The Witness

ask me. Polite as your great-aunt Martha.”
    “If I had a great-aunt Martha, she’d be a bitch on wheels.”
    “She never asked about her mother. About Griffith, but not her ownmother. That tells you something. I’m going to fix her some bacon and eggs.”
    He pulled open the refrigerator, got out what he needed.
    “Do you want me to contact the prosecutor? You know he wants to talk to her asap.”
    “Let’s give her time to get some food in her belly. But, yeah, better if he meets with her here before we move her. And better if she has a little time before she realizes she could be living in a safe house for months.”
    “Maybe years. How could somebody smart enough to be going to Harvard—at sixteen, no less—get herself mixed up with the Volkovs?”
    “Sometimes being sixteen’s enough.” John laid bacon in the skillet, set it sizzling.
    “I’ll make the call. Tell them two hours—give her time to get dressed, eat, settle.”
    “Check on the mother’s ETA while you’re at it.”
    “Will do.”

5
     
    B Y THE TIME E LIZABETH CAME BACK IN, WEARING JEANS and a blue tank with a thin froth of lace at the edges, he’d piled a plate with bacon, eggs, toast.
    “Did Detective Griffith pack everything you needed?”
    “Yes. I wasn’t sure what to do with the suitcase. You said we weren’t staying here.”
    “Don’t worry about it. Eat while it’s hot.”
    She stared at the plate. “That’s a lot of food.” Bacon? Her nutritionist would have a heart attack.
    The idea of the reaction made her smile.
    “You look hungry.”
    “I am.” The smile stayed in place when she looked up at him. “I’m not supposed to eat bacon.”
    “Why?”
    “Processed meat, sodium, animal fat. It’s not on my approved list. My mother and my nutritionist have devised a very specific meal plan.”
    “Is that so? Well, it’s a shame to let it go to waste.”
    “It would be.” The scent drew her to the table. “And you went to thetrouble to cook it for me.” She sat, picked up a slice of bacon, took a bite. Closed her eyes. “It’s good.”
    “Everything’s better with bacon.” He set a tall glass of juice and three Tylenol beside her plate. “Take those, drink that. I can see the hangover.”
    Now the smile fell away. “We shouldn’t have been drinking.”
    “No, you shouldn’t have. Do you always do what you should do?”
    “Yes. I mean, before yesterday. And if I’d done what I should have yesterday, Julie would be alive.”
    “Liz, Julie’s dead because Yakov Korotkii is a murderer, because the Volkovs are very bad people. You and Julie did something stupid. She didn’t deserve to die for it. And you’re not responsible. Take the Tylenol, drink the juice. Eat.”
    She obeyed more out of the habit of obedience than desire now. But, oh, the food was so good, so comforting.
    “Will you tell me what happens now? I don’t know what happens now, and it’s easier to know what I’m expected to do.”
    He brought his coffee to the table, sat down with her. “A lot of what happens next depends on you.”
    “Because my testimony as to what happened, what I saw, what I heard, will be necessary to convict Yakov Korotkii on the murder charges, and the other man as his accomplice. And Ilya as an accessory after the fact. Also, it could implicate Sergei Volkov, though that may be hearsay, I’m not clear on that. He would be the most desired target, as it appears he’s the head, or one of the heads, of the organization.”
    John leaned back in his chair. “You seem to have a solid grasp on the situation, as it stands.”
    “I’ve been monitoring some criminal justice courses, and doing a lot of reading.”
    “Since yesterday?”
    “No.” She nearly laughed, but it caught in her throat. “Since I started college. I’m interested.”
    “But you’re studying to be a doctor.”
    She looked down at her plate, carefully scooped up a bite of scrambled egg. “Yes.”
    He got up, opened the fridge again, took out a Coke for himself, then a second. He cocked a brow in question.
    “I’m not supposed to— Yes, please. I’d like a Coke.”
    He opened both, then sat as a compact woman with blond hair in a sleek ponytail stepped in. “Liz, this is Deputy Marshal Norton. Terry, Liz.”
    “How’re you doing today, Liz?”
    “Better, thank you.”
    “Liz was just asking about the process, though she seems to have a handle on it. Terry’s contacted the U.S. Attorney’s Office. You’ll have a