The Innocent Witness (8 page)

Hugging her son close, Viv began to cry. “You scared Mommy.”

Mikey frowned and touched Viv's wet cheek. “No cry.”

Viv's eyes widened and then softened into a loving gaze. Anthony's blood pounded in his ears. The purity of Viv's love for her son heightened her beauty way beyond the mere physical and touched Anthony's heart.

“We need to let the kitty go,” Viv said. “He has a home to go to.” She helped Mikey to release the cat, who darted back under the porch.

Anthony held out his hand for Viv, intending to help her up, but Mikey slipped his hand into Anthony's larger
one. Surprise and something else, something foreign, exploded in his chest. Anthony held his other hand out to Viv. She gazed at him with such trust and affection he thought he might bust.

She grasped his hand and he pulled her to her feet. She held on as the three of them walked back to the park. From the outside Anthony knew they appeared to be a family, connected by hands, by love. A father, mother and son.

The thought sent his heart galloping. He was becoming attached to his protectees. Not a good thing. Very dangerous.

One of the first rules of protection was: don't get involved. Doing so impaired the protector's ability to make objective decisions.

By the time they reached the picnic table, rational thought returned. These two people were his clients. Not his family. He had a job to do. Nothing more.

Though the food had gone cold, Mikey didn't seem to mind as he ate his burger and started on the fries. Anthony had lost his appetite and apparently so had Viv. Their food lay untouched.

Viv reached over to caress his hand. Her soft skin felt so good against his own. “I'm sorry I got a little hysterical.”

Despite knowing how he should behave, he turned his hand over and captured hers, entwining their fingers. The responsibility of caring for these two people weighed heavily on his shoulders. If something happened to them…

He could deny his feelings until doomsday but he was beginning to care more than he should. More than
was warranted. If he weren't careful he'd find himself wishing they were a real family. And that terrified him. They were in danger and he had to do what was best for them. Not what he wanted.

He lightly ran his thumb along hers and tried to pull his hand away. She wouldn't let him.

“You were scared,” he said. “I was scared, too.” He paused. Heart thumping at lightning speed, he had to make a decision. The best decision for them. “It would be better if I have Trent send someone else to escort you the rest of the way.”

Viv squeezed his hand. “No way. I don't want anyone else. We don't want anyone else. Mikey trusts you. You don't know how rare that is.”

His gut clenched. He wasn't willing to live with the consequences if something were to go wrong. “I told you what happened to the last person who trusted me to keep them safe.”

Her gaze narrowed. “What was the saying your superiors used? ‘If a bullet's got your name on it there's nothing anyone can do.' And what did you tell me that meant?” Without waiting for him to answer, she continued, “It means even the best sometimes can't stop the inevitable.”

“But I'm not the best,” he argued. “Not by a long shot.”

Determination lit her eyes. Her chin lifted in a show of stubborn defiance. “You're the best for us. And I know God is with us. He's been with us from the beginning.”

Anthony blew out a breath, wishing he believed God was with them. Yet, looking at Viv and Mikey, knowing
their story, knowing how deeply her faith went, Anthony found himself hoping she was right.

If only they knew who was after them.

Anthony's gaze shifted to Mikey. The kid had witnessed his father's murder from beneath the desk. Could he really identify the killer?

And if he could, that would be the only thing that would keep them safe.

“Vivian, we need to know what Mikey knows.”

F
ailure! Rage seethed in the man's veins. The two wounded operatives were found by the hotel maid trussed up like turkeys on Thanksgiving. The woman and child had escaped. The Wanderer Alert bracelet had been removed from the boy and sent on a wild goose chase to California. How much more incompetence could he take?

His hands fisted. His gaze zeroed in on his assistant. Wendell's flushed face and anxious gaze fueled the man's anger. “Tell me you have a plan,” he ground out.

Wendell blinked, his head bobbing. “Yes, sir. I've people watching everyone who Mrs. Grant might contact, plus I have men stationed outside Trent Associates' headquarters in Boston. That seems the most logical place for them to go.”

The man grunted his approval and spun away. He stalked to the window to stare out at the view of the Washington Monument. “What do we know about this bodyguard?”

“Name's Anthony Carlucci,
ex-Secret Service.
” Wendell delivered the credential like the bomb it was. Now
they knew they were facing an additional skill set that could be game changing. “A year ago he took a bullet in the line of duty while protecting a delegate from Kashmir.”

“Ah, yes. I remember the incident.” He'd been in attendance at the state function when a man dressed as a caterer had delivered a fatal shot to the delegate. Carlucci had unsuccessfully tried to intervene. Just another example of incompetence. “Do we have anyone in Secret Service?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Make contact. If Carlucci reaches out, I want to know.”

“Sir, are you sure eliminating Mrs. Grant and her son is necessary? I mean, if the boy knew something, wouldn't it be out by now?”

Gut twisting with anxiety, he replied, “I can't take that chance.”

 

“I've tried.” The noises of the park receded to white noise as tension stiffened the muscles in Viv's shoulders. “Whatever he saw is locked up inside his head.”

