The Witness

speculation that I’d snapped, shotJohn and Terry, blown up the house. Cosgrove and Keegan had each other to back up the story, how they’d gotten there just seconds too late. And Cosgrove was wounded.”
    “John got a piece of him? What about ballistics?”
    “It was through-and-through. They said the lights went off, and they couldn’t be sure who fired at them, but Keegan got Cosgrove out. The house exploded as he called it all in.
    “So I ran. I took a bus to Indianapolis. I got supplies, another motel, and I made new identification, and with it and some of the cash I bought a used car from a junk dealer that got me to Nashville. I waited tables there for three months. Then I changed my hair again, my ID again, and moved on.”
    She drew another breath. “There wasn’t much on the news anymore, and I wasn’t quite able to hack into the files—the U.S. Marshals and FBI. I went to MIT on a forged ID and transcripts, and monitored classes on computer science, and anything else that seemed helpful. I connected with a student there, a boy. He knew a lot about hacking. More than I did. I learned from him. I slept with him, then I left him. I think he cared for me a little, but I left him with only a quick note once I’d learned all he could teach me. I moved around every few months, a year at the most. Changed IDs, modified my appearance. The details aren’t really important.”
    She paused again. “I’m wanted for questioning in the murder of two U.S. Marshals.”
    He said nothing, just pushed to his feet, walked over to the window.
    And the world dropped away for Abigail. He would be finished with her now, she thought. Everything would be finished now.
    “Have you kept tabs on Cosgrove and Keegan over the years?”
    “Yes. Keegan has been promoted several times.”
    “Good, you know where they are, what they’re doing. That’ll save time and work.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    He turned back to her. “You don’t think we’re going to let those two bastards get away with murdering two good cops and implicating you? For keeping you running since the day you turned seventeen? For doing all that so another murderer and his murdering, thieving, son-of-a-bitching friends and associates could walk on killing an innocent girl?”
    She could only stare at him. “You believe me.”
    “Jesus, of course I believe you. I’d believe you even if I wasn’t in love with you, it’s so obvious you’re telling the truth.”
    “You still love me.”
    “Listen up.” He stalked back over to her, pulled her to her feet. “I expect—no, I demand—more respect than that from you. I’m not some weak-spined half-ass fuckhead who slithers off when everything’s not just exactly perfect. I loved you an hour ago. I love you now. I’m going to keep right on loving you, so get used to it and stop expecting me to let you down. It’s insulting, and it’s pissing me off.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “Good. You should be.” He yanked her in for a kiss, let her go. “Where’d you learn to shoot?”
    “John taught me initially. I lived in Arizona for a time, and took lessons from an old man. He was a conspiracy theorist and a survivalist. He was interesting but not entirely stable. But he liked me, and was very knowledgeable. I spent time at a number of universities, under assumed names. I needed to learn.”
    “What’s in the locked room upstairs?”
    “I’ll show you.”
    She led him up, unlocked the triple locks. “It’s a safe room,” she said, as she opened the door.
    And a frigging arsenal, he noted. Handguns, long guns, knives. Shelves of packaged food, bottled water, a computer setup as elaborate as her station downstairs, a chem toilet, clothes, wigs, hair dye, batteries, he saw, as he wandered. Flashlights, dog food, books, a freaking grappling hook, tools.
    “Did you set this up yourself?”
    “Yes. I needed to learn, as I said. I learned. I have several alternate IDs and passports in here, in a lockbox. Cash, credit cards, and the laminate and paper I need to make still more IDs, if necessary. It’s against the law.”
    “Oh, yeah. I’ll arrest you later. Okay, you know how to protect yourself, and you think ahead. You’ve been at this how long now?”
    “Twelve years.”
    “Long enough. Time to stop running.”
    “I want to. Today, I thought …”
    “What?”
    “It’s not rational.”
    “Jesus, Abigail.” Despite it all, he had to laugh. “Be irrational.”
    “It seemed like