Shirlee McCoy - Lone Witness

Henry jerked the woman sideways, shoving her behind the Dumpster. He followed, throwing himself in front of her and Everly as the first bullet shattered the quiet and slammed into the metal near his head.

A bullet pinged off the brick building, the casing dropping to the ground and rolling under trash that littered the alley. Another slammed into the ground just beyond the Dumpster they were hiding behind.

Sirens screamed in the distance, but help was too far away. The next bullet could pierce the metal and slam into Tessa, the little girl she carried or the man who’d shoved them behind the Dumpster.

“We need to get out of here!” Tessa yelled as a third bullet hit the building just above them. Bits of brick and mortar rained down, clattering onto the ground and skipping across the concrete.

“It’s okay,” the man said, pressing her into the old brick wall. She knew the alley, the buildings on either side—a barber shop and an art shop—the streets that crossed in front and behind it. She knew where she was, but she doubted the police did, and she doubted that staying where they were was going to make anything okay.

“It is not okay,” she whispered, shoving against his solid weight, the little girl still in her arms.

“It will be,” he replied.

“How do you know?”

“He’s not going to come around the Dumpster. He has no idea if I’m armed.”

“ He is armed. That’s what’s going to matter to him.”

“What is going to matter to him is escaping. He might want to get rid of a witness, but he won’t risk losing his freedom to do it.”

It made sense, but that didn’t make her feel any less like a sitting duck.

She shivered, her body smashed between the wall and the man.

She hated the feeling of helplessness that brought, the memories that clawed at the back of her mind. Other dark mornings and late nights when fear had made her cower and beg. When she’d fled Patrick, she’d promised herself that she would never do those things again. That she would fight or go down trying to.

She tried to move, but the man was a solid mass of muscle and sinew, all of it focused on keeping her where she was.

“Let me go,” she demanded, her voice shaking.

She hated that as much as she hated feeling helpless.

He stepped back, just enough to let her breathe. She inhaled cold air and baby shampoo. She’d done what she’d set out to do. She’d kept a child from being kidnapped. Now, she wanted to go to the diner and get back to the familiar routine of prepping for opening. That felt safe to her, and it felt more right than staying in the cold alley waiting for the police to arrive.

“I need to get to my job,” she murmured.

“Your boss will understand if you don’t show up,” the man said gently, reaching for the little girl and taking her from Tessa’s arms.

“You don’t know my boss.”

“No. I don’t,” he said, his attention on the child.

“He’s counting on me to open the diner.”

“The police will want to speak to you first.”

“They can find me at Ernie’s.” She knew it was unreasonable. She knew that she needed to stay where she was. The police would want to speak to her. She’d have to give a statement. There’d be dozens of questions about what had happened and what she’d seen.

But, all she wanted to do was walk away.

Just like she’d done three years ago.

She knew that wouldn’t solve anything. Running from problems never did. Her grandmother used to tell her that. The one person in her childhood who had actually cared, Hester had done her best to give Tessa a firm foundation on which she could build a better future.

It had taken way too many years for Tessa to do that.

“The police will know where that is,” she continued.

“You’re in shock. You’re not thinking clearly. If you were, you’d realize that the best thing for you and my daughter is to wait here until police and medics arrive,” the man said in the calm and patient tone she would have used with a screaming toddler tossing biscuits on the floor of the diner.

“Is she really your daughter?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry this happened to her.”

“Me, too,” he responded, frowning as he looked at the little girl. “She’s never this soundly asleep. Everly?” He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.

“Her pulse is good. I checked in the Jeep.”

“Thank you for doing that, and for saving her.” He shrugged out of his jacket and spread it on the ground, stepping far enough away that Tessa could have left if she’d really wanted to. He laid Everly on the coat, checking her pulse and then running his hands down her arms and legs.

“No breaks,” he murmured, reaching into his back pocket and tossing a phone in Tessa’s direction. “Can you call nine-one-one? Give the police our location and ask for an ambulance. Make sure they know this is related to the report of a kidnapping.”

She made the call, her hands shaking, her voice trembling. When the operator asked for her name, she hesitated before giving it. She’d worked hard to create a life she could be proud of, one she thought that God would approve of and that her grandmother, who’d died when she was fourteen, would have applauded. She was risking that by allowing herself to be drawn into someone else’s drama. The fact was, in the past, she’d done things she wasn’t proud of. None of the people in her new life knew that. None of them really knew her. Not the real her. She wanted to keep it that way.

But, she also wanted to help.

She wanted to make certain that the person who’d tried to kidnap Everly didn’t try to kidnap another child. She wanted to do the right thing, because it was right. Even if it cost her everything she’d worked for.

She crouched next to the man and his daughter, watching as he checked the little girl’s bruised shins and bare feet. He pushed up the sleeves of her nightgown, turned her arms so the exterior building lights fell on them. There was a smudge of blood on one arm, and he paused, studying it for a moment.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Puncture wound. She was drugged.” He took off his flannel shirt and tucked it around Everly, his face hard, his expression unreadable. He had a five-o’clock shadow on his chin and dark circles beneath his eyes. Short hair. Muscular build. Even if he hadn’t told her he was with the FBI, she’d have guessed he was law enforcement or military.

“Your wife must be worried sick,” she said, imagining the girl’s mother waiting at home, praying that her daughter would be returned. “Maybe you should call her and let her know you found Everly?”

She handed him the phone, and he tucked it into his pocket. “Her mother died the day she and her twin were born.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said.

“Thank you. It was difficult. Some days, it still is. Diane was a wonderful person. She would have been a great mother. I wish she would have at least had the chance to meet her daughters.”

“I can’t imagine how hard it must have been to grieve her loss while trying to take care of two newborns.”

“They were in the NICU for a while, and my in-laws were a huge help. By the time I brought the girls home, I had people lined up to step in and help out. I’m very fortunate in my friends, and I’m very fortunate tonight ended as well as it did.” He touched Everly’s cheek, tucked the shirt around her a little more tightly.

Police lights flashed on the pavement and a radio crackled. Help had arrived. Soon half the population of Provincetown would be aware of the attempted kidnapping. People would be congregating on the street, trying to get a look at the girl and her rescuers. There would be local reporters jockeying for position, trying to get the best photo and the best answers to the most insightful questions.