In His Safekeeping

She finally looked up at Brad, capturing his gaze and holding it. She attempted to put on a brave front. “I’m not the type of person who is accustomed to taking chances. I knew it was my duty to testify at John’s trial—” a lump formed in her throat “—but I never dreamed my life would be turned upside down like this.”

The words were difficult for her. Digging into her inner fears and expressing them did not come easily. “I thought when the trial was over everything would go back to normal with the only change being superficial…a new job and a different place to live. I had assumed my daily routine would return to what it had been before all this started.” She forced the words while trying to keep her anxieties from creeping into her voice. “But that’s not the way it turned out.”

Tara glanced around the small room again. “I guess I’d better get settled in—” she focused her attention on the floor “—although all I have to unpack is the sack from the discount store.” She looked up at him, her voice falling off to a frightened whisper. “Will I be here for very long?”

It had been quite a while since anything latched on to Brad and turned him inside out the way he was at that moment. Tara was obviously frightened and trying her best not to show it. He marshaled his composure. If nothing else, he needed to maintain a calm and in-control outer presence in order to instill a confidence in her that said he knew what he was doing. “Just tonight, maybe two nights at the most while I work out a plan to keep you safe until I gather enough new information to be able to convince my boss of the danger and get you some official protection.”

“But doesn’t someone’s planting a bomb in my car qualify as proof?”

“It’s proof that you, Tara Ford, are personally in danger, but it doesn’t tie anything in with the John Vincent case or the deaths of the other witnesses. The culprit could be a disgruntled lover, a co-worker or even a relative. There’s nothing there that takes this out of the realm of a local police investigation, or that makes it the concern of the U.S. Marshals Service. There’s no evidence to connect the bombing with the protection of witnesses in the John Vincent case.”

“Oh.” She glanced down at the floor, the disappointment ringing loud and clear in her voice. “I see. I didn’t realize what the difference was.”

He placed his fingertips beneath her chin and lifted until he could see her eyes. The physical contact sent a tingle of excitement through him that he tried to ignore.

It was much easier when someone was officially under the protection of the U.S. Marshals Service. She would have been allowed to pack a suitcase, then been taken to a known safe house or nice hotel room with deputy marshals on duty to protect her around the clock. All he had offered her was a sack of bare essentials from a discount store, an out-of-the-way motel and his promise that he would protect her even though he would be leaving her there alone. Again, his failure to protect his wife came back to haunt him. It was the day he had closed off his heart.

He quickly shook away the disturbing memories and returned his attention to the problem at hand. He wasn’t sure how he was going to accomplish the task he had set for himself, but right now he had to do something to help her over the first of what he suspected would be many rough spots.

“I need to go back to my office for a little while. I have a few things to do that can’t be done during normal hours.” He saw the trepidation come into her eyes and it pulled at his senses. “I’ll check back with you in a couple of hours. But first, there are a few things I need to go over with you before I leave. Come on…let’s sit down.”

He placed his hand at the small of her back and escorted her across the room to the large chair. He grabbed a straight-back chair and sat down facing her. He took the cell phone from his jacket pocket and handed it to her.

“Here…this is one of my personal cell phones. Keep this with you at all times. No one knows you’re here. I registered at the front desk using the same name I gave the officer at the restaurant – Don McMillan. I’ve paid for two nights in advance. There’s no reason for anyone to be calling you here, so I don’t want you answering the motel phone. If I need to get in touch with you I’ll call you on my cell phone. Don’t answer it right away. I’ll let it ring twice, hang up then call right back. Don’t answer unless it’s that signal.”

He took one of his business cards from his pocket and jotted a couple of phone numbers on the back, then handed it to her. “Here’s my phone number at the office and my Marshals Service cell phone number. I’ve written my home phone on the back and also the number of my other personal cell phone. If you need to get in touch with me, try my personal cell phone first, my home second, my Marshals cell phone third and the office as the last choice. Don’t leave your name, just say you’re my cousin from Los Angeles and I’ll call you back.”

“Okay.” She took the card, looked at it for a moment, then put it in her purse.

“I’ll see you in a little while.” He offered her a confident smile, reached out and squeezed her hand. “In the meantime, try to get some rest.”

The last thing he wanted to do was leave her and it was as much personal as it was business. The feel of her hand in his sent a ripple of excitement through his body. He reluctantly let loose of her hand. He had to keep focused on business. He could not allow his newly awakened emotions to get the upper hand.

BRAD LEFT the motel and headed back toward Seattle. If nothing else, the bombing of Tara’s car told him he was on the right track with his theory. What wasn’t immediately obvious was what to do about it.

He arrived at his office, unlocked the door and let himself in. It was after hours and he looked forward to having the place to himself. As he made his way down the hallway, a sound from the file room brought him to an abrupt halt. Someone else was there. He quickly detoured toward the coffee room, plunked some coins into the slot and took the cup of coffee from the machine.

He rounded the door toward his cubicle and literally ran into the office’s computer expert, Shirley Bennett. The hot coffee splashed over the top of the cup. He jerked his hand back, dropping the full cup to the floor in the process. Shirley tried to maintain a grasp on her purse and the two department-store sacks she held in her arms without any success. Everything fell to the floor.

“Damn…” Brad shook his hand, then pulled his wet shirt away from his body where the coffee had soaked through to his skin. “That’s hot!”

