at first—as if she wasn’t in the habit of carrying on dinner conversation—then with increased confidence. And Liam was convinced that whatever else she was, whatever else she’d been, she was well-read. Self-educated? he wondered. Cate let something slip that made him suspect libraries were her only recreational outlet...in large part because they were free.
Liam answered when questions were addressed to him, but in between he watched Cate. Surreptitiously. He remembered watching her that morning—was it only that morning?—arguing with the prosecutors. Her hand gestures graceful and fluid. Now he watched her hands close up, fascinated by everything she said and did. And that’s when he saw it. It wasn’t obvious—just a slight darkening of the skin. But it shouldn’t have been there. Not twin bands circling both wrists in almost exactly the same location. And suddenly he knew what they were. And how she’d gotten them.
Scars. Scars left by something bound tightly around her wrists, bindings she must have fought against until her skin was raw and bleeding. Repeatedly. Then he heard Alec’s voice saying, “...Made me sick to my stomach. Literally. Then I wanted to cry. For her...”
Bile welled up in his throat as his stomach churned violently and he wanted to cry for her too, despite his deceased father’s long-ago strictures on crying. But more than that he wanted punish the man who’d done this to her. He wanted to pummel him into a bloody pulp, wait a few minutes, then come back and do it again. And again. Until the man had paid for those scars, and what they had to mean. As if he could erase his own mistaken thoughts about Cate by exacting two years’ worth of vengeance. For her.
Shaken more than he cared to admit, Liam swallowed hard and glanced away. His eyes caught those of Dave Morgan across the table, and knew the other man had spotted the same thing he had. Was having the same kind of reaction any decent man would have to the knowledge that Cate had been abused. Bound. And most likely raped—repeatedly.
Guilt slammed into him again. Guilt that he’d judged her from the beginning, that he’d wondered how and why she’d become a prostitute. That he’d been baffled by his attraction to a woman of the streets, even one who looked like her.
Now he knew that whatever she’d done, it hadn’t been by choice. She hadn’t chosen her life any more than she’d chosen to have those scars inflicted on her by Aleksandrov Vishenko. Has to be him, he reasoned. Who else it could be? No wonder she despises him. No wonder he’s afraid of what she’ll say on the witness stand and tried to have her killed. And no wonder Alec wishes he could exact a little vigilante justice. I do, too.
Liam’s new cell phone suddenly shrilled, startling him out of his reverie. The ringtone wasn’t his usual one, so it took him by surprise. He quickly excused himself from the table to answer the call.
“Yeah?”
“It’s me. Cody. Just wanted to let you know we were right. The agent you gave your cell phone to used it, on my orders, just to see what would happen. And sure enough, someone in the FBI was triangulating on the signal.”
“Shit.”
“No kidding. Doesn’t necessarily mean anything bad. Could be they’re just trying to locate you to bring you in for routine questioning in the shooting—you’d be cleared of course, but they have to follow procedure. Get your statement and match it to the statements of the other witnesses, not to mention Alec’s statement. Do ballistics tests on your gun. The whole nine yards. Or it could be they just want to bring Caterina in for safekeeping—she’s still a key witness in the conspiracy trial. On the other hand, it could be someone trying to track down the two of you...for Vishenko.”
“Yeah, I get that.”
“So D’Arcy wants to change the plan a little. We’ve got Alec and his wife in protective custody—and boy, the FBI was pissed about that, especially when D’Arcy refused to divulge their location to them. We want to ensure the same for Caterina and you—but the FBI knows about the agency’s safe house in Fairfax. Don’t ask how—it’s a long story. So D’Arcy wants to move you to another safe house, one outside Fayetteville, North Carolina. If you leave now you can be there in just under five hours.”
Liam was tired—he’d had a long drive yesterday from New York to DC, today had been another long day and his body had used up its store of adrenaline already—he wasn’t looking forward to a five-hour drive. But now wasn’t the time to worry about that. Safety was the primary concern. Cate’s safety.
Cody was still talking. “Don’t use your credit cards to get there—pay cash. The Morgans will give you enough cash for anything. And new identification and credit cards for both of you will be waiting at the next safe house, just in case we have to move you again. Oh yeah, and swap GPS units with the Morgans.”
Surprised, Liam blurted out, “They can track us by my GPS? I didn’t think that was possible, not without—” He stopped abruptly, realizing that law enforcement was constantly coming up with new and improved surveillance techniques, some of which the public was completely unaware. And if it could be done at all, the FBI would know how.
Silence at the other end. “Think about it,” Cody said finally. “But don’t think too long. We want you out of there in the next fifteen minutes.”
“What do I tell Cate?”
“At this point I think you’re going to have to tell her the truth. At least some of it.”
“I already told her about the death of the other witness.”
“I told you not—”
“She knew,” he said flatly, cutting Cody off. “She figured it out, so there was no reason not to confirm it.”
“How’s she holding up?”
“She’s keeping it together, at least on the surface. I don’t know what she’s feeling inside, but it can’t be good.”
“She’s still planning to testify, right?”
Liam grunted. “Don’t worry. Whatever Alec told her, it must have resonated. So yeah, she’s still planning to testify. No matter the cost.”
* * *
They drove through the night, a night that—thanks to the full moon and the steady stream of traffic—wasn’t all that dark. But it was anonymous, and that’s all Cate cared about. She hadn’t hesitated when Liam told her they had to move on to another safe house. Moving on was something she did on a regular basis, so it wasn’t unusual for her. She’d packed the few clothes and other essentials the Morgans had given her into a small suitcase—also provided by the Morgans. She’d been ready in less than five minutes.
Now, as she watched Liam driving at a steady pace—the speedometer just barely nudging the legal limit—she considered asking him the questions that had been percolating in her mind since his sudden announcement right after receiving the phone call. Who called you? Was it Alec? He’s a witness too, so is he safe? And Angelina. What about my cousin?
But she wasn’t in the habit of asking too many questions. When you started asking questions, people had the unfortunate response of thinking that gave them the right to ask questions in return. And Cate didn’t answer questions. Not as a general rule. The less people knew about her, the less chance there was that Vishenko’s men would find her.
Alec had asked questions. So had the FBI and the men from the US Attorney’s
