled into the car. “I know why you offered up the house in Ravesville,” he’d said. “And I appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem,” Chase had replied, lying. He hated the idea.

“Newlyweds?” Dawson had needled. “You going to be okay with that?”

Dawson was well aware that Chase wasn’t interested in marriage. Even so, because he was besotted with his own bride, Dawson had a tendency to overencourage Chase to commit and ragged his tail when Chase easily dismissed the idea. It had gotten to the point that Chase had stopped telling him about his occasional dates because the man made too damn big a deal out of them.

That, of course, had led Dawson to worry that Chase was becoming a monk. “You’re not getting any younger,” he said. “You might want to catch one while you’re still in your prime.”

He sure as hell wasn’t going to admit to Dawson that his leg now ached as though he was ninety.

The next month was going to suck but he’d make the best of it. He was pretty confident Lorraine Taylor felt the same way. When she’d said Missouri, it had sounded an awful lot like misery. She hadn’t slammed the door when she’d gone to change into the wedding dress but she’d surely looked as if she wanted to.

But as much as he hated the idea, he had to admit, it wasn’t a terrible plan. No one would question his presence at the house. After all, he and his brothers had lived there for many years and it would be common knowledge in the small community that Brick had recently died. People there would be expecting somebody from the family to come back and take care of the property.

Now, courtesy of some just-in-time photography, Dawson was going to upload the wedding photos onto a couple social media sites, publicizing that he’d recently done best-man honors for Chase and his happy bride. That way if anyone bothered to search for Chase Hollister, the cover story would hold. Chief Bates had instructed that if anyone at the department happened across the photos and asked, Dawson was to hold tight to the cover story. Once the trial was over, Chase could tell people the truth.

It had the potential to be a win-win. He’d be there to watch over Lorraine. He’d also be able to get the house ready for sale, and the State of Missouri would preserve their witness in what was likely to be one of the biggest trials of the year.

He and Lorraine simply needed to act the part of happy newlyweds. He heard the door open and in a rustle of silk and lace, Lorraine stepped out into the hallway, wearing the wedding dress. She was blushing.

“I’m going to need some help with the zipper,” she said.

None of the men moved. Chase was pretty sure he’d stopped breathing.

Finally, Sandy got behind her and Chase heard the gentle rasp of a zipper. With every inch, Chase felt his mouth get drier. She was beautiful. Once the zipper was up, the dress hugged her curves and the cut showed a generous portion of her pretty breasts that, quite frankly, hadn’t been all that visible in the T-shirt that she had been wearing.

Dawson looked at him, his dark eyes wide with speculation. Chase ignored him.

“Let’s get this over with,” Chief Bates instructed. He bent down, opened the plastic sack at his feet and proved that he hadn’t wasted time while waiting for Lorraine’s plane to land. He pulled out two items. The first one was flowers. They were wrapped in clear plastic and Chase recognized them as the kind you could buy for fifteen bucks at the grocery store. The chief thrust them toward Lorraine.

She didn’t move, just stared at them.

“Hang on,” Sandy said. She opened a drawer, pulled out a pair of scissors and efficiently cut off the plastic wrap, then trimmed off the long stems. When she finished, it was a very presentable bouquet.

The second item in Chief Bates’s bag was a birthday cake. With pink and yellow balloons on it. “This was all they had,” he apologized.

Chase thought he caught the glimpse of a smile on Lorraine’s face.

“I can make it work,” Gavin said. “Chase and Lorraine, I need you to stand in front of this wall.”

Chase moved to where Gavin pointed. After a second of hesitation, Lorraine did the same. Up close, he realized that he was probably about eight inches taller than her, which gave him a truly excellent view down the front of her dress.

He felt his whole body get warm.

He jerked his head up and stared at Gavin, who had his camera out. The man looked up, irritation on his face. “I can add a church background with Photoshop but I can’t make the two of you look happy. Come on. Work with me.”

Chase licked his lips and sucked in a deep breath. Then he wrapped his arm around Lorraine’s shoulders. He bent his head, looked into her eyes and gave her his best smile.

He thought she might tell him to go to hell. But after a long minute of staring into his eyes, she pasted on her own smile.

And for the next fifteen minutes, he and Lorraine Taylor responded like trained seals. Gavin snapped pictures of them facing one another, side by side and even feeding each other pieces of cake off plastic plates that Sandy had found in the bottom drawer of her desk. Snap, snap, snap. Finally, Gavin instructed him to move out of the frame and for Lorraine to give the camera her back. “Pretend you’re just about to throw your bouquet,” he said.

She did. Snap, snap, snap. Then he said, “Okay. I’ve got enough.”

