Witness, No Protection
Delaney
For a whole year, I'd been avoiding not only Tessa, but my entire family – plus my best friend, who I missed so much, it hurt.
Ironically, none of this had started with my family at all.
It had started with a job I'd held for barely two years. Specifically, it had started with Lenny Vickers, a lawyer whose advertisements somehow managed to appear both aggressively friendly and vaguely illegal.
His biggest billboard was located directly across from the yacht club – and for a good reason, too.
Our little lakeshore city attracted enough wealthy tourists and second-home owners to keep Lenny surprisingly busy, especially in the summer when the town filled with wealthy vacationers from Chicago, Milwaukee, and beyond.
In my mind, I could still see Lenny's yacht club billboard, complete with that toothy grin and favorite slogan. In trouble? Call the Vick!
It all sounded ridiculous until you spent enough time around Lenny to realize that most of his clients had secrets that no sane person would ever believe. Sometimes, he even worked with big-city firms on high-dollar scandals expensive enough to require multiple lawyers.
I knew this firsthand, because I'd been Lenny's employee – a team of one who handled the grunt work while Lenny bounced between courtrooms, clients, and whatever questionable networking event had free cocktails.
I answered his phone, handled intake forms, scheduled appointments, and learned far too much about other people's terrible decisions – especially wealthy men with bad judgment.
From what I could tell, they were Lenny's specialty, probably because his own judgment was just a little iffy, judging by the number of women who thought they were dating him exclusively.
Sure, the job had very little to do with my creative writing degree, but the pay hadn't been half bad. And besides, whenever Lenny had gone out, the office got surprisingly quiet – which meant I had time to work on my writing.
A win-win.
Or so I thought.
Looking back, I could pinpoint the exact moment everything changed.
The craziest thing was, the trouble had started after I'd already walked away – not because I couldn't handle the heat, but because my writing had finally started paying off.
One of my novels – not that Mom would ever call it that – had achieved some modest success. That success had generated interest in my other self-published titles, which, until then, had been languishing on the vine.
Long story short, I was finally able to pursue writing full-time.
It was my dream come true, and I'd been living it for less than a month when I received that fateful knock on my apartment door.
At first, I almost didn't answer it.
It was nearly eight o'clock, and I wasn't expecting company. At the time, I'd been sprawled across my sofa in a T-shirt and leggings, lost in my laptop as I tried to salvage a chapter that had gone completely off the rails.
But soon, the knocking came again – three short raps delivered with enough persistence to suggest they wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. Setting aside the laptop, I reluctantly got up and peered through the tall frosted window beside the front door.
Through the cloudy glass, I could just barely make out the silhouette of a beefy man in a dark business suit.
I frowned in confusion. Was he lost?
My apartment was located in a narrow Victorian house that had been converted to two cozy apartments.
Unlike the upper unit, the door to my apartment was located directly off the front porch, which meant I had the distinct pleasure of dealing with a multitude of people who didn't quite know where they were going.
And don't get me started on the deliveries. The girl who lived upstairs shopped a lot, and ever since she'd moved in, not a single week had gone by where I didn't receive at least two deliveries addressed to her name along with a shocking amount of takeout.
But I couldn't really complain. She and I were nearly the same age, and to her credit, she'd been a terrific sport that one time I'd gotten locked out at midnight while taking out the trash – without my phone, no less.
Unsure what else to do, I'd climbed the rear staircase and begged to borrow her phone in spite of the late hour. She'd handed it over without a single complaint.
And then, during the thirty minutes it took for our landlord to arrive and unlock my door, Lacy had served me chocolate martinis along with tales of her worst dating disasters.
She was hilarious – even if her taste in men was genuinely alarming.
Still, I smiled at the memory as I opened the door and said, "Let me guess. You're looking for—"
"You." He wasn't smiling.
The guy looked to be in his late thirties, with close-cropped dark hair and the kind of blocky build that made the narrow porch feel suddenly smaller.
I stared in confusion. "Me? Why?"
His gaze flicked briefly over my shoulder, scanning the apartment behind me before returning to my face. "We need to talk."
A prickle of unease crept down my spine. "About what?"
"You know what."
I blinked. "I do?"
"Pretend all you want," he said. "But we both know we're talking about the court case."
Wait, what? "I'm not pretending anything," I protested. "I honestly don't know what you mean."
For a long moment, he simply studied me, his expression unreadable. Then he sighed. "Listen, this doesn't need to be difficult. We're just looking for discretion, that's all."
His words were calm, professional even. And yet, my heart hammered as my brain began cycling through every bizarre client interaction I'd witnessed during my final months at Lenny's office.
There was that judge who always skulked in wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap. And then, there was that cosmetic surgeon who'd left that panicked voicemail involving hotel security footage. And then there was that banker whose naked vacation photos had somehow ended up in a divorce filing.
I was still thinking. Maybe this was related to that Chicago developer who'd been crying in Lenny's office? Something about somebody threatening to release screenshots?
