Читать книгу Shielding His Christmas Witness - Laura Scott - Страница 11

TWO

A thick, heavy silence stretched between them, to the point Kari felt as if she might suffocate. Tension radiated off Marc’s body in waves, battering her already-frayed nerves.

She didn’t know what he was thinking. Was he upset with her for some reason? And if so, why? She was the one who’d been forced to run from a madman shooting at her. She was the one who’d almost been killed.

Her baby that had been placed in danger.

Five minutes passed, then ten. Finally, she couldn’t stand it a moment longer. “What is your problem? Why are you mad at me?”

He relaxed his grip on the steering wheel, glancing over at her in surprise. “I’m not.”

“Really? Then why are you scowling?”

He grimaced. “Because a good cop died tonight and someone almost killed you. Isn’t that enough of a reason to be angry?”

“I guess.” She turned to stare blindly out the passenger-side window, wondering when Agent Callahan, er—Marc—would find a place to stop. The aftermath of adrenaline left her feeling shaky and weak. Exhausted.

Of course her fatigue could just as easily be related to her condition.

He fell silent again, maybe brooding about the case. A few minutes later, he exited the freeway. He waited for the light to turn green before heading down to a parking lot located in front of a small single-story motel. No fancy names here, just Ravenswood Motel located in the nondescript and unincorporated town of Ravenswood.

When he pulled up in front of the lobby, he turned off the car and took the keys out of the ignition. “I need you to wait here.”

She sighed. “Not like I have much choice considering my ankle is swollen and hurts like crazy.”

He barely looked at her. “If it’s just a sprain, I’d rather not risk taking you to an emergency department.”

Yeah, she wasn’t really keen on that idea, either. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

He gave a terse nod, then pushed open his door and slid out from behind the wheel. The moment he disappeared inside, she was nearly overwhelmed by a wave of loneliness.

Ridiculous, because she wasn’t alone. Marc was here with her. But the sense of camaraderie she’d experienced earlier seemed to have vanished.

Where was the nice, chivalrous guy who’d carried her to the car so she wouldn’t have to walk on her bum ankle? The man who’d tossed out his own cell phone as a way to keep her safe?

She blew out a breath, realizing that his changed attitude was likely because she was pregnant and not married. From the moment she’d discovered she was expecting, she’d run into some of the same judgmental sneers, especially from the older generation.

Not that she was proud of the fact she’d given in to temptation. At the time she’d justified her actions by the fact that she and Vince were engaged to be married in a few short months. They were in love, or so she’d thought.

Until he’d disappeared without a trace, leaving her high and dry. And pregnant.

Shame tasted bitter on her tongue, but she refused to let it get to her. Her baby was a precious gift, one she was determined to cherish, no matter what.

Ironically, the place she’d found solace and acceptance had been in her friend Amy’s church. The people there had been wonderful, including the pastor. Someday, soon, she’d have her baby baptized there.

Something to look forward to.

The thought of raising her baby alone was both thrilling and terrifying. She wished her mother were still alive to offer some advice. Especially since her own father, much like Vince, had disappeared, leaving her mother and her to survive on their own.

Despite being abandoned, her mother had always maintained a sunny outlook on life, while providing a loving, stable home environment for Kari. Not that things had been easy, because they hadn’t. Still, she couldn’t complain. In fact, she hoped and prayed she’d find a way to do the same with her own baby.

Marc returned to the car, interrupting her thoughts with his intimidating presence, even as he wordlessly slid behind the wheel. He drove the short distance to park in front of room number seven. He climbed out again, then came around to open her passenger-side door. “Ready?”

“Of course.” She summoned the strength to swing her legs around, wincing when she placed pressure on her left ankle. Marc surprised her by holding out his arm. “Lean on me.”

The radiating pain shooting through her foot didn’t give her much choice. She braced herself on his arm and hobbled the few steps it took to reach the door. Then she rested against the wall of the building, waiting for him to use the motel key card to open the door.

