Page 6 of The Witness

It had taken me all day to make my way from the Oceanfront Diner to downtown Miami. Every moment it felt like Sandoval’s hired killers were only a step behind me. Now I was about to pull these strangers into my waking nightmare.

I turned to look at Michael Steel leaning against a wall to my left, trying to blend into the linen wallpaper. Looking like he did, Steel was fighting a losing battle to be invisible, especially in such an elegant setting. His shaggy hair, beard, and tattoos stuck out like a sore thumb in the Smiths’ chic apartment. The space looked like something out of Architectural Digest: the cozy Miami edition. And Steel looked like a biker ready to hop on his Harley.

Strangely, Steel’s silent presence made me feel better. The Smiths were a team, and I longed for someone on my side, even if it was an illusion. All day I’d been alone—isolation feeding my fears. The big burly giant that had carried me from the river was the only ally I’d had since this morning. The few moments I’d spent cradled in his massive arms as he carried me inside the Smith Agency building had done more to put me back in a sane state of mind than the hot shower or the tea.

I’d been unraveling since I bolted from the Oceanfront Diner that morning. My goal: get to Smith. Now that I’d made it, I floundered, unsure how to proceed. Asking for help wasn’t a normal part of my life. My middle name should have been self-reliant.

And there it was: the guilt. I never wanted to put another person in the position that I’d put Lewis in. Sadly, going it alone wasn’t an option I thought had much chance of success.

I sucked in a breath, ready to tell my tale. I was too uncomfortable to make eye contact, so I spoke to the mug in my hands. “FBI Special Agent Lewis Wright sent me to you. He said I could trust you.”

I took another sip of tea, hoping to steady my voice. In restaurant kitchens, I had learned to sound big and bold, brave and in control, no matter the shit storm that might have landed us in the weeds during service. But tonight, my bravado failed me.

“Agent Wright is a good man,” Smith answered.

I nodded and swallowed hard, clenching my jaw against the blubbering sob lodged in my chest. I fiddled with the yarn of the sweater, trying to find the ability to power through the next few minutes.

Where to start—the diner or the boat?

The touch of Michael Steel’s hand on my shoulder made me jump. He cupped my shoulder and squeezed. His expression radiated compassion. I leaned into the connection; warmth seeped through me from his palm. My hunched shoulders relaxed a bit, and I breathed a little easier. It was odd that a man that looked so scary was the one thing affording me comfort.

I sniffed, preparing myself. At last, I lifted my head to look at the Smiths. My resolve was a fragile thing. Michael stroked a circle on my shoulder with his thumb, the subtle encouragement exactly what I needed.

“This morning, Agent Wright and I were at the Oceanfront Diner waiting for witness protection to come get me when—” I broke off. How did I explain what happened at the diner? I hadn’t even seen it go down. I’d been hiding in the cooler.

“Masked gunmen shot up the diner,” Smith stated succinctly in a voice devoid of inflection. He might as well have been reading a grocery list.

I nodded, and Michael gave my shoulder another encouraging squeeze. “They shot Lewis twice.”

“The story has been all over the news. But we did not know Agent Wright was involved.” Kira's voice was flavored with botha slight Slavic accent and compassion. “When you finish telling us your tale, we will find out his condition.”

“Thank you. It’s my fault Lewis was hurt. I’d like to know if he is going to be okay. He said they were after me. He said only trust you. That you’d help me.” I studied Smith. He was an astonishingly average man in his mid-fifties, but for the burning calculation in his gray eyes. Being caught in his stare was unnerving.

Nothing about Smith made me think he would be the superhero that I desperately needed to rescue me.

I tipped my chin up, looking at Michael Steel standing next to my chair. Maybe he was my superman. Lord knows I needed someone to save me because at this point, I wasn’t sure how to save myself. Still, the risk to all of them made me reconsider.

“What are you involved in?” Smith leaned closer like a moth to a flame; he seemed attracted to danger.

They should turn me out. I’d already gotten one good man shot. And this place seemed too normal. I needed commandos or super soldiers. Not a workplace that had holiday parties. I let my gaze wander around the Smiths’ home. It bounced from a Christmas tree with handmade popsicle stick and painted dried pasta ornaments to a school photo of a boy about ten years old pinned to the fridge.

I shouldn’t be here. The fear that had kept me company all day took hold. It was time to leave.

“I’m not sure I should get anyone else involved.” I started to stand, but Michael’s hand on my shoulder stayed my progress.

“Wright wouldn’t have sent you here without reason. Tell us what’s going on. We can help. It’s what we do.” These were the first words Steel had spoken since he’d joined me and his bosses in the apartment. He coupled his words with another gentle squeeze of my shoulder before removing his hand. I missed the grounding connection instantly.

Resettling in the chair, I dug deep, looking for my last shred of bravery. I recalled the careful way Michael had carried me and the calm that seeped into me while in his embrace. On some elemental level, I trusted him and had from the first. He said they’d help. I needed to believe.

Fuck, he’d better be right.

More than anything, I wanted these people to help me get my life back.

For the first time since fleeing the Oceanfront, I let myself think about my restaurant. My dream. The promise I’d made on my daughter’s deathbed to succeed. I had to trust that the Smith Agency could resurrect my dreams or else I was as good as dead.

My gaze unwavering, I dropped my secret into John Smith’s lap.

“I saw a woman murdered by Rafa Sandoval.”

---