Kathleen Long - Reluctant Witness

“Who is this?” Kerri was barely able to push the words through the trepidation squeezing at her throat.

“Don’t talk to the cops again.”

The line clicked dead, and she froze momentarily, the receiver still pressed to her ear, her heart pounding in her chest.

She dropped the phone and raced back to Tom’s room, releasing a relieved breath when she spotted his sleeping form, unmoved from where she’d left him. Safe. Unharmed.

Returning to her own room, anger began to press through her fear, and she snatched the phone from the floor, dialing Wade’s number from memory.

He’d promised her—promised Tom—he’d keep their identities a secret.

He’d lied. Again.

He picked up the phone on the third ring.

“How could you do it?” Kerri heard the hysteria in her own voice and worked to calm herself before she spoke again.

“Red?” Wade sounded groggy, as if the turmoil and emotion of the past two days had caught up to him, just as it had caught up to Tom.

“They know, Wade. They know.”

“Who knows? What happened?” His voice was sharp now, alert and focused.

“I got a call. He told me not to talk to the cops again.” Tears shimmered in her vision as she spoke, and she blinked them away, willing herself to hold it together. “He said we should have minded our own business.”

“I’m calling McCann.”

“No.” Kerri’s voice boomed. “No more. Tom’s done helping you.” A tear slid down her face and she sniffed as she swiped it away.

“I’m coming over. Don’t answer the phone or let anyone else in until I get there.”

Before she could protest, Wade was gone. She took the phone with her into Tom’s room where she sat, in the dark, watching her son sleep, silently vowing to keep the voice on the phone as far away from him as possible.

WADE DROVE LIKE a bat out of hell, sliding his pickup into the mouth of Kerri’s driveway. His pulse had pounded in his ears ever since she’d told him about her mystery caller.

Damn. How had word leaked out about Tom’s involvement? Was McCann to blame? One of his men? Had someone from the media been lurking outside the station? Or did Project Liberation have someone on the inside?

He shoved the truck into Park, cut the ignition and launched himself from the driver’s seat, covering the ground between the truck and the house in several long strides.

Kerri yanked the door open just as he raised his hand to knock.

“I heard you pull up.” Moisture glistened in her eyes, mixed with the anger that had taken up permanent residence there. She still gripped the phone in her hand, and Wade reached for it, prying the receiver out of her tense fingers.

“Where’s Tom?” He pressed a hand to her back, and when she didn’t move away, a measure of relief eased through him.

“Sleeping.”

He led Kerri into the kitchen and pulled out a chair. She lowered herself into the seat then dropped her face to her palms.

“I’m sorry. I never thought this would happen.” He squatted next to her, putting one hand on her knee.

This time, she shoved him away, raising her gaze to meet his. “You didn’t think.” She scowled at him. “You didn’t think at all.”

“McCann gave me his word—”

“Apparently his word is worth just about as much as yours is.” Kerri cut him off before he could finish his thought.

Wade opened his mouth to protest, but hesitated. “You’re right,” he said, instead.

The surprise that flickered through her features was unmistakable.

“I should have thought this through. I should have left you and Tom out of this. You’ve been through enough.” He cupped her chin in his hand. “I’m sorry.”

Kerri blinked, visibly softening for a moment before she pushed away from him, standing, then crossing to the kitchen window.

“Right now, I don’t care whether you’re sorry or not.” She spoke softly, intently. “I care about you keeping us safe. That’s one promise you’d better keep.”

“I’ll call McCann in the morning. Find out who’s behind the leak.”

“The caller said no more cops.”

“We can trust McCann. And I trust him not to tell another soul about your caller.”

She studied him intently, then nodded, the movement so slight it was barely detectable. “I’m going upstairs. I want to be with Tom.”

“I’ll sleep on the sofa.” Wade reached for her as she passed, lightly gripping her elbow.

Kerri hesitated, meeting his look with eyes that had morphed from determined to exhausted. “There’s a blanket in the family room closet.”

“I remember.”

She nodded, then walked out of the kitchen. Wade waited until she’d climbed the steps, waited until he heard Tom’s bedroom door open and then close again before he moved an inch. He plucked the coffeepot from its stand and filled the water reservoir for ten cups.

He had no intention of sleeping on the sofa or anywhere else tonight.

As long as Kerri and Tom were asleep upstairs, he’d be awake downstairs. Standing guard.

WADE STOOD AT the front door and watched Tom head off on his bike to deliver papers. He smiled as the kid bounced his bike over the gravel drive, oblivious to the fact that somewhere out there, someone was furious there’d been a witness to the Pine Ridge fires.

“Are you sure this is such a good idea?” Kerri’s tired voice sounded close behind him. He turned to watch her drying a breakfast plate, going through the motion like a robot. An exhausted robot.

“Why don’t you try to get some sleep?” He reached for the plate and towel, taking them from her and tipping his chin toward the staircase.

“It’s okay.” She shook her head and frowned. “I slept a little.”

“I’m not buying that one again.” Wade returned his focus to the drive, catching just a glimpse of Tom as he vanished out into the street.

“You didn’t sleep, either.” Kerri stepped next to him, looking past him out into the yard. “Sofa wasn’t touched and if I’m not mistaken, half my can of coffee has gone missing.”

He stole a glimpse at her profile, detecting just the slightest hint of a smile at the corner of her lips. “Must have been Tom.”

“Right.” She looked at him, her features hinting at the warmth he’d missed for the past three years. “Thanks for watching out for us.”

With that, she took the plate and towel away from him and headed back to the kitchen.

Thanks for watching out for us.

Wade thought of Thomas—alone—out on the quiet road, delivering papers along the route he’d no doubt followed countless times before.

A habit.

A routine.

Dread coiled into a tight knot in Wade’s gut, and he reached into his pocket, wrapping his fingers around the keys to his truck.

What if whoever had made the call last night knew more about the Nelsons than just their phone number? What if he knew where they lived? Where Tom went to school? What time he set out every morning on his paper route?

“I’ll be right back,” he called out as he pushed out into the warm August morning and trotted across the stepping stones toward his truck.

His imagination might be in overdrive, but suddenly Wade couldn’t imagine why he’d ever let Tom head out the front door alone in the first place.

HE WAITED FOR the boy to round the corner, emerging from the private lane, headed toward the housing community a half mile down the road.

The description fit. Correct size. Correct approximate age. Correct hair color.

He kept his foot pressed on the van’s brake until the boy was far enough ahead that following at a distance wouldn’t draw unnecessary attention.

The boy’s paper-delivery bag bounced against his back as he careened over the gravel shoulder and onto the asphalt road. He then steered the bike back onto the shoulder, then back onto the asphalt, repeating the move like a game. Bouncing the front tire as he did so, holding his body up off the seat, as if riding a wave.