Who Said Witness Protection Was Boring? (Mobster Mayhem #2)

3. Matthew

3

Matthew

Things kind of happen in a blur after our bonding moment. The voices grow louder and louder until it feels like they are right on top of me. And then they go away as boots splash through mud and puddles down the narrow alleyway where we were standing not two minutes ago.

I think I’m going to puke.

Another excruciatingly slow minute of fighting off nausea, and silence reigns again. Or mostly silence as the rain is still as passionate about watering the Earth as it has been all evening.

“Let’s go,” my savior says, getting off me.

I shiver and quickly follow suit. He reattaches the ladder to the edge, climbing down. Once I am on the ground too, he folds it and tucks it into a nylon bag which he then tosses into the closest dumpster. Gripping my wrist, he leads me to the end of the garages’ lot where the fence with barbed wire is. After pressing on a few spots, he detaches some of the net, revealing a section that’s been cut. We squeeze through there.

Then we run. The rain refuses to stop, chilling me to my bones. My teeth are clattering, my shoes are squeaking. But I press on, his fingers tangled with mine leaving me no other choice. He’s a fast runner, despite his bigger size. Or maybe it’s just that he’s fitter. I guess e-sports don’t exactly count as exercise.

Ten minutes later, we are still running. My legs ache and I have to fight for every gulp of air. It’s like knives are stabbing my throat every time I inhale, then moving lower to the area just under my ribs when I exhale. I don’t know how much of this I can take, but if I stop, the attackers might catch us.

Finally, we emerge out of the complex, sprinting down the nearest residential street. My head spins, my vision blurring. I think I’m about to pass out. I need a break. A small one. A couple seconds, just to catch my breath.

“Hey—”

I crash into Mr. Molniya’s back as he stops abruptly. He lunges to a nearby tree, taking me with him. I’m pinned against the wet bark a moment later, his labored breaths warm against my cheek as he scans the surroundings.

“It looks clear. My car’s across the street. The gray sedan. Do not run. We’ll walk to it.”

No fucking way. Is he crazy? His car is fifty feet away and he’s asking me to walk? I’m on the finish line and the prize is shelter and safety from this goddamn rain. Hell fucking yes I will be sprinting like my ass is on fire.

He tightens his hold around my arm, making me hiss. “They might have someone watching. We need to appear normal. Just two civilians going to their car.”

I scoff and find his eyes. Pursing my lips to let him know just how absurd this sounds, I say, “Sorry to break it to you, but you aren’t fooling anyone with your Black Ops getup, dude.”

He blinks at me, flabbergasted. Then his eyes crinkle in the corners as if he’s smiling. “You have a point.”

Of course I do. I might have kind of sort of almost lost it earlier, but thanks to him, I didn’t. My head is still a mess, but that doesn’t mean I’m useless. I can totally contribute and make his job of saving me a tad easier. Besides, the quicker we get to his car, the quicker he can drive me to the precinct. I’ll tell the police what happened, how we were attacked. They will send a unit and an ambulance…

With a fluid motion, the guy takes off his hood and mask, distracting me from my heavy thoughts. It’s still too dark to see properly, but I’m mesmerized regardless. His black hair is styled into one of those buzz cuts where the top portion is a little too long. It flows into a full beard that I am sure he intentionally keeps trimmed. His jaw is sharp and powerful, and his nose is like Chrissy’s—long and straight and proud.

Well, damn. It turns out my masked man is a hottie.

“Let’s go,” his full lips say, dragging my eyes to them.

I don’t know what to say. I don’t get to either. He’s circled the tree a second later, herding me toward the cars parked along the sidewalk. We are jogging lightly as normal people caught in the rain would, every step putting us closer and closer to safety.

My heart bangs so loudly I can’t hear anything else. A single goal drives me—to get to the gray sedan by the traffic sign. Nothing else matters, just that. The world narrows down to it and the heat of the guy’s hand as it coils around my forearm. It’s solid and scorching, keeping me tethered when the urge to break into a mad dash threatens to overwhelm me.

It’s like I’m in a dream. Like I’m walking on clouds. Everything blends together, both sound and color, turning hazy and nauseating.

I squeeze the guy’s hand.

He squeezes back. “Almost there.”

