Loree Lough - Saving Alyssa

“Not this time.”

“Boy, are you lucky.” A sly grin lifted one corner of her mouth. “Okay then, Mr. Poopie Pants, if my name is Alyssa, what is Daddy’s new name?”

Present tense, he noted. And she’d said new name, not pretend. A lucky break? Or had she figured things out, all on her own? The latter, he hoped, because if she slipped up, even once, they could end up dead.

Dead.

The word caused an involuntary flinch. It didn’t seem as if she’d noticed his movement, but just in case, he stuffed a huge bite of pancake into his mouth to hide it.

“The guy with the chipmunk cheeks, you mean? His new name is Noah. And you both get new last names, too. From now on, your name is Alyssa Preston.”

“But why? Mommy told me that Melissa was her grandma’s name. And that her grandma was her favorite person in the whole world...until I was born.”

George scrubbed both hands over his face. If it was that tough answering a question he’d no doubt been asked before, Nate didn’t know how he’d manage his own remorse for being the reason she was asking it in the first place.

“Well,” the agent said, laying a big hand atop Melissa’s, “you know why we don’t go outside, right?”

She speared a bite of pancake and used it to draw figure eights in the syrup. Nate winced when she said, “Because it’s dangerous, and we don’t want to get hurt.” She rested an elbow on the table, leaned her head on her palm. “But,” she said, emphasizing the word, “I think it’s a dumb rule.”

“I know,” George said. “But sometimes it’s the dumb rules that keep us safe. One of the dumb rules is you can’t use your old name anymore.”

She sat up straighter. “Never?”

“Never, ever.”

She put her fork on the napkin and leaned back in the chair. If she’d seemed sad or confused, Nate might have been able to ignore it. But she looked resigned to her fate, and that made him hang his head. Everything that had happened to her—her mother’s murder, her own near kidnapping, living like an Old West outlaw...all because of him. He deserved to die for that, but she did not. Joining the WITSEC program didn’t guarantee that, but, God willing, she’d never end up like Jillian.

George folded large-knuckled hands on the small table. “Think you’re big enough to remember all that?”

Her brow puckered slightly as she said, “’Course I am. I’m four.” She brushed blond bangs from her forehead and brightened slightly. “We learned about rhymes in school. Alyssa rhymes with Melissa. I can remember that.” She pointed at Nate. “And Noah starts with an N, just like Nate.” She shrugged. “Easy peasy.”

George sent Nate a nod of approval, then fixed dark eyes on Melissa. “Your daddy wasn’t kidding when he said you’re smart for your age, was he?”

Yeah, his girl was smart, all right. Smart enough to pass for a first grader when she started school in the fall? Smart enough to maintain the charade, permanently? God help them if she wasn’t.

His mind whirled with the memory of those final seconds in the courtroom: he’d just opened the big wooden doors when a loud, gruff voice had stopped him. “Nate...Nate Judson!” He’d turned, saw soon-to-be former Senator O’Malley straining against the deputies’ grip. As the officers half shoved, half dragged him away, he had shouted, “You can run, but you can’t hide!”

Nate groaned inwardly as George and Melissa swapped knock-knock jokes. He sipped coffee from a foam cup, remembering....

The deeper the prosecution dug, the more evidence they’d gathered on O’Malley. The stuff they’d coerced Nate into testifying about was just the tip of the proverbial iceberg. Even now, more than a year after agreeing to turn state’s evidence, the senator’s threat made his blood run cold, because despite a lack of evidence linking O’Malley to Jillian’s murder, Nate knew the senator had ordered the hit. And if his hired goon hadn’t coughed, alerting the school’s staff, he would have succeeded in kidnapping Melissa, too. “Nobody turns on me and gets away with it,” the senator had said.

George’s voice broke into his thoughts, and Nate wrapped trembling hands tighter around his coffee cup as the agent asked Melissa, “So what’s your new name again?”

“Alyssa Preston,” she said, and spelled it.

He aimed a thumb in Nate’s direction. “And he is...?”

“He’s my daddy.” Then she giggled. “I’m teasing you. His new name is Noah Preston.”

George nodded in approval. “Here’s a trick question. What’s my new name?”

“That’s easy. You’re Mr. Poopie Pants.”

Chuckling, George slapped his meaty thigh. “By Jove, I think she’s got it!”

He wasn’t smiling when he stood and looked at his watch. “Guess we’d better hit the road. We don’t want to miss our flight.”

Nate recalled the order of events George had outlined on the phone last night. Once his badge got them through security, they’d board the plane from the tarmac, rather than at the gate. To further confuse possible O’Malley disciples, they’d change planes in Detroit, and again in Philly before landing at the Baltimore airport.

Nate sipped coffee, wondering if their Baltimore-based sitter had stocked the apartment kitchen with real mugs, as promised. Over the past few weeks he’d spent enough time on the phone, and in Skype conversations with Maxine—aka Max—to know that she’d stocked the pantry and fridge, and added to the Walmart wardrobe George had provided. Everything they owned fit nicely in their backpacks, the only luggage they’d need between this dismal room and their new home in Ellicott City.

Nate slung his bag over one shoulder, helped Melissa into hers. She’d been a real trouper to this point, going along with every change, accepting every loss, for no reason other than that he’d given his word that things would get better soon. Would she feel that way after her favorite doll, Cassie, “disappeared”? Maybe. But just in case, he had an ace up his sleeve, an idea born as he’d tucked her in bed the night before last:

“Will Santa be able to find our new house?” she asked.

“Of course he will.”

“But how will he get in? Does our new house have a chimney?”

Nate hadn’t noticed a fireplace in the pictures Max had sent to his cell phone, but it was a hundred-year-old building.... “I’m not sure,” he had said, “but even if it doesn’t, we’ll leave a door unlocked. You can tell him which one when you send him your wish list.”

“I’m only writing one thing...puppy!”

His heart ached now, just remembering how excited she’d been when she’d said it. Nate hated to disappoint her, but what choice did he have? Dogs barked, relieved themselves outside, needed to be walked, and he couldn’t afford the exposure. Maybe he’d surprise her with a kitten instead, and hope it would ease the pain of losing Cassie.

George opened the door as Nate exhaled a frustrated sigh. “Ready, cupcake?” he asked, tousling his daughter’s hair.

She was on her feet and beside the agent in an eye blink. Fortunately, George was big enough to block the exit. Goose bumps formed on Nate’s forearms. He needed to be on guard for that kind of thing from now on, because if she darted out of his sight, even for an instant...

A shiver snaked up his spine as she chattered excitedly about her first airplane ride, about meeting Max in person. Melissa didn’t realize that Maxine Colson, like George, was a WITSEC agent. All she knew was that her Skype pal would meet them at the airport and deliver them to their new home. Max had helped Melissa find Baltimore on the map, taught her that the city was famous for the Orioles and the Ravens, steamed crabs and people who called each other “hon.” Nate didn’t know a whole lot more than that himself. But they had the rest of their lives to learn, together.