Anthony squeezed her hand. “Let me try. He responds to me.”

She couldn't deny that. Mikey was receptive to Anthony in a way she hadn't seen before.

Would Anthony's questions do more damage than good to her son?

But did they have a choice?

Anxiety twisted her thoughts. On one hand she hoped Mikey would reveal something, anything that would set them free from the stress of being hunted like wild
animals. Yet her heart ached to think of the horror of what he'd seen. No child should have to witness their father's murder. “Okay. Be patient with him.”

He gave her an odd look. “Of course.” He focused on Mikey. “Mikey, do you remember the last time you saw your father?”

Vivian held her breath. Pressure built in her chest.

Mikey stilled, a French fry halfway to his mouth.

“You were in your bed,” Anthony continued, his modulated tone soothing. “You got up and went downstairs. What did you see?”

Mikey's fingers tightened on the fry. Potato squished out the sides.

Protective instincts surged, setting her teeth on edge. She wanted to tell Anthony to stop, not to push Mikey, but she understood how important it was to know what Mikey had witnessed. Empathy tore her up inside. But so much hinged on his answer. “It's okay, baby,” she said. “Take your time.”

Anthony released his hold on Vivian to cover Mikey's free hand with his own. “You went to the study. Your daddy was working at his desk.”

Mikey dropped the fry and began to rock.

Oh, no.
This wasn't good. Any minute he could lose it completely. The urge to draw her son into her arms gripped Viv. Every mothering impulse cried out to hold Mikey, to calm him, to protect him. She had to sit on her hands to keep from reaching for him. Trying to contain him would only make him more agitated. But she longed to shield him. She didn't want him to suffer through the memory of his father's death. She couldn't.
It was too late for that now. Their safety—their very lives—depended on what Mikey could remember.

“Not allowed,” Mikey said in perfect imitation of Steven's voice.

Viv drew in a sharp breath. Though she'd heard Mikey imitate cartoon characters, he'd never mimicked his father before.

“Your daddy said you were not allowed in the study,” Anthony said encouragingly. “Was there someone else in there?”

“Hide,” Mikey said, again in a voice eerily like Steven's.

The implication of the word rocketed through Viv. Steven had protected Mikey. For all her husband's faults, he'd done a noble thing when it counted the most. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes.

“You hid under the desk?” Anthony pressed. “Someone came into the room?”

Mikey began to make a noise deep in his throat.

Viv recognized the noise. She winced. “Whenever Steven would raise his voice, Mikey would make this sound,” she said to Anthony.

Meeting her gaze, he nodded. To Mikey he said, “Your daddy was talking loudly. Arguing with someone. Did you see the person?”

Mikey shook his head. Then puffed up his chest, taking on a different posture. “You can't blackmail me.”

Floored, Viv stared. The words were shocking enough, but the voice Mikey imitated wasn't Steven's.

Blackmail? Anger underscored her shock. Whatever
illicit scheme Steven had been involved with had been his downfall. And could very well get his son killed.

“Do you recognize that voice?” Anthony questioned Viv.

She searched her memory. And came up empty. “It's vaguely familiar but I can't place it.”

“Keep thinking. Hopefully you'll remember.” Anthony picked up a fry and handed it to Mikey. “Good job, buddy. You did real well.”

Mikey snatched the fry and shoved it into his mouth. Then he picked up another fry and offered it to Anthony. With a wry smile Anthony leaned forward and took the offering between his teeth and gulped it down, to Mikey's delight.

Viv watched the interplay with a lump of awe in her throat. In such a short time Anthony had connected to Mikey in a way she'd seen few people do. Adoration spread through her chest. Anthony met her gaze. The tenderness there threatened to melt her heart. But as their gazes touched his expression shifted; his dark eyes became as flat and unreadable as onyx. Cold. Distant.

She didn't understand why he was shutting her out. Or why it stung so badly.

“Let's get a move on,” Anthony said as he cleared away their garbage from the picnic table and ushered them back to the van.

Pushing aside thoughts of his icy stare, she told herself she was being silly for being upset. Just because he had bonded with Mikey and she was grateful didn't mean anything would or should develop between her
and Anthony. She had to keep her focus on staying alive, not on her growing attachment to him.

Acting on her growing attraction to her bodyguard was not going to happen.

With that thought firmly in place, she settled in for the long ride ahead. She adjusted her seat to a more comfortable position. At Mikey's insistent plea for air, she rolled down her window.

As soon as they hit the highway, Anthony asked, “Do you have any idea who the senator was blackmailing?”

“No.” Her stomach knotted. There was so much about Steven she hadn't known. There had been a time when she'd wanted to share all aspects of his life, but Steven's indifference to her and his rejection of Mikey snuffed out that desire. She'd had a role to play in public but at home they left each other to their own accord. “But if he had anything worth hiding he'd have put it in the house safe.”

Anthony slanted her a glance. “And risk you finding it?”

“He doesn't…didn't think I knew about the safe. I've never looked in it, but I have the combination. The contractor who installed the safe gave me a copy not realizing I wasn't supposed to have it.”

