Runaway Witness Page 3

  Her heart ached, wondering how the acting manager and volunteers at the center were coping without her at the helm. She prayed for the day all this would be over and she’d be able to go back to her normal life. She started tidying up the camper. She’d leave worrying about what to do for Mack for last.

  “Why did you go to the trouble of becoming my friend?” she asked him. “You know me. I would’ve told anyone who listened what the street youth were saying about Underwood and the Jackals. You could’ve shown up at my door dressed like a cop, flashed your badge and I’d have told you everything. Instead, you wormed your way into my life. We spent hours together every day, working at the center, praying together, going out for food and telling stories about our lives—stories that I don’t even know are true anymore. You became the best friend I ever had. Why would you do that to me?”

  But Mack snored gently and didn’t answer.

  * * *

  Mack slept fitfully, barely able to open his eyes for more than moments at a time before the pressing fatigue swept over him again. Iris’s reassuring voice floated in and out at the edges of his mind. Soft warmth surrounded him now; Iris had somehow pulled the mattress of her bunk onto the floor and helped him roll onto it before sticking a pillow under his head and practically burying him in blankets. He was vaguely aware of the vehicle moving for a while and then stopping again. Iris popped in to offer him water, reminded him to stay hydrated and chatted to him briefly before leaving again and going back to driving.

  She’d definitely been attentive, but in a way that wasn’t over-the-top. Instead, he just felt safe and also guilty that the woman he’d hurt and come looking for was now taking care of him.

  There’d been no more Jackal sightings, from what he’d heard of Iris’s 911 call. She’d kept her description of the attempted abduction anonymous and vague. He’d barely been able to sit up, let alone contact his team. There were probably at least two Jackals on the loose, one of whom he was fairly certain was the same man who’d tried to break into Iris’s apartment two months ago.

  The fact Iris had brought her map of the country with her certainly explained how she’d managed to stay hidden for so long and how she’d managed to stay off the grid. It was also a testimony to the close and trusting relationships she’d developed with people at the homeless center over the years. It was smart and he was impressed, but it was nothing compared to the life and safety he and his team would be able to provide Iris when she went back into witness protection.

  Not that he’d done a very good job of convincing her so far. But he’d spent his life moving in the shadows, pretending to be the kind of man he wasn’t and convincing the worst of thugs to turn against their bosses and criminals to trust him with their secrets. How difficult could it be to convince a spunky, kindhearted, talkative social worker to go back into witness protection?

  The camper stopped again. His eyes opened and he sat up, his head finally feeling clear. Darkness filled the windows. A battery-operated alarm clock told him it was just past nine o’clock at night, and a soft buffeting sound against the windows told him the snow had started again.

  The door swung open, bringing a fresh blast of February air with it. A light shone briefly in his eyes, before the beam dropped to the floor at Iris’s feet.

  “Mack,” she said softly. “You’re up.”

  “Pretty much,” he said. “How long was I out?”

  “Almost two hours,” she said.

  He blinked as the time on the clock finally sank in. His team hadn’t heard from him since he’d run out of the diner to follow Iris. He was now a two-hour drive from his truck and its small cache of weapons, disguises, food rations, all the best electronic gadgets an undercover detective could need and a bag of essentials for Iris for when he found her. He ran his hand over his head, vaguely aware that she’d pulled the itchy prosthetics off his face. The glue that had been holding them on remained like scar tissue.

  Lord, I’m really thankful that she managed to get us out of there alive. If it hadn’t been for her quick thinking, we could both be dead right now. But please help me get this mission back on track pronto.

  Iris set the flashlight on the counter, directing it toward him like a spotlight, locked the door and knelt beside him. At some point since escaping the diner, she’d yanked a pair of jeans on underneath the skirt of her waitress uniform, and the soft flashlight glow sent golden highlights dancing along the maple brown hair that fell in loose waves around her shoulders. His breath caught. How was she even more beautiful than he’d remembered?

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “Thirsty and a bit sore, but good, everything considered,” Mack said. “Thank you so much for getting us out of there alive and managing to hide well enough that the Jackals apparently haven’t tracked us.” He rolled his head from one side to the other, cracking his neck. “Where are we now?”

  “Outside some kind of a farming complex.” She frowned. “The map is a bit hit-and-miss. I’d gotten the impression from the kids who told me about it that Crow’s Farm was the kind of place they could camp at while they pitched in a few days to make some honest cash. Some of them were talking about it as a safe alternative to working at one of Underwood’s places.” She shrugged. “But I built this map on rumors and gossip, not facts. Sometimes it lets me down, and this is one of those times. Crow’s Farm isn’t a farm. It’s basically a big walled complex with some greenhouse-type buildings inside. But there’s a pretty big campground less than an hour from here we can try next.”

  Mack grabbed both of her hands in his, feeling the familiar softness of her fingertips. “Or you can stop running and risking your life,” he said. “Let my team bring you in and go back into witness protection.”