“Are you all right?” Shirley’s formal, all-business voice gave no hint of any irritation at the collision.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He glanced down at the contents that had spilled from her purse and the items of clothing that had tumbled from the shopping bags, what appeared to be gym workout clothes.

“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t realize you were there. Let me help you with this.” He kneeled down and began picking up the items – her wallet, a day planner, a comb, a small makeup pouch, a bottle of eyedrops and the case for her glasses. He stared at the eyeglass case for a moment, noting the name of the optometrist before handing everything to her.

“It seems we go to the same eye doctor. How do you like Dr. Keeson?” A slight grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. The bold pattern and bright colors of the case didn’t go with the style of her glasses or fit in with her plain appearance.

“He’s very nice.” Shirley took the items from him and shoved them in her purse. “You’re here late. I thought you were on light duty until your shoulder wound healed completely. And to that we can add your most recent abrasions.” She gestured toward his face.

He chose to ignore her comments about his split lip, the gash on his chin and the scrapes across his cheek. “I’m feeling fine. The doctor thinks I should give this shoulder another week or so to heal from the bullet wound before he releases me to field duty.”

“Is there a problem of some sort that brings you back to the office after hours?”

“I’m catching up on a little paperwork. I thought I could get a lot of it done tonight when no one was around. I want all of it cleaned up so I can get back to field duty.”

“Well, if there’s nothing you need me for, I think I’ll call it a day.”

“I’ll see you in the morning, Shirley.”

Brad watched as she walked down the hall and disappeared around the corner. She had only been in the Seattle office of the U.S. Marshals Service for a couple of months. He didn’t know her very well as she seemed to keep mostly to herself. She had been transferred from another district to fill the vacancy created when their computer expert retired.

She seemed very efficient at her job of being their software expert and maintaining the computer system. No matter what the problem, she had it fixed immediately. Any difficulty accessing files or finding information on the Internet and she was a whiz at handling it. In fact, she exactly fit his concept of a computer-nerd stereotype…straight brown hair worn short with bangs, medium-brown eyes, horn-rimmed glasses, about twenty pounds overweight, most of which seemed to be on her hips and around her waist probably due to lack of exercise, very little makeup, quiet and kept to herself. She was short compared to his six-one height. He guessed she topped out at five foot three.

He listened until he heard the front door close, then grabbed the John Vincent folder from the file room. He made copies of everything to take with him – something very definitely against the rules. Then he went to his cubicle to do some computer research. He needed information that he couldn’t access from his computer at home, and during office hours there was too much of a chance that someone would see what he was doing. He worked quickly, finding and printing out what he wanted.

As soon as he finished he drove back to the motel to check on Tara. He knocked on the door, at the same time calling to her. “Tara…it’s me.”

She looked through the peephole in the door, then opened it to let Brad in. “Did you get everything done that you wanted to?”

“Yes, I think so. How are you doing? Is everything okay? Is there anything you need?”

She glanced around the small room. A little sigh escaped her throat. “I can’t think of anything specific that I need.”

He heard it in her voice and saw it in her eyes…the anxiety, the apprehension and the loneliness. Her despair tugged at his senses and pulled at his emotions. She was obviously scared and trying to put up a brave front. He was responsible for her being stuck away in a small motel room, but if he hadn’t taken action when he did she would probably be dead by now. The thought helped lessen his guilt but didn’t calm his own anxieties. He desperately wanted to do something to try to comfort her and ease her mind.

“There’s a special on television tonight that I wanted to see, but it comes on in ten minutes and I can’t be home by then. If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay here for a while. I can watch the special and keep you company for a bit…” He offered his best confidence-inducing smile. “If that’s okay with you.” He took off his jacket and tossed it across the foot of the bed.

Her attention flew to the holster clipped to his belt, becoming fixated on the handgun. A shiver darted up her spine and anxiety churned in the pit of her stomach, confirming what she already knew – she was in serious danger. She closed her eyes. The sound of the explosion and the vivid image of the burning car assaulted her senses. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the disturbing vision.

“Tara? Are you all right?”

His voice pulled her out of her thoughts. She opened her eyes, her attention again riveted on the weapon, her thoughts telling her of the danger it represented. “Do you…uh…always carry a gun?”

“Yes. We’re issued a.357 magnum, but I prefer this 9mm semiautomatic. I find it more comfortable to carry and to use.”

“To use?” A knot of anxiety pulled tight in her stomach. “Do you have to use it often?”

“Occasionally.” A twinge in his shoulder gave a sharp reminder of the last time he’d needed to use it.

She pulled her attention away from the weapon, glancing around the room as she composed herself and tried to project a positive manner. “I didn’t mean to get off the subject. What were you saying?”

“I was asking if you minded my staying to watch a program on television. Maybe keep you company for a little while until you’re feeling more comfortable?”

“Uh…no, I don’t mind if you want to watch something on television. Go ahead.”

Tara retreated to the corner of the room, curling her legs under her as she sank into the large chair. Try as she might, she simply couldn’t concentrate on his conversation. She kept hearing the explosion over and over, the horror of pieces of metal flying through the air. The churning in her stomach drove a sick feeling up her throat. She knew it was a memory that would continue to haunt her the rest of her life however long – or short – that life might be.