He held out his hand again, so she leaned against him, making her way inside. By the time she collapsed on the bed, her ankle felt as if it might explode. She closed her eyes, fighting a sense of helplessness.

Not being able to walk made her dependent on Marc for more than just keeping her safe.

Her eyelids sprang open in surprise when he lifted her swollen ankle up off the mattress. “What are you doing?”

“You need to keep this elevated on pillows,” he said calmly, untying her shoe and stuffing two pillows beneath her calf and heel. He gently probed the skin around her ankle, emitting a low whistle from under his breath. “This looks worse than I expected.”

She wasn’t sure what to say to that. He disappeared into the bathroom, ran water and then returned with an icy cold towel, which he wrapped tightly around her ankle. She had to admit the coolness against her swollen joint offered a bit of relief.

“I’ll get some ice.” He grabbed the plastic bucket off the small table and disappeared again, the door of the motel room closing loudly behind him.

She let out her pent-up breath in a heavy sigh. Was it normal for FBI agents to blow hot and cold so quickly? One minute he’s scowling and brooding, the next he’s fetching ice for her ankle.

Men. Who could figure them out? Vince had already fooled her once; she refused to be gullible again.

She placed a protective hand over her abdomen. She’d dreamed of having a large family, a future Vince had conned her into believing he wanted, as well. Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be.

She was facing her future, alone.

Please, Lord, give me strength.

The door opened a few minutes later and Marc walked in, bringing the familiar sandalwood scent with him. She didn’t want to be so aware of him, but she was. He wrapped some crushed ice in a towel and then pressed it against her ankle.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

He pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. “We need to talk.”

What she really needed was sleep, but she turned her head to look at him. “Okay.”

“Where’s your baby’s father?”

Huh? She frowned, wondering why it mattered. “I have no clue. I haven’t seen him in a long time.”

His green eyes were skeptical. “Are you sure? He’s probably worried about you. Give me his name and contact information. I’ll find a way to keep him informed.”

She stifled a sigh. “Vince left me three months ago. He doesn’t even know I’m pregnant.”

He lifted a surprised brow. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, Vince what?” Marc picked up the motel pen and notepad.

“Ackerman. Vince Ackerman.” She rattled off the last phone number she had for him. “You can try to call, but trust me, the line has been disconnected. I honestly don’t have any idea where he is.”

“I believe you.” His tone was considerate, but that didn’t stop him from writing Vince’s name and number on the sheet of paper. “Did Detective Monique Barclay do a background check on him?”

She shrugged. “I have no idea.” She wasn’t sure why anyone cared about Vince. It wasn’t as if he was involved in the bank robberies.

“Try to get some rest, okay?”

“Sure.” Easier said than done with the way her ankle throbbed.

“I’ll be in the connecting room right next door.” He rose to his feet, then hesitated, staring at the motel phone that sat on the bedside table beside her.

Her stomach clenched. Was it possible that he still didn’t trust her? She half expected him to disconnect the phone from the wall, but then he walked past the device toward the connecting door between their rooms. “I’m going to leave this open an inch or so. Just give a yell if you need anything.”

She nodded. “Good night.”

“Good night.” Marc disappeared into his own room, leaving her to stare helplessly at the four walls surrounding her. She fought the urge to call him back.

Maybe she trusted him to keep her and her baby safe, but she couldn’t afford to allow herself to depend on anyone but herself.

Hadn’t Vince already taught her not to trust her instincts? Bad enough that she’d been foolish enough to fall for his act.

Tears pricked at her eyelids, evidence of hormones running amuck.

Five days. She needed to remain strong for the next five days. Once the trial was over, things would get back to normal.

Whatever her new normal might be.

* * *

Doing his best to keep quiet so he wouldn’t disturb Kari, Marc pulled his laptop computer out of its carrying case and set it on the small table. His witness deserved her rest, especially considering the condition of her ankle.

He wished there was more he could do for her, but it was better for him to focus on the case.

