Chapter Two
Spence gave her less than an hour to decide whether she’d return to Cloverdell with him—approximately the amount of time it would take to drive to the private airfield where a chartered Cessna Citation awaited his instructions.
If she agreed, he’d do his best to fulfill the mandate in Irma Winchell’s will that required Mollie, Bethany and Erin to meet.
If not, he’d wait with her while she contacted the US Marshals Service and returned to the custody of WITSEC.
A tough decision. In Witness Protection, she’d still be in danger, but there would be people looking out for her.
As an heiress, she had a chance to return to her old life with new opportunities.
He drove east on Sixth Avenue Parkway. “Questions?”
“Let’s start with an easy one,” she said. “How did you find me?”
“As you know, the number one rule in WITSEC is to never communicate in any way with your former friends and family. When your dad went into the program, he agreed to cut all ties. He understood that making contact might alert the cartel to the whereabouts of his loved ones. They could take revenge on your family.”
“I didn’t ask for a history lesson,” she said. “Five years ago, my father was a different person. And so was I. Tell me how you knew my current address.”
He recognized her prickly attitude as a form of protection.
Though she looked as soft and cuddly as a furry kitten, Mollie had the demeanor of a porcupine with needles sticking out in all directions.
“My point about your father,” he said, “is that he’s a rule breaker.
Instead of being a good-little-cooperative witness, he stayed in touch with Aunt Irma.
She’s always had your current alias and address.
When she died, she gave explicit instructions on how your father was to be contacted. ”
“That’s why he took off on his mysterious trip,” she said under her breath. “Have you spoken to him?”
“Yes.”
“Is he all right?”
“He’s safe.” At a stoplight, Spence glanced toward her and saw a flash of relief. The tension around her eyes and mouth relaxed. He continued, “My firm hasn’t notified WITSEC about our communication.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“We don’t have his number. He uses burner phones and throws them away after each call. He gave me your secret code word on the condition that you don’t try to contact him. Not until after you’ve made your decision about the inheritance.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not a psychic, Mollie. I don’t know what the hell your dad is thinking. I don’t have anything in common with the man.”
“Do you know my father?”
“I know enough.”
“Do you have a problem with him?”
Spence didn’t like or admire a man who abandoned his twin daughters after his wife’s death. The part he played when testifying against the cartel led to the murder of Mollie’s sister and dragged Mollie herself into danger. “It’s not up to me to judge your dad.”
“If you knew him, you’d understand.”
“Guess I have to take your word for that.”
Her blue eyes narrowed, and her chin tilted up so she could look down her nose at him.
In spite of her grungy T-shirt, baggy shorts and messy hair, she conveyed an attitude of cool sophistication.
“Tell me about yourself, Spence. What kind of lawyer wears a bespoke Armani suit and carries a gun in a shoulder holster?”
He didn’t feel obligated to give his credentials, but he wanted her to trust him. “I consider the suit and tie to be a lawyer uniform. I prefer a Beretta M9 because that was the weapon issued to me when I was an Army Ranger.”
“A Ranger, huh?” In spite of her pseudo-snobby attitude, she sounded impressed. “Some people say they have better training than Navy SEALs.”
“I would be one of those people.” He grinned. “Rangers lead the way.”
“Is that so?” She scoffed.
“When I joined my family at Cameron Law Firm, I facilitated a security and protection program based on the needs of our governor and other lawmakers at the Oregon State Capital in Salem. My staff works for other high-profile clients across the Pacific Northwest.”
Mollie rolled her eyes. “Are you supposed to be some kind of secret commando?”
“I have the training and the skill set, but I never claimed to be a superhero.”
Just because he wore Armani instead of a red cape and tights, it didn’t mean he wasn’t battle-ready.
The security work came more naturally to him than lawyering.
He’d still be in the Rangers if he hadn’t been injured and lost most of the vision in his left eye—a personal detail he didn’t plan to share.
No matter how enticing she appeared, he didn’t intend to get close to her.
She and her father were clients. Therefore, off-limits.
Rush-hour traffic clogged the streets. The slowdown wasn’t really a problem because the chartered jet wouldn’t leave without them.
Maybe it was better to arrive in Oregon after nightfall when Mollie’s return could be kept secret.
Once the news got out, gossip would race through downtown Cloverdell and across the hills and fields of the Willamette Valley.
