Hiding His Witness

Carey blinked twice, mustering the strength for another lie, Reilly guessed. “Yes.”

If she had told them where she lived, it was because she was planning to run.

“And you’re sure you don’t want police protection? Victim assistance explained the program to you?” Vanessa pressed.

Carey lifted her chin. “I don’t need police protection. I saw the Vagabond Killer. He had an eyeful of pepper spray. He didn’t see me.”

Vanessa appeared impressed. “Great, then you’re free to go. I’ll be in touch, hopefully soon, to do a lineup.” They shook hands and Vanessa strutted through the mass of people, stopping to chat with a few officers working the graveyard shift.

Carey shoved her hands into the pockets of the sweatshirt; her shoulders hunched low as if trying to hide inside her shirt. “I’ll see you around.”

She appeared small and vulnerable. He had to protect her from whatever had made her afraid. “Let me drive you to your apartment. You can’t walk home like that. You’ll freeze.” The sweatshirt he’d given her wasn’t enough to keep her warm in the frigid December cold.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll take the bus.” She glanced away. Lying again. “Besides, I’m used to trekking around in a sweatshirt.” Her stomach growled and she pressed a hand over it.

“I can take you somewhere to get something to eat.” He couldn’t figure her out, her body language shifting from proud to unsure, defiant to willing to help and back again.

“I’ve got things in my apartment,” she said, but she licked her bottom lip as if thinking about food that was most likely not waiting at her place. Reilly weighed pressing her, but not wanting to make her leery, he dropped it. “I’m grateful for what you did today, Carey.” Reilly took out his business card. “If you need anything, please give me a call.” He’d give her a minute lead and then follow her, make sure she arrived home safely. He didn’t have it in him to let her walk away into whatever danger awaited her without trying to help.

She took the card from him and he knew she’d ditch it the second he was out of sight.

“Take care of yourself,” he said.

Keeping her gaze to the ground, she walked to the front door. She’d made it halfway across the floor when he rushed after her, a tug in his gut telling him it wasn’t a smart idea for her to waltz out the front door of the police station. Vanessa had said she wasn’t in the news, but word of another attack might have gotten around the city.

He was five feet behind her and he called her name to stop her. The ringing phones and chatter in the police station drowned out his voice. Carey opened the front door and a flash of cameras and noise exploded in front of her. She whirled in horror and Reilly reached her, tucking her against him, shielding her face from the camera lenses.

The media had snapped a picture of a witness to a serial killing spree.

Chapter 3

“Dillinger, handle that,” Reilly barked, pointing to the front door. Dillinger leapt to his feet and went outside to disperse the mob waiting for news of the Vagabond Killer.

Reilly clutched her close to him and she lifted her face. “They took my picture,” she said, trembling in his arms.

He tightened his grip on her, wishing he could deny it. But the media was hungry for information and a serial stabbing was front-page news. She could have been a visitor to the precinct for other reasons, but he’d bet at this moment, the media was running her picture through their databases and digging into her life, searching for her identity.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said. Except rushing to her side made it easy for the media to connect her to the case through him. He swore inwardly.

Carey buried herself tighter against him. “They took my picture,” she repeated.

As if in reminder, the sound of reporters clamoring outside seeped into the squad room.

“I can protect you from him,” Reilly said, reading the terror in her voice. Holding her felt right, and in the aftermath of their mistake, it was the safest place for her to be. “I shouldn’t have let you walk out the door.”

Vanessa appeared at his side, wagging her smart phone and looking between the two of them. “Wouldn’t have mattered. They were waiting for someone matching her description. The media caught wind there was a witness from someone at the scene. No way can she be alone now. She won’t get a moment’s rest. They’ll stalk her like prey.” Vanessa swore under her breath and tapped her foot in agitation.

Carey shoved him away and seemed to shrink lower in her shoes. “I’m fine. If someone could take me home, I’ll be fine. No one in the city knows me except my boss and he doesn’t watch the news.” The tremor in her voice betrayed how scared she was.

Reilly’s chest lurched. A woman should never tremble for any other reason than passion. “We can’t take chances. You need to go into protective custody.”

Carey jammed her hands into her pockets, giving him her shoulder. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

Reilly turned Carey toward him, nudging her chin up with his finger, meeting her gaze and reading the bottomless well of fear in her eyes. “If you try to do this alone, you won’t live through the night.”

