Terri Reed - Secret Mountain Hideout

But let’s face it, she was a victim. A victim of being in the wrong place at the wrong time and seeing something that changed the course of her life.

“You must have been frightened.” The fingers of his right hand laced through hers.

She held on tight, absorbing some of his strength. He was a steadfast man like a giant oak that wind could neither bend nor break. “I would have had to walk right in the middle of their argument to go around to the front of the building and be let back inside.” She shuddered. “I shrank into the shadows of the garbage container, hoping they’d leave soon. But they lingered, continuing their arguing. Their voices were loud and angry.”

“You heard what they were saying?”

There was no mistaking the anticipation in his tone. She hated to disappoint him.

“Some, not all. Mr. Sokolov was yelling at the man about betrayal and trusting him when he should’ve known better.”

“This Sokolov character must have discovered the man was an undercover police officer,” Chase said.

She gasped. “I didn’t know. He wasn’t in uniform.” She tried to recall what the dead man wore. “He had on jeans, a T-shirt and baseball cap.”

“His clothing would make sense if he was undercover,” Chase said.

“Where was his backup?” Alex asked.

“That’s a good question,” Chase answered. “One we’ll have to ask Chief Macintosh.” Chase returned his attention to her. “Go on.”

“Mr. Sokolov reached underneath his coat and pulled out a gun.” The memory made her shrink a bit, her shoulders rounding and her chin dipping. She wanted to forget, to curl in a ball and pretend she hadn’t seen any of it.

“You saw this?” Alex asked.

“Yes.” She lifted her face and met Chase’s gaze. “He shot that man. I had to bite my fist to keep from screaming.”

Chase squeezed her hands.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. Anxiety fluttered in her chest. “The sight of that man crumbling to the ground and Mr. Sokolov stepping over the man he’d just killed like he was a piece of garbage will be forever etched in my brain.”

Now she could add watching the phony detective going over the side of the cliff. Definitely, the stuff of nightmares.

“So you ran away?”

“Not at first. After Mr. Sokolov was gone, I ran to the man to offer help. But he had no pulse. And there was so much blood.” She remembered gagging at the sight. “Then I heard a noise and ran back behind the garbage bin. Gregor found me there. He hustled me away from the restaurant.”

“Did someone remove the body?” Alex asked.

She glanced toward Alex and met his gaze in the rearview mirror. “I don’t know. I didn’t hear anyone else and I didn’t want to look again.”

Chase’s eyebrows dipped together. “How does Sokolov know you witnessed the crime?”

She’d wondered that, too. Had Gregor revealed her secret to Sokolov? No, wait. “Didn’t you say Peters, or whoever he was, had a photo of me leaving the back door of The Matador?”

“He did,” Chase answered. “But if you worked there, why wouldn’t they have known your name?”

She shrugged, sadness filling her chest. “I can only guess Gregor took me out of the system and that the others...” She swallowed back the choking sensation in her throat. “They must have covered for me.”

And risked their lives. For her. Why would anyone do that if that wasn’t their job? She couldn’t fathom it. But she couldn’t deny the warmth layering upon her fear. The people she’d worked with had protected her. There was no way for her to ever repay them.

“How long before the police arrived?” Alex asked.

She bit her lip. “I didn’t see any police.”

“Surely someone would have reported hearing a gunshot,” Chase stated.

She cocked her head, trying to recall more of that night. “It’s strange. I don’t remember hearing the gun go off.”

“The weapon could have had a noise suppressor like the guy today,” Chase told her. “But even those make a sound that would have likely echoed through the alley.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. She’d been frightened, her heart pounding so loud in her ears and her breathing labored from terror.

“What did you hear?” Chase pressed.

“I—I don’t recall.” She searched her mind, desperate to dredge up some answer, but there was nothing, just the looping images and the residual fear. “It was a year and a half ago. But I know what I saw.”

“Are you sure it was Sokolov who fired the fatal shot?” Alex asked, as he parked the vehicle in front of the sheriff’s station, a brick two-story structure that had been rebuilt after a fire last year.

Ashley couldn’t see any signs of the damage done by the blaze. The image of The Matador flittered through her thoughts and grief over what was lost twisted in her chest. “Yes.” There was no doubt in her mind about Mr. Sokolov’s guilt.

Alex twisted in his seat to study her. “Did the other guy have a weapon?”

She shook her head, embarrassed for not knowing the answer. “Not that I noticed.”

“Why didn’t you go to the police?” Chase asked. “That would have been the best course of action.”

Stung by his words and the fact that she hadn’t done the best course of action , she tried to explain. “I wanted to. Once the shock of it all wore off, my first instinct was to run to the nearest police station.” Her lips twisted. “But Gregor... He said I couldn’t trust the police. Mr. Sokolov owned too many of them. Gregor said I couldn’t trust anyone.”

“But you trusted Gregor,” Chase pointed out.

Ashley detected a hint of complaint in his voice. “I did. He was my friend and had helped me. But he couldn’t protect me long-term. Mr. Sokolov was cruel. Gregor had a scar on his face given to him by Mr. Sokolov when he’d let one of the waiters leave early because his child was sick. Everyone was afraid of Mr. Sokolov.”

“Why did any of you stay there?” Alex asked, his gaze genuinely puzzled.

She shrugged. “He paid well.” She focused back at Chase, taking comfort in his attention. “And when Mr. Sokolov wasn’t around, it was a great place to work.”

Chase’s gaze intensified. “Then why run?”

Her chin dropped a fraction. “Gregor said my only option to stay alive was to run, keep moving and never look back. Mr. Sokolov would kill me and everyone I loved.”

A scowl dipped Chase’s eyebrows together as if he didn’t like what she’d said. Neither did she. Being on the run, looking over her shoulder, constantly afraid had wreaked havoc with her mind.

“How did you survive this last year and a half?” Chase asked.

“Gregor gave me some cash, and the identification of a woman my approximate age and height and put me on a bus for New Mexico.” Those first few days were beyond stressful.

His gaze narrowed. He slid his hands from hers. “Wait, are you telling me you’re not Jane Thompson?”

The moment she’d dreaded had arrived. It was said that the truth will set you free, but she had a sickening quiver in the pit of her stomach that, in this case, the truth would condemn her. Would he still want to help her, knowing she’d deceived him and everyone else?

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