The three grandnieces needed time to make sure they weren’t in danger and to plan a strategy.
He glanced over at her. “Made up your mind?”
“I have a few more questions.” She shifted in her seat. “How can I be sure Erin and Bethany won’t be in danger because they meet with me?”
“Leave that to me. Through CLF, I’ve developed a chain of safe houses, installed security systems and provided 24/7 bodyguards.”
“CLF?”
“Cameron Law Firm.”
“Uh-huh.” She nodded. “CLF sounds way more dangerous.”
Pretty little Mollie was a bona fide smart-ass. “Any other questions?”
“What am I supposed to do about clothes and money? I have a go-bag in my front closet, packed with necessities, but there wasn’t time to grab it.”
“Yeah, it’s inconvenient to go on the run when bad guys are shooting at you,” he said dryly. “I’m guessing Bethany or Erin can help you out.”
“Do they both still live in Cloverdell?”
“Bethany stayed in the mansion with Aunt Irma. She managed the household and financial affairs, which was pretty much a full-time job.”
“And Erin?”
The second eldest of the threesome had gone through hard times. Not as catastrophic as Mollie’s disappearance into WITSEC after her twin’s murder, but difficult. He skimmed over the painful details. “Married and divorced. She has a four-year-old daughter.”
“I have a niece?”
“Technically, she’s your second cousin.”
Mollie avoided his gaze. Instead, she stared through the windshield at the fading light of a summer afternoon.
Her fingers twisted in a knot. Her tension returned and wrapped around her like a shroud.
“I should have been there for her birth. And for Erin’s wedding and divorce.
Did she marry that dope from high school? Smitty?”
“Emerson Smith,” Spence said with undisguised contempt. Smitty wasn’t a run-of-the-mill scumbag. He was worse. He ran his dad’s five trailer parks, collecting fees that totaled about thirty thou a month. Like a big-city slumlord, Smitty did almost nothing in the way of maintenance.
“Never liked that guy,” she said.
“Nobody does.”
“Wish I’d been there for Erin,” she said. “And for Bethany, too. How was Irma’s health before she died? Did she require much care?”
“As a precaution, she had regular checkups and monitoring, but her health was excellent. Your great-aunt Irma was strong, independent and clear-minded. She played bridge once a week. For a while, my grandpa was her regular partner. They usually won. Irma exercised daily, baked fresh hazelnut bread, cakes and pies.”
“I remember the baking,” she said. “She always smelled like cookies…and horses.”
“She went riding at least twice a week.”
Mollie slowly inhaled and exhaled before asking, “How did she die?”
“Horseback riding accident. Usually, she went with a companion, but on this particular day, she rode alone. Her body was found on the far side of a low stone fence. The coroner said her injuries were consistent with being thrown from her horse or falling. Blunt force trauma to the head and a broken neck. Her death was ruled accidental.”
After a shuddering sob, Mollie brought herself under control. “I’m guessing she wasn’t wearing a helmet. She liked to feel the wind in her hair.”
Irma Winchell had been a stubborn woman, and he suspected Mollie took after her great-aunt. “We’re almost to the airport. I need your decision.”
She stiffened her posture and sat up as straight as a steel rod. “You know how people say you can never go home again? Things are always different than you expect. You’ll never find new answers to old questions.”
“Such as?” She’d already peppered him with questions. “What else do you want to know?”
“You know, personal stuff. Things about boyfriends, jobs, college. Should I settle down or travel to Europe? Will I ever get my dream job in a small town like Cloverdell?” Her full lips flattened into a taut, straight line. “Being in WITSEC limited my options.”
“You believe you might find answers in Oregon.”
“I sure won’t learn anything hiding out in Denver.”
“It’s not a bad place to be. I’ve come here several times on business.”
“It’s me,” she said. “I’m paranoid here. Back in Cloverdell, I’ll feel safe.”
That could be wishful thinking on her part. Though the cartel was far less powerful, they were still a danger. “It’s not too late to go back into WITSEC.”
“I know.”
He exited the twisty streets leading through the Tech Center onto Arapahoe Road. “What’s it going to be, Mollie? Tomorrow is a memorial service for your aunt Irma.”
She slapped both hands on her thighs. Her decision was made. “I want to be there.”
“That’s all I need to hear.” He launched into a plan of action before she could reconsider. “We need to take precautions, starting with your cell phone. Do you know how to disable your device so you can’t be tracked?”