Protecting His Witness
Autor
Julie Anne Lindsey
Leituras
15,6K
CapĂtulos
21
Can a lawman keep a key witness and their unborn child out of harm's way? When her safe house is breached and hit men are gunning for her, Maisy Daniels flees to the man who is her only refuge. Blaze Winchester's not just the detective who investigated the murder of Maisy's twin sister. He's the father of her soon-to-be-born child. Can Blaze stop the killer hell-bent on keeping Maisy from testifying and safeguard the two lives most precious to the determined lawman?
Chapter One
Maisy Daniels shifted uncomfortably on the hard kitchen chair, rubbing the curve of her once decidedly flat abdomen, which had morphed into a watermelon in her third trimester. She smiled at the thought, not missing her thinner shape at all. Not yet, anyway. Right now her body was doing an amazing feat that many couldnât, and Maisy was honored by the opportunity.
Her baby was stronger by the day, and she couldnât wait to meet the little one soon. She imagined her labor and delivery. The deep, practiced breathing, a positive attitude and classical music playing through each contraction. Her birth plan was perfect, laid out in excruciating detail. Though all that truly mattered was that her baby arrived safely into Maisyâs loving embrace, preferably without anyone trying to kill them. In other words, under near-opposite circumstances than those in which her baby was conceived.
âHey.â US Marshal Clara Spencer popped into the small and toasty kitchen with her usual encouraging smile. Her smart blond bob was streaked lightly with gray and tucked behind her ears. Laugh lines hugged the edges of her mouth. âSorry. I had to take that call. Things are still a go for the move today. Weâre even moving the timeline up a little. How are you feeling?â
âGood.â Maisy straightened in her chair, scrutinizing the woman before her, someone fate had made her dearest friend. One part lawman and two parts Mary Poppins, Clara had become everything to Maisy these last few months, including one of the only people she ever got to see. âThe call went okay?â Maisy asked, sensing an odd uncertainty in Claraâs normally cheery eyes.
âMmm-hmm.â She patted Maisyâs shoulder on her way to the stove, where sheâd set a kettle to boil before leaving the room to take a call. âThe other marshal will be here within the hour. Then weâll transport you back to your hometown for the trial. You and I will be sharing subpar room service cheeseburgers together in some high-rise hotel by nightfall.â
âWow.â Maisy stifled a grimace, forcing a curt laugh instead. âYou make it sound so tempting. I might start walking right now.â She curled her arms protectively over her middle, cradling her baby bump. Much as Maisy longed for the trial to be over, her testimony given and Sam Luciano behind bars for life, she would fear for her safety, and that of her baby, until the day officially arrived. Until then, anything could happen, and most of the possibilities running through Maisyâs mind were grim.
Sam Luciano was an organized crime boss with reach and influence most celebrities never achieved. Sheâd come to understand he was involved in every manner of awfulness, but the crime that mattered most to Maisy was the murder of her twin sister, Natalie. And with a little luck, Maisyâs testimony would secure Lucianoâs permanent resident status at the Castle on Cumberland, aka Kentucky State Penitentiary, the stateâs maximum security and supermax prison.
