Page 4 of The Witness

I wiped his blood on the leg of my jeans and fished the wallet from his jacket.

“Behind my ID. There is a business card. Go to them. Tell Smith I sent you.”

My fingers were clumsy, and it took me a few tries to free the scrap of paper. The card was worn, the corners rounded, and the white paper dull from life in Lewis’s wallet. The bold blacklettering said, “The Smith Agency” and gave a downtown Miami address.

“I can’t leave you. I’ll tell the police—”

“Nothing. Go. I didn’t take two bullets so you could be stupid.”

Lewis Wright’s eyes fluttered closed and his head sagged against the booth, his labored breathing the only sign he was alive. The sirens were getting louder. It was now or never, and I’d be damned if Lewis risked his life for nothing. I’d started this; I’d see it through or die trying.

The cold reality was if these men had found me, I'd be dead right now. The realization of my situation hit home with the force of a freight train. Sandoval wanted me dead. All my worries about my new restaurant suddenly disappeared.

I was running for my life.

Shuffling backward away from Lewis, I fled into the kitchen. I leaped over the cook’s body and slammed out the back door into the fresh air and bright sunlight. Fear flooded my veins like a powerful drug. I had to get the fuck out of there.

Leaning against a power pole near a row of parked cars was a red ten-speed bike. It probably belonged to one of the dishwashers or something. I didn’t care. I jumped on and started pedaling like my life depended on it, because I was pretty sure it did.

Chapter 2

Michael

Itossed the red solo cup with the dregs of my cranberry margarita in the trash before jogging down the stairs from the rooftop. The sounds of everyone enjoying the Smith Agency holiday party faded as the door behind me slammed closed.

The office’s nighttime security lights dimly illuminated the empty first floor. Everyone had moved upstairs around the fire pit on the roof. I moved past the cubicles and dark computer screens in the shadowy room that I knew as well as my home.

I paused at the reception desk and pulled out the big silver mag lite we kept in the middle drawer. What dumbass teenager thought it was a good idea to swim in the Miami River at night and then try and spray paint our building? There had to be dozens of others that were easier to access than ours. Stupid kid.

This place was a fortress.

I pushed open the front door and walked around to the back of the building whistlingJingle Bellsas I enjoyed the beautiful December weather—cool but not cold. A nice breeze and not a cloud in the dark sky. Ah, Florida. Ahead of me was the ten-foot-wide sliver of pavement between the rear of the building and the seawall. I typed in the combination to open the gate in the razor-wire-topped fence that walled that area off from the rest of the Smith Agency property.

From up on the roof, I’d spotted the kid. He’d managed the impressive feat of climbing up the seawall, but now he was marooned with nowhere to go but back in the water. Based on how he’d sprawled on the ground, it looked like the river had already kicked his ass. Now it was my turn.

The smile on my face probably looked like the Grinch before stealing all the presents down in Whoville. I twirled the mag lite like a baton, then flipped it on. Nothing I liked better than scaring a kid straight. It was a civil service, a good deed.

The chain-link gate opened with an impressive clatter. Loud enough it should scare the little shit. An intervention like this was all about drama.

“Yo, asshole. You think you’re Santa Claus or something?” I dropped as much threat into my voice as possible and played the beam from the powerful flashlight over the narrow area between the back of the building and the seawall’s edge.

I was sure everyone still at the party was leaning over the side of the roof, watching the scene play out. Better make it entertaining. My light found the kid, a drowned rat, in a growing puddle of water. He turned on his side, coughing. In the glare of the flashlight, his long dark hair glistened.

The rational part of my brain was still assembling the facts that a more primitive part already understood—the long hair, the delicate cough, the slight build and her small bare feet.

It was a woman.

I was on my knees at her side in a split second. I cupped her shoulder, wishing I’d not tried to scare anyone straight. Her icy wet clothing clung to her shivering body, revealing a form that was definitely female. She coughed and turned her head to look at me. I angled the flashlight so it wasn’t blinding either of us. Her wild eyes were liquid green and darted from my face to the surroundings.

“Are you okay?” Obviously, she wasn’t, but it was the only phrase that I managed to put together. I slid a few strands of hair back from her pale face. She wasn’t a kid, far from it. The fine web of wrinkles by her eyes put her around my own forty-three years. The curve of her cheek and the sharp upturn in her nose gave her a beautiful elfin look. Fragile. Elegant.

She shook her head and coughed again, curling up in the fetal position on the hard ground and spitting out water. I winced, the wet rasping noise cutting into me like a knife. She needed to get warm and dry.

“Let me help you.”

After a beat to consider me and my offer, she nodded slowly.

I threaded my arms behind her shoulders and knees to pick her up. She weighed nothing. She was tiny—maybe five feet tall. I cuddled her against my chest like she’d been in my arms a million times. It felt right.

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