Читать книгу Reluctant Witness - Kathleen Long - Страница 10

Wade stood quietly, observing the police sketch artist as he guided Tom through the process of developing a likeness of the man he’d seen. The boy’s review of suspected Project Liberation member photos had gotten them nowhere. Tom hadn’t recognized a single face as that of the man at Pine Ridge.

Kerri sat at McCann’s desk, nervously watching her son. Wade couldn’t help but notice the dark smudges beneath her eyes, nor the lines of worry across her forehead.

So much for her story about sleeping like a baby. She looked like she’d been up all night. He couldn’t blame her for the way she’d acted when he’d been at the house, for not wanting Tom to cooperate. After all, the boy was all she had left. She was smart enough to know Project Liberation was a dangerous organization.

He moved to rest a hand on her slender shoulder, but she leaned away from his touch. There had been a time when she would have leaned on Wade for support, when she had leaned on Wade for support. All that changed when Wade’s own testimony during the investigation into John’s death had directed the blame at her husband.

Maybe he should have lied to protect his friend’s memory. Maybe he should have let his company take the blame, but he hadn’t. He’d chosen the truth instead.

The doubt whispering through him was nothing new.

Wade blew out a frustrated breath and moved away from where Kerri sat, not wanting to cause her any additional discomfort. McCann caught his eye and gave him the thumbs-up. Wade stole a glance at the sketch and realized the artist was almost done. The suspect’s hair, nose and mouth—every feature—had been captured in crystal clear detail.

Tom had done an incredible job of providing the necessary descriptions.

When the sketch artist gave McCann the signal that they were through, the detective gathered Tom and Kerri and walked them briskly out of the room. Tom shot a quick glance at Wade, who winked in return, but Kerri never so much as looked his way, keeping her eyes averted as if the sight of him might turn her to stone.

He sank into the battered chair next to McCann’s desk and waited for his friend’s return. He didn’t have to sit still for long. McCann returned almost immediately, and Wade realized he must have handed off the Nelsons to someone else.

“What do you think?” he asked as McCann slipped back into his chair.

“We’ll get it out there.” McCann gripped the sketch tightly in one hand. “If this guy’s local, we’ll get him.”

“I promised the mother the kid’s name wouldn’t leak out.”

McCann nodded. “I heard you the first three times you told me. You have my word on it.”

Wade tipped his head toward a small gathering of detectives on the far side of the room. “What about their word?”

McCann scowled. “They’re pros, Wade. They aren’t going to broadcast the identity of our only witness. Relax.”

But as Wade stood amidst the ruins of Pine Ridge Estates a short while later, he couldn’t help but worry. Whoever had coordinated this devastation had also been a pro. A pro with an agenda.

How much of a risk did Tom present as a witness? The kid had obviously had a clear view of the bomber’s face. Wade could only hope the suspect hadn’t had a clear view in return.

If word of a witness got out, just how far would the bomber—hell, Project Liberation—go to keep him quiet?

The ecoterrorists prided themselves on destroying only property, not lives. But now that they’d crossed that line, now that the inspector had died, what were they capable of doing to avoid paying the penalty for murder? To avoid getting caught?

The stench of the fire hung heavy in the summer heat, and Wade silently cursed himself. Maybe he’d been wrong to involve Tom and Kerri. Maybe he should have left the investigation up to McCann and his team.

He turned away from the burned-out shells of the luxury homes, back toward his dust-covered pickup.

Kerri was wrong about being the only one responsible for Tom. Wade was responsible now, too. He might have failed John’s memory in life, but he planned to honor that memory now.

By protecting his wife and son.

KERRI BRUSHED a lock of hair from Tom’s forehead as he slept, pride welling inside her. He’d been such a little man today. Brave and confident.

He’d had one heck of a day, and the excitement had caught up to him. He’d practically fallen asleep at the dinner table, his head bobbing dangerously close to his bowl of chili.

She’d been amazed when he didn’t protest her suggestion that he get ready for bed early. She’d been even more surprised when he’d asked for his Uncle Wade as she’d tucked the covers around his shoulders.

Kerri knew Tom was hungry for male influence in his life, knew he missed his father terribly, but inviting Wade back into their lives would be a mistake.

She’d sat next to Tom’s bed until his breathing had grown even and steady, his features relaxing into peaceful sleep.

