Chapter 2
TWO
Jessica waited by the curb, arms crossed tightly over her chest, as the male marshal loaded her suitcase into the trunk of his car.
The night air was thick and still, carrying the scent of asphalt and distant rain.
Sharrow appeared beside her, phone pressed to her ear, her brow furrowed in concentration.
Sharrow ended the call and nodded toward the other marshal. “This is Deputy U.S. Marshal Ryan Inglis,” she said. “From the Two Rivers Violent Fugitive Task Force.”
Jessica turned toward him, intending a more dignified introduction than their one at the strip club, but he was too busy with her suitcase to even glance her way. His movements were efficient, practiced, as if she were just another package to transport.
Sharrow continued, “He’s taking you to a neutral site in Baton Rouge. You’ll be safe there while we make new arrangements.”
Over Inglis’s shoulder, Jessica caught a glimpse of black metal drawers bolted to the bottom of the trunk. Rifle cases. She knew what they were. What they meant.
Her stomach twisted.
She turned back to Sharrow. “You’re not coming with me?”
Sharrow shook her head. “I’m afraid you’re on your own now.”
Jessica had known that before she’d even asked the question.
Still, hearing it out loud sent a cold ripple through her chest. Sharrow’s role in her life was over.
There’d be another Witness Inspector waiting for her in Baton Rouge, another name she’d have to memorize.
Another person guarding the identity of a woman who didn’t exist yet.
Her gaze flicked to the swell of Sharrow’s belly.
She was close. Nine months, at least. Their infrequent meetings meant Jessica hadn’t seen her since before the pregnancy.
Other than a once yearly check-in, Sharrow had existed in Jessica’s life solely as a contact on her phone, under the name “Aunty Sam”.
There was no round-the-clock monitoring like Jessica had imagined when she’d first entered the federal Witness Security Program.
No marshals sitting in darkened cars at the end of her drive.
No surveillance of her phone or checking of her mail.
The USMS left her to her own devices, provided she followed their extensive list of rules.
And she had followed all those rules. To the letter.
Changed her habits, erased her past, learned how to live without leaving a footprint.
She had built a new life, one small, cautious step at a time.
And yet still, somehow, they had found her.
“Ma’am.” Inglis’s voice was low, firm. He held the car door open.
Sharrow gave a single nod. “Good luck, Jessica.” Not goodbye, but good luck. It sounded fittingly ominous.
Jessica climbed into the car, and Inglis shut the door behind her. He slid into the driver’s seat, buckled in, and met her gaze briefly in the rearview mirror before pulling away from the curb.
Through the rear window, she watched her house shrink into the distance. It had never been much, just an old clapboard bungalow with an iron roof that turned into a furnace in the summer. The paint on the fascia was peeling. The porch sagged. The lawn was more dirt than grass.
But it had been hers. The place where she had learned to breathe again. The place where she’d finally felt safe.
Except now she understood—safety had only ever been an illusion.
Jessica let her head rest against the seat, staring out the window as they passed darkened houses and the swaying silhouettes of date palms.
She had the strange, overwhelming sensation that she’d forgotten something. Left something behind.
The thought almost made her laugh.
She was leaving everything behind.