Clara set a steaming mug of tea on the table before Maisy, its chipped edge and floral pattern worn from age and washing. âJust breathe,â she said gently, taking the seat beside her, a second mug cradled in her hands. âYouâve made it. All the way to the end, and in less than two weeks, youâll be free to go anywhere you want, any time you want and with anyone you choose. No more passing time cooped up in a safe house, playing cards and wearing out the Netflix account with me and your other stuffy old guardians.â
âYouâre not stuffy or old.â Maisy smiled, sipping her tea and wondering if it was really that simple. After six long months in near-isolation, sheâd tell her story to a jury, justice would prevail and sheâd return to her life in progress. It seemed impossible. And suddenly, leaving the place she never wanted to live in the first place felt a lot scarier than sheâd ever imagined. âDonât tell the other marshals,â Maisy confided, âbut Iâm going to miss you the most.â
Clara set her tea aside. She reached for Maisy and wrapped her in a warm hug. âIâm going to miss you, too, kiddo. But just think, after this is over, our time together will be on your own terms and at your leisure instead of for your protection and under duress.â
Maisy nodded, a lump of emotion rising in her throat. The little cottage on Elmwood Lane had been a safe haven for her and the baby she hadnât even known she was carrying on the day she arrived. âI couldnât have survived this without you.â
Clara had been everything Maisy needed to get through life in voluntary captivity, through the shocking realization she would soon be a mother and the oppressive grief of a twin sister lost. Sheâd been a buoy on days Maisy was sure her testimony wouldnât be enough to make a difference. And sheâd found the perfect obstetrician to care for Maisy throughout her pregnancy. Sheâd driven her to every appointment and nursed Maisy through three long months of morning sickness. Sheâd done it all without ever being asked.
Maisy wiped a renegade tear as the hug ended, determined to stay strong. âThank you. For everything.â
Claraâs brown eyes misted. âStop that. If you cry, then Iâll cry, and the escorting marshal will get here and think weâre both nuts.â
Maisy did her best to pull herself together, though pregnancy had her emotions thoroughly heightened and her hormones wholly out of whack. âIâll try,â she promised, lifting her mug and inhaling the sweet steam before taking a long, soothing sip.
âGood.â Clara watched Maisy closely, a small smile budding on her lips. âDid I tell you I was able to poke around a little like you asked?â
âNo.â A thrill shot through Maisy as she straightened. âLearn anything good?â
âMostly that I was right, of course. The trial postponements have been in our favor. Prosecution has been building an airtight case. Locating and securing three additional witnesses.â
âWhat?â Maisy set her mug aside so she wouldnât drop it from shock. âThere are more witnesses?â A nearly forgotten sense of hope bubbled inside her. She wasnât alone.
âYes.â Claraâs grin widened. Sheâd told her as much before, multiple times, but Maisy had assumed the words were unfounded, meant to make her feel better but with no real basis. âSo, itâs just like I told you,â Clara continued. âEverything is going to be just fine.â
âThank you.â Maisy let the tears roll this time, embracing the relief and joy along with a sliver of guilt for asking Clara to nose around outside the scope of the case. âI hope you wonât get into trouble for snooping.â
âI was careful. And besides, youâre being transferred today. The trial is almost here, and this will all be over soon. It was worth the risk just to see that smile on your face.â Claraâs phone rang, and she glanced at it briefly. Her smile wavered but rallied. âOur ride will be here soon. You should probably finish packing while I take this call.â
Maisy rose with her tea and headed to the small rear bedroom sheâd practically lived in since spring, riding on a surge of hope and possibilities. Four witnesses sounded like a pretty strong case to her. Surely no jury would side with Luciano now. And there would be justice for Natalie and all his other victims. Like Aaron.
Maisy sat on the soft twin bed a moment before her trembling legs gave out, and a fresh wave of grief rushed over her. Natalie shouldnât have volunteered to visit Aaronâs house that day. He and Maisy had only been on a handful of dates, and heâd nearly thrown Maisy out after taking a private phone call sheâd assumed was from a girlfriend. Heâd been hiding something, and Maisy had sensed it. Sheâd left in a huff and forgotten her book. A tattered old copy of Little Women she rarely went anywhere without.
Natalie went to retrieve it.
And now she was dead. Her life traded for a ten-dollar paperback.
Maisyâs paperback.
She wiped her tears and worked to calm her breathing, fighting to regain control. The unexpected bouts of grief werenât good for her blood pressure, and she needed to think of her baby. âAunt Natalie was my personal defender,â she whispered to her swollen abdomen, imagining her perfect child inside. âOur mama left me that book. Sheâd read it to us a dozen times and it was her favorite to the end, even through endless rounds of chemo.â
Sam Luciano had been at Aaronâs house when Natalie arrived. Sheâd snapped a photo of his car, license plate included, and texted it to Maisy before circling around to the back deck without ringing the doorbell. Sheâd assumed the car belong to the suspected other woman in Aaronâs life, and sheâd called to let Maisy know.