Lorraine let the flowers sail. Without thinking, Chase reached out to catch them. When she turned, her blue eyes were big.

“Congratulations, Detective,” she said. “I guess a real wedding is in your future.”

Chase let the flowers fall to the ground. Everyone in the room stared at them.

Gavin coughed loudly. “Let’s finish up with the groom kissing the bride.”

Chase felt his racing heart skip a beat. He looked at Lorraine. He no longer felt like a trained seal but rather a fish out of water.

“Ready?” he said.

“Ready,” she whispered.

He walked close and bent his head, intending to merely brush her lips.

“Make it look good,” Gavin said.

She opened her mouth and he felt himself settle in. She tasted like chocolate cake and her mouth was warm and wet, and it had been a long time since a kiss had made his knees weak.

But when it was over, he had to admit that this one had done just that.

But he sure as hell wasn’t going to give Dawson the satisfaction of seeing it. “Is that a wrap?” he asked, making sure that his tone was nonchalant.

He ignored the soft hiss he heard from Lorraine.

“We need to hit the road,” he said. “I want to get to Ravesville before dark.”

* * *

DETECTIVE HOLLISTER WAS an amazing kisser. His lips had been warm, his breath sweet and his hands confident as they’d cupped her face. It was as if someone had hit a switch, kicking off an electrical charge that had started in her toes and rapidly spread through her body.

She’d felt alive.

And she’d been stupid enough to think that it had affected him the same way. Of course it hadn’t. And she suspected she should be grateful that he’d been an ass about it afterward because she had been about thirty seconds away from crawling up his body.

That would have been a real photo opportunity.

There weren’t going to be any more kisses. Not that Chase was probably inclined. He might have played the role of besotted groom, but she could tell that he hadn’t been thrilled to be participating in the farcical marriage. After their ceremony, he had quickly changed into jeans and a T-shirt and, if possible, had looked even hotter. But his attitude didn’t match.

He was polite. Definitely. But she’d sensed his irritation when they’d had to kill thirty minutes at the salon. She’d looked through the tattered magazines spread about the various tables and he’d focused on his smart phone.

Chief Bates had been insistent that they wait while the photographer ran a quick errand. He’d come back with a driver’s license for Lorraine Hollister that in every way looked real. She suspected they probably had a back room at the police station where credentials were fabricated on a routine basis.

She’d looked at her picture. Who was this woman? This blonde Raney. She’d tossed it into her purse and they’d left without further delay.

Chase had continued to be polite. Had carried her suitcase and opened the car door for her. Waited until she was buckled in before he took off. “Cool enough?” he’d asked ten minutes into the journey, nodding at the air-conditioning controls.

Other than that, he hadn’t said a word.

Which maybe worked okay for him, but it wasn’t helping her acclimate to her new life.

“I can’t imagine that you’re any happier about this than I am,” she said finally.

He shrugged, never taking his eyes off the road. “It’s important to keep you safe. I can do that,” he added confidently.

“What’s the plan once we get to Ravesville? Should I be mentally preparing myself for a big wedding reception?” she asked, trying for humor.

He turned to look at her. “Have you ever lived in a small town?”

She shook her head. “I’m a city girl.”

He looked back at the road. “Here’s how it works in small towns. On our way to the house, we’ll stop for dinner at the local café. Not sure of the name of it any longer but for as long as I was in Ravesville, there was always a café on the corner of Main Street and Highway 20. I’m sure it’s still there. I’ll casually mention my name and that I’m back in town to take care of the old house and that I’ve brought along my new wife. By the time we get to dessert, the story will have reached half the community and by morning, the other half will have heard.”

“Fascinating,” she said.

“Not really, just the way it is. After that, Lorraine, I hope that you’ll spend most of your time at the house, where it will be easier to provide protection.”

“Raney,” she said. “I go by Raney. Not Lorraine.”

He seemed to consider that. “What did Harry Malone know you as?”

“He called me Lorraine. That was what was on my name tag. And because he was only at Next Steps a couple times before...well, before, he probably didn’t hear anybody refer to me differently.”

There was a significant pause and she could hear the tires on the rough highway. Finally, he turned to her and said, “Raney it is.”

She was relieved that he hadn’t pushed for more details. Even though she’d told the story several times, it still made her sick to talk about her time with Harry Malone. Pushing that image aside, she closed her eyes and focused on the way her name had sounded on his lips. Raney.

As if he knew her. Which of course he didn’t. No more than she knew him. This was simply his job.

And given that somebody had tried twice to kill her, she sure as hell hoped he was good at it. He’d sounded confident when he’d said he could keep her safe. “So how long have you been on the job?” she asked.

He glanced her way, surprise in his eyes. “You know a lot of cops?”

