The Innocent Witness (4 page)

“Mr. LeMar?” Carlucci shouted.

“I'm fine,” her father replied from somewhere on the other side of the island. “Viv, Mikey?”

“They're unhurt.” Carlucci turned to stare at her as if making sure his words were true.

Viv blinked at him in horror. “Just what kind of bodyguard are you? You led them right to us.”

 

With his back pressed against the cupboard, Anthony yanked his gaze from the stunning woman beside him. He chanced a look around the kitchen island out the now nonexistent window toward where the glare of
sunlight had bounced off what could only have been a rifle scope.

Granite exploded on the island's surface. Pieces of stone stung Anthony's face. He drew back. The muzzle flash put the shooter on a ridge to the left of center roughly four hundred meters away on the other side of the lake. A lone shooter?

“I can't believe this. From one nightmare to another,” Vivian Grant groused beside him. “You're sure not worth whatever my father is paying you.”

Anthony glared at the blonde. The minute he'd seen her photo, he'd known she'd be trouble. Too pretty, too smart and too spoiled.

Her already pale complexion had gone pasty and her sky-blue eyes held a mixture of dazed shock and righteous anger. But clearly Miss Idaho Potato wasn't the type to mash under pressure. Good for her. All that polished exterior better not be just for show. He needed her to keep her head if they were to get out of here alive.

“Look, lady, no one followed me here. I didn't even know I was going anywhere until an hour before I boarded a plane. And I came from Boston, not D.C.” So it was more likely she'd been followed, but pointing that out right now wouldn't get them out of the situation. “Mr. LeMar, we need wheels.”

“The garage,” Ben LeMar said as he crawled on his belly, military-fashion, into view from around the other end of the island. He gestured with his head. “This way.”

Anthony positioned himself between the bank of windows and Vivian and the child. He nudged them
toward the now open doorway. The stove took a hit; the distinct ping of metal hitting metal filled the air.

Vivian duck walked forward and coaxed her son to move. “Come on, Mikey. Follow grandpa.”

The kid tried to stand, but his mother pulled him back down. “No, like this, honey.” She demonstrated by crawling on hands and knees. The kid didn't budge.

Placing a hand on the kid's back, Anthony urged the child into action. Mikey reared away with a squawk.

“Don't touch him,” Viv shouted as she made a grab for her son but missed. He scrambled out of reach and stood next to the stove.

“I wasn't going to hurt him,” Anthony snapped, yanking the child back down just as a bullet whizzed past and smacked with a thud into the wall behind the stove.

What was up with the kid? He was old enough to understand they needed to keep low and get out of the line of fire. Exasperated with them both, he growled to Mrs. Grant, “Get to the garage. I'll bring your son.”

“My bag!” In a swift move, she grabbed the black bag from the counter. Another bullet barely missed her. She cried out and dove out of the way.

Grinding his teeth in frustration, Anthony charged forward in a crouch with the squirming kid tucked under his good arm and hustled his mother out the door with the other arm. The kid swatted at him, his small hands barely registering against his forearms, while making high-pitched noises that could wake the dead. As soon as they were clear and in the safety of the garage, Vivian rushed to take her son from Anthony's grasp.

LeMar shoved a set of keys at Anthony, his face a
mask of concern and anger. “Take the Range Rover. The steel's reinforced. There's a map inside. Once you get them to safety, call me.”

Fear clouded Vivian's blue gaze. “What about you, Dad?”

LeMar chucked his daughter under the chin. “No problem. I'll take the Humvee and go out the back way of the subdivision. If we separate, they won't know which vehicle to follow.”

The plan had merit. Anthony needed to get his clients out of there before their would-be assassin decided on a more up close and personal approach.

“Get in,” he ordered, opening the rear door of the backed-in Range Rover.

“Get in,” Mikey mimicked in a voice eerily like Anthony's.

Viv slid onto the backseat and pulled Mikey onto her lap.

