Conard County Witness Read online

  “Big ones for me.”

  A while later, a big stack of flapjacks sat on the table between them. She only wanted one for herself, but he didn’t hesitate to take three. The maple syrup was exquisite enough that she closed her eyes to savor it. There was nothing quite like it.

  “I see a happy Lacy,” he remarked.

  She opened her eyes as she swallowed. “After this, I think I’ll do without pancakes unless I can have real maple syrup. The difference is wonderful.”

  “Liquid gold,” he agreed.

  “And almost as expensive.”

  He laughed. “There are some things in life worth paying for. This is one.”

  As she enjoyed her breakfast, however, she realized that the familiar uneasiness was building in her again. Keeping her eyes on her plate, she wondered if she had become one of Pavlov’s dogs, trained to salivate at the sound of a bell. Why couldn’t she shake the fear? She’d been under protection for a long time, true, but surrounded by agents, she had been as safe as anyone could be. So why did fear still haunt her?

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Jess asked.

  She shook her head a little, wishing she could shake away the discomfort. “I’m trying to figure out how I could be sitting here with you having a wonderful breakfast and still feel as if I need to look over my shoulder. This is nuts, Jess. Maybe I slipped a cog.”

  “I don’t think you’re crazy,” he said firmly. “You know about post-traumatic stress, right?”

  “A bit.”

  “Have you considered that you might be experiencing it? You had a frightening shock—I mean, it’s not everyday someone has the FBI telling them that they’ve been targeted by a killer, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Then you had your whole life upended, and how could you brush aside the threat when they took it seriously enough to put you in protection? So you spent more than a year living with a very real threat you couldn’t even begin to forget. I’d be surprised if that hadn’t changed you.”

  She nodded slowly, accepting his assessment. Maybe he was right. She’d lived with that threat for a long time. Simply having someone say it was over might not be enough. But he was certainly making her feel better about her reaction to all this. Nowhere near as silly as she had been telling herself.

  “You said you weren’t allowed to call your friends.”

  She looked up. “No. Well, only a couple of times. They had me use a special phone, like when they let me call you. You got more calls than my friends did, but they seemed more nervous about me making local calls of any kind. I don’t know why.”

  “Maybe they feared one of your friends would figure out where you were somehow. Me on the other hand... In the boonies, unable to imagine where they might have stashed you because I don’t know Dallas.”

  She blew a breath and put her fork down, reaching up to push hair back from her face. “You’re right.”

  “Plus,” he continued, “they probably had a complete background on me. Unlike your friends, most of my life is filed with the federal government.”

  For some reason, that drew a laugh from her. “You got a file, huh?”

  “Big one. They know damn near everything about me from the day I turned eighteen.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  “Why would it? I chose to put on that uniform. Admittedly, the record is probably a little sketchy since I got here, but my life’s an open book. Ask any of my neighbors.”

  That made her laugh again. “I’ve heard that about small towns.”

  “It’s true.” He took some more pancakes. “You should eat another one, too. Five pounds, right?”

  “Six or so.”

  “So an extra flapjack won’t kill you.” All of a sudden he paused and cleared his throat. “Officially, however, as a PA, I should be advising you against all those empty calories. Pure sugar, fat and processed flour. Oh, man.”

  “And it tastes so good.” She felt her fears easing away, and an urge to giggle overcoming her.

  “Which is why I indulge sometimes. Just don’t tell my patients on me.” He winked and continued to eat.

  Settling down again, she did take another pancake, although she doubted she’d be able to finish it. The syrup was so rich and sweet it nearly made her toes curl.

  His comment about post-traumatic stress made a lot of sense to her, though. While she hadn’t thought of all that had happened as being terribly traumatic, maybe it had been, more so than she had realized.

  Another thought struck her as she was helping wash up. “I’ve become rusty.”

  That caused Jess to pause as he put a plate in the dishwasher. “Rusty?”

  “After all that time being cooped up with those agents I hardly knew, I got in the habit of keeping my thoughts to myself. They were essentially strangers. What was I going to talk to them about? Certainly not anything that really mattered.”

  He put the last plate in the dishwasher and closed the door. When he straightened, he leaned against the counter with one hip and took the pan she had just washed, drying it with a towel. “That makes sense. And you said you were shy to begin with.”

  “Shy and a bit of an introvert. Part of why Sara and I were such good friends was because...well, this is going to sound odd, but I’ve been thinking about it since we lost her. It was as if she was the other part of me, Jess. She was all the things I couldn’t be naturally, but she carried me along with her. I met people I might never have met, did things I might never have done.”

  He twisted, hanging the pan from the pot rack on the one otherwise bare wall. “Must’ve been hard on you when you went to separate colleges. When we got married.”

  She hoped her flush didn’t show. She never wanted him to guess how much she had resented him when he first entered Sara’s life. “Hard, but not that hard.” She sighed and wiped the counter with a sponge. “I learned a lot from her. I got better at reaching out, making friends, going out.”