He’d gone through the bank-robbery case file more than once, but didn’t remember seeing anything about a former boyfriend named Vince Ackerman. Even if Detective Barclay had cleared the guy, shouldn’t she have at least mentioned Vince in the report?

Marc also needed to try to figure out who could have possibly leaked the location of the safe house. He doubted Kari had done anything on purpose, but he couldn’t ignore the tiny voice in his head telling him she might have let something slip by accident.

Maybe at the drugstore? When buying her prenatal vitamins? Or had she been followed?

He could almost hear his sister Madison’s voice in his head, admonishing him for being so cynical. And maybe he was. Not just because of his line of work, but learning the truth about Jessica and then losing the witness in his last case. A case that was eerily similar to this one. A young man from last year, who’d also witnessed a bank robbery.

Only Joey Simmons had been shot and killed on the way to the courthouse the morning of the trial, rather than a week before. They’d eventually proven that the man their star witness had been about to testify against had hired the gunman to kill Simmons. To this day, Marc felt guilty about that. As if he should have known or done something to avoid the outcome.

Was it any wonder he didn’t trust anyone?

His sister, Maddy, was a prosecuting attorney in the DA’s office, working hard to bring perpetrators to justice. She met all sorts of low-life criminals, yet still managed to maintain a positive outlook on life.

How she managed that feat was beyond his comprehension.

He booted up the computer, then drummed his fingers on the table as he waited for the operating system to kick in. As soon as the wallpaper image bloomed on his screen, he opened a browser and began a background search on Vince Ackerman.

He found several, but none in the right age range. Or what he thought was the correct age range. Somehow he couldn’t picture Kari with a guy fifteen years her senior.

Although what did he really know about her? Other than the basics?

Kari Ann Danville was twenty-six years old, grew up in Oakdale, Wisconsin, a suburb just outside Milwaukee. She’d been working at the Oakdale National Bank for the past four years, since graduating from college with an associate’s degree in graphic arts.

Graphic arts and banking didn’t necessarily go hand in hand, but he’d also found a freelance graphic-arts website hosted by KariAnn’s Designs. Maybe she was using the regular paychecks from her day job at the bank while she worked on getting her design business off the ground.

He wondered what she’d do once the baby was born. Not that Kari’s life or career prospects were any of his business. He couldn’t afford to let the aching loneliness in her eyes get to him.

Which brought him back to the baby’s father, Vince Ackerman. He scowled at the federal database he was logged in to. There were a few possibilities, but all of them were located on the other side of the country.

He sat back with a sigh. He should have asked for the guy’s age, and his last known address, but couldn’t bring himself to go next door to wake her up.

Marc scrubbed his hands over his face, knowing he should follow her lead and get some sleep, too. But he needed to figure out his next steps, not least of which involved contacting his boss.

The dead cop and empty safe house would raise an alarm when the relief officer arrived on the scene, in roughly—he glanced at his watch—two-and-a-half hours. His boss, Special Agent in Charge Evan White, would demand answers.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have any.

Since he’d ditched his phone, he had to use the motel phone. He reluctantly lifted the handset of the motel phone and dialed the main office number. No one would answer, but he could use a passcode to access Evan’s mailbox.

“This is Callahan reporting in,” he said into the voice mail. “I have our witness in custody, but the safe house was breached and the officer watching over her is dead, the result of a gunshot wound inflicted at close range. I don’t have my phone... I’ll let you know as soon as I secure a replacement.”

He disconnected from the call, relieved to postpone the inevitable confrontation with his boss.

They were safely isolated here for the moment, but they couldn’t just hang out here until the trial. He needed help from someone he could trust.

His family.

As the oldest, he didn’t like turning to his siblings for help. His brother Miles was the next in line, and also happened to be a detective with the Milwaukee Police Department. There were six Callahans total, and thanks to his parents’ crazy sense of humor all their names started with the letter M.

Marcus, Miles, Mitch, Michael, Matthew and Madison. Matt and Maddy were twins, Matt the elder by three minutes. Maddy hated being the baby of the family, constantly lamenting the fact that she had five older brothers. His father had been thrilled to finally have a daughter, and while they were always protective of their baby sister, they’d all also spoiled Maddy a little too much.

