Page 2 of Grave Peril

But the federal agents had an attitude that wasn’t easily disguised. Even dressed in different clothes, the vibe both of them exuded was government agent. Lela would have preferred driving on her own or catching a cab. Certainly, she would have been able to come up with a better cover than this.

Yet it hadn’t been her decision, as so much wasn’t anymore.

Robertson leaned forward, gripping the sides of her seat. “You seem nervous, Lela.” His stiff grin didn’t make her any more relaxed. “You shouldn’t be. This is routine. You’re safe with us protecting you.”

For some reason, Lela wasn’t reassured that the poster boys for the FBI would get her safely on the train. It was pretty simple, and since her life hadn’t been threatened so far, only two agents comprised her entourage. It wasn’t like in the movies, where backup was nearby, or a surveillance vehicle kept them under watch to make sure they weren’t followed.

But then, Lela wasn’t that important. It wasn’t like she was a senator, or a movie star, or another valuable commodity. That was kind of ironic, that the guilty senator likely had better protection and got more attention than she did.

Lela didn’t mind. The sooner she got away from the cloying presence of these two, the better. She was used to being on her own, and had learned that she was often safer that way. When Simmons took the Washington exit, and Lela spotted the train station up ahead, she breathed a sigh of relief. Once she was on her way, things would be better.

Simmons pulled into the lot and found a spot to park, then killed the engine. “We should talk a bit when we’re in there. We’re supposed to look like friends.”

Lela looked at him then got out. Agent Robertson stood beside her and nonchalantly scanned the area. Apparently confident that the coast was clear, he retrieved her suitcase from the trunk. With an agent on each side, Lela headed toward the terminal, feeling more like a criminal than a valuable witness.

Lela had the urge to bolt, leaving her luggage and escorts behind. It was a silly idea. She was just freaking out. With conscious effort, she took a calming breath. This was routine, normal. There was no reason to be worried. The FBI put citizens under protection every day of the week, didn’t they? There was no cause for alarm.

It was useless. Lela was a wreck, and probably would be until she reached her destination. And that was another thing. She hadn’t been told what her location would be. The train would take her someplace, then another agent would greet her and give her instructions. The feds had watched too many spy films; that was the only explanation for this cat-and-mouse routine.

Out of habit, Lela put the strap of her bag over her head so it crossed her midsection. Securing it that way deterred any purse snatcher. Anyone taking the bag would have to take her right along with it. Noise emanated from the tracks, breaking the silence. It seemed that Robertson couldn’t think of anything to say after all.

And Lela was in no mood for idle conversation. A person leaving early in the morning for a trip was allowed to be quiet, especially one leaving her life behind. The automatic doors opened, and the agents stepped in first, glancing back to indicate that she should follow.

Inside, Lela was dwarfed by the station. She craned her neck to look up at the high ceiling, and took in the paned windows running the entire length of the massive walls. The polished floors shone under the pendant lighting hanging in rows from above.

The space was reminiscent of a courthouse, with its massive structure and cold décor. Crowds of people milled about, probably focused on their plans for the day. There was a family with three kids, a businessman in a suit, and many assorted passengers soon to be on their way. The cavernous space was noisy and drafty.

“I have to use the bathroom,” Lela said, motioning toward the sign to the restrooms.

Simmons nodded, then they both followed her. “We’ll wait out here,” he said.

Lela went in and discovered there was a line. She waited, glad for a moment alone, or as alone as she could be in a crowd of women. When she was done, she readjusted her bag and straightened her shoulders. She could do this, really she could. But she couldn’t wait to get to her final destination, if for no other reason than to know where she was going.

If only she could have told Ashlee why she’d be gone so long, it would have minimized the aloneness. Or even better, if she’d been authorized to call from a safe phone, she could look forward to that conversation. But that was impossible. It would endanger her friend, so it wasn’t worth the risk. As it was, none of her loved ones were in peril. Since no confidential information had been shared, there was none to pass on. Keeping those close to her in the dark was best, even though it was agony to face months without contact.

*****

As promised, the agents had waited outside. Robertson had his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall. Simmons stood at attention and nodded at her when she came out. The mood was intense, or maybe it was just Lela. She walked back to the main area with them, and the agents continued to surreptitiously check for any sign of threat.

The constant vigilance was stressful. It made it seem as though there was something to worry about. But Lela reminded herself that there was no cause for concern. If someone had wanted to nab her, they’d have done it before now, without waiting for her to be in the company of the feds. She looked around the terminal, finding solace in the buzz of activity.

“I’ll get your ticket,” Robertson said, leaving his partner with Lela. She’d been told it was safer to buy the ticket just before departure. That way, the passenger list couldn’t be scanned ahead of time.

Simmons managed a tight smile. “You’ll be on your way shortly.”

“Can’t wait.” Lela wouldn’t be solo even after boarding. She’d been assured that an undercover agent would be on the train to keep an eye on her. She supposed that was something she’d have to get used to. Although once she was relocated, the pressure should be off. The whole idea was to hide her, so maybe that wouldn’t involve dealing with guards—probably false hope on her part.

Robertson strolled back, a poor imitation of casual boredom. He handed the ticket over. “We have a little time before you leave.”

Simmons motioned to some empty seats, and Lela took her position between her two “pals.” She looked at the ticket, noting the destination was Los Angeles. There was a lot between Houston and LA. She’d go to San Antonio, then via lots of small towns, passing mountains and crossing desert before reaching the end of the line.

The mystery remained. Lela still had no idea where she’d end up. The plan could be to hop off at any one of the stops, and she wouldn’t be informed of where in advance. She was already suffocating in the company of the two agents sitting stiffly by her sides.

Lela stood up. “I need to stretch my legs. I’ll be doing way too much sitting for the rest of the day.”

The agents stayed put. It would look odd if they milled about her like caged tigers. This was supposed to be a relaxed departure, but it sure didn’t feel like it. Staying seated was a concession, but the feds kept watch on the surroundings—as did Lela.

Her father had been a cop with the Houston PD. When she’d been a young girl, he’d taught her about vigilance, and the value of self-defense. “I don’t want to have to worry about my little girl,” he’d said. And he’d done his part to make sure of that.

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