Chapter Ten

Lucy

 

The transfer had taken weeks, and I hadn’t had a minute alone since the fateful explosion. The agents in charge of my case had been frantic. They still hadn’t figured out how I had been found, or how and when they had gotten the bomb on my car. The unanswered questions made the process take even longer, much to my disgust. Limbo is the absolute worst, not just because of the unknown, but because I couldn’t even go to the bathroom without a female agent standing guard outside the door. Privacy was not a thing that mattered when you were in the witness protection program.

This time they called me Karen and dropped me in Illinois, of all places. Just once, I’d like to hide in a big city. Somewhere with good jobs, good shopping and good coffee. Greenville had coffee, and two so-called department stores, five fast food restaurants and an even bar to church ratio. It was four hours away from Chicago.

To make matters worse they stuck me with a rookie agent, and I finally understood what Mike was always fussing about. Agent Richards, well, let’s just say the name suited him. He was a dick.

He loved Greenville, and expected everyone else to as well.  He spent hours spouting off every tidbit and factoid about the small town, that in his opinion, added to its greatness. In my opinion, it just added to his boringness.

They had dyed my hair red, and cut it into a short bob. It was an edgy city look. Which would be great, if they had stationed me in the city. Here I stuck out like a sore thumb.

Mr. Dick, as I thought of him, had pulled up to a large old style house with bay windows and column on the front porch. I knew, from his ramblings, it had been refinished and made into apartments. It was a huge step up from my dingy old duplex in Texas, and I knew that without even having seen the inside yet.

But, if the rookie asswipe thought for a second I was going to be jumping up and down over bay windows and a large porch, he had another thing coming. I would never give them that. I would never give them anything. My life was over. I was just existing, waiting in the rafters for the day we all knew would never come. They day there was enough evidence against Rudy Valentino to put him away long enough to actually go to trial for once. He was more likely to die before that happened.

Agent Richards, whose real name was Vincent, was still waxing poetic about the apartment and Greenville in general. I shook my head, and sighed. Having no fucks left to give, I grabbed the key from his grasp, and pulled the passenger side door open, not bothering to grab my small suitcase from the back. He would follow eventually and he might as well make himself useful.

They had furnished it with the bare minimum. Futon that worked as a couch and a bed for now, small desk and chair that doubled as a dining area, 19 inch TV, four drawer dresser  and a few basic linens and household items. IT would last me a week or two. I knew the drill.

I flung myself onto the futon, and turned on the TV. I didn’t care about the news. It was just giving me something to do until Rookie of the Year took the hint and left.

Rookie was not good with hints. He set my suitcase next to the dresser and stared at it, clearing his throat, like it was imperative that I unpack it before he left.

I ignored the subtlety, and him, rolling my eyes as he tucked his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, turning his attention to the TV.

“You can go now.” My voice was hard and angry. Unshed tears welled just beyond the surface. It was the exact same shit I had pulled with Mike. Mike, with his no nonsense demeanor and grandfatherly ways, had seen through my tough exterior and connected with the scared little girl hiding behind it, tackling me into a bear hug until the tears fell unbidden. If Agent Dick laid so much as a finger in my direction, I would kick him in the balls.

I missed Mike. And Betty, and Rusty, and the cowboys. And Blaze. I missed Blaze so much that the thought of him made it hard to breathe.

I knew what Mike would say. I had made a life for myself in Texas, and now it was time for me to do the same here.  He would be wrong. The pain of having everything ripped away when they found me again wasn’t worth the risk.

I may as well have died when Luca did.

Agent Asswipe was still watching me suspiciously. “You can go now,” I repeated slowly, emphasizing each word. “I am fine.”

I stood, and held the door open for him. I knew he wouldn’t go far. It was my first night, and they considered me a flight risk, so he’d probably stay parked outside my apartment all night long.

That was fine. I couldn’t control him. I didn’t care what he did tonight, as long as he got the fuck out of here.

When the door finally closed behind him, I locked the deadbolt, flung myself face first onto the lumpy futon, and burst into sobs that shook my whole body. I was not fine. I would never be fine again.

 

*****

Lucy

It was morning when the sun woke me up, as it streamed through the windows, reminding me that blinds or curtains were not amongst the things they had provided. I had cried myself to sleep, waking up stiff, sore all over, and starving.

Grunting, I pulled myself into a standing position and padded into the large kitchen. It was very nice, and retro with glass front cupboards and bay windows. I could put my new cooking skills to good use here. I wouldn’t, but I could.

The kitchen would be stocked with a few essentials, this I knew from my previous experience. Milk, bread, eggs, and cheese sat lonely on the refrigerator shelves. Pulling out the milk, I opened cupboards until I found a small box of cornflakes, a bowl and a spoon.

