Witness Escape, page 1
“Why is everyone being so nice? What do they want?”
“They’re nice people. No one expects anything from you.” The light in Doug’s brain popped on. His assessment of Tabitha made him both sad and angry. The word that described her—used.
She shook her head. “No. People always have an agenda.”
“Not this time.” He held the door open for her.
“I wish I could believe that.”
“Give it time. We’ll convince you that we genuinely care about you and want to help.”
Her jaw dropped. “You don’t even know me.”
“But we want to.” Doug continued down the path to his SUV. He glanced over his shoulder and found Tabitha staring at him. “Are you coming?”
“Fine.”
Confident she’d follow, Doug held up his key fob and hