Chapter Eleven
A cell phone woke Sam the next morning. Wendy wasn’t on the sofa when Sam sat up in bed. Instead, it was Deputy Benson with his feet hanging over the arm. She wondered why he hadn’t taken the other bed. Maybe he hadn’t slept, at all.
He was speaking so quietly into the phone, she couldn’t hear what he was saying. He looked over at her, meeting her gaze briefly before looking away.
“She’s up.” He nodded. “Okay.” He hung up and offered a strained smile. “Good morning.”
“Morning.”
“How’d you sleep?” At least Benson’s friend routine seemed a little more sincere than his partner’s.
“Better than I thought I would, considering.” She stretched, feeling stiff.
“What would you like for breakfast?”
“Uh… I’m not that hungry.”
“We’ll be on the road for most of the day, so you should try to eat something.”
“A bagel?” she suggested.
He nodded and started typing on a different phone. “It’ll be here soon.” He nodded toward her room. Apparently, that meant she was supposed to leave him alone.
She dressed in the fancy jeans and snug T-shirt from her bag. It was a little scary that Garrett was able to get her clothes that fit this well. Had he measured her in her sleep or something?
She shook her head at that thought and went out to see Wendy and Deputy Benson sitting on the sofa watching television. A small paper bag was on the coffee table. Benson picked it up and handed it to her without taking his eyes off the screen. She looked to see what was so exciting.
They were riveted by a news report. A car had exploded, closing the bridge—
Holy crap.
“Is that me?” She pointed at the photo that had popped up on the screen.
They didn’t answer because the reporter did it for them.
“…are still looking into the cause of the explosion. Police have confirmed they found the remains of a young woman, suspected to be the owner of the vehicle—twenty-six year-old Samantha Hutchinson from Baileys Crossroads. Hutchinson was a sales coordinator at the Falls Church Review, and also worked at Santiago’s Pizza.”
Wow. That was it? The sum of her life?
As the reporter moved to a disheveled-looking Nikki, Sam couldn’t think of anything about her they’d missed. How depressing was that?
“We were supposed to meet last night for drinks,” Nikki said tearfully. “But she texted me to say she was too tired.”
“I’m so sorry,” Sam whispered.
Wendy glanced at Benson and back at Sam. “Did your friend know you were pinning the congressman for this?”
Something about the tone of Wendy’s voice made Sam shiver. Certainly she didn’t have the skills to deal with any of what was happening to her…but some deep instinct made her lie, and lie well.
“No. I didn’t tell anyone but the police, and they didn’t believe me.”
“Look.” Benson pointed at the TV again.
Already Sam’s story was over. She was old news as the reporter moved on to someone else’s gruesome end. “…vehicle found in the Potomac River was that of a Kenneth Holden, the man suspected of shooting single mother Heather Riddell earlier this week. His body was found in the vehicle, an apparent suicide.”
Sam stepped closer to the screen. “Except, it wasn’t him. He didn’t shoot her, Howe did.” When she turned back to Wendy and Benson, they were exchanging a look. Sam felt another shiver go up her spine.
“We need to get on the road. Finish your breakfast and pack your things,” Wendy ordered.
Her things? She had some sweats and the outfit she’d worn to the bar. That was it. It wouldn’t take long to pack.
Garrett was right, Wendy was snooty. Sam hoped that was her worst quality.
Deputy Benson led Sam out to a white SUV with dark tinted windows. She climbed in the back, and he shut the door and got in the passenger’s side. Wendy got behind the wheel and started the car.
“Ready?” Wendy asked.
Benson pulled a gun out of his jacket and nodded.
He’d been right about driving for most of the day. Hours and hours with a minimum of stops. She had no idea where they were—they had taken back roads and residential streets for the most part—but judging by the position of the sun, they were going west…then north…then east…then west again. She had dozed off occasionally, but woke when they went through a drive-thru for lunch and another for dinner.
Eventually, they came to a smallish town, turned down a narrow street in a residential area, and pulled into a driveway. It was frustrating that they hadn’t passed a sign letting her know the name of the town. Had her handlers done that on purpose?