Anthony opened the driver's door. LeMar stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “You take care of them.”

Anthony's gut twisted. His shoulder throbbed, reminding him of the last time he'd been charged with someone's safety. He hated being in this position. What had he been thinking when he'd agreed to take this job?

“I will, sir.” He climbed into the front seat and started the engine. “Stay down and out of sight,” he cautioned the pair in the backseat.

Without a word, Viv sank to the floor of the backseat.

Mikey was still making his high-pitched wails. Viv
wrapped her arms around him and gently rocked. Anthony could feel the kid's agitation with solid kicks against the leather backrest of the driver's seat. The garage door rumbled open too slowly. Anthony's fingers flexed on the steering wheel. He revved the engine. The second the door was high enough, LeMar, in the bright yellow Humvee, roared out of the garage, down the short drive and took a sharp left.

Anthony threw the dark green Range Rover into gear and sped out of the garage, turning right. He gunned the motor and zipped toward the subdivision's front entrance. Nerves stretched tight, he kept a sharp eye out.

Five minutes later he hit the highway and drove the Rover to the limit, dicing through the mid-morning traffic and around curves like a pro racer. Or more like he was driving a go-cart from his youth.

When he was sure they were far enough away and not being followed, he said, “You can sit up now.”

Vivian slowly rose. “I think I'm going to be sick.”

In the rearview mirror's reflection she did look a bit green. “That would be very unfortunate.”

Her gaze collided with his. The beautiful ice-blue eyes could freeze a man to the core or melt him to a puddle.

“You think?” her voice dripped with sarcasm.

Anthony jerked his attention back to the road. He had no intention of freezing or melting. Staying detached and unemotionally involved with his client could be the difference between life and death. But it hadn't made a difference for the Kashmir delegate. The painful thought settled in his stomach like a rock.

Behind him, Mikey had quieted down. No more jabs
to Anthony's kidneys through the back of his seat. “He okay?” he asked, keeping his gaze on the road.

“Yes. Car rides usually calm him.”

“Can you direct us to the airport?”

“Where are we going?”

“Back to D.C.”

“It's not safe there.”

He heard the thread of fear in her tone. “You'll have to trust me. You'll be safer in the custody of real federal agents than out in the open.”

“Yeah, right,” she muttered.

“The sooner we're on a plane heading east the better.”

“Well…”

The hesitation in her voice pricked his alarm. “Well?”

“It's just…”

He sought her gaze through the mirror, again. “Just what?”

Her top teeth tugged at her bottom lip. “I don't know how long Mikey will stay calm. He usually has a very set schedule. He tolerated the plane ride here because he slept for most of it. But…”

“We'll deal with any tantrums.” Boy, the kid had her wrapped around his finger. “You're the parent. He'll have to do as you say.”

She sighed. “If it were only that simple.”

“Why isn't it?”

“How much do you know about me? About us?” she asked, her eyes piercing him through the mirror's reflection.

He mentally went over the thin dossier he'd read on the plane from Boston, that was still on the counter
back at the house they'd just fled. “Your husband was the sitting junior senator for the state of Idaho. He had just declared his intent to run for the presidency. You've been married for nearly twelve years and you have one son, Michael Steven Grant.”

He didn't mention other details, such as her husband's string of affairs dating back to when he was a councilman for the city of Boise and the numerous beauty pageant wins of the stunning Vivian Leigh LeMar Grant.

“Well, Steven was careful to keep much of our lives private. Mikey has PDD/NOS.”

“Which is…?”

“Pervasive Developmental Disorder, Not Otherwise Specified. A fancy way of saying he has autism with characteristics that can't be easily checked off on some form to determine a precise diagnosis.”

Okay. Explained the kid's behavior. Though Anthony had no practical experience with the disorder, the media was filled with stories of children with autism.

