Page 7 of The Rogue

“With a court order—and for your own protection—we can, Tess.”

“Fine,” I grit. “I’ll get out of town.”

“And Tess. No more funny business.”

I roll my eyes and push off the wall. “Come on, Frank. You only had to bail me out once.”

Hardly. All the man did was make one phone call and give his FBI badge number, and it was 'no questions asked' by my old boss, Sheriff Bradshaw.

The only fucker I liked in that whole building.

“Tess, this isn’t a joke. Can you try to blend in for a few weeks this time without drawing attention to yourself?”

“A few weeks,huh?” Usually, when Frank sends me out of town, it’s for two to three months at a time. Except for late last fall, when members of the cartel were here for over six months on a job.

“I think so. This will all be over soon, Tess. We’re closing in. We’ll have you back here in no time.”

“Sure takin’ a long time to ‘close in’,” I mutter.

He sighs again. “It's complicated. Can't arrest one of them just based on one witness. The rest of 'em will disappear without a trace before we have enough on the others.”

“I know. My testimony is useless.”

“It’s not useless, it’s just that we need more. When we have more on the others, we’ll have you testify.”

I shake my head. All I’m hearing isyou’re not getting your life back any time soon.

“Where you goin this time?” Frank asks.

“La La Land.”

“Good answer.”

The agreement was that every time I needed to disappear, I would go to a different town to avoid suspicion or recognition.

If Frank knew my escape route had been Hideaway Springs for the last three years, he’d toss me right back in that safehouse and throw away the key.

“You got a fear of flying or somethin’?” Bessie asks. She’s the head chef at Dolmentos, a diner I work at when I’m in Summer Hill.

It’s a shithole of a town. One I ended up in because Eric—my dead ex-boyfriend—had some quick business to take care of.

I didn’t know what he was involved in.

And he didn’t know he was being set up after screwing up a delivery.

God, I hope he didn’t suspect a setup. Because if he did, the fucker deserved what he got for bringing me along.

Bessie is the only one who knows my story. She knew something was up with me the moment I walked in begging for a job—somewhere in the kitchen. Where no one could see me.

I’m in witness protection. And regardless of what I’ve been told, the FBI can’t keep me locked up in a safehouse against my will. So, Agent Frank Mercer and I came up with a mutual agreement. I cooperate by staying close to town and answering when they call, and they don’t take every legal measure to take away my freedom for my ‘own safety’.

“You know I can’t go far, Bessie.”

I wish I could. I’m so tired of this life, I could cry.

Icravenormal.

I crave sanity.

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