I walked into the living room as I ate, staring blankly around the apartment. The small television was still on, playing the local news. It was probably the only channel I got.

I ignored the weather report. It didn’t matter, I didn’t plan on going outside. The only thing I planned on doing was finding a pizza delivery place, and a blanket. I would wallow in my own unhappiness while stuffing my face with the taste of home. I hadn’t had a decent slice of pizza in years. Chicago was supposed to be a step behind New York, so hopefully, Greenville wouldn’t be far behind. I could almost taste it now.

My cornflakes dropped to the floor with a crash when Rudy Valentino’s face flashed on the screen.

“It has been confirmed that legendary mafia Don Rudy ‘The Ghost’ Valentino is dead.”  The newscaster was speaking to his female co-anchor, but I was hanging on his every word.

“That’s correct, Ted. Police reports claim that he, along with every single remaining member of the small but powerful mob known as The Sicilian Kings, are now dead.”

My butt met the edge of the futon with a hard thunk as I gaped open-mouthed at the screen. This was too good to be true. It had to be a dream. I pinched my arm as hard as I could, yelling aloud at the flash of pain. Ok, so I was awake. I turned my attention back to the report.

“Our sources say there are no suspects in this deadly attack. All we know, Ted, is that they believe the mass murder was conducted sniper style from the roof of a nearby building. A M25 rifle was found in a tree several blocks from the warehouse where the Kings often hold meetings. There were no prints on the rifle and it was not traceable.”

“The Kings are usually on the other side of unsolved crimes. There hasn’t been a mystery involving one of their own since the disappearance of Rudy’s own son, Marco ‘The Blaze’ Valentino, four years ago.”

“It’s always been said, Donna, that Marco was killed in the fire that killed his godfather, Salazar Eduardo Burtinelli.”

“That’s right Ted, but as you know, Marco’s body was never recovered, and the only evidence that he was there at all was a melted down St Christopher necklace, like the one Marco always wore. Rudy himself believed that his son was alive.”

My gaze ricocheted back and forth between the two reporters in disbelief, my mouth opening wider with every crazy detail they revealed. A picture of Rudy’s missing son covered the screen and my hand flew to cover my mouth in shock. The hair was lighter. The eyes were chocolate brown. He was younger. He wore a fine Italian suit that caressed his broad shoulders, fitting him like a glove. That was where the differences ended.

I knew the man on the screen. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind. It was Blaze. Blaze Vale. Marco ‘The Blaze’ Valentino. The man I loved.

The reporters kept talking, but I tuned them out to process the wealth of information. I had fallen in love with the very son of the man who had ordered my brother killed, and then spent years trying to kill me as well.

But they had said Marco had been gone for four years, twice the amount of time I had. He hadn’t known, I decided with certainty. Not until I had told him. I had told him, and then he had fainted. The reaction suddenly took on a whole new meaning.

I looked back to the television in time for seventeen photographs and names to flash across the screen. I recognized every one as someone Mike had once called a threat to my safety.

Blood rushed to my head, and my ears rang with white noise. I had told Blaze. He had fainted. I had disappeared, and then every single person who was a threat to my safety had been murdered.

I knew without a doubt he had done it. And I knew why. With them gone, I was safe.

But what could I do about it? Would Agent Rookie Dickwod even care that the threat was gone? Would he even believe me if I told him? Should I just sit tight and wait until the news trickled down the proper channels? Did that mean I would be stuck here wrapped up in red tape and paperwork for months?

Was Blaze ok?

I paced the floor in the small living room frantically, giving new meaning to wearing a hole in the carpet. The information pounded on repeat in my brain, until I wanted to scream, just to get a break from the voices.

Waiting for Rookie Agent Dickwod was not a thing. I needed a familiar voice and I needed it now. I pulled out the small new tracphone I had been given. The only number in it was Agent Dickheads. Shaking my head, I dialed information, then quickly hung up. They were tracking this phone.

I considered leaving and walking down the street. I had seen a payphone on our way into town. I had laughed at the Maybury-ness of it, never dreaming it would come in handy and I would actually be considering going off to find it the next morning.

There was probably an agent parked outside my apartment this very minute. It didn’t really matter which way I decided to go with, they would find out in a hot minute.

What could they do? The goons were dead. Who were they protecting me from?

I picked up the tracphone again and dialed the operator. “Hello, Ma’am. I’d like the phone number for a Michael and Betty Owens in Springvale Texas. Yes, that’s right. Bluebell Lane. Can you patch me though?”