SHELBY (Second Chance Novels Book 4) (13 page)

Every time we move a witness, danger grows exponentially. Every break in protocol forces more exposure, more people, more cracks in the protective shell. This will inevitably complicate her security, no matter how tight we play it.

We always have a spare safe house set up for such an occasion, so moving Shelby takes nothing more than a car ride and a shit-ton of paperwork, as far as logistics is concerned. The emotional toll, however, is much worse. The stress on all the marshals assigned to her case forces distractions and bad moods, requiring
effort
to focus. They burn out more quickly that way, losing their calm vigilance.
 

The stress on Shelby will be equally harmful. When we first placed her under our protection, taking her out of her own home nearly broke her. Now that she has finally gotten comfortable in the new house, we must move her to yet another. She hasn't demonstrated the most stability from the beginning, and I can only hope this doesn't break her…but then I remind myself this is her fault. She chose to seduce one of my men.
 

By the time my boss is done ripping me about three new assholes, I return to the back bedroom and relieve Rankin of his badge. "Director West will be here to officially fire your worthless ass within the hour. You'll be in confinement. Don't expect so see much daylight until the trial is over."
 

"I take full responsi—"

I don't allow him a chance to finish as I walk out and slam the splintered door behind me. Shelby's room is my next destination, where I plan to shred her for making life more complicated. I'm so fucking pissed at her, and I can't tell her half the reason why. I push into her room without knocking, ready to explain exactly how big a fuck-up she created. I can't say a word, though, not when I see genuine tears. Shelby is
sad
, truly and devastatingly
sad
. The moment she sees me, she leans back against the wall and slides slowly down, hiding her face in her hands. A muffled
tell him I'm sorry
sounds from behind her palms. Her erratic range of emotion demonstrates exactly how fragile she is, no matter how hard she's trying to hide her vulnerability, no matter how many tiny steps she's taken forward.

I sit on the edge of the bed and face her, resting my chin on my folded hands. She only allows a few quiet sobs to sound before she looks up at me, her eyes swimming in thick tears.
 

"Where are we going?" she asks like a frightened child.

"New safe house," I answer quietly. I remain silent for a few more moments before I attempt the conversation I would have with any other witness who fucked up. "Do you have any idea…"

I shake my head, not able to say the words. I need to step up and regain my professionalism, because she needs to understand how categorically stupidly she behaved, and why nothing like that can ever happen again. I want to scream about the increased danger against her and the rest of my team. All I can do is look at the floor. She's undoing me.
 

"Please don't fire him," she says quietly. "That was me. I did that."

"I know," I say quietly. "But he's trained to handle witnesses. He fell for your attempts to seduce each of us. He was thinking with the wrong head."

Heavy, guilty tears well up in Shelby's eyes again. Her head drops back and she stares at the ceiling, looking more broken than I've ever seen. This is the Shelby I always imagined when I saw her strutting in her fuck-me boots at the bar. The simply beautiful woman, broken and sad, in need of a person to notice her and take care of her. Her mussed hair and devastation are exactly what I've seen the whole time. This raw, unrefined, pain-riddled woman simply needs someone to rely on.
 

Me.
 

Unable to force any other decision, I move to the floor beside Shelby and pull her toward me. In the most heart-breaking show of need, Shelby curls up tighter as she turns to me. She grips my shirt in both fists and pulls herself in a tightly as she can…and sobs. I lift her completely to my lap and cradle her while she cries. I keep my arms tight around her and rest my cheek on her hair, surrounding her as much as I can.
 

I'm amazed at the shift in her entire being as I hold her. The angst eases as she seems to let her tension pass along to me. She's relying on me right now, and I understand the basic truth about Shelby: the physical connection is necessary, and the emotional connection allows her to let her burdens rest in new hands. I want to swear I'll carry each for her, but I can't make that promise while she's my witness.
 

As my shirt catches her tears, I find myself wishing her hair was down. Running my fingers through would be a privilege, and no doubt would offer her the intimate comfort she needs.
 

Surprisingly enough my thoughts of Shelby aren't sexual right now. She manages to find parts of me long dormant, and brings each to life. My need to nurture shines brighter than any other in her damaged presence. Her body, now calming in my arms, manages to calm mine, too. Today has tossed me around like a toy boat on angry ocean waves, but I am able to trade places…to become the waves for Shelby, and I keep calm for her. I place one gentle kiss to the top of her head as she lets go of my shirt.
 

She looks at the floor and nods. I tilt her chin so she'll look at me as I speak my next words carefully.

"I will take care of you," I promise quietly, but with intensity. "You can rely on me. I won't let you down and I won't leave you. I will see you through this."

More tears well up as she processes those words. She needs them, and she's never heard them from anyone before. I hope to God she understands the truth behind them.

Now all we need to do is keep her alive while we switch houses.

In spite of our moment of connection, leaving the safe house infuriates me. The safest place on earth for her was in this house with me. Taking her out, especially with this ridiculous excuse for a reason, stresses me. I want to keep her in my protective bubble until the threats against her are gone. The sooner this trial is over, the better. Shelby deserves a life in which she can be happy, not one stuck under a cloud of fear and lack of control.

We load the SUV with the few boxes and duffles we need, keeping the garage door closed for as long as possible. There are no threats associated specifically with this move, but the highest level of alert is always appropriate when a witness is on the front line. Rankin's replacement from another team makes a sweep of the grounds while another marshal completes his drive through the neighborhood.
 