He swallowed the painful lump in his throat when he thought about their father. Max Callahan had been a cop, and the acting chief of police, before he was killed six months ago, in the line of duty.

His mother, Maggie, and their grandmother, Nan, still lived in the house where they grew up. Sunday church service followed by brunch was a steadfast Callahan tradition.

Max Callahan had instilled a strong sense of duty and commitment to serving their community in all of his children. And the Callahan legacy lived on, as they’d followed in his footsteps in one form or another, well, except for Michael, who worked as a private investigator. Their father hadn’t been thrilled with Mike’s choice and had constantly badgered him to go back to the police academy.

It still burned Marc to know their father’s case remained unsolved. Especially since his father was murdered by a sniper during an investigation into a police shooting of an unarmed teenager. It wasn’t normal for the chief of police to go to crime scenes, but his dad had wanted to make a statement that they were taking these types of incidents seriously.

Only to be shot and killed for his efforts.

Marc had recently begun his own personal investigation into his father’s death, hating the thought that the person responsible might get away with the crime. But it was as if the shooter had vanished into thin air, without leaving so much as a shell casing behind as a clue to his, or her, identity.

Marc must be more tired than he thought, to allow his thoughts to be sucked back into the past.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t allow his father’s death to become a distraction.

Not when faced with an immediate threat to his witness.

He picked up the motel phone again and punched in his brother’s number. Several rings went by before Miles answered in a raspy voice.

“Who is this?”

“Marc. I need a favor.”

As if by magic the sleepiness in his brother’s voice vanished. “What’s going on? Why are you calling me from an unknown number?”

“That’s the favor,” he said, avoiding a direct answer. “I need two new untraceable phones. Are you in the middle of something? Can you get them to me ASAP?”

“That depends on where you are,” Miles said. “Is this related to your serial bank-robbery case?”

“Yeah. The safe house where I stashed my witness has been compromised. I don’t want to call the Feds or the locals for help. Not until I have a better understanding as to what’s going on.”

Miles was quiet for a long moment. “That’s not good,” he finally said. “Okay. Prepaid phones, check. Anything else?”

He knew his brother would come through for him. “Not at the moment, but I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“Where are you?”

“Ravenswood Motel. It’s off Highway WW—on the right. You can’t miss it.”

“Okay, but it will take me some time to get there and I have to wait for the stores to open.”

“Understood. Thanks, I owe you.”

“Yeah, and don’t think I won’t collect,” Miles shot back. “Later, bro.”

Marc hung up the phone then glanced up in time to see Kari standing in the opening between the connecting doors. He was surprised to see her up and moving around on her injured ankle.

“Who was that?” she demanded.

“My brother.” Marc slowly rose to his feet. “How’s the ankle?”

“Don’t try to change the subject,” she said, narrowing her gaze. “Why are you calling your family? I thought we were supposed to stay off the grid.”

“We are. Relax. My brother would never betray me.”

“That doesn’t necessarily make me feel better.”

The edge of desperation in her tone made him frown. “You’re my witness,” he pointed out. “Of course Miles would protect you, too.”

“Really? I’m not so sure.” Sarcasm didn’t seem to be her style, but she appeared to be on a roll. “First Vince disappears without a trace, taking every cent out of our joint account, then I get robbed while working at the bank, and then end up running away from a gunman...”

Whoa, wait a minute. He backtracked a bit. “Vince stole money from you?”

Her eyes widened as if realizing what she’d said. With an awkward turn while leaning heavily on the wall, she disappeared inside her room, shutting and locking the connecting door behind her with a loud click.

Marc stared at the closed door, his thoughts whirling. Maybe the reason he hadn’t been able to find Vince Ackerman was because the guy didn’t really exist. His name, his entire identity, was likely fake.

A chill snaked down his spine.

Was Vince just another con man, out to score off naive women? Or was it possible Vince was involved in something more sinister?