CHAPTER 12
It’s funny. Fear makes you sharpen your senses. Anger makes you sharpen your claws. But apparently, worry dulls your everything and makes you clumsy.
The raccoon watches from inside her crate in the corner as I chase the onion across the kitchen.
Luckily, I haven’t peeled it yet, so no harm’s been done.
The same can’t be said about the glass I broke earlier.
Or the half pot of cooked pasta that’s now in the trash because I spilled it onto the floor.
Though Jake has seemed to relax since Julian left and we came inside to make dinner, my own nerves have done nothing but grow worse.
I’m not sure what it is that I’m missing, or even if there’s anything to really miss.
My gut screams that there is but… maybe it’s wrong.
Maybe I’m blowing things out of proportion, or just being paranoid.
After all, how many times have I told Jake that it’s okay to be upset about his mom? To want to help her? Or to give his dad a second chance?
But that’s exactly it. I’ve done my best to make it clear that I’m okay with however he chooses to deal with the family strife he’s dealing with. And yet, he’s snuck around behind my back, hiding his interactions with them both.
It feels like a betrayal.
I’m not sure what to believe, think, do. And this whole not trusting my own instincts thing is tying me up in knots.
I want to talk to him about it. Give him an opportunity to explain.
But I’m afraid. What if he denies it, or tells me it’s none of my business, or any of the dozens of other responses that would feel like a dagger to my heart?
I’m the person he’s supposed to discuss these things with, yet it seems I’m the only one he’s not confiding in right now.
My phone rings and I jerk, startled, dropping the onion again and almost stabbing myself with the knife I was using to chop it. Cursing, I set the blade down and snatch the bulb from the floor. Rinse it under the tap as I answer my cell.
“Hello?”
“Agent Knox, hey. Is everything all right?”
Agent Gellar’s voice makes those knots inside me draw just a teeny bit tighter.
“Yeah, why?”
“I don’t know. You sound tense.”
I force a laugh. It sounds as fake as it feels. “I just dropped dinner.”
“Oh no. Should I let you go?”
“No. I need a break. What’s up?”
I take a seat. My legs bounce so violently that the table’s at risk of being knocked across the room.
“They identified the sniper who tried to shoot you.”
A burning sensation starts in my chest, a bubble of acid lodging under my sternum. I rub at it absently.
“Who was he?”
“His name was Don Farris. Claimed to be a handyman, filed as an independent contractor on his taxes, though I don’t think the kind of odd jobs he undertook are what the IRS had in mind.”
Thinking of the weapon he’d used, the Mil-Spec modifications that had been made to it, I ask, “Military background?”
“Surprisingly, no.”
“Are they able to tie him to Bianchi?”
“Not directly, but they run in the same circles. Given that the man’s been known to perform dirty work for several of the larger drug traffickers in South Florida, it seems likely that Bianchi’s the one who ordered the hit.”
It’s nothing I didn’t expect, but for some reason, having it confirmed makes me feel a million times worse.
“So what do we do now?”
“That’s what I’m calling to discuss. I’m planning to request that they increase their surveillance of him at the prison where he’s being held. And that they also restrict his communication, but…”
My breath comes quicker. “But what?”
“But I wanted to speak to you first. His legal team is sure to fight against it. They’ll claim there’s no proof that he’s the one who ordered the attack on you. And they’re right.”
“Which means he’s free to keep soliciting killers.” My vision tunnels, a red tinge clouding the edges.
Agent Gellar neither confirms nor denies my statement, but she doesn’t need to. We both know it’s true.
“Listen, Cassidy… Have you considered witness protection?”
“No.” I smack the table to accentuate my point as I say, “Absolutely not.”
“It wouldn’t be forever. Just until after you testify at his trial.”
“His trial isn’t for months. I’m not the criminal here. Why should I have to be the one to disrupt my life?”
“I agree it isn’t fair.”
“It’s more than that.” My voice shakes with the words. My whole body is trembling. “We both know that they don’t need my testimony to get a conviction. Which means even if the court excused me, this wouldn’t be over. He’s not after me to keep me silent. This is about revenge.”
“It’s possible that you’re right.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I struggle to stay calm, but it’s a battle I’m close to losing. All the deep breathing in the world isn’t going to help. My insides are at a rapid boil.
“So then, what this really means is that in order to stay safe, I’d have to stay in WITSEC until Bianchi’s execution. That’s only, what? Twenty years away, with appeals?”
“I agree that this isn’t ideal—”
“It’s more than just ‘not ideal,’” I snap. Shooting a look toward the doorway, I lower my voice, and say, “WITSEC is not an option. Period. There’s got to be another way.”
“Well, if you think of one, I’m all ears.”
I’m at risk of biting through my tongue, so I release it from between my gritted teeth. Spit out a wry, “Thanks.” Swallowing down the curse words that want to follow, I ask, “Is there anything else?”
“No.”
“Then I appreciate the update. I’ve got to go.”
I don’t give her an opportunity to reply before I hang up, ending the call. Tears of frustration sting my eyes. I glare at my hands, clenched into fists on the table before me, until they reabsorb.
I’m not going to allow this to happen. I don’t care what lines I have to cross, what I have to do, I’m not going to live the rest of my life in fear—or have it shortened by some hitman.
Unfurling my fingers, ignoring the half-moons weeping blood on my palms, I think about what it is that Bianchi has that’s enabling him to do this. Power. Wealth. Life. If it means saving myself and the future I have planned? I’ll find a way to take all of those things from him.