I close my eyes and focus on breathing. In and out, deep and slow. I hear locks clicking, followed by the beep of an alarm. A surge of adrenaline racks through me. He rubs my back.

“Get in. Slowly. Stay calm.”

I nod, opening my eyes. The car is right in front of me. He opens the door and I slip inside, panic rising. A heartbeat later, he’s in the driver’s seat, maneuvering us onto the road. We sit in silence, the rain drumming on the car’s roof. I glue my eyes to my hands, now laced in my lap, and don’t dare look out the window.

We turn left, go straight, then turn left again. We merge onto Queens Boulevard, joining the never sleeping traffic. That’s when the shivers start. I’m tired and cold. The heating is on, but doing nothing. I need a hot shower. Maybe some tea or coffee. A blanket would be nice, too.

Or… Can I just wake up from this nightmare ?

I push my hands inside my soaked pockets, feeling for the box. It’s still there. It’s real. Solid. Tangible. And if it is, then this is real, too.

“This is Stevenson. I’m headed to Rendezvous Point Blue Hawk. ETA 05 hours.”

“Agent Stevenson, provide a status update.”

Agent Stevenson? I snap my head at the man who saved me. His light brown eyes flick to me before quickly settling back on the road.

“Code Red Molniya. I have a civilian witness with me. Our agents didn’t make it.”

Their agents? Were there more people with this guy or is he talking about…

“Understood. We’ll dispatch a team. Report when you arrive. Someone will be waiting for you.”

“I’m with my personal vehicle. Gray sedan with a license plate RGA-6231.”

“Understood, agent.”

He reaches over and presses a button on the car’s dashboard, ending the call. I gape at him, struggling to comprehend the conversation I just witnessed.

“Who are you? Just what is going on? Why were we attacked?” I blurt out, following the trail of a water drop as it rolls down the side of his forehead, then cheek, then neck.

His eyes dart to me again, shimmering with curiosity but also apprehension. Light reflects in them, making them hard to look away from.

“My name is Kieran Stevenson. I was on standby when Red Molniya came in. I don’t know who the people that attacked you were, or why they were after Christine and Gordon Bauer.”

“How do you know my aunt and uncle…” Fear stabs me. “Are they dead ?”

Kieran averts his eyes. He breathes in and out, his jaw tensing a little. “Yes. I’m sorry. By the time I made it, the house was already on fire.”

Pain spears through me. I’d suspected it. I didn’t want to acknowledge it, but some of the thunder sounded more like an explosion… Like something blowing up closely. Part of me hoped I’d imagined it. That my aunt and uncle would’ve miraculously made it out alive like I did. But they didn’t. They are gone. And not just that. Their house is gone too, all their possessions. I have nothing left. Just… I clench the box, its edges digging into my palm. Just this box and whatever is inside it.

“Why?” I press my head into my palms, not able to stop the tears anymore. “Why is this happening?”

“The asset. They gave it to you, didn’t they?”

I sniffle. “Yes… How do you know about it? Is that why we were attacked? Because of some dumb box?” I discreetly push my hand back in my pocket and feel the smooth surface of the object in question.

“It’s… important. The CIA has been looking for it for a long time.”

The CIA? What ? That’s strange. The CIA doesn’t usually operate on American soil… And why would Chrissy have something they are looking for, anyway? “This makes no sense. Why would Chrissy have this asset?”

We stop at the red light where the boulevard forks. I guess this is where we get off it.

“Christine and Gordon worked for the CIA,” Kieran says, his guarded eyes straying to me. “And so do I. But that’s all I can tell you right now.”

I bang my fist against the window. “This is bullshit!”

“Please, stay calm. I’m taking us to a safehouse. You are part of this now and the Agency will need your cooperation. Someone will meet us and explain everything to you.”

They better, because unless I get all my questions answered—and there are a ton of them—the CIA can kiss my ass. I’ve seen enough movies to know the one rule everyone must follow when dealing with authority or the government—don’t trust them. They lie and only care about themselves. Whatever they are after, I don’t intend to just hand it over to them.

I side-eye Kieran. Chrissy left the box in my care. It will stay that way until I know whom I can trust. So, if the CIA or the FBI or the NSA or whoever Kieran is taking me to think I’m going to give them what they want on a silver platter… Well, they are in for a treat because that’s not how Matthew Bauer plays.