Page 33 of Nicole's Shelter

Where to start? The facts, she decided, determined to keep it simple and straightforward. “I witnessed a crime when I was in junior high.”

“Type of crime?”

“Murder.” And arson. One crime revelation at a time seemed like more than enough. Considering where they were headed and the allegations against her in the media, maybe she should’ve led with the arson. “When did your wife die?”

“While I was deployed.” He caught himself and glanced at her. “Or ‘when’ as in how long ago?”

She nodded.

“More than ten years. We weren’t even married a year.”

There was a wealth of bitterness in that matter-of-fact statement. She heard it because she understood it, had felt much the same when her life and family had been stolen from her.

She wished for her camera, though it would be rude. His face was unreadable as a stone mask, but the signs of pain and guilt were there. Might even be more obvious through the lens. She wanted to know more, starting with why and—

“Nicole?”

“Hmm?”

“It’s your turn. Did you know the murder victim?”

“Yes. He was my neighbor.”

“Did you know the murderer?”

“No. Weren’t we supposed to be taking turns?”

His grin was fast and unapologetic. “You caught me.”

“How long have you been doing this sort of thing?”

“What sort of thing?”

“Following people, gathering evidence, taking action despite resistance.”

“Long enough that it’s a habit.”

“Great.” He took the exit closest to her apartment—former apartment—and she blurted out the rest. “We had a rash of fires that summer. Small ones, big ones. They offered a reward and my friends and I considered ourselves detectives. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time when I saw the DEA agent execute my neighbor. I got away, but the next day I was suddenly a suspect in the arson investigation.”

“Nice stunt.”

“Not so much. My mom knew it wasn’t possible and I had an alibi for most of the dates, but even then I was a camera geek. I had pictures of the fire sites. They confiscated my camera and the pictures as evidence against me.” If she closed her eyes she could still see the arsonist’s signature at every scene. It was the last one that mocked her. She pulled away from the pain of those memories, getting back to what Rick needed to know.

“It wasn’t until I mentioned the, ah, thing with my neighbor during questioning that things really changed.”

“You told the police you witnessed an execution?”

“Basically. I don’t think I phrased it that well.”

“And you’ve been in WITSEC ever since.”

“Yes,” she whispered. The pressure was back along with the guilt and the pain. Staring at the yawning tragedy that had been her apartment building, she wondered about Mrs. Beaumont, Oscar, and all the others she didn’t know by name. “If you drop me off, the marshals will pick me up. I just have to make a call.”

“Is that what you want?”

What she wanted never mattered much. She tipped up the bill of the cap and rubbed at the tension building in her temples. “If you step away from this situation, one way or another, this gets solved.”

“The good guys take you to a new life or the bad guys take you out, is that it?”

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