Vanessa pursed her lips and crossed her arms. “We need you to be someplace where we can find you.”

What options did he have? Grungy motel room? His place? One of the overcrowded safe houses? Inspiration dawned on him. “We’re unlikely to find an opening in one of our safe houses and the media is going to be everywhere on this one. I’ll take you to my parents’ place in Montana. It’s miles from the nearest town and I can protect you.”

Vanessa twisted her lips in thought. “Unconventional, but that’s not a bad idea.”

Carey shook her head. “I’ll be fine. I’ll call and let you know where I’ll be.”

Reilly beat back his frustration. What did it take for her to be not fine? She’d witnessed a stabbing, been attacked by a serial killer and harangued by the media. And she claimed she was fine. Leaving Carey alone in the city wasn’t an option. The need to protect her intensified.

“Carey, look at me.” Carey swiveled her head from Vanessa to him. Reilly met her terror-stricken expression. “I can protect you. I know you don’t believe that, maybe because someone’s let you down in the past, but I won’t. I’m asking you to trust me, which I know is a lot.”

She bit her lip and nodded once. “Okay.”

That easy? His gut told him she was planning something. “I’ll clear it with the lieutenant,” Reilly said, not giving either woman time to argue. Most of the hotels in the area were booked with holiday travelers, and getting far away from the media appealed to him immensely. His parents lived in a remote part of Montana on a plot of land difficult to get to, but with a vantage point almost three hundred and sixty degrees around it.

Twenty minutes later, plans in hand, Reilly hustled Carey toward the rear entrance. He stopped in his office to snag his coat and pulled it over her head. She didn’t protest and Reilly was relieved she seemed to finally understand the gravity of the situation. This wasn’t something she could handle alone. She needed him. “My car’s parked in the gated lot in the back. Vanessa had someone clear the area and we’re not letting the media behind the building.”

“Won’t they see me when we pull out?”

“Not if you’re covered on the floor.”

She quirked up the corners of her mouth. “Are you suggesting I ride in a car without a seat belt?”

Reilly let out a much needed laugh. “Yes, ma’am, that’s exactly what I’m suggesting.” Her light joke took the edge off his tension.

This was a nightmare, but a serial killer on the loose and the media hounding her was the least of her problems.

Carey gathered her scattered thoughts and took stock of the situation, trying to figure her next move. Walking out of here unescorted with the media waiting wasn’t an option and She knew the ADA wouldn’t let her leave without a plan of protection. The easiest option was to agree to their plan, and the moment she could, she’d ditch Detective Truman. If she couldn’t get rid of him before she left the city, at least it would be more difficult for Mark to track her from some unknown place. She was reasonably sure Detective Truman wasn’t on Mark’s payroll. Yet.

Detective Truman had pressed her too hard for her name. If he’d been looking for her under Mark’s direction, he would have recognized her.

But if Detective Truman threatened her, if she caught even a whiff of betrayal on him, she was gone. She didn’t know how or where, but she wouldn’t wait around for him to walk her into Mark’s trap. Mark had proven he wasn’t afraid to use law enforcement, or anyone else, to threaten and intimidate her. This time she would anticipate it. She would be ready.

Her guard was up, and not just for her personal safety. For the safety of those around her she would keep her distance. Mark wouldn’t hesitate to hurt someone she cared about in an attempt to get to her. He wouldn’t have a problem doling out punishment to those who didn’t bend to his will and give him information he wanted.

A pang struck at her chest as memories swept over her. Her good friend Tracy had paid the price for loyalty. Tracy hadn’t known where Carey had gone, but she’d known why. When Tracy had shown up in a morgue shortly after Carey went on the run, she’d no question in her mind who was responsible.

Grief and anger burned red hot in Carey’s gut. She’d had to run. The life she’d known had been stripped from her, people she’d loved had died, and Mark was living on easy street, running the restaurants and wineries her father had owned.

Carey wouldn’t let Mark find her. If he did, she was dead.

The moment Carey opened the door to her apartment, Reilly’s senses went on heightened alert. Flour dusted the floor near the entrance, likely a cheap mechanism to know if someone had been inside. An unknowing intruder would step directly into it and leave a print. That flour wasn’t for the Vagabond Killer. He’d been right—Carey was running from someone. An abusive ex?