  She sat back on her heels and pulled her hands away. “Because the police were such great listeners when I was trying to get someone to believe that Oscar Underwood was abducting people and forcing them to work at his farms?” she asked. “Or because witness protection did such a great job of protecting me?”

  Okay, maybe he should’ve been prepared for this. Iris had always been headstrong and both local and federal police had let her down in different ways. But what she didn’t know was the incredible work his team had done since the witness protection files were breached and how they’d quickly found new lives for people whose identities had been auctioned off.

  He ran his hand over his face. “You don’t have a lot of faith in the cops.”

  “I have absolutely no faith in the cops.” She crossed her arms. “Police brushed me off, time and time again, and did nothing to help protect young people from Underwood and his Jackals.”

  “That’s not true.” Mack grabbed the counter and stood, feeling his back straighten and shoulders broaden as he did so. “At least one cop took you very seriously. Me. The RCMP was well aware that local police, for whatever reason, weren’t taking the claims against Underwood seriously. So, I went undercover to find out if there was any truth to the rumors. I’m really sorry the local cops were dismissive of you—of us—all those times I went and filed reports with you.” He scowled. “Believe me, as a detective, it really got under my skin to see you brushed off like that. But at the same time, you also have to realize just how kooky you sounded when you claimed men in ski masks with animal faces painted on were abducting homeless youth. Not to mention how often people like the kind you care for in your homeless center lie to police. Those in authority were right to be skeptical. None of those missing kids even gave you their real names. Or called you by yours, for that matter. When you asked them to call you either ‘Iris’ or ‘Miss James,’ they called you ‘Missy.’”

  “Now you sound just like a cop.” She pushed herself to her feet. “And somehow now you look like a cop, too. The Mack I knew had this way of standing that made me feel relaxed and safe. He never stood with his chest all puffed out like that.”

&nbs
p; Well, she’d never challenged his authority before. Or prevented him from trying to save her.

  “If I look like a cop, it’s because I am one,” he said. “I’m an RCMP detective and have been in law enforcement for a decade. And in case you missed it, I just said local police were wrong to dismiss you the way they did, even if they were right to be skeptical. I’d still really like to know if it was just inherent bias against the homeless or if something more nefarious was going on. Oscar Underwood and his henchmen got away with too much for too long unchecked. But the RCMP had a whole investigation into Oscar Underwood, and your assistance was vital in that.”

  “My assistance?” She shot the words back at him. “You pretended to be my friend.”

  “I was your friend!” His voice filled the camper.

  “I thought you were dead!” Her voice matched his. “Do you know what it’s like to think someone you care about has been murdered?”

  Yeah, he did. Although in his case, they had actually died and stayed dead. He’d lost a couple of fellow officers and a more than a few informants in his work with the RCMP, which was why he never let himself get close to anyone he met undercover. Well, until Iris somehow burrowed her way under his defenses. He swallowed a breath and forced his voice to lower.

  “I’m unbelievably sorry about that,” he said. “And I would’ve contacted you the moment I was out of intensive care, only by then you were already in witness protection and I wasn’t allowed to contact you or know anything about where you were placed. Then when I heard your file was compromised and you’d disappeared off the grid, I was worried sick. I know there’s nothing I can say to make up for how I hurt you,” he went on. “But while I didn’t tell you some things as part of my investigation, I never lied to you about who I was as a person or the man I am inside. You have no idea how hard I worked to find you and make sure you were safe.”

  “How did you even find me?” she asked.

  “It wasn’t easy,” he admitted. “When the files were stolen and auctioned off online, a few RCMP officers and a hacker came together as a secret task force to take the criminals down. I’d only been out of the hospital a few weeks and was still not allowed to return to regular work.” Suspended. That was the word he should say but somehow couldn’t get past his lips. “Two of my colleagues stopped the auction, but not before eighteen identities were sold. We then focused our attention on helping those whose identities had been compromised. Most were easy to track down and relocate into new lives. Others, like you, were a lot harder to find.”

  Something hardened in her eyes. “That didn’t answer my question.”

  Yeah, she’d never been one for accepting vague answers. Or giving up easily.

  “I called in every favor I could think of,” he admitted. “Specifically I talked to a lot of criminals. I’ve been an undercover detective for a very long time and have met hundreds of unsavory people. My colleague Liam took the other side of the coin and talked to a lot of cops. A lot of people in law enforcement owe him a favor. Our hacker, Seth, ran online searches. When we’d gathered enough data points, I got in my truck and drove and started tracking you in the good old-fashioned, boots-on-the-ground way.”

  He hadn’t slept in days and hadn’t stopped thinking of her once since the moment they’d last said goodbye.

  “And why?” Iris demanded. “So I’d go back into witness protection? Because that’s not going to happen.”

  “You were just attacked by two Jackals!”

  She glared at him. “What’s to say you didn’t lead them to me?”

  He stepped back against the wall and gritted his teeth to keep from pointing out that wasn’t possible. He’d spent his entire career infiltrating heinous organizations and he did it by remaining inconspicuous, not by getting himself followed by masked men. The only time he’d ever come close to blowing his cover was when he’d chased after the green-masked Jackal who’d been spying on her. And for all the criminal had known, Mack had just been a really concerned friend. He might not know Mack was a cop even now.

