The Witness

sterling record in law enforcement, someone with position and authority, credibility. Someone this Garrison is likely to believe.”
    “And if I buy into this, I go to Chicago and make this contact, what then?”
    “It opens the door for us to set up a meet between her and Abigail, at a location we choose.”
    “I would continue to monitor law enforcement chatter and communications, so I’d know if they’d attempt a trap, or if any of the people I believe or suspect to be in league with the Volkovs learn of the communication.”
    “You’re crossing a lot of lines here.” He turned a cool, hard eye on Brooks. “Both of you.”
    “Tell me, Captain, what do you think her chances are of living to testify if she goes in straight, with the moles in place, the Volkovs whole?”
    “I believe in the system, Brooks. I believe they’d protect her. But I can’t blame her for not believing it. If it was someone I loved, I’m not sure I’d believe it, either.”
    He exhaled deeply.
    In the quiet yard with the dogs softly snoring, a little garden fountain gurgling, Abigail wondered the scrape of her nerves under her skin didn’t screech like nails on a blackboard.
    “We may be able to do this your way, smoke out Keegan and Cosgrove, and those like them,” Anson began. “We may be able to make some key arrests that put a hard dent in the Volkov organization. And then? Are you willing to go into witness protection?” he asked Brooks. “To give up where you like to be, who you like to be?”
    “Yes.”
    “No,” Abigail said immediately. “No. I wouldn’t have agreed to come here if I believed that would be a result. Elizabeth Fitch will meet Special Agent Garrison, will testify. Only three people know Elizabeth Fitch and Abigail Lowery are the same person, and that has to remain constant. If a connection is made between them, I’ll disappear. I can do it.”
    “Abigail.”
    “No,” she said again, quietly, fiercely, to Brooks. “You need to do the right thing, and you need to protect me. You can do both. I’m trusting you to do both. You have to trust me. I’ll be Elizabeth again, for this, and then she’s gone. She’ll disappear, and Abigail can live her life. I know how to bring down the Volkovs, and in a way I believe they’ll never fully recover from. It’s not about guns and knives and blood. It’s about keystrokes.”
    “You’re going to take them down with a computer?” Anson demanded.
    Her eyes, calm and green, met his. “That’s exactly right. If I can do what I’ve theorized, and the authorities listen and act, this will be over. I’m putting my life in your hands, Captain Anson, because Brooks trusts and respects you without qualification.”
    “Let’s go in, have some coffee,” Anson said after a moment, “and talk this through.”
    S HE INSISTED ON DRIVING BACK . Brooks had barely slept in thirty-six hours, and would be on duty within another six. So he kicked back the seat and caught a little sleep on the drive.
    And gave her time to go over everything, again.
    Joseph Anson would go to Chicago, make contact. He would not use or reveal the name Abigail Lowery but tell Agent Garrison that Elizabeth Fitch had come to him, told him the story, given him theagent’s name. He’d relate information Abigail had previously funneled to Garrison.
    If Garrison followed her previous pattern, she would report only to her direct superior. Then the process would begin.
    So many things could go wrong.
    But if they went right …
    She could belong to the man sleeping beside her. She could learn what to do at backyard barbecues. She could become Abigail so that everything that happened from that point on would be real.
    She would finally look out from the witness chair in the courtroom, stare into the eyes of Korotkii, Ilya, Sergei Volkov, and speak the truth. As Elizabeth.
    No, as Liz, she thought. At least in her mind, she’d speak as Liz for Julie, John and Terry.
    And she’d use everything she’d learned in the past twelve years to strip the bones of the Volkov organization clean.
    H E STIRRED AS SHE TURNED toward her cabin.
    “I’ve been thinking,” he said.
    “I thought you were sleeping.”
    “Some of both.” He brought the seat back up, scrubbed at his face with his hands. “So I was thinking you should ask me to move in with you. I’m practically living here now,” he added, when she said nothing. “But maybe you could make it official.”
    “Do you want to live here