She glanced out the window to see a small one-story square house with a tiny porch in the front. The backyard was bordered by a low chain-link fence—the type used to keep in a small dog or maybe children.
The house next to it was identical except for the color. Instead of white, it was light blue.
As she waited on the steps for Wendy to unlock the door, she noticed all the blinds were closed. Once inside, she inspected the barren surroundings. The living room was small, separated from the kitchen/dining area by a wide archway. A hallway led to two bedrooms and a tiny bathroom in the back.
The whole house was cold and smelled of bleach.
“Turn on the heat,” Wendy ordered Benson, who was already standing by the thermostat, then glanced at Sam. “Your room is the one on the left. Make yourself at home. We’re going to be here a while,” she said. “Get some sleep.”
Sleep? Sam didn’t see how she could possibly need more sleep. Why hadn’t Garrett thought to include a book or two with her clothes?
She walked to her room to unpack her few things. She looked down at the outfit he had bought her, and wondered for a moment where he might be right now. Was he off abducting another woman for her own good?
She changed into her sweats, and after washing her face and brushing her teeth, she crawled into the cold bed. The rest of the house had warmed up, but where she lay felt like she was stretched out on a frozen lake. Would she ever feel warm again?
She was the first person awake the next morning. Wendy was in the other room and Deputy Benson was sleeping on the sofa, a gun lying on the coffee table next to him.
When Sam opened up a cabinet in search of food, the sound startled him. Instantly, he rolled onto the floor, grabbed his gun, and aimed it at her in one steady move.
She gasped and held up her hands. “I surrender.”
If she’d doubted his ability to keep her safe before, those doubts were now gone. He seemed more than capable of taking someone out.
“Shit,” he muttered, and put the gun down. He looked around in confusion and shook his head. “I guess I fell asleep.” He sounded surprised.
“It happens.”
“Not while I’m supposed to be guarding you.”
“I won’t say anything,” she said as she glanced down the hall. “I’m fine. No harm, no foul.”
“Thanks,” he mumbled as Wendy came into the room, already dressed in leggings and a long sweater that fell off her left shoulder.
“I’ll go get food,” she announced, and turned to Sam. “Any requests?” she snapped, like it would be a problem if there were.
Sam just shook her head.
When Wendy was gone, Sam took a shower, using the tiny shampoo, conditioner, and soap she’d taken from the hotel before they left. She dressed in the same clothes from the day before, wondering if it defeated the purpose of the shower. Would she be wearing these clothes every day until the trial?
Fortunately, when Wendy returned with the groceries, she brought clothes and toiletries for Sam, as well. The clothes weren’t fancy, and some of them were too big, but Sam was grateful.
“Thanks,” she said.
Wendy warmed up slightly and nodded. But their girl moment was interrupted by Benson’s cell phone.
“Yeah?” he answered. “She’s here. Sure.” He turned to Sam and held out the phone. “The district attorney wants to question you.”
“Hello?” Her voice cracked.
“This is District Attorney Hugh Harris. I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Of course.”
The few questions turned into two hours of relentless badgering. He tried from every angle to get her to recant her story, to say that she could be wrong, or that she wasn’t one hundred percent sure.
When Benson’s phone died, Harris called back on Wendy’s and continued until Sam finally got angry. “Look, you’re supposed to be on my side. Maybe you need to go back to law school so you know who the hell you’re working for. News flash—it’s not Congressman Howe. He’s the bad guy. He’s the one who murdered that girl, and it doesn’t matter how many times you ask me, that’s the truth. The truth doesn’t change!” she shouted.
“You’d be surprised,” he said flatly. “I needed to get you rattled, to make sure you wouldn’t change your story. This is a big deal, Samantha.”
“You think I don’t know that? God! Someone tried to kill me! And since dead people don’t care if they’re found out, it means the person who wants to shut me up is still alive, so it’s not Kenneth Holden.”
“The U.S. Marshal who extracted you identified one of the men as being in Ashton Howe’s Secret Service detail. We’ve also lifted a partial print from Holden’s home that traces back to another man in Howe’s detail. That’s not enough to convict him, though. Those things can be explained away as rogue employees trying to set him up. Your testimony is the vital piece we’ll need to lock him away.”