  “If you knew Jackals were tracking me,” she added, “why didn’t you just arrest them?”

  “Because, one, even if that was as easy as you just made it sound, I’m not the kind of cop who does the arrests,” he said. “I’m the undercover kind who pretends to be a really, really bad guy in order to gather the evidence needed for other cops to sweep in and arrest the real bad guys. I pretend to be the kind of man you’d never want to meet.” And that was a side of him he hoped she’d never see. “That means never blowing my cover. Second, I hadn’t actually seen either of those Jackals this time around, until one of them was attacking and sedating me, and once that happened, keeping us both alive became the highest priority. And trust me, I’d have known if I was being followed. Finally, I’ve been suspended—”

  Mack cut his eyes to the walls around him to keep from having to meet her gaze in the darkness. But it didn’t prevent him from hearing Iris gasp as if someone had knocked the air from her lungs.

  “The night we last saw each other,” he said slowly, “there was a Jackal in a green, camo-colored mask hanging around outside your apartment. He was looking in your bedroom window, holding a tranquilizer gun. I was pretty sure he was going to abduct you.” He huffed out a breath. “Also, I’m fairly certain it was the same one who attacked us back at the diner. I don’t tend to forget anyone I’ve tangled with, even if they’re masked. From hands to build to shoulders to voice, there are a lot of ways my brain tends to remember people like that beyond just their face. Anyway, I wasn’t supposed to engage, not unless your life was in imminent danger. But instead I chased him down and got shot for my trouble. I’m under internal review as to what went wrong. I’m not allowed to do anything to impact the Oscar Underwood investigation. And I only retained my authorization to carry a gun due to the sheer number of criminals out there who want me dead.”

  He resisted the urge to point out she’d been running pretty close to the gray line of Canada’s handgun laws when she’d pulled a weapon on him for startling her earlier, not that he suspected any right-thinking officer would prosecute her over it.

  “So you weren’t assigned to track me down?” she asked.

  “No,” he admitted. “In fact, coming to find you like this could further complicate my suspension. But I’m hoping if any of the higher-ups are unhappy with me for looking for you, the fact that I was actually able to find you and hopefully get you back into witness protection and in court for Oscar Underwood’s trial will smooth that over.”

  “And if I don’t go back into witness protection?” she asked.

  Then I risked my badge for nothing but the knowledge you were okay. The words crossed his mind, but he stopped himself from speaking them. “At least we’ll know that we’re each safe and still alive, and maybe this time we can say goodbye properly.”

  Sudden light flooded the camper as if someone was shining a bright light in every window at once.

  “Get out of the camper! Hands up!” The voice was male, loud and exuded the kind of malice Mack had heard too many times before. “Now! Or we’re coming in!”

  FOUR

  Instinctively, Mack pressed himself back against the wall and glanced through the camper curtains. The light was no longer shining directly in the windows, and he could now see there were two men, both clad in bulky winter jackets and jeans. They looked exactly like the kind of guys he’d expect to see prowling around the perimeter of a rural complex in the middle of nowhere, except for the most certainly illegal high-powered rifles in their gloved hands.

  The younger one was bald with several badly drawn facial tattoos and the overall impression of a man in his early twenties struggling in all the wrong ways to find his place in the world. The other was the scarred and scowling face of Eddie Paul, a volatile thug for hire who specialized in taking on head-of-security gigs for bigger criminals and had
a string of violent assault charges to his name.

  It had been years since Mack had exchanged blows with Eddie, in a very different place and when Mack had been under an extremely different guise. But Mack had never been one to forget a face. Or a rap sheet.

  As far as he knew, a memory for people was the one positive thing he’d inherited from his incredibly wealthy and strict father—a man who’d terrified Mack as a child, saddened him as an adult and had taught him at a young age that pretending to be someone he wasn’t was sometimes the best means for survival. Mack’s father was one of the country’s most successful businessmen in part because of his uncanny ability to never forget the face, name or story of anyone he’d ever met. Mack’s mother might be good at making friends, but his father, it was said, could walk into any major business, office building, golf course or country club and find someone there he’d met before.

  Mack was the same. Only instead of receptionists and CEOs, he had an encyclopedic memory of criminals.

  Lord, I could really use some wisdom right now. Because none of the ways I can think of to get out of here alive involve anything I want to do in front of Iris.

  Iris glanced past him, brushing his shoulder as she peeked into the gap he’d made in the curtains.

  “Wow, I’m sorry,” she said, with way less fear than the situation deserved. “Looks like I found another really bad place to park. I’m just going to pop out and apologize to them and then we can hit the road.”

  His jaw dropped. Was she kidding him with this? Every hair at the back of his neck was warning him of danger, and here she was like a little mouse that had blithely wandered into the lion’s den and figured she’d just say sorry and continue on her way. The crazy thing was that, knowing Iris, it would probably work, as long as the men didn’t peek into the camper and find him there.