  “But then all the old habits slammed back into place when you were in protective custody.”

  “The old inclinations, anyway. But yes. I went back to being an introvert. When I talked, it was when we were working on the case. All business. The rest of the time...” She shrugged, rinsed the sponge and put in on the dish beside the stainless-steel sink. “I guess I reverted to type.”

  He refilled their coffee mugs from the fresh pot he’d made before they started clearing the table. “If you’re an introvert, you must find it hard to have me around all the time.”

  Startled, she looked at him. “No, not at all. It’s comfortable being with you.”

  “It might have been comfortable resuming your other friendships,” he said. “Or not.”

  She got caught on that statement. “Maybe it was my fault.”

  “Did I say that?”

  “No...it’s just that...” She wondered where she was going with this. He motioned with his head toward the living room and she went. He sat on the rocker again, so she perched on the end of the couch. Coffee mug on the side table, because even though its bitterness was easing the overwhelming sweetness of breakfast, she was beginning to feel overloaded on something.

  “Just what?” he prompted.

  “I’m not sure. You’re right. If I’d been willing to make the effort, I could have resumed some of those friendships.”

  “Only some?”

  “Only some,” she repeated. “You have to remember what I did. I didn’t just kill my job prospects, but some of the people I thought of as friends figured I’d committed a major act of disloyalty. They didn’t want me to call them, even when I was still in protection. The few who didn’t run... Maybe I didn’t want to make the effort anymore. Or maybe I was afraid I’d bring trouble their way. Remember, I can’t believe I’m safe even now. And what if
my actions affected them somehow?”

  He sat rocking for a while, saying nothing, apparently thinking over what she’d said. Hardly surprising, because it wasn’t exactly making sense to her, either. She could understand why some of the people whose work was associated with hers, either through the firm she’d been part of or because they had the same careers as CPAs, might have felt it best to avoid her. But what about the others? Had she really feared she might bring them trouble through this probably imaginary feeling that she might still be in danger?

  Or had something else driven her to put distance between herself and her remaining friends? Since this whole mess had begun, she’d been reacting to events as they unfolded, and once she’d made the decision to go to the US Attorney with what she had, she’d stopped thinking about anything else. Everything had been put on hold from that point.

  But it was over now. Was fear alone guiding her? Or was there a bigger issue at the heart of all this?

  “Tell me,” Jess said finally, “how you feel about what you did.”

  She lifted her brows. “How do you mean?”

  “Well, you took a dangerous leap, you blew the whistle on your firm, your bosses, maybe some of your coworkers. I don’t know all the details, because you haven’t really told me, and while I tried to follow it in press reports online, they weren’t exactly overflowing with details.”

  “Not the kind of details people want to read about,” she said wryly.

  He half smiled. “Admittedly. The ins and outs of accounting would probably put half the world to sleep. So all I got was an outline, and you evidently couldn’t say all that much. But what none of this is telling me is how you, Lacy Devane, really feel about what you did. Do you have doubts? Were you right? Were you the hero of the story?”

  At that she gaped. “I’m no hero.”

  “Interesting.” He leaned forward and put his elbows on his thighs. “Lacy Devane single-handedly takes down a money-laundering operation which, as a by-product, evidently takes down a big drug operation, and she doesn’t feel like a hero? Why not?”

  The question drew her up short. She’d done the right thing. She’d paid a heavy price, too. Maybe she wasn’t a hero, but he was right about one thing—she’d taken a very dangerous step that put her life at risk. How did she feel about that? Maybe it was time she sorted that out.

  “I did what I had to do,” she answered.

  “Funny, every hero I’ve ever heard says exactly the same thing. But that’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking how you feel about it. And that’s what you’re afraid to share, isn’t it? Numbers are ever so much consistent and reliable than messy feelings.”

  Hearing a version of her own words come back at her stung. She stood up, not liking this conversation, wanting to walk away from it. But once on her feet, she remained frozen, nearly glaring at Jess. She felt as if he wanted to take a can opener to places inside nobody had a right to go.

  “Sorry,” he said after a minute. “I’m pushing you and I don’t have the right.”

  “Why?” she demanded.

  “Because I want to know you. The real Lacy. Sara loved you. I saw how much fun you two had together, but there was more than fun to your relationship. There had to be. And right now you don’t have anyone to replace Sara in your life. Hell, neither do I.”

  “I don’t want to be Sara’s stand-in!”

  “Neither do I. But maybe, between us, we can build real friendship. And I do mean real. Or we can bump along the way we are as strangers-but-not-strangers, keeping all our little secrets, and then once you’re safe you can move on and we’ll go back to monthly phone calls that consist of little more than Hi, how are you?”

  She realized her heart had begun to pound, indicating that something in what he was saying unnerved her. Maybe threatened her. And damn him, he sat there in that rocking chair, reminding her by his simple presence that he was attractively male and off-limits. Sara put him off-limits. So, maybe, did her own hang-ups. What a mess!