Kerri flashed back on the feel of Wade’s hand on her shoulder earlier at the police station. His brief touch had ignited an angry tangle of fury and need inside her. There were times she wanted someone to lean on, wanted someone to help her navigate life without John, but allowing Wade to be that person wasn’t an option.

He’d made his choice, and now they all had to live with the consequences.

When the phone rang, she rushed to pick up the receiver, wanting to stop the ringing before the noise woke her son.

“Hello,” she spoke into the phone.

The only sound that greeted her was silence. She glanced at the caller ID readout. Blank.

She hadn’t given the machine enough time to register the number, and she pressed the phone back to her ear.

“Is anyone there?”

The silence grew deafening, and just as she was about to hang up, the caller drew in a deep, rattling breath.

“You should have minded your own business.” The voice was deep and gruff, and chilled her to the bone. The voice was obviously male, but not that of anyone she knew.

“Who is this?” Kerri was barely able to push the words through the trepidation squeezing at her throat.

“Don’t talk to the cops again.”

The line clicked dead, and she froze momentarily, the receiver still pressed to her ear, her heart pounding in her chest.

She dropped the phone and raced back to Tom’s room, releasing a relieved breath when she spotted his sleeping form, unmoved from where she’d left him. Safe. Unharmed.

Returning to her own room, anger began to press through her fear, and she snatched the phone from the floor, dialing Wade’s number from memory.

He’d promised her—promised Tom—he’d keep their identities a secret.

He’d lied. Again.

He picked up the phone on the third ring.

“How could you do it?” Kerri heard the hysteria in her own voice and worked to calm herself before she spoke again.

“Red?” Wade sounded groggy, as if the turmoil and emotion of the past two days had caught up to him, just as it had caught up to Tom.

“They know, Wade. They know.”

“Who knows? What happened?” His voice was sharp now, alert and focused.

“I got a call. He told me not to talk to the cops again.” Tears shimmered in her vision as she spoke, and she blinked them away, willing herself to hold it together. “He said we should have minded our own business.”

“I’m calling McCann.”

“No.” Kerri’s voice boomed. “No more. Tom’s done helping you.” A tear slid down her face and she sniffed as she swiped it away.

“I’m coming over. Don’t answer the phone or let anyone else in until I get there.”

Before she could protest, Wade was gone. She took the phone with her into Tom’s room where she sat, in the dark, watching her son sleep, silently vowing to keep the voice on the phone as far away from him as possible.

WADE DROVE LIKE a bat out of hell, sliding his pickup into the mouth of Kerri’s driveway. His pulse had pounded in his ears ever since she’d told him about her mystery caller.

Damn. How had word leaked out about Tom’s involvement? Was McCann to blame? One of his men? Had someone from the media been lurking outside the station? Or did Project Liberation have someone on the inside?

He shoved the truck into Park, cut the ignition and launched himself from the driver’s seat, covering the ground between the truck and the house in several long strides.

Kerri yanked the door open just as he raised his hand to knock.

“I heard you pull up.” Moisture glistened in her eyes, mixed with the anger that had taken up permanent residence there. She still gripped the phone in her hand, and Wade reached for it, prying the receiver out of her tense fingers.

“Where’s Tom?” He pressed a hand to her back, and when she didn’t move away, a measure of relief eased through him.

“Sleeping.”

He led Kerri into the kitchen and pulled out a chair. She lowered herself into the seat then dropped her face to her palms.

“I’m sorry. I never thought this would happen.” He squatted next to her, putting one hand on her knee.

This time, she shoved him away, raising her gaze to meet his. “You didn’t think.” She scowled at him. “You didn’t think at all.”

“McCann gave me his word—”

“Apparently his word is worth just about as much as yours is.” Kerri cut him off before he could finish his thought.

Wade opened his mouth to protest, but hesitated. “You’re right,” he said, instead.

The surprise that flickered through her features was unmistakable.

“I should have thought this through. I should have left you and Tom out of this. You’ve been through enough.” He cupped her chin in his hand. “I’m sorry.”

Kerri blinked, visibly softening for a moment before she pushed away from him, standing, then crossing to the kitchen window.

“Right now, I don’t care whether you’re sorry or not.” She spoke softly, intently. “I care about you keeping us safe. That’s one promise you’d better keep.”