His earlier assessment of Viv and Mikey's relationship shifted. She had a hard road to travel with her son. A seed of respect planted itself in his mind. Not only had she not flown into hysterics while bullets were flying, she'd focused on her son, on calming him, protecting him. Like a good mother.

Could she have killed her husband to protect her son? But if she had, then who was using her as target practice? Her accomplice?

“If you didn't kill your husband and don't know who did, then why would someone want you dead?” he asked.

Silence met his question. He needed answers before
he went any further. Up ahead he saw a fast-food joint. He turned into the lot and drove around to the back, out of sight of the road. After turning off the engine, he shifted on the seat so he could face Viv. “I repeat, why does someone want you dead?”

She shrugged, her gaze downcast. “My husband was just murdered. What do you want me to say?”

“I need you to answer the question.”

After another beat of silence, he reached out and took her fisted hand out of her lap. Her hand was cold and soft and fit easily within his palm. “Look, the sooner you're straight with me, the sooner we can figure out the best plan of action. For the duration of our time together, I'm your bodyguard and your lawyer. Anything you tell me is confidential.”

Her ice-blue eyes flashed with anger as she yanked her hand out of his. “You think I had something to do with Steven's murder.”

“I think you're mixed up in something dangerous that resulted in your husband's death. But I can't help you unless you tell me the truth.”

She studied him, her expression one of distrust and something else. Hope or fear, he wasn't sure. Then her gaze slid to her son. The kid stared straight ahead with big round, midnight-blue eyes. He worried his left index finger.

Finally, Viv leaned forward and in a low voice said, “Mikey witnessed his father's murder. That's why someone wants us dead.”

Surprise kicked him in the chest. He hadn't expected that. “Tell me what happened.”

As she explained the events from that night, Anthony
couldn't help wondering if the plausible story was true. There was something off about the way she talked about her deceased husband, devoid of emotion, no grief, nothing. “So let me get this straight, Mikey was under the desk?”

“Yes. You'd have to see the desk. It's massive and one of Mikey's favorite places to hide.” Viv glanced toward the burger place. “Since we're here, I'd like to use the facilities.”

Anthony faced forward. There was no one lurking about in the back parking lot and they were hidden from the main road. The restrooms inside the restaurant were visible through the glass windows. “Of course. You have five minutes.”

He opened the door and climbed out. The air smelled of hamburgers and grease, making him aware he needed food. He started around the car but Vivian was already standing beside the vehicle trying to coax Mikey out.

“Need help?”

“No,” she huffed. “Mikey, come on.”

The kid finally slid out and docilely followed his mother inside the restaurant to the restroom. A big shift in behavior from the fit the kid had thrown when he'd picked him up and carried him out of the house.

Anthony leaned against the side of the Range Rover and pulled the paper with the license plate number from his pocket. He wasn't buying Viv's story. But it wouldn't hurt to have the numbers run and see what turned up. He reached for his cell. Rather than using his contacts in D.C., he called Trent Associates and gave the information to Simone. She put him on hold.

Man, this job wasn't as easy as he'd been led to
believe. The mountains rising in the distance were as intractable as Miss Cornflower with her cool good looks and barely concealed distrust.

The assignment had sounded simple enough. Bring Vivian Grant to the feds and act as her counsel—good thing he'd maintained a license to practice law in D.C., not that he'd ever intended to use it before—during the murder investigation of her husband.

Simple? Yeah, right. Until someone started shooting at them.

Because her autistic son might be a witness? Or because Vivian Grant was somehow involved in her husband's demise?

W
endell Brooks rapped on his boss's door. Anxiety churned in his gut. The news he'd just received wasn't good.

“Enter!”

Bracing himself, he opened the door, entered the office and carefully closed the door behind him. “Sir. We've encountered a snag I think you should be aware of.”

His boss jerked his attention from the documents on the desk to spear Wendell with a hard glare. “Snag?”

