what she’d left unsaid, as if he knew her very thoughts. She looked away. He might be here to protect her, but he had no idea what he was up against. For there was another threat. The fact that it was faceless didn’t make it any less deadly.
* * *
“WOULD YOU LIKE a drink? Water, coffee?” Kiera asked as she closed the back door to her condo.
“Coffee, please.”
“Follow me,” she said with a no-nonsense tone of voice, as she led the way to the kitchen.
The unit was compact with only one bedroom, a living area and the kitchen. Despite the small space, everything seemed neat and organized. There was a homey feel to the way she’d decorated, and the smell of coffee seemed to permeate everything.
“Have a seat,” she said. “I’ll just be a minute. I obviously need to put this away.” She raised her gun hand mere inches, enough to make it clear that it was the gun she was putting away.
And with that she turned and disappeared into the bedroom. He heard a drawer open and close, and then she returned empty handed and went to the cupboard, pulling out two cups and lifting the coffee carafe and pouring them each a cup.
He felt out of place, too big for the space and very much as though he were intruding. He accepted the coffee cup from her and noticed that her hand shook. He wished there was something he could do to take the fear away from her but knew he had nothing to offer but his presence. Her fears existed in the past and in the unknown of her future.
They sat across from each other and for a minute neither of them said anything. She’d been through hell and he didn’t know what he should address first. He ran through a list of things that he knew he needed to ask, to tell her. Where to begin eluded him. When he looked at her he saw the way she rubbed her thumb against the tablecloth and when she looked up, he noticed the whiteness of her lips, and that’s when he knew just how much stress she was under.
Another minute went by and the silence was heavier, more awkward.
“I’m glad I have my aunt’s gun,” she said in a soft voice that broke the silence.
“If you find yourself in a situation in the future where you need to pull a weapon to defend yourself, just remember—you have to be ready to use it.” He paused. “You weren’t today, were you? I don’t count a wild shot, completely off mark, as prepared.”
“I don’t know, maybe.”
“Maybe is as good as no, and in another situation, hesitation would have been fatal—for you.”
“Then I can’t hesitate.”
“Exactly,” he said. “On the upside, I’m here to make sure that you never need that gun. If it’s not me, it will be another marshal making sure you’re safe. Although, we’ll need some help from you.”
“What do you need?”
“The truth and—” he paused “—your trust. That means that if there’s anything you haven’t said, anything you’re holding off saying, you need to tell me.”
“I’ve already told the FBI everything I know,” she said. “And they don’t believe all of it.”
“Everything?” he asked. He hoped that she’d give him something that could be used in the case. She’d seen one face only and she’d identified him, for now that was what they had to work with.
“He wasn’t working alone,” she said. “I heard...”
Her voice dropped as his heart sank.
She couldn’t repeat this, not in court. It would make her testimony questionable if she spouted those beliefs like facts with no physical evidence to back them up. They needed an ID on a killer, nothing else. Certainly not a belief that had no support, no evidence, no backing of any kind and seemed more fantasy than reality.
“Kiera, we can’t assume...”
“Not without evidence,” she said with a nod of her head. “I realize that. But there’s something else. I don’t think it’s connected, but it’s frightening.”
“What’s going on, Kiera?” he asked hoping that maybe going along with her might be a better way to eventually get her off this particular track.
“I’m getting anonymous calls,” she said. “In the early hours. Yesterday was the first morning I was home since the attack and that’s when they started. There was another this morning. They were both the same. The phone rings at five minutes to five o’clock in the morning and then again at five minutes after five.”
That much he hadn’t heard. Had it been reported? He doubted it, for it was a fairly glaring oversight and James was nothing but thorough. Another thought hit him. He pulled out his phone as he stood up. His knee caught on the table. Coffee slopped from his cup. It just missed the embroidered tablecloth.
“I’m sorry,” he said. But he could only think of what she’d said. Five minutes after five o’clock in the morning was the time the 911 call had come in. The facts from the time she was found and how it had rolled out as the authorities took charge were engraved in his mind. The time of her rescue wasn’t public knowledge. He couldn’t imagine the time being anything more than a coincidence though. He wasn’t sure if even she knew the exact time of her escape. He wasn’t sure if anyone had told her. She might only know it was early in the morning, unless she had asked. Either way, he didn’t like the sound of any of this. The bus driver who had first found her knew the time, as did the police and the first responders. Would one of them have leaked the information? Except for the bus driver, that would be a breach of confidentiality and mean immediate firing. He made a mental note to mention the possibility that there was a leak to James. The thought, even the possibility, that someone had taken that information and used it to harass her was, to say the least, disconcerting.
She was back with a dishrag in her hand.
“Let me,” he said. He took the cloth from her and wiped up the coffee just as it had come close to creeping onto the edges of the tablecloth.
“Got it,” he said handing the cloth back. The tablecloth was unique, and he guessed that it was handmade. He’d seen his mother and his aunts embroider many such pieces. This one was a beautiful, vibrant garden scene.
“You embroider?”
“No,” she said with a smile. “I found it at a craft sale.” She leaned over to take the dishrag and wiped a drop he’d missed.
A minute later she sat down. It seemed that she moved slowly every time she was forced to sit anywhere near him.
“Have you reported the calls?” he asked despite the obvious tension.
“Yes,” she said. “Sort of. I spoke to the police officer who was here yesterday but no, unless he put a report forward, which I doubt, they weren’t officially reported. I left that to him.” She got up as if she was unable to sit, as if his proximity made her nervous.
“Kiera? Are you alright?”
“Would you like more coffee?” she asked with her back to him.
“No