âThatâs how I met your father,â Maisy told the bump, now shifting slightly with each stretch of an arm or leg. âHe made me feel loved even when I hated myself. He made me smile when all I wanted to do was cry. And he tracked that monster down then arrested him for what he did to Aunt Natalie and Aaron.â For the final reason alone, Maisy would love Blaze Winchester until the day she died.
And sheâd see him again soon. Seven months pregnant with his child. Sheâd wanted to tell him sooner but wasnât allowed. Communication with the outside world was limited, and communication with anyone from her past was forbidden, at least until the trial. So Maisy had spent countless nights planning how to break the news. And now she wouldnât have to. A single look at her would say it all.
She pushed onto her feet, forcing Blazeâs handsome face from her mind. Whatever he would think of her pregnancy was up to him, and no amount of planning on her part would change it. Until then, she had packing to do.
Sheâd moved the bulk of her things into a set of plastic bins against the wall when she heard a car outside. A black SUV with tinted glass and a government plate was visible in the driveway, just beyond her first-floor window. The marshal from her home county had arrived to escort her and Clara back to the town where the trial would take place.
A man climbed out from the driverâs side, closed his door, then examined the home carefully as he moved toward the porch. He was older, with a dusting of gray at his temples and a scowl in his expression that unsettled Maisyâs stomach. Not that it took much for that these days. Blustering November winds tussled his hair and split his unzipped jacket up the center, exposing a sidearm at his hip.
Maisy shivered. Her expression reflected in the windowpane said it all. There was fear and apprehension in her clear hazel eyes and a downward turn to her lips. Even the flush of her pale, freckled skin gave her away. She didnât want to leave. Too many terrible things could happen outside her protected walls, and in her current condition, she was helpless to do more than let them happen if they did.
Cold seemed to seep in from outside, under the locked window and around the reinforced frame. Leeching into Maisyâs skin and frosting her bones. According to local news reports, the entirety of northern Kentucky was in for relentless rains this week, followed by dropping temperatures and a heavy late-season snowfall next.
Maisy gave her bare feet, yoga pants and tunic top a regretful look, then headed into the hallway for a coat and her favorite fur-lined boots. The last thing she wanted was to be this pregnant in a snowstorm, but at least she could stay warm while she got through it.
Bang!
The first gunshot sounded before sheâd reached the coat hooks in the narrow rear hall.
Claraâs voice erupted from the silence a moment later, calling orders and relaying details. Including a description of the man Maisy had seen in the driveway.
Maisy turned, eyes wide and heart pumping as she realized what was happening. Clara was calling for help. The cottage was under attack. âClara!â
The next gunshot ended Claraâs commands.
Fear rooted Maisy in place, freezing her limbs and turning her mind to mush.
The shots began again, this time coming rapidly. Splitting the woodwork of a nearby archway and tossing bits of drywall into the air.
âClara!â Maisy cried again, this time with all the strength and volume she could muster.
âRun!â Clara answered, weak and frantic. âRun! You know what to do! Go!â
Maisy turned on autopilot. Theyâd practiced this a dozen times, weekly at first, maybe more. If the cottage was under attack, the marshal on duty would call for backup and hold down the fort. It was Maisyâs job to escape. It was her only job in the event of a crisis. The most important job, Clara always said. Because if I die trying to save you, and youâre killed anyway, then what was the point?
Hot tears trailed over Maisyâs cheeks, blurring her eyes and stinging her nose as she shoved swollen feet into waiting, unlaced sneakers, swept the go-bag out from beneath the bench at the back door and burst into the frigid windy day, gunshots blazing behind her.
