The Littlest Witness. Jane M. Choate
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detour route. Though tedious, SDRs were necessary to make certain no one was following them.
They left the city, heading north, thick woods bordering the ribbon of highway. Shelley kept to the speed limit, another tactic, he guessed, to avoid attracting attention. Everything she did was low-key. The flashy moves one might expect from a Secret Service trained bodyguard were conspicuously absent.
His approval rating of the lady climbed steadily. Even so, he wasn’t about to hand over the reins to a woman he’d just met. Shelley might call herself team leader, but when it came to Tommy’s safety, Caleb was in charge.
He refused to compromise on that.
When mile after mile had flown by, Caleb roused himself enough to ask, “Where are we going?”
“A safe house Jake and I bought a year ago. We keep it for clients who need to keep a low profile.”
“You mean clients with someone trying to kill them?” he asked dryly.
“Something like that.”
The heat of the day had abated, if only slightly, and the evening slid into a purple-hued dusk. Caleb glanced at Tommy, saw that the boy’s face was gray with fatigue. Caleb couldn’t deny that he was exhausted, as well. After chasing off last night’s midnight visitor, he’d spent the remainder of the night in Tommy’s room, watching over his nephew while doing some research on the bodyguard.
As though Shelley had read his thoughts, she pulled off the road at a bland motel that would never earn a five-star listing. At the registration desk, she asked for adjoining rooms.
Inside, Caleb looked about the cheaply decorated room. A television was bolted to the fake paneling of the wall. Carpet that might once have been a light green was now faded to a sickly yellow. The puny efforts of the room’s window air-conditioning unit scarcely made a dent in the late afternoon heat.
“Burgers and fries okay with you?” Shelley asked.
“Sure.”
Shelley returned within ten minutes and placed a white paper bag, redolent with the smells of grease-laden food, on the room’s one table.
“Thanks,” Caleb said.
“No problem.”
He opened the bag and pulled out a burger, then handed it to Tommy. “Seems I remember you could put away two of these,” he teased, “and still have room left over for a chocolate shake.”
Tommy made no comment but took the burger and began to eat automatically. Though Caleb tried to pull him into the conversation, the little boy only stared at him blankly.
Don’t let him see your pain, Caleb told himself. Keep it casual. So he ate his burger and kept his worry to himself, praying Tommy’s inability to speak was temporary.
Shelley, likewise, said little during the impromptu meal, leaving Caleb feeling as if he was talking to himself. Curiosity about his lovely bodyguard tugged at him. He knew the bare bones of her background. Ex–police officer and Secret Service agent. But he wanted to know who the lady was, why she did what she did. “What made you leave the Service?”
Her jaw slid to one side, as though she was considering her answer. “It was time to move on.”
That told him nothing. From what Jake had relayed to him, she had been on the fast track to the presidential detail, the most coveted job in the Service. There had to be more to this story.
“Do you ever miss it?”
“Sometimes.” She squared her shoulders and, at the same time, lifted her chin, making it clear that she wasn’t going to be expanding upon her answer. “I think we could all do with a rest. I’ll be next door if you need me.”
After her departure, Caleb put Tommy to bed. To combat the sweltering heat, he splashed water on his face. The unending grief was so heavy upon him that he scarcely recognized the features staring back at him in the bathroom mirror.
His eyes appeared sunken in a face churning with torment, scars grafted into the angles and planes. He fought against the desperation that soured his gut and the abject fatigue that threatened to draw him into a black pit.
Caleb pressed his fingers against his nose in an attempt to press back the pain, but some things could not be willed away. No matter how much he might want to. His knees nearly buckled.
Michael.
His brother’s name echoed through Caleb’s mind. “I’m sorry, little brother. I should have been there for you.” His words came in ragged whispers, like worn-out remnants. “I should have been there for you,” he repeated. “I should have been there for Ethan.” He pushed memories of the little brother who had tragically drowned to the back of his mind where guilt couldn’t flay his conscience raw. “I should have...”
Should-haves didn’t count.
* * *
With a sigh of relief, Shelley withdrew to her own room. There was no sense in denying it: Tommy unnerved her. What was she supposed to say to a child who had lost both parents, who stared right through her as though she were invisible?
And what was it about the newspaper clipping that had caused Caleb to withdraw as he had? The death of a brother was horrible, especially when coupled with Michael’s murder, but Ethan’s drowning had been an accident.
Caleb’s eyes had narrowed, his mouth assuming a tight-lipped expression that had warned her to keep her inquiries to herself.
There were too many questions and not enough answers. Later, she promised herself, she’d get the intel she wanted. For now, she, Caleb and Tommy needed rest.
Shelley stretched out on the thin mattress that managed to be both hard and soft at the same time and willed herself to sleep. In this business, you slept when you could because you never knew if it would be the last rest you’d get in who knew how many hours.
Two hours later, she heard it—a faint noise outside her door. The noise could be a stray cat or dog. She listened intently. There it was again. The snick of metal against metal, as though someone were trying to access the card-coded lock without the card.
Grateful she hadn’t undressed, she slipped her shoulder harness back on and clicked the latch. Silently she made her way to the doorway connecting the two rooms, opened the door to Caleb and Tommy’s room, and saw that Caleb was also dressed. He nodded, acknowledging that he’d heard the same noise.
She inched toward the window, did a turkey peek over the sill and saw two men with guns drawn. Crooking her finger, she gestured to Caleb to join her. The grim look in his eyes was confirmation that he understood they were under attack.
He was braced, his stance that of a warrior ready to defend what was his. The idea of running was foreign to him. At the same time, they couldn’t afford a gun battle, not with Tommy in the room. Protecting an innocent child was what mattered now.
“We’ve got to get out of here.” Her words sounded overly loud to her sensitized ears. “I’ll go first.” She pointed to the bathroom window above the toilet, indicated she would climb out, that Caleb should pass the sleeping Tommy to her. She wondered if Caleb’s broad shoulders would fit through the narrow window, but there weren’t a lot of options.
Another nod.
When she was on the ground, Caleb handed Tommy to her, then climbed out himself, angling his shoulders to make it through the opening. Once they’d made their escape, she pointed to the car, which she’d parked at the back of the motel.
Quietly, the threesome stole through the Georgia night. When they reached her car, Caleb started for the driver’s seat.
She shook her head. “I’ll drive. You see to Tommy.”
A shout from the front of the motel alerted her that whoever had followed them had discovered they had escaped.
There was no more need for