****
“We’re here.” Chelsea grunted softly as Johan’s voice called her out of a doze. She had drifted off to sleep shortly after Johan had given her the half-dose of Vicodin during their rest break at a restaurant on their way to what Johan was calling her new life.
“How is it possible,” Chelsea had asked then, realizing that they had been doing an improbable amount of driving over the past week—including her twenty-four-hour harried flight. “How is it possible that we’ve driven this much without being halfway across the country?” Johan had chuckled.
“Well, for most of the time we’ve been together, we’ve been traveling in interesting shapes around the state, avoiding your home town,” he had explained. “Of course, I knew when you went out on your own you’d probably pick a direction and keep going, so I went after you that way. Fortunately, I picked the right direction.”
Her new life would be in the next state; Johan had explained that they were several hours away, but that everything would be ready for them when they arrived. Chelsea opened her eyes, yawning as she came out of her doze. Johan had parked in the driveway of a respectable-looking house, on an anonymous street. “Wow, this is an upgrade,” Chelsea said, staring at the front of the home for a long moment. It was two-story, with butter-yellow walls and clean white trim, the door painted a deep red. The yard was well maintained, with trimmed grass and a low, landscaped garden.
“Let me go in first,” Johan suggested. “I’ll make sure there’s no one hiding out inside, and come help you up and into the place.” Chelsea saw the three steps leading from the walkway to the front door and nodded. Much as she would have liked to bristle at Johan’s authoritative tone, she was slightly woozy from the pain pills and knew that she wouldn’t be an asset if someone had found their way inside.
Johan locked the car behind him and strode to the front door, and Chelsea watched him as he located the key to the door—somehow—and let himself in. She sat back, glancing around the neighborhood. It was a place for someone like her former boss, the project manager; not the kind of place she would have seen herself living in alone, not with her salary. Of course, right now you have no salary and you won’t be living in it alone, Chelsea though wryly. She felt her eyes stinging slightly as it once more dawned on her how completely and utterly her life had changed in a matter of mere days.
By the time Johan came back, nodding slightly as he approached the car to indicate that the house was clear, Chelsea had managed to regain her composure, dashing away the few tears she had allowed herself to shed. Johan unlocked the car and walked around to the passenger side to help her out, pulling her up from the seat with almost the same strength he had possessed from the first time she’d met him.
The house she had been given—or at least, loaned—to live in was as beautiful on the inside as its exterior had promised; fully furnished, with a slightly plastic smell of brand-new rugs and upholstery, it looked—on the surface—as if the people who owned it had been living there for a year. Art prints dotted the walls, the beds—both the master bed on the ground floor and, Johan informed her, the two guest bedrooms upstairs—were made, there were towels, and the kitchen was fully stocked. “It really is just…like slipping into another life,” Chelsea said with a mixture of awe and consternation, as Johan settled her on the couch.
“Witness protection—privately funded, in this case,” he grinned slightly. “Much nicer than what you’d get from the government, I can promise you.” Chelsea shrugged. The luxury of their surroundings—solidly upper middle class—compared to the apartment she had left behind, and combined with the prestigious hotels and fancy cars they had had at their disposal, had begun to worry her once more. Without the full dosage of Vicodin in her system to make worrying about anything seem completely useless, more and more of their circumstances seemed unsettling.
“I think it’s time you tell me what the hell is going on,” Chelsea said as Johan returned from the kitchen, armed with three re-freezable cold packs. He raised an eyebrow, perching himself on the coffee table to remove her braces and apply the freezing packets. Chelsea shivered, wincing against the pain that came along with the intense cold.
“You’re in waiting,” Johan said with a shrug. “Nice digs, no need to work until probably after the trial—too much risk involved with routine coming and going—and entertainment.” He pointed at himself. Chelsea looked around at the living room, at the staircase leading to the second floor of the house.
“This is insane,” she said, turning her attention back to Johan as the cold started to gnaw into her from the ice packs, increasing her irritation and unease. “How the hell does someone just—this is crazy. This house is too good.” Johan stared at her in confusion. “This is like—hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of hide-out! And—and the cars, and the hotels, and the room service… and my hospital bill…” Chelsea shook her head, her heart beating faster as the incalculable costs started to stack up in large, blank shapes in her mind.
“You are probably the only person I’ve ever met who would even question this,” Johan said, his voice roughening slightly with something like irritation.
“If this is privately funded, how the hell am I going to pay this back? Am I some kind of—am I in debt to the mob now or something? Who the hell are you? Who’s funding this?” Chelsea stood up quickly, and immediately regretted the impulse, pain flaring through her body as her injured knee and ankle took the pressure of her sudden stand, and her rib protested the movement of her torso.
Johan pushed her carefully but inelegantly back down onto the couch, gathering up the ice packs and half-slapping them back into place. He pulled a spool of ACE bandage out of his pocket and silently strapped the packs down while Chelsea fumed futilely. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, finally meeting her gaze. “Since I can tell you’re going to throw another tantrum if you don’t get your way—” he began, raising a hand to forestall the protest that started to leave Chelsea’s lips. “And after driving half the day I don’t really feel like having to haul you to the hospital for orthopedic surgery when you make your injuries worse—I’ll tell you what’s going on.”
“Good,” Chelsea said, shivering as she decided to ignore the ‘tantrum’ part of the comment. “Talk.”
Johan took another deep breath. “You’re not in debt to the mob. My client is interested in buying up your company; but of course, your CEO won’t sell. He thinks it’s a worthwhile investment to keep you alive to testify against the scummy asshole, and he wants you to be as comfortable as possible. He figures that when your CEO goes to jail, the cost of the company will plummet, and he’ll make up the difference in a matter of months.” Chelsea stared at Johan for a long moment, digesting the information.
“Your client doesn’t sound all that much better than my CEO,” she said finally. Johan shrugged.
“He’s putting you up pretty well,” Johan pointed out. “He isn’t a great guy, but he’s decent enough to want you to testify because it’s the right thing to do, not because you’re being forced into it.” Johan smiled wryly. “And before you ask, no—I didn’t have orders to seduce you. You’re just too good-looking to pass up.”
“Unless I’m drugged.”
Johan snorted. “Yes, unless you’re drugged.” Chelsea pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying at it for a long moment as she considered.
“What about the other guy?” she asked. “The business partner and all that?” Johan shrugged again, standing and moving onto the couch next to her carefully.
“He’s getting put up, too,” Johan said. “It’s a don’t-ask-don’t-tell kind of situation.” Chelsea sighed.
“So, what happens after the trial?” Johan reached out and closed his hand around hers.
“You’re free to do as you want. I could probably persuade him to let you keep the house; give me the car as a bonus. If you need rehab for your injuries, obviously, that’s something he’ll cover.”
“But—I had a whole life.” Johan brought her hand up to his lips and kissed her palm delicately.
“So, you'll rebuild it, once we’re over the hump.”
“We?”
Johan grinned. “Oh, you’re not losing me until after the trial,” he said, his bright eyes warming. “And even then, you’ll have to tell me to leave.” Chelsea smiled weakly.
“Well I guess at least I won’t have to do it all alone,” she said, leaning against him as the stresses of the week—and especially the acute stress of the last several minutes—weighed on her. “I want another Vicodin. A whole one. Standing up was really dumb.”
“You have to eat first,” Johan said firmly. “And then I’ll give you a pill and get you tucked into bed.”
“You sound like my mom,” Chelsea complained. Johan brushed his lips against her ear.
“After you wake up, I will prove to you that I am nothing at all like your mom,” he promised, his voice low and slightly rough with desire.