Walk In My Shadow: A Gripping Romantic Thriller (Mirror Book 3): A Mirror Novel (10 page)

It was Vance's hand. The adrenaline still pumped through her body as he tugged her outside with him. Together, they stood on the small terrace in the dark.

"He ran." Vance pointed to a faint line of footprints in the sand that she could make out if she squinted. "He had a good lead on me."

"Did he get into a car?"

"He ran pretty far along the beach. For all I know, he's still out there now, watching," Vance admitted. "That's what he gets off on doing. But I didn't want to leave you alone here in case he doubled back."

* * *

O
n the ride home
, they were both irritable and full of adrenaline. The buildup of sex with no orgasm—the indignity of being watched—made her fists clench every time she thought about it. Which she did a lot, in between thinking about how she always picked men who were temporary or bad for her.

Vance was, unfortunately, not temporary and
definitely
bad for her. A double whammy that made the sex better and the circumstances that brought them together suck doubly.

Until this point, she hadn't wanted to believe she was in true danger. Again. It just seemed like a high unlikelihood, like being stuck by lightning more than twice.

But that didn't mean she was going to be the fish on the end of the CIA's hook—or Vance's either. But Vance didn't act like she was bait when he was in bed with her. And no man was that good of an actor when he was coming.

Your instincts are still spot on
, she encouraged herself.

* * *

K
nox pulled
the cab to the curb and rolled down the passenger's side window, asking, "Did you call a cab?" to the group standing outside the restaurant.

The long-limbed, dark-haired woman turned easily from the people she stood with toward him. She walked slowly over to the car and bent down to look inside the window…and smiled. "What service. I'll make sure to compliment you to your boss."

"Don't bother. Get in." Knox motioned to the empty seat next to his with a nod of his head.

She didn't mind his gruffness. Said it was part of his charm.

Now, she crossed a long leg, her short skirt sliding up a toned thigh. How she hid weapons wearing so few clothes? Well, it didn't matter. He loved searching for each and every damned one.

At first, their encounters to blow off steam were more random. Gradually, over the past five years, they'd begun an unspoken method of planning them, especially if more than six months passed without their paths crossing

Now, Leila was becoming someone he thought about more and more, and he wasn't entirely happy about that.

To be fair, neither was she. Leila was former Mossad—she worked for herself these days and preferred it that way. They were two people who desperately wanted to remain unattached, and from the outside looking in, they probably looked like idiots, circling each other, playing it cool. Because neither of them were cool at all when they got together.

His phone buzzed in his pocket—Nita—or Dr. N, as they called her at the agency. He frowned and ignored it, because he was off for the night. For Vance or Abby, he'd pick up.

For Leila too, he realized as she gave him a small smile and motioned for him to drive on.

A
week later
—complete with daily run-ins with Vance—Abby was annoyed as hell at the tail but feeling better physically. And she was officially going stir-crazy, thanks to the spinning of her own mind, coupled with the whole project of trying to avoid Vance, who was, of course, right outside her door. She'd never thought she'd actually be grateful to get a call about Mary but she practically raced to the diner to meet her.

Apparently, Mary had requested to speak to Abby, since Sarah, her temp, couldn't authorize the request she'd placed.

Of course, Vance would follow her, but Abby resigned herself to the fact that there was no shaking him. She was in danger—she couldn't put her witness into her danger.

Abby steadied herself for yelling. Berating. Ridiculous demands. Looked forward to it, even. She ordered a burger and fries because she'd arrived an hour early and then she people-watched and waited.

She was still looking for Mary when a woman walked up to her. She blinked and realized she was looking at Mary.

What a difference a week could make.

Mary had cut her hair to below her shoulders, a modern, blunt cut, and dyed it a beautiful blond. She looked…classy, and, Abby thought hesitantly, happy, even. She’d blossomed, and Abby didn’t know whether to feel thrilled or guilty. Truth be told, it was with a mix of both that she said to Mary, "You look fantastic."

Mary actually blushed a little. Mary, who regularly cursed the marshals out on a daily basis for everything from her living situation to the number of channels she could get on the TV. There was still the air of toughness about her—Mary would always have that, and Abby thought it actually served her well. But gone was the bratty, chip-on-the-shoulder attitude, replaced by an inner peace that Abby figured she'd never achieve in her lifetime. What did it mean that Mary got there before her?

Maybe Mary should be the one giving the lectures.

"Thanks," Mary said finally, running a hand through her hair and shaking her head a little. "I just needed…to change." After a pause, she said, "I'm thinking of switching jobs, if that's all right."

"Well, tell me about it and I'll look into things."

Mary started to say something, then bit it back. "It's the bookstore and coffee shop on the corner, right by the drugstore. I spoke with the owner and he says there's an opening for a full-time worker. Even an opportunity for overtime, plus benefits. His name's Josh."

"I know him," Abby said. The bookstore had been there for at least five years, a neighborhood hangout. Not a bad place for Mary to be. "Is it because of Josh?" she asked bluntly. "Because that's never a good idea."

Mary rolled her eyes and for a second she was the old Mary, complete with the scornful tone. "Please. Look, Josh is a nice guy and it's a great opportunity, but I'm not stupid. I'm not getting involved with anyone—not till I'm on my feet. The drugstore's boring. The bookstore's my kind of place."