She shrugged. “A few. Why?”

“Because when most people ask that question, they ask, ‘How long have you been a police officer?’ It’s a subtle difference but one that a cop notices.”

She waited. She wasn’t ready yet to tell him about her work at Next Steps, about some of the people whom she’d helped, some of the people who had needed a hand. She’d virtually stooped, cupped her hands and given them a foothold. She was proud of her work, knew the impact she’d had.

“I’ve been a cop for thirteen years,” he said. “Covered a beat for eight of those before I became a detective. I mostly work homicides.”

“But you’ve done witness protection work before?” she asked.

“I have. I know what I’m doing,” he said. She could tell that she’d offended him.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just that...”

“I know,” he said, his tone gentler.

“So you live in St. Louis?”

“Yes.”

They drove a few more miles. The silence in the SUV was oppressive. “In a house?” Lately she’d had houses on the brain.

He shook his head. “A thirty-year mortgage isn’t my style,” he said. “I’ve got a six-month lease on an apartment in the Central West End.”

“What happens after six months?”

He shrugged. “I sign another lease. Or I don’t.”

“How long have you lived there?”

“Five years.”

That was weird. He’d been on the job for thirteen years and lived in the same apartment for five years but he was still only interested in a six-month lease. Maybe that was how things were done in the Central West End.

She had no idea where that was but assumed it was likely sort of upscale, like Chase. He wore a nice watch, good leather shoes, had nice manners and he’d looked very comfortable in a tux.

“I’ve been saving for a house,” she admitted. “I love my apartment building and my neighbors but lately, I’ve been thinking that it’s time for me to get a house. But now...I’m not sure. Maybe the security of having neighbors close by is what I need.”

He took his eyes off the road in order to look at her again. “You’ve had a tough couple of months. Don’t make any big decisions right now. Sit back, consider, then act when you’re ready.”

Others had given her the same advice, although not in those exact words. She let out the breath she’d been holding. Maybe in Ravesville, she could do that. Just relax.

She felt the ever-present knot in her stomach release just a little. Now the quiet was no longer oppressive. It felt safe. Nice. She closed her eyes and didn’t open them again until she felt someone lightly shaking her shoulder.

“We’re here,” he said.

She was surprised to see that it was getting dark. She looked at the clock on the dash. Twenty minutes after six. Her stomach rumbled and she pressed the palm of her hand against it.

“I imagine you’re hungry,” he said.

She’d had toast for breakfast, nothing for lunch and a bite of cake that he’d popped into her mouth. “Yes,” she said, turning her neck slowly to get the kinks out. “So this is it?”

It was a wide street, lined with freshly painted perpendicular parking spaces. The buildings were mostly old, lots of red brick, nothing over three stories. There were a few flower boxes with brightly colored mums below the windows and some more pots scattered down the sidewalk. There was an empty bike rack at the end of the block.

He’d been right about the restaurant. The Wright Here, Wright Now Café had its lights on and there were a few cars parked in front of the two-story brick building. Other than that, the only other cars were three or four gathered together at the end of the next block. “What’s down there?” she asked, pointing. “Besides the edge of town?”

“A bar. Everything else closes up tight in the evenings.”

She’d grown up in Manhattan and moved to Miami when she was sixteen, after her mom got a new job as the general counsel for an insurance company. Her dad had been a writer and had worked from home. They’d been killed by a drunk driver four years later. She’d stayed in Florida, hadn’t really had anyplace else to go. While not Manhattan, Miami was still a large city where they didn’t roll up the streets at half past six.

“I hope the food is good,” she said, almost under her breath.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” he said. “But we need to eat. I’m not confident that there will be anything at the house.”

They got out of the car. When Chase crossed in front of the hood, she thought she saw just a hint of a limp. She hadn’t noticed it before. “Did you hurt your leg?” she asked.

He waved it off. “Stiff from driving,” he said.

“So how did your stepfather die?” she asked as they walked down the sidewalk toward the restaurant.

“Car accident.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Was it a big funeral?”

He didn’t answer. But he did hold the door open for her. She walked into the restaurant. It was brightly lit. There were three tables with customers. On the nine other available tables, there were tan paper placemats and silverware wrapped in white paper napkins.

A woman, maybe midthirties, with gorgeous long red hair to her waist pulled back into a low ponytail, walked through the swinging door at the rear of the restaurant. She carried plates in both hands. She gave them a quick smile, but when her gaze settled on Chase, it faded.

She set her plates down with a thud, startling the older couple at the table, who also turned to stare at the two of them.

“Damn you, Chase Hollister,” she said. “You just cost me ten bucks. I bet that you wouldn’t come back.”