“I’ll call McCann in the morning. Find out who’s behind the leak.”

“The caller said no more cops.”

“We can trust McCann. And I trust him not to tell another soul about your caller.”

She studied him intently, then nodded, the movement so slight it was barely detectable. “I’m going upstairs. I want to be with Tom.”

“I’ll sleep on the sofa.” Wade reached for her as she passed, lightly gripping her elbow.

Kerri hesitated, meeting his look with eyes that had morphed from determined to exhausted. “There’s a blanket in the family room closet.”

“I remember.”

She nodded, then walked out of the kitchen. Wade waited until she’d climbed the steps, waited until he heard Tom’s bedroom door open and then close again before he moved an inch. He plucked the coffeepot from its stand and filled the water reservoir for ten cups.

He had no intention of sleeping on the sofa or anywhere else tonight.

As long as Kerri and Tom were asleep upstairs, he’d be awake downstairs. Standing guard.

WADE STOOD AT the front door and watched Tom head off on his bike to deliver papers. He smiled as the kid bounced his bike over the gravel drive, oblivious to the fact that somewhere out there, someone was furious there’d been a witness to the Pine Ridge fires.

“Are you sure this is such a good idea?” Kerri’s tired voice sounded close behind him. He turned to watch her drying a breakfast plate, going through the motion like a robot. An exhausted robot.

“Why don’t you try to get some sleep?” He reached for the plate and towel, taking them from her and tipping his chin toward the staircase.

“It’s okay.” She shook her head and frowned. “I slept a little.”

“I’m not buying that one again.” Wade returned his focus to the drive, catching just a glimpse of Tom as he vanished out into the street.

“You didn’t sleep, either.” Kerri stepped next to him, looking past him out into the yard. “Sofa wasn’t touched and if I’m not mistaken, half my can of coffee has gone missing.”

He stole a glimpse at her profile, detecting just the slightest hint of a smile at the corner of her lips. “Must have been Tom.”

“Right.” She looked at him, her features hinting at the warmth he’d missed for the past three years. “Thanks for watching out for us.”

With that, she took the plate and towel away from him and headed back to the kitchen.

Thanks for watching out for us.

Wade thought of Thomas—alone—out on the quiet road, delivering papers along the route he’d no doubt followed countless times before.

A habit.

A routine.

Dread coiled into a tight knot in Wade’s gut, and he reached into his pocket, wrapping his fingers around the keys to his truck.

What if whoever had made the call last night knew more about the Nelsons than just their phone number? What if he knew where they lived? Where Tom went to school? What time he set out every morning on his paper route?

“I’ll be right back,” he called out as he pushed out into the warm August morning and trotted across the stepping stones toward his truck.

His imagination might be in overdrive, but suddenly Wade couldn’t imagine why he’d ever let Tom head out the front door alone in the first place.

HE WAITED FOR the boy to round the corner, emerging from the private lane, headed toward the housing community a half mile down the road.

The description fit. Correct size. Correct approximate age. Correct hair color.

He kept his foot pressed on the van’s brake until the boy was far enough ahead that following at a distance wouldn’t draw unnecessary attention.

The boy’s paper-delivery bag bounced against his back as he careened over the gravel shoulder and onto the asphalt road. He then steered the bike back onto the shoulder, then back onto the asphalt, repeating the move like a game. Bouncing the front tire as he did so, holding his body up off the seat, as if riding a wave.

It was a shame the kid had to be silenced, but an order was an order. The driver shook his head. He had no choice. Keeping the kid quiet was the only way they could carry out the rest of the plan.

The pieces had begun to fall into place, and they couldn’t afford to be derailed now—by a witness—even if that witness was just a kid. The game had changed once the local inspector had died.

Careless.

He’d been careless. The construction site had been clear when he’d set the devices. He hadn’t even spotted the inspector’s truck when he’d fled the scene, only hearing about the victim later on, from news reports.

Silencing the kid would redeem his mistake and keep the organization intact.

He pressed down on the accelerator, closing the gap between the van and the bike. The plan was a simple one.

A hit-and-run.

A fatal accident wouldn’t be a first for this isolated stretch of road, but it would be the last for the witness.

Just a few more yards and the threat of exposure would be eliminated.

Permanently.