“In the Grant problem,” Wendell clarified and rushed into an explanation, likening delivering bad news to ripping off a sticky bandage. Best to get it over with as quickly as possible. “Mrs. Grant and her son got away.”

“What?”

Wendell winced. “Our shooter missed. But we're still tracking the woman and the boy. It's just getting a bit more complicated. There's another player involved. I had Mr. LeMar's phone records pulled. Right after his daughter called his cell on Friday night, Mr. LeMar called a Boston-based company, Trent Associates. They
specialize in personal security. We think Mrs. Grant and her son have a bodyguard.”

The crack of a palm hitting wood echoed in the expansive office, making Wendell jump.

“Then deal with this bodyguard as well. What am I paying you for? Get it done. We can't afford any more mess-ups.”

“Yes, sir,” Wendell said and bolted from the room. There'd been no mistaking the implied threat in his boss's tone. If the Grant problem wasn't taken care of soon, Wendell would become the next problem that needed taking care of.

Wendell placed his hand over his heart and felt the small recording device hidden inside the breast pocket of his suit jacket, taking comfort in his life insurance.

 

Inside the dingy fast-food joint's bathroom, Viv braced her hands on either side of the sink and hung her head. Mikey yanked on the door handle, wanting out. How had her life come to this?

The answer lay trapped in her lungs like smoke, corroding her inside. She exhaled a breath to push out the poisonous reality. She had no one to blame for her situation but herself. It didn't matter that she'd grown up fearing her mother's punishments if she hadn't done as she'd been told. By the time she was eighteen, she should have developed enough spine to stand up to her mother's manipulations and intimidations. But she hadn't. Her spirit had been broken for too many years and she'd been too afraid of the consequences of defying her mother.

So when her father had presented her with a way out
from under her mother's thumb, Viv had taken it. Marrying the suave and dashing Steven Grant had seemed like a godsend. Which turned into another nightmare she had to survive.

The only bright spot was Mikey.

Regardless of her son's challenges, she knew deep in her soul that God had a plan. A plan for Mikey. A plan for her. She could never forget that, no matter how horrible her circumstances. God meant for her to protect Mikey. She would do anything for her son.

Even put their lives in the hands of a stranger.

A man who didn't believe her when she said she didn't kill her husband. Suspicion was clear in his warm brown eyes.

Anger stirred. He didn't know her. Didn't know the life she'd had to live or the heartache she suffered. How dare he suspect her without any evidence?

She let out a short laugh. No doubt everyone would suspect her, the wife. Didn't they always?

She turned on the faucet. The sound of running water drew Mikey's attention to the sink, as she knew it would. He plunged his hands beneath the cool stream. The tactile sensation would keep him momentarily distracted.

Above Mikey's head, she stared at her reflection in the hazy mirror under the harsh fluorescent light. Her features were symmetrically proportionate, her eyes a unique shade of blue that always drew compliments, her skin flawless, her hair natural and thick. Everything most women wanted.

She despised the outside package of the woman
staring back at her. Her beauty had cost her so much. If only she'd looked more like her father than her mother, then maybe she would have had a normal childhood, a normal marriage.

But lamenting what she had no control over didn't accomplish anything other than to stir up discontent and resentment. She would not let either take hold in her soul.

No matter how easy doing so would be.

She moistened a paper towel and blotted her face and neck, mentally preparing herself for what was to come. She needed her “bodyguard” for protection, not only from their assailant, but also from the law.

Could she trust this man with her and her son's lives?

Her lips twisted with a scoff. She didn't know much about her bodyguard, other than he was nice to look at. Not enough of a reason to place her life in his hands.

Her father must trust him to have hired him to protect them. Was that enough of a reason for Viv too?

For now, she decided, it was. Because really, what choice did she have?

She sighed. It seemed life was always out of her control. Only her faith kept her sane.

Squaring her shoulders, she schooled her features. She'd do what needed to be done, for Mikey's sake. His safety and well-being were her top priority.