Abby would've pegged her comfort zone as more of a makeup/beauty salon/clothing retail—or not working at all, which was how they started out, with Mary being horrified of the actual word 'work.'

I guess your instincts have been sucking all around lately, Abs.
"Give the drugstore two weeks' notice—as long as the job's secured with Josh, I don't have a problem with it. Your paperwork's in order. Just remember—"

"My story. I know." Then Mary smiled. "It's cool, Abby—don't worry."

And since Mary's life was going better than Abby's, she couldn't.

* * *

"
N
ext week
, you'll get someone new," Carl was telling her. Abby'd been barely listening up until that point, but that got her attention.

She looked up from the pile of paperwork she'd been digging through since she left Mary. She'd been strangely energized about her job for the first time in forever, thinking maybe she could make a difference. But Carl's words deflated her immediately, because she knew what he was saying. Still, she attempted to play dumb. "Next week?"

"Mary goes to trial next week," he reminded her.

She'd known that—it was on her calendar, obviously, but she'd been repressing it. "Where's she being sent?"

Carl looked at her oddly. "You never ask."

Probably because she wasn't allowed to know. She was just a holding pen of sorts until after Mary did what she'd promised to in order to earn her protection up until this point.

What Mary didn't know was that protection didn't always continue after the trial. Because the witness protection program couldn't protect every single witness like Mary, and depending on how effective she was, how important she was to other cases in the future, she'd be cut loose.

The best Mary could hope for was that she'd learned enough about disappearing into thin air. But Mary was newly in love. She was happy.

She had no idea that after next week she'd need to leave this area and keep running.

This was part of the reason why Abby had become disenchanted with her job, which was keeping witnesses safe only to lose them after they testified or right before, after the marshals handed them over to the courts. "Does Mary know yet?" she asked Carl now.

"No. I thought it best if we waited until the last minute. She's always been skittish."

But she's changed, so much, and for the better
, Abby protested in her head. To Carl, she said, "Can she stay here after she testifies?"

Carl stared at her. "Did you get attached, Daniels?"

"Is that a problem?" she shot back.

"Don't get defensive with me, Abby. I've seen you go to hell and back. I'm not surprised this happened. I'm only surprised it took this long to happen."

"That doesn't sound like you think it's a good thing," she muttered.

"It's not. But it happens." He paused. "Maybe I should reassign you now. Make this easier on you."

I don't want easy.
"No," she said firmly.

"Then be prepared to hand her over when I say so." With that, Carl walked away.

Abby stared back down at her paperwork, the words blurring. She finished up a few pages, then stuffed it into her bag and left the office, hoping some fresh air would clear her head.

It didn't. Her head was clear—she was firm about not wanting to hand Mary over. Her choices? She could tell Mary the night before she was to testify to not be there in the morning, to hide and hide well. But another part of her nagged. What if testifying did finally free Mary from a life of running and hiding?

Could anything ever do that? Mary wouldn't ever stop looking over her shoulder, to some extent.

"What's the internal battle happening?" Vance asked.

Abby had noticed Vance walking with her into the diner, but he was such a fixture at this point it didn't register that he was paying close attention to her emotions. Once they settled into a booth and she ordered a soda, she asked, "Is it that obvious?"

"To me, yes."

She wanted to hate him for knowing her that well, but it gave them a shorthand that simplified things. So little in her life was simple that she'd take what she could get. "I have to turn a witness back over in a week. Lately, that hasn't been going all that well for them."

Vance sighed. "They signed up for that life, in some way, shape or form. You know that."

"Some of them are too young, dumb, and desperate to understand any of it. We both know that," Abby countered.

Vance's lip quirked up at the side, like he was trying not to laugh. "And now you're going to be their superhero?"

She fought the urge to throw her soda at him. "Someone has to. Aren't we supposed to be the good guys?"

"We are," he said firmly. "But we can't save people who screwed themselves. They know that WITSEC isn't a walk in the park."

"That's bullshit and you know it—it's sold to them like a second chance. A new life. A fresh start, and it's nothing like that."

Vance looked troubled. "Abby, if you can't handle doing your job, you need to get out. I'm telling you that, as a government employee, and as a friend."

"Would you have told me that before you kidnapped me as a member of the government, or was that done on your own steam?" she shot back, and when he didn't answer, she slammed her chair back, startling diners around them.

"Don't make a scene," he warned.

"Try me." She pointed at him. "Stay back. Don't talk to me anymore. I'm not kidding." She walked out of the diner, got into her truck and sped away from the scene. One glance in the rearview told her that, of course, Vance was behind her. There was no way to stop him from tailing her, but there was no law saying she had to interact with him.

She was tired. Tired of being followed, stalked by killers and crazies, tired of stalking them back. Tired of living under the constant threat of danger. She sagged under the weight of the responsibility. She surrendered to it, far younger than her father ever thought about doing, Maybe that was progress her mother would've been proud of. Maybe this was something she needed to get out of her system.

If so, she was definitely rid of it. She wanted to run away and never look back at any of it.

She'd had witnesses who'd run and she'd always found them. She knew the tricks on both sides. She could do it, and still make it so Teige didn't worry about her, and that gave her comfort in the knowing.

But she wouldn't run. Not tonight—tonight, she simply needed breathing room.