Of what, I had no idea.
I just knew that none of this was my concern. Not anymore.
I crossed my arms. "Look, I don't know what you're thinking, but I've always been discreet, and just because I've moved on, that doesn't mean I'll get all blabby."
He crossed his arms, too. "But it doesn't mean you won't."
Was this a joke? "Okay, now you're officially making me nervous."
"Good," he said. "It means you're taking this seriously."
By now, irritation was winning out over nerves. "I don't even know what 'this' is."
He scoffed. "Sure you don't. But if you're smart, you'll lay low 'til the case is over."
Oh, for God's sake. "What case?"
He gave me a thin smile. "Nice try. But we'll be watching." And with that, he turned to go. I was still frozen in the open doorway when he turned back to say, "One more thing. If you're thinking of running to your friends on the island, forget it."
A knot of dread formed in my stomach. The island? There was only one island I visited – Mackinac Island, where my best friend had lived all her life…well, except for the time both of us were in college.
With a hard swallow, I asked, "The island?"
He gave another sigh. "Cut the act, will ya? You want some advice?"
I forced a laugh. "From you?"
He made a show of looking around before asking, "You see anyone else willing to help?"
"Help?" I scoffed. "How on Earth are you helping me?"
He moved closer and lowered his voice. "Look, I don't like doing this. It's not my usual gig. But just between you and me, I'd stay away from anyone you care about. No visits. No calls." After a quick glance over his shoulder, he whispered, "He has a way of checking."
By now, I felt like screaming. "Who has a way of checking?"
His jaw flexed. "So much for quiet." He shook his head, like he couldn't believe I was being so dense. "Just lay low, alright? It'll take what? A year?"
My jaw dropped. "A whole year? Are you freaking serious?"
He shrugged. "You're young. It'll go fast."
"What'll go fast?"
"Oh, just cut the act, will ya?" He gave me a hard look. "Now, if you don't mind, I'll consider the message delivered." And then, he turned on his heel and left, leaving me staring after him as he walked down the sidewalk and disappeared around the corner.
Well, that was something.
For the first couple of days, I'd tried to laugh it off. But then I spotted the same guy at a grocery store twenty minutes away. He didn't have a cart. But he was watching me. And when I tried to confront him, he pretended he had no idea who I was. And I came off looking like the crazy one.
Then, a couple days after that, I spotted him parked by my apartment in a sleek, dark sedan, with the driver's side window rolled down, like he wanted me to see him.
When I marched outside to confront him, he eased slowly away, as if the whole point had been to rattle me. Even more unsettling, the car had no license plate, which meant…what?
That time, I even called the police. But I'd been a total coward about it – calling anonymously to report a car with no plates.
They'd been decidedly unimpressed.
After a week on pins and needles, I finally barged into Lenny's office to ask him what was up. And of course, he'd been worse than no help.
His suggestion?
Just do what the guy said.
And then, he told me several bone-chilling tales of what happens when someone snitches – not just to the snitch, but to anyone within earshot, especially friends and family.
The only "helpful" advice he did give was to not call the cops, because you never knew who was on the take. I didn't believe it. But what if I was wrong?
The whole thing was completely ludicrous – like the plot of a bad mob movie. And yet, in my heart, I knew that if anyone got hurt because I couldn't control myself, I would never forget it.
I wouldn't be able to forgive myself either.
There was only one upside. The guy had mentioned a timetable.
A year.
Sure, it was a long time, but it wasn't a lifetime. And besides, I told myself, I wasn't terribly close to my family, anyway. It's not like they'd miss me.
Mom didn't like me at all.
My dad probably loved me, but he wasn't great at showing it.
And Tessa? Well, she was more complicated. I knew she loved me. And I loved her. But our relationship had never been easy for all kinds of reasons.
But it was the thing with Maisie that really stung. We'd met in college and had become best friends right away. And her dad was amazing. Together, they were like the family I'd never had – warm and encouraging, even when I fell short of expectations.
Perversely, this was why I'd cut them off so completely.
It hurt like hell to do it, there was no way I'd ever risk bringing trouble to their doorstep, even if that doorstep was on an island that felt incredibly safe.
But now the year was officially over – actually, more than over, considering I'd given it an extra month just in case. I'd even lived in the same apartment, because why bother moving if they could find me anyway?
Finally, I was done with all of it – and beyond tired of feeling watched.
When my lease expired, I put all of my stuff into storage and bolted for Chicago, hoping to reconcile first with Tessa and then with Maisie.
I'd reached out to Tessa first, because things between us had been shaky before I'd ghosted everyone, which meant Tessa wouldn't be nearly as hurt.
But Maisie?
I just prayed she hadn't taken it as hard as I would've taken it if she had ghosted me. And yet, somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew the truth.
I had hurt her.
Even worse, I couldn't even explain why.
But I could try to make it up to her.
Somehow.