With that thought firmly ingrained in her mind, she turned off the faucet and opened the bathroom door. Like a rocket, Mikey ran out of the small bathroom, down the short hall and through the outer door before
she could even think of trying to catch him. She hurried after him. She blinked when the sunlight hit her.

As she approached the Range Rover, her breath stalled. Her heart ratcheted up. Mikey and the bodyguard were nowhere in sight. Fear threw the switch on panic. She turned and ran toward the front of the burger joint, frantically searching for her son.

Vivian skidded to a halt. Inside the fast-food restaurant, Mikey and Carlucci were standing in line to order. Relief spiraled through her, making her legs wobbly. She entered the restaurant but stayed near the door. Carlucci ordered, paid, and a few moments later the clerk handed him a bag. Mikey grew agitated. His hands started to flap.

Quickly, Carlucci dug into the bag and produced a small box of French fries. Mikey stilled and listened as Anthony said something before handing over the box. Mikey slowly walked beside Anthony, allowing the man to put his arm around his thin shoulders as he chomped on the little potato sticks.

She blinked back sudden tears as something so unexpected she wasn't sure the sensation had a name gripped her. Tenderness? But so much more than that. And she couldn't decipher whether the feeling was directed at her son or the man paying attention to him. Or both?

Anthony met her gaze. The kindness she saw in the near-black irises made her pulse jump. Good-looking
and
kind? A lethal combination.

“Hope you don't mind, but he wanted French fries.” Anthony regarded her with a hint of uncertainty as they approached her.

“No, that's…that's fine.” Her heartbeat finally
resumed its normal cadence. Her son was safe. That was all that mattered.

“You might want to grab a bite to eat now rather than at the airport,” Carlucci said.

She hesitated. She was hungry; she hadn't had time to eat before the bullets started flying. Only problem was her bag with her wallet was still in the Rover. “I can wait.”

Her stomach growled, refuting her words. Heat crept up her neck.

He frowned and reached inside his suit jacket, withdrawing a billfold. He took out a twenty and offered it to her. “Just get something. Be quick about it.”

She snatched the twenty. “Do you want anything?”

He held up the bag in his hand. “I'm covered.” His gaze shot to Mikey who continued to munch on fries. “Wasn't sure what else he'd eat.”

Grateful for his thoughtfulness, she said, “I'll get him some chicken nuggets.”

When she had her and Mikey's food in hand, they returned to the Range Rover. Once they were on the road headed toward the airport, she settled beside Mikey to eat her chicken sandwich. Though she barely tasted her food, she knew eating had been a good decision. She felt calmer and more alert.

The sudden acceleration of the Rover revved through Viv's blood. She grabbed the overhead handle with her right hand and placed her left arm across Mikey's body. Anthony maneuvered the vehicle through traffic, cutting in and out between cars. Her stomach rolled. Dread throbbed at her temples.

Beside her Mikey's hands began to flap. “No, no,” he wailed.

“What's wrong?” she shouted over Mikey's cries.

“We've got a tail,” he said, his face a study in concentration as he drove, angling the Rover across two lanes. Horns honked in protest.

Viv turned to look through the back tinted window. It wasn't hard to pick out the car chasing them. A gold sedan made the same risky move across the traffic, keeping pace. “How'd they find us?”

“Don't know. Hang on,” Anthony shouted.

Please don't let us crash,
she silently prayed.

The Rover shot down the next exit and squealed around the corner, then bounced over the curb, across the sidewalk and into the parking lot of a shopping center. She felt like she'd stepped into some action flick. Surreal. Expertly, Anthony slid the Rover into a parking place between two trucks and threw the gear into park.

Shutting off the engine, he said, “Come on. We've got to move.”

Adrenaline spiked. Viv unbuckled and then undid Mikey. Not taking the time to coax, she pulled Mikey out by the arm. He protested with a loud wail and tried to pull away. She held on tight. Then Anthony appeared beside her, lifting Mikey into the cradle of his arms while Mikey squirmed, but he was no match for their bodyguard's strength. For which she was grateful.

