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Conrad’s eyes get big. “Do you think so really?”
“There’s a chance. We’ll find out when we get there.”
I’ve never known a life outside of Austin. I was raised here, and when I married my high school sweetheart, I moved from my daddy’s house to my husband’s farm. To think I can never go home again both saddens and terrifies me. I will never again see my parents or my two sisters or any of my nieces and nephews. Our future is out of my control. But one thing is for certain: I will always look over my shoulder for the men I saw that godforsaken night, the night that changed our lives forever.
With a heavy heart, I push back from the table and take my son’s empty cereal bowl to the sink. “Come on, son. Let’s gather your things.”
Conrad traipses through the apartment to the room we share. We take less than ten minutes to pack his belongings—a toothbrush, the articles of clothing Eleanor has purchased for him, and his small collection of activity books and toys.
Before exiting the apartment, Eleanor hands me a small envelope. “If for any reason we get separated, you’ll need your new identification documents.”
I zip the envelope into my purse. “Have you found out anything about my royalties?”
Eleanor gives her head a solemn shake. “I’m still working on it. I should know more in a day or two.”
“You promised, Eleanor.” My loss of income is a source of contention between us. I’m an indie author of over twenty cozy mysteries that earn me several thousand dollars a month. For me to continue receiving my royalties, the government needs to determine a way to pay taxes owed and safely transfer the rest into a trust for me.
“I’m aware, Julia. And I’m making good on that promise. I’m hopeful we will have our answers soon.” She scoops Conrad into her arms. “Here we go. Stay close to me.”
U.S. Marshals carefully execute our departure from the building by holding elevator doors, sweeping us through the lobby, and escorting us to a waiting caravan of three black Suburbans. We’re directed to the middle of the three, where another marshal occupies the front passenger seat. I smile at him and he nods at me, but he doesn’t speak.
Eleanor buckles herself into the driver’s seat and speeds away from the curb. Tears stream down my cheeks as we drive through the streets of my hometown one last time.
A tiny voice in the seat beside me asks, “Why are you crying, Mommy? I thought you were excited to go to Adventure.”
I force a smile. “I am, sweetheart. Just a little sad to be leaving Austin. But don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” I pull my tablet out of my purse and hand it to him.
I never had to restrict his screen time when we lived on the farm. We rarely watched television or played video games. Since entering Witness Protection, however, all he’s done is play video games. Eleanor promises freedom, but our lives will never be normal.
I wait until we’ve left the city limits of Austin before dumping the contents of the envelope Eleanor gave me into my lap—new Social Security cards and birth certificates for both of us, and a government identification card for me. Also included is a prepaid credit card worth several hundred dollars.”
I run my finger across the names on the birth certificates. Julia and Conrad Becker. Casey and Levi Bishop have ceased to exist. Mother and son have vanished into thin air.
THREE
WILL
I’m at the construction site for a multimillion-dollar home on Sandy Island when a patrol car pulls up, and the young officer I’ve been spending too much time with lately gets out.
Cody tips his hat at me. “Afternoon, Will.”
I give him a curt nod. “Cody. I assume this isn’t a social call.”
Cody’s cheeks blush as he shakes his head. “Sorry, sir. Detective Marlowe needs to see you at the station. Do you need a ride?”
“Nah. I’m heading back to town now anyway. Tell Marlowe I’ll be there in a few minutes.” I roll up the blueprints for the house and slide them into a cardboard tube.
Maurice appears at my side. “Is everything all right, boss?”
“Marlowe wants to see me again. I don’t know why the police can’t let Tracy rest in peace.” I clap Maurice’s shoulder. “You’re doing an excellent job here, as usual. Keep up the good work.”
“You can always count on me, boss. If you need anything, you let me know.”
“I will. And I appreciate your support.” I feel Maurice’s hazel eyes on me as I make my way to my pickup truck. Maurice has worked for Darby Custom Homes since my father first started the company fifty years ago. At the time, Maurice was a teenager, right out of high school, and while he’s pushing seventy now, he’s still going strong. Not only is he my most valuable foreman, he’s one of my best friends, more of a father figure to me than my dad. He’s worried, as am I, about the continued harassment by the police into my wife’s accidental death.
I leave Sandy Island and cross back over the Merriweather Bridge into town. The bridge is named after my ancestor, one of the town’s founding fathers. Prestigious men and women, senators and lawyers and renowned community volunteers make up the branches of my family tree. At least on the branches above my immediate family. My mom, Eileen Merriweather Darby, was the last to carry the family name and the first to tarnish it by being a drunk.
Coming off the bridge, I take a left onto Main Street. I admire the attractive buildings, a mixture of old and new, that house businesses like gourmet shops, boutiques, and flower stores. Coastal Hardware, one of the few establishments I frequent, takes up an entire city block on Main Street.