Shelby sits blankly aside, still guilt-ridden and frustrated with her situation. Once we've been given the all-clear, we leave the sanctuary of the safe house and drive forty-five minutes to the next. We'll be closer to the cliffs this time, close enough to listen to the ocean through the windows. Sadly, she won't be able to enjoy the pathway to the park where the ocean can be seen, but the sound may help to entertain her. Maybe the sea will soothe her. I don't know. I can put that at number four hundred eighty-two of things I'd like to know about her.
 

Quietly we ride together in the back seat, occasionally listening to the driver check in with the other two cars in our caravan, as well as the scout car ahead of us watching for potential threats or risky traffic conditions. Shelby sighs once softly, and my instinct is to take her hand. I remain still.
 

"We'll be there soon," I try to reassure her. She's quiet for only a few moments more.

"I wonder if my friends miss me," she says softly to herself.

"Of course they do."

"I really don't know," she says as she turns to me. "Ever since Mason broke up with me, everything changed. They shut me out whether they meant to or not, and then I let myself drift away until we barely had a connection at all. I'm not sure if there's anything left."

She looks at me thoughtfully for a moment, and I try to remind myself that just this morning she was degrading herself, teasing anyone who would look and sucking-off a man who should have been off-limits. Emotional decades have spanned since that moment. The woman before me now is no more or less broken, but she's more aware of her damage.
 

"Distance…" she says as though testing the word. She presses her lips together, betraying a bitter sensation from having said the word. "There's a lot of that."

"It's not always that way," I tell her. She looks at me again sadly. I can't think of another damn thing to say.

The rest of the trip is quiet. We're about five minutes out from the safe house, so security is crucial. We can't allow
anyone
to see her going in, even an average neighbor. Her face will be all over the news in the coming days before she testifies. Her local anonymity is paramount. The tense trip through the neighborhood is thankfully uneventful, as is pulling into the garage.
 

Shelby and I both breathe a sigh of relief when Banks cuts the engine. Home again. Sort of.

"Come on," I say to Shelby. "Let's get you settled."

"Sure," she says quietly, blankly. The seductive vixen she's played this entire time is lost completely. Suggestion and innuendo are replaced by a subdued existence. Shelby may finally be dealing with all the shit in her life.

I take her bag for her and walk her through the kitchen to the large, sleek staircase from the main room. This house is much bigger and more modern than our last. She and I both look around as we ascend.
 

"This is nice," she says quietly.
 

"It'll do," I smile, hoping I can lighten the mood.
 

The blank expression returns to her face, and I understand. The mood can't be lightened. Not yet. We get her settled in her new room, and then we tour the house. I show her the safety features we installed, as well as the dedicated areas to hide or exit.
 

All she does is nod.
 

My shift expired hours ago, but I don't feel like I should leave her yet. I'm not certain if I have the need to stay for her benefit or for my own, but I decide to make myself at home. I'm claiming the guest room as my new digs, protocols be damned. I'm not leaving until she does.
 

"Come on, Shelby. Surprise team meeting."

I call everyone to gather in the kitchen, and Shelby stares at the floor as I address them.

"We have maybe another week before testimony. We're not going to dwell on the move, only on keeping her safe, and keeping her sane."

Shelby's eyes flicked up to meet mine when I mentioned her mental well-being. We both know she's on the edge. The rest of my team listens dutifully as I remind them of procedure. I confirm that shift rotation won't alter with the change of location, with the exception of my taking up residence. Each of them regards me warily when I tell them.

"Look, Roarke…I don't want to question my boss…"

"Then don't," I say pointedly. "I'll deal with the higher-ups. In terms of breaking protocol like this, I can argue with anyone that our biggest priority is the health and safety of our witness. Shelby may be safe, but keeping her from cracking under the pressure of this is equally important. She needs stability, and I'm volunteering. No more words on the subject. Any other issues before we resume our rotation?"

Everyone looks hesitant to agree to my calling the meeting to a close without trying to talk me out of living here, but no one is stupid enough to offer an official opinion. I'm sure each will question me privately, but my decision will stand.
 

Everyone goes through whatever duties they have before things settle into our normal routine. Shelby, however, stays rooted in place and watches me. I stop and meet her gaze, ready to answer her however I can. All she does, however, is shake her head and turn away. I watch her all the way up the steps and then I can only listen. I hear her door click gently shut, then I hear the bed as she flops down on it, then silence.
 

I smirk at myself for feeling bad for her. If she hadn't corrupted my fellow marshal, she'd still be in the other house, playing teasing games. Hell, if she hadn't turned felony-level hacking into a hobby, she wouldn't be here at all. Still, her world has spun out of her control, and that's more than even the cleanest of souls can easily bear.
 

As I announced to everyone involved, Shelby's stability and mental health are now my sole responsibility. I'm breaking every rule under the sun to keep her from going insane, so a conversation with her at the very least is in order.
 

Banks approaches me before I reach the stairs, but all I do is look at him with a simple, hard, "Don't bother." I can feel him watching me as I walk straight upstairs.

She doesn't answer any of my knocks, nor does she acknowledge my requests to speak with her. I sigh before one more attempt. "Shelby, come on, please? May I come in?"

I jump at the thud against the door. A half-second passes before I realize she threw her shoe at the door again. I smirk. She may be stuck inside the pain, but she's still Shelby. I open the door without any further hesitation.

"What," she says flatly, still quiet.

"I wanted to come hang out with my roomie," I say lightly.

"Yeah, about that," she says with her brow furrowed. "Why would you do that? You're going to get your ass handed to you by your bosses. You don't have to get in trouble just because you feel sorry for me."

"What?" I ask, surprised by her assessment of my decision. "I don't feel sorry for you, Shel."