“I'm sure the police have already looked inside it by now.”

“I doubt it. It's well-hidden.” The knot in her stomach expanded and tightened in her chest. She dreaded the thought of returning to the Woodley Park house, but if they wanted to get to the bottom of what Steven was
involved in and clear her name, they had to go back to D.C. “We need to go there.”

“Can't. It's not safe. We'll let the authorities handle it.”

“I don't trust the authorities. I can't risk giving whoever is framing me more ammunition. They already have the D.C. police, the FBI and the media in their pocket. The only way I'm going to be able to prove my innocence and protect Mikey is to find out what Steven had, and on whom.”

“My job is to get you to safety, not put you in more jeopardy.”

“You won't let anything happen to me,” she said, a confidence in her voice that was very real.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. His hands flexed on the steering wheel.

“You've evaded the bad guys, confronted them and won and figured out how we were being tracked. You're good at what you do. I trust you.”

“Look, this isn't a debate,” he said finally. But not, she noticed, until she'd told him most of her reasons for trusting him. “We're not going to D.C.”

Bristling at the tone of finality in his voice, she curled her upper lip. “Like it or not, I'm going to find out what's in the safe.”

A dark thundercloud of anger advanced across his expression. “Not on my watch, you're not.”

Not afraid of his anger, she leveled him with a look and dug in her heels. She was tired of being told what to do. “Then maybe you better call Trent and find someone who
will
take me.”

The line of his jaw tightened as he clenched his back
teeth. “When we get to Boston, you can do whatever you want.” He ripped out the words impatiently. “But I'm not taking you anywhere near D.C.”

“I thought I was the client, not your prisoner,” she said, allowing irritation to drip from each word.

He spared her a glance. “Your father's the client.”

“Give me your phone so I can call my father and have him tell you to take me to D.C.” She held out her hand expectantly.

“What about Mikey?” he asked quietly. “You're willing to put him in harm's way on the off chance of finding something incriminating in your house?”

Her hand lowered. Consternation creased her brow. “That's not fair. You know I don't want anything bad to happen to him. But I also don't want to go to prison or end up dead. Either of which leaves him alone and vulnerable. My parents will put him in a facility if anything happens to me. I can't stand the mere thought.”

Anthony ran a hand through his hair. The traffic grew increasingly worse as the day wore on. So did his stress. He understood her need to be proactive and find evidence to clear her name. He really did. But every instinct said no way. “How about this? I call a buddy in the Secret Service. Have him go to the house and check the safe.”

“How about you call your buddy and have him meet us at the house? Between the two of you, Mikey and I would be safe.”

He shook his head. “I'm not taking you anywhere near there.”

“Pull over,” she demanded. “I want out. Mikey and I can manage without you.”

Though he found her bravado endearing, he had to suppress the ironic laugh threatening to escape. “That's ridiculous. You'd both be dead right now if you'd been on your own.”

“Only because they could track us using the Wanderer Alert. There's no way anyone can track us now.”

Her teeth tugged on her bottom lip. Her confidence wavered for a flash, enough to flip off his frustration with her like a switch.

Her big blues eyes searched his face. “Right?”

“Yes. Still doesn't mean you're out of the woods yet. Until you're both in protective custody, you'll always be at risk.”

“Yeah, except that we could just as easily be at risk while in custody. And that's a fact.”

As much as he hated to admit it, she had a point. His gut clenched with apprehension. Whoever murdered her husband was highly connected. Which meant it would be risky to contact anyone from the Secret Service, regardless that he trusted each agent with his life. And she was right; the only way to really secure her safety was to find out who was pulling the strings.

“Let me think about it,” he said.

Her tight, satisfied smile annoyed him. But he really couldn't be mad at her. Not when he admired her spunk. He just hoped it didn't get her killed. He couldn't stand the thought of failing her.

He took the next exit and found a gas station. He pulled into the full-service island. While the attendant filled the tank, Anthony stepped out of the van and called Trent.

“Tell me you're not close,” James said, his voice laced
with an odd note that sent chills of alarm sliding down Anthony's back.

“We're not close. What's wrong?”

“The townhouse is under surveillance. Your sister's running their pictures through NCIC.”

As a homicide detective Angie would have access to the National Crime Information Center's database. “How many are there?”

“Four that we've spotted. They're in rentals procured with bogus credit cards and ID's. Not sure if they're local or not. Haven't decided yet whether to run them off. Might be better to keep them where we can see them. When you get into town go directly to the FBI field office downtown. Talk to Special Agent Mosely.”

Wariness slid over Anthony as he glanced toward the van. Through the front windshield he could see Viv, her light blue gaze watching him. Her words played themselves in his head.
They already have the D.C. police, the FBI and the media in their pocket.
“You trust Mosely?”

“Implicitly.”

“Good to know. We got some info from the kid. Seems Grant was blackmailing someone.”

“Which got him killed,” Trent stated. “Hmm. Does the wife have any ideas who?”