Page 46 of Safeguarding the Witness

As Spence escorted her back to the Escalade, he told her what he did at the hospital. “I looked in on Easton. He’s cranky as hell, didn’t get released and has a US marshal from the Portland office guarding his room.”

“Not a bad idea.” Especially since Youngblood was in town and had reason to prevent Easton from blabbing. “Did he say anything about the visit from me when I was pretending to be my sister?”

“He’s telling everybody who will listen that a beautiful Princesa came to see him and murdered his teddy bear in cold blood.”

“No wonder they wouldn’t let him go home.”

They’d already reached the car. Spence had parked in the emergency lot to avoid exposure, which made her wonder if the threat had become more intense. Julio had made his proposal, and she hadn’t given him a reason to believe she had accepted. But she didn’t think he’d just go away and leave her alone. He liked his plan to use her as a nanny for his unborn child and a substitute wife if Madison wasn’t in the mood. When he’d framed this idea, he claimed it was “unusual.” In her opinion, not so much. Plenty of guys had approached her and Madison about some kind of threesome. Having sex with twins seemed to be a popular theme for porn movies—a typical but creepy fetish.

As Spence drove through Salem and headed into the forest to the safe house, he took a route she didn’t recognize. An evasive maneuver to avoid being followed?

“Question,” she said. “If somebody wanted to track the Escalade, could they attach a GPS device?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I sweep the car frequently to make sure we’re not on anybody’s radar. But you can pick up trackers online or at electronics stores. People use trackers on their kids or their pets. It’s getting harder to disappear.”

“So Julio could find the safe house,” she concluded.

“He could. Plus, as I keep telling everybody, there’s always the possibility of using drones to survey the forest. The cabin has good cover under the trees, but there’s always a chance.”

“Should we switch to a different location?”

His brow furrowed. She knew he liked the solitude of the cabin in the woods, and the safe house had enough room to act as a headquarters for other security personnel, their equipment and vehicles. But was it really a secret?

“For tonight, we’ll stay in the cabin,” he said. “Your pepper spray attack on Julio and the arrest of two of his men must have slowed him down. But you’re right in assuming we might need a better solution.”

“A suggestion,” she said. “Maybe we could try a five-star hotel in Portland. That ought to be well-protected. And we can have gourmet room service massages and a sauna.”

“I like the way you think.” He reached across the console, took her hand and squeezed. “Just promise me you won’t get a manicure.”

She had no idea why he didn’t want her to polish her nails. “Whatever.”

* * *

Back at the log cabin loaded with artwork, Mollie felt her tension ebb. She was drawn into the kitchen, where the aroma of lasagna and garlic bread flavored the air. Quintana hadn’t rushed back here from Bethany’s place, but a gray-haired man with an apron over his fatigues took a tray of pastry cones out of the oven. “Cannoli,” he said.

“I can hardly wait for dinner.”

“You can help by tossing the salad. Then, we eat.”

She followed his directions, performing kitchen tasks she’d done a million times before. The repetitive chopping and peeling soothed her. The heat from the oven warmed her skin. She heard quiet classical music in the background. So gentle. So peaceful. And nobody was trying to kill her…at least, not at the moment.

She understood that the men and women who worked for Spence came from military professions and were adept with firearms and hand-to-hand combat. They reflected the personality of the man who had brought them together. Spence Cameron.

At the dining room table, she sat beside him. For a change, he wasn’t wearing a suit and hadn’t combed his hair. In his faded green camo pants, boots and beige corduroy shirt worn over a black T-shirt, he looked like a battle-ready Ranger. A more natural fit than his lawyer persona.

“You’re not wearing your glasses,” she said.

“Don’t need them for dinner. I use my glasses when extra-sharp vision is required, especially for shooting. Sometimes, for driving.”

She tried to remember the day she first met him in Denver. It seemed like weeks ago. “You didn’t use them when those thugs opened fire outside my house.”

“Prescription sunglasses.”

“Of course.”

He washed down a bite of lasagna with a swig of pinot noir and looked across the table at two of his team, who were following their conversation with interest. He pointed to the faint scar that ran from his forehead to his cheekbone, just below his left eye. “Do you think she’s curious about how I got this?”

The younger guy reminded her of Thornton, the bodyguard she’d tricked into letting her escape at Irma’s house. He regarded Spence with something akin to hero worship. “Well, sir, I wouldn’t mind hearing that story myself.”