The Witness

me.”
    “I am.” She looked out the side window at the blur of landscape.“More than I have anyone else in a dozen years. If this goes through, and others believe me, it would lead to arrests, trials, my testimony. And there could be repercussions. You have to understand that.”
    “We could go on the way things are, let it alone. And both of us—I think both of us—would never feel quite okay with it. Safer, but not quite okay.”
    “Safe’s been enough for a long time now.” She looked back at him, still in wonder how one person could change everything. “It’s not now. Still, it won’t be enough to hurt the Volkov organization, to just damage it. To be okay and safe, we have to destroy it.”
    “Working on it.”
    “I have some ideas. But not all of them are strictly legal.”
    She watched the grin move over his face. “That doesn’t surprise me. What do you have in mind?”
    “I’ve been working on something, but I need to refine it a bit more. It’s technical.”
    He glanced over, and down at her laptop. “Nerd stuff.”
    “I suppose. Yes, nerd stuff. If we do this, I’ll need to spend more time and effort on the programs I’ve been developing. In the meantime, and again, if your captain agrees, you have to decide on your communication. Once he makes contact with the FBI on this matter, they’ll track his communications.”
    “We’re going to make a stop on the way, pick up some prepaid cell phones. That should cover it for the time being.”
    “It should.”
    He reached over, briefly laid his hand over hers. “We’re going to find a way.”
    She believed him. It made no sense, defied all logic, and yet she believed him.
    Her nerves ratcheted up when Brooks drove down the quiet street in the pretty neighborhood. Old leafy trees, green lawns, lights glowing against window glass.
    Captain Anson might attempt to arrest her on the spot. He might insist on contacting the federals.
    He might not be home, which would be anticlimactic and somehow more stressful.
    He might—
    “Relax,” Brooks said and stopped in front of a tidy two-story house with attached garage and a lovely red maple in the front yard.
    “That’s not possible.”
    He shifted so they were face-to-face. “In or out, Abigail? It’s your choice.”
    “In, but I can’t relax about it.”
    If she had to run, she wouldn’t allow him to run with her. She wouldn’t allow him to give up his life, his family, his world. She had an extra set of keys in her bag, and could be out and gone, if necessary. If that happened …
    “Whatever happens, I need you to know these past weeks have been the best of my life. Being with you changed me. Nothing will be the same for me again, and I’m glad of it.”
    “We’re going to win this, starting now.”
    “All right.” She ordered Bert to stay, and got out of the car.
    After Brooks skirted the hood, he took her hand. She did her best to focus on that contact as her heart began to thud in her throat.
    Lights glowed in the window, and she could smell spring, and the oncoming summer—the grass, the heliotrope, dianthus, some early roses. She felt the anxiety build, an anvil on her chest, and closed her eyes against it for a moment while Brooks knocked.
    The man who answered boasted broad shoulders and heavily salted dark hair gone thin at the temples. He wore khakis and a blue golf-style shirt with reading glasses hanging from the pocket by the earpiece.
    His feet were bare, and from somewhere behind him, Abigail heard the commentary of a ball game.
    His eyes were a hard steel blue, until the smile burst onto his face.
    “Son of a bitch, it’s Chief Gleason at my door.”
    “It’s good to see you, Captain.”
    “Son of a bitch,” Anson repeated, then gave Brooks a one-armed hug while he measured up Abigail. “Are you going to introduce the lady?”
    “Abigail Lowery, Captain Joe Anson.”
    “Nice to meet you, Abigail. Man, Nadine’s going to be sorry she missed you. She took her mom on a girl’s trip—a spa thing—for her mom’s birthday. She won’t be back till Sunday. Well, come on in.”
    The living room looked comfortable, Abigail thought, lived in and easy, with framed family photographs on a wall shelf and prettily potted houseplants on the windowsill.
    “I was catching the game back in the den. Just let me switch that off.”
    “Sorry to interrupt, to drop by like this.”
    “No need. It’s my second night baching it. I’m boring the hell out of