  “What do you want from me, Jess?”

  “I told you. To get to really know you.”

  “What I am is what you see.”

  He snorted, but didn’t push it. Slowly she resumed her seat, trying to brush away cobwebs of desire that had ensnared her, that had nothing to do with this clash they were having. So out of place that they startled her. But he kept having that effect on her. Each time she saw him, she felt that breathless recognition that she wanted this man.

  She couldn’t have him, though. That theoretically made her safe. But safe from what? Along with the miasma of hunger that seemed to surround her right now, questions were buzzing, questions about herself. He hadn’t asked anything out of line. He’d simply asked what she needed to ask herself.

  The problem was, she had plenty of excuses not to answer those questions. Reacting, always reacting, and if she tried to face up to what was inside her, well...she could always distract herself with the case, with her fears, with the way friends had abandoned her, with the way her future seemed to have blown away like dead leaves because of what she had done.

  It occurred to her that she was lacking in the self-knowledge department. She saw herself as a reflection of those around her, not as independent. But who was really independent?

  She gave herself an internal shake and warned herself not to turn this into a philosophy lesson. He was asking for real stuff, not roundabout evasions or answers to universal questions.

  Just start with one question, she advised herself. How did she feel about what she had done?

  The answer emerged, slowly and painfully, and for once she shared it with him. “I feel awful about what I did.”

  He nodded and reached for his mug. “Why?” The question wasn’t accusatory.

  “Because it wasn’t pure.”

  “Pure?” A crease formed on his brow.

  She made a harsh sound. “Altruism? Doesn’t exist. I wasn’t being altruistic. I saw what was going on. I figured it out. And I was aware that I was in it up to my neck. No plausible deniability would cover me. But once I figured it out, even claims of stupidity weren’t enough. So I did the only thing I could do. I meant that, you know. And in the process I took down some people I liked. I don’t feel good about it. Not at all. For the rest of my life, I’m going to wonder how many innocent people got caught in that snare, people who really didn’t know what was happening. Maybe they didn’t get convicted, but they sure as hell lost their jobs and future prospects.”

  “Ugly.”

  “Yes, it was ugly. I loathe myself for it.”

  Presently he said, “Like war.”

  The silence that filled the room then was almost heavy, suffocating. He was comparing their experiences and she knew it, but she figured his own must have been a million times worse.

  “Collateral damage,” he said after a few minutes. “Such a clean, clinical word for destruction of lives and property. It’s not intentional, but it is inevitable.”

  “I’m sorry, Jess.”

  He shook his head. “No need. I was just trying to let you know that I understand.”

  “Probably better than anyone.”

  A crooked smile. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  He rocked for a while, finishing his coffee. “You up for a trip to town if I warm the car first?”

  She leaped at the opportunity. Enough soul-searching for one morning. “Love it.”

  “Good. We’ll get you some proper pants for weather like this, and I want to stop in and say hi to the sheriff.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he needs to know about you. Amazing man, our sheriff. I just want to tell him why you’re here. He’ll keep an eye out, and if your fears are well-grounded, you’re going to need more eyes than mine.”

  Chapter 7

  The i
cy day held the beauty of absolutely clear air. Even the distant mountains appeared almost magnified as their contours showed sharply and glistened brightly where snow had settled.

  Jess was glad to see Lacy put on sunglasses as soon as they stepped outside. He hoped they were strong enough. The car had been warming for fifteen minutes, and as she slipped inside a blast of hot air escaped.

  Warm enough, he thought as he climbed in beside her. He still felt guilty about not showing her the note in his pocket, but he was going to share it with the sheriff if he could get a minute alone with the man. He just couldn’t see any point in scaring Lacy needlessly. Her feeling that someone might be keeping an eye on her in Dallas was not one he was willing to ignore. On the other hand, how would someone have followed her here so quickly?

  So he’d put Gage Dalton’s head on the question. The man knew law enforcement and threats of this kind better than he ever would, and not just because he was sheriff. Before coming to Conard County, he’d been with the DEA. He’d be far more capable of assessing whether a threat to Lacy still remained, and whether that note made any sense at all.

  Lacy held his attention all the way into town, however. One moment, she seemed totally absorbed by the winter beauty around her, the next nervous and scanning rapidly as if she feared someone’s approach. Man, he felt bad for her. He couldn’t imagine how she’d clung to her equanimity after so many months of feeling like this. At least when he’d come home from Afghanistan each time, he had known he was as safe as anyone else. Couldn’t always quite believe it, but after a few days he had always settled down. Lacy wasn’t getting that break.

  For her, every day must be something like the way he’d felt when he walked into a new village in Afghanistan for the first time, and anyone could be friend or foe. All well and good to try to make them friends, but you never knew. They seemed grateful enough for the clinics he often held, dealing with illnesses and injuries, and even doling out vaccinations for the kids when he had the supplies. Winning hearts and minds. He wasn’t sure they’d ever won much of either.