Page 17 of The Witness

Michael

“Your brother sounds like a real pain in the ass. Was he in the military?” I pulled the Smith Agency armor-plated SUV on to I-95 North. We called it The Tank. My theory was Smith bought it secondhand from the Secret Service. The rolling fortress was perfect for chauffeuring foreign dignitaries from less than savory countries around Miami. It seemed like overkill for this mission, but Smith insisted.

He also told me to take Noah Kennedy. We were both carrying 9mm Sigs under our jackets, a fact Sabrina was unaware of, but Smith had wanted us armed. Fucking ominous, if you asked me. This was south Florida, not Bogotá.

Smith had accepted that Sabrina’s mom was going to be coming to the office. But he wasn’t happy about it. To him, it was a distraction from the goal. He’d been on the edge of forbiddingme to take Sabrina to Palm Beach Gardens until I pointed out there was no way I could pull a hysterical octogenarian out of a place like Silver Palms alone. I needed Sabrina on this mission, or security at the facility would call the cops on me.

“Gary wanted to be in the army but had flat feet or something. It’s been so long I don’t remember the details.” Sabrina sat in the middle of the backseat so she could chat with us.

“I know those kinds of guys. They all seem to end up as cops that wear mirrored aviator sunglasses and have porn-star-worthy mustaches.” Kennedy said from the front passenger seat.

I knew the type too—assholes. They were the cops that liked to hassle me for looking like I was in a motorcycle club even though those days were long past for me.

“Talking to Gary sounds like a job for Derek Sawyer. A Navy SEAL will instantly have his respect.” Kennedy had twisted in his seat to face Sabrina as he spoke.

“I love that idea.” Sabrina leaned forward and patted Kennedy on the arm. I agreed; Sawyer played the hard-ass operator as well as any Hollywood actor and had the real-world experience to back it up.

“You’re sure you don’t want to talk with him?” I caught her eye in the rear-view mirror for a split second.

“Maybe after your SEAL explains things and we have Mom. She and I can tag team him effectively.” She leaned back and sighed. “Our relationship as adults is strained. Gary is still pissed that I actually liked mom’s second husband. In his mind, I’m a traitor to our father’s memory. Mom was a widow, and we were grown. I was happy she found a second love. Vito Colasanti was a great guy. A bit rough around the edges, but he treated Mom like a queen. He’s the one that set her up at Silver Palms. Left her a nice nest egg, too.”

“I get it. Family is complicated.” My own included, I thought. “Kennedy, text and explain the situation to Sawyer. See if our favorite SEAL has time to make the call to Gary for us.”

“Roger that.” Kennedy bent over his phone and a few texts flew back and forth between him and Sawyer. He asked Sabrina for her brother’s phone number, which she had to think hard to remember without her cell phone. “Sawyer will talk to officer Dalton.”

“Thank you. Tell Mr. Sawyer I owe him. What does he like to eat? I’ll cook for him.”

“Strawberries.” Noah and I answered in stereo.

“That’s a new one. I’ll have to think about it. I’m not a great baker, but I guess I could try.”

“He is kind of a health nut too,” I added, thinking about how Derek had broken free of some of his restraints since Lee Vance and he had gotten together. But he was still a pretty clean eater.

“What about you guys, favorite meals? If I’m going to be hiding in your building forever, I might as well cook for everyone. It’s the least I can do.” I couldn’t see her shrug of resignation in the rear-view mirror, but it came across in her voice loud and clear.

I wasn’t so sure she should plan on being a long-term guest of the Smith Agency. John Smith was many things, but patient wasn’t at the top of the list. He was like a chess player with a queen holding his opponent’s king in check. Once he was sure it was a winning move, he’d go in for the kill. Sandoval’s days were numbered.

“I’m up for taco Tuesday every day of the week.” Kennedy threw out.

“What kind?”

“I’ve never met a taco I didn’t love.” Kennedy rubbed his flat stomach with one hand.

“Alright. I make a great pork shoulder; it will feed everyone. What about you, Michael?”

There it was again, that blip in my pulse when she used my name. It was a dangerous, if lovely, sensation. One that had no place in my work life, but that didn’t stop it from happening.

“My mom used to make these big pans of old school red sauce lasagna for family special occasions. Tons of cheese and meat. I haven’t had any half as good as hers in decades.”

“I’m sorry she passed away; food memories are a great way to—”

“No. She, ah, lives in Boynton Beach. She just doesn’t make it anymore.”

Lasagna was my sister’s favorite and thus, like everything else related to Marney, better off forgotten. My family had a gaping hole in it the size and shape of my sister. One that had been there so long we all knew the void was permanent.

“Sorry, my bad.” She reached over the seat and patted my shoulder.

I made a sound that was half a huff and half an uncomfortable chuckle, too distracted by her hand to come up with a more eloquent response while driving. Her touch made me think of doing more than shielding her from Sandoval’s henchmen.

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