Page 27 of The Witness

“Will you come with me?” I asked Michael.

He was my superhero, my guardian angel. I trusted him to protect me and had since he’d found me wet and shivering onthe seawall. I didn’t rationally understand it, but now wasn’t the time to dissect my feelings.

“Of course.” Again, he answered without Smith’s approval, but this promise Michael could make and keep with or without Smith.

I pulled my hands away from Michael and rubbed my throbbing temples. “I need time.”

Thoughts bombarded me from all sides. The good. The bad and the ugly.

I’d promised Hailey I would make my restaurant a reality. When I mortgaged the house and liquidated my small retirement account to pay for Viande, I hadn’t hesitated. Did I stop taking risks now? Fear wasn’t my style any more than asking for help was. But this decision was different. A bankruptcy filing wasn’t deadly.

I could hardly breathe.

“Bad news.” Quinn rushed in. We all turned to her. “FBI is here with a material witness warrant for Sabrina.”

“Shit.” Sydney jumped from her chair. She snatched her small notebook and gold pen off the table. “I’ll do what I can to stall. John, if you plan on getting her out of here, do it now. And do it quietly.” She didn’t even glance in my direction as she hustled from the room.

“Can a lawyer do that? Help me avoid a warrant?” No one answered my stupid question.

“These are for you. Get changed.” Quinn shoved an armful of clothing at me. It smelled like an expensive perfume. The cloying, sickly sweetness invaded my lungs and made me want to retch.

Indecision paralyzed me and everyone waited for me to thaw. The weight of expectation in their gazes sent my heart racing.

“You have about three minutes to decide. If you stay, the FBI will take you in. Sydney will meet you at the bureau’s fieldoffice. But—” Smith for once seemed to be trying to soften the blow. Choosing his words with a care for my damaged sensibilities. “I can almost guarantee that you’d be killed in some kind of jailhouse incident sooner rather than later. Sandoval’s organization is good at those.”

How wrong I was. He’d been looking for the best turn of phrase to get me motivated or terrified.

“Boss, don’t freak her out,” Noah said in a quiet aside.

A choked sob that was half laugh escaped from my constricted throat. I looked at the clothes in my lap, the bold tropical print swam before my unfocused eyes. My pool of choices was getting smaller every moment, and it was infested with great white sharks. Cuba or FBI.

It really wasn’t a choice. Smith had only let me think I had a choice. The makeover suddenly made sense; he’d seen this coming. I needed to get out of Maimi.

“Think I’ll be home for Christmas?” It was less than two weeks until the holiday. I looked around the room, cataloging the range of expressions displayed on everyone’s faces. Kira and Noah looked relieved. Smith determined. And Michael resigned.

“You? Try us. I told you; I’m going with.” Michael said.

“Yes, you two should be home for the holiday.” Smith gave a small nod and wove his fingers together like the evil mastermind of a nefarious plan in a B movie.

Shit. I was going to Cuba.

Chapter 13

Michael

When Sabrina stepped out of the small storage closet at the end of the conference room wearing the borrowed clothes, I did a double take. She was a dead ringer for Gigi Mills in the short flowery dress and high sandals. Not ten minutes before I walked into this meeting, I’d seen Gigi on her way to our in-house shooting range with Derek Sawyer in a set of Smith Agency sweats.

Smith’s plan began to crystalize.

As far as an identity that would get Sabrina safely out of the building, it was a magnificent choice. Smith had planned well—always did, the sly bastard.

“Here.” Quinn passed a fancy handbag to Sabrina. “Put on the sunglasses. When the FBI agents ask for ID, use the one in the wallet.”

“Gigi’s car is in the lot. Her husband is waiting for you at the house on Star Island. Bags are already in the trunk.” Smith slid a set of keys across the table to me. The fob for Gigi’s Porsche was attached to a silver Tiffany’s key ring.

“Wait, what is going on? Who is Gigi?” Sabrina looked from me to Smith. She was breathing hard; her eyes were wide. An FBI warrant would make anyone nervous.

“No time. The FBI is in the lobby and the parking lot. Let’s go.” Quinn pushed me and Sabrina toward the door. I put my hand low on Sabrina’s back to steer her past any obstacle.

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