“Go, go,” Anthony urged. “Inside the mall.”

They ran through the parking lot. People stared. Something Viv had grown used to. Mikey looked normal, like any other kid his age, but his behavior
drew gawkers. Viv was sure someone would call the cops. Who wouldn't when they saw a man running with a child who was struggling to be set free? But what choice did they have? Viv stayed on Anthony's heels as they entered the center.

“We have to find another exit,” Anthony said as he slowed to a fast walk.

“There.” Viv pointed toward the coffee shop on their right. She could see an outside door on the opposite side of the mall from where they entered.

Anthony headed in that direction. Viv caught one of Mikey's hands.

“Down,” Mikey said. “Want down.”

“I know. Just a few more minutes,” she replied as she kept pace.

Once they entered the coffee shop and were seated in a corner booth near the exit, Anthony set Mikey on his feet but kept a firm hand on his shoulder, preventing him from moving away. Viv's heart squeezed tight. Steven had rarely touched their son.

“We've got to find a way out of here,” Anthony stated, his watchful gaze locked on the entrance.

“Shouldn't we call the police?”

His eyes shifted toward her, his expression hardened. “We could. Is that what you want to do?”

Turmoil churned in Viv's stomach. She wasn't sure what she wanted or what to think. Twice now they'd been found. The next time they might not escape. She couldn't help but wonder if Anthony had somehow given them away. But he seemed capable. He certainly knew how to drive a car at breakneck speeds. And she'd already decided to try trusting him. After all, her father
was thorough. He wouldn't have hired an incompetent protection agency.

She thought about how easily Officer Peal released her and Mikey to the custody of the two men who'd claimed to be agents. Would the Boise police be as easily fooled if another set of fake agents arrived?

At the moment Anthony was the only buffer they had. She shook her head. “No.”

An unidentifiable emotion crossed his features before he nodded. “Good. I'll call Trent and see how quickly someone can come get us.”

Viv glanced out the exit door into the parking lot. An older woman was loading several shopping bags into the trunk of her big Cadillac. The woman looked like a grandmother.

“I have a better idea.” Taking Mikey by the hand, she pushed past Anthony and out the door.

“Hey, wait!” he exclaimed.

She kept walking, forcing him to follow. Viv made a beeline for the woman and car. “Excuse me, I'm hoping maybe you can help us.”

Surprise widened the woman's gray eyes. Wrinkles creased her face. She smiled at Mikey and then glanced at Anthony with curiosity. “Sure, if I can.”

Counting on the friendliness of most people in Idaho, Viv said, “Our car won't work and we really need to get to the airport. We have a plane to catch. Would you, by any chance, be willing to give us a lift? We could pay you.”

“Oh, goodness.” The woman bit her lip, her suddenly wary gaze darting between the three of them.

Vivian offered her as much of the truth as she could.
“My son is autistic. All this upheaval is difficult for him. I just need to get him home,” Viv said and blinked back the unexpected tears burning her eyes.

Sympathy softened the older woman's gaze. “Oh, my. My friend Gertrude from Bible study has an autistic grandson. Traveling with him is never easy. I suppose I could drop you off. The airport is only about fifteen minutes from here. It's not too far out of my way.”

Relief washed over Viv. She took the woman's hand between her own. “God bless you. Thank you so much, Mrs…?”

“Dear me, where are my manners? Edna Wilson.” She gestured to the gold Cadillac. “Please, climb in.”

Anthony opened the back door for Viv. Approval filled his dark eyes when she glanced at him. For some odd reason his appreciation warmed her.

“Come on, baby,” she prodded Mikey, urging him to climb in. Anthony took shotgun with Mrs. Wilson at the wheel.

“Don't like here,” Mikey groused and squirmed to be released from the seat belt. “Home.”