She stopped pacing as that sunk in. It all came down to her.
“Howe’s lawyers are going to tear you up on the stand,” said Harris. “They’ll pull out every skeleton in your closet.”
“I don’t have any skeletons in my closet,” she argued.
“Then they’ll make some up.”
“Are you saying I should give up? Recant?”
“No. I’m not saying that, at all. What I’m saying is, if there is any chance that you are going to give up, it would be better for everyone if you did it now.”
“I’m not going to let this go.” Sam sounded like an irritable child, even to herself. “He can’t get away with killing people just because he’s powerful and rich. It’s not right.”
“Okay, Ms. Hutchinson.” Harris sounded pleased, for once. “Then prepare for battle.”
“I’m ready.”
Except, she had never been less ready for anything in her life.
“Call me if you remember anything else.”
She didn’t see how it was possible to remember anything more. Harris had pulled every minuscule detail out of her head. “Okay.”
“If you hadn’t been in that alley, he would have gotten away with this. Heather Riddell would most likely stay an unsolved crime forever. Everything comes down to the eyewitness. Your testimony is the basket that is holding most of our eggs.”
She swallowed. He was saying if something happened to her, there would be no case. “I understand.”
She handed the phone back to Wendy and went to her room, where she sat on her bed and studied her hands. For probably the hundredth time, she heard Nikki’s voice in her head.
What if he comes after you to shut you up?
If she had taken her friend’s advice, Sam would be sitting at her desk right now going over marketing reports and sales figures. The worst thing she’d have to worry about was dealing with a breakup. Instead, she was running for her life.
She flopped down on her bed and stared at the ceiling. Did she regret her choice? She’d thought by now she might.
But she didn’t. She was giving up her old existence to do the right thing. Many times in her life when she was faced with a difficult decision, she’d thought about her father and what would make him proud, if he were alive.
Three days later she had become best friends with that ceiling. She’d made Wendy promise to pick up some books the next time she left the safe house—there was only so much The Price is Right a person could watch without going insane—but until then, time had slowed to an excruciating pace.
“Congressman Howe has been arrested,” Benson yelled from the living room the next evening. “It’s on the news.”
Sam jumped up and ran out from her room to watch the report.
Her mouth fell open as the camera followed the neatly dressed man being escorted into the police station wearing handcuffs.
“This is all a mistake,” he shouted to the reporters over the chaos. “Someone is out to get me. No doubt a ploy to get me out of the race for reelection. I’ll set the record straight and everything will be fine.” The congressman flashed a guileless smile meant to reassure the public.
“What happens now?” Sam asked Benson and Wendy after the report had ended.
“They’ll question him until his lawyers stop it, then he’ll be released on bail.”
Sam gaped. “He’ll be back out on the street?”
“Until the trial. That’s when you’ll testify.” Benson glanced at Wendy. The look between them brought on a wave of uneasiness.
“How long will the trial take?” Sam asked. She couldn’t help but notice how the killer was allowed to walk around free, while she was forced to stay with two marshals who didn’t seem to like being on her detail all that much.
“Several months to a year. Maybe longer.”
She stared at them in consternation. “A year? I’ll be staying here with you for a year?” She’d go stark raving mad. “Maybe I should have let him find me,” she muttered.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Wendy said.
It was obvious she didn’t like Sam. Sam had tried to stay out of their way, keeping to her room when possible, reading the books she’d requested.
Maybe she would put Sam out of her misery in a few days when she really got on her nerves.
Sam went back to her room, but before she closed the door she heard Wendy say, “I hate babysitting these ungrateful brats.”
Benson murmured, “It won’t be that long. I’ll let you have the honors.”
Honors? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Whatever it was didn’t sound good.
Sam locked her bedroom door, double-checked it, and got ready for bed, hoping she would actually wake up the next morning. She’d decided her protective detail didn’t make her feel very protected.
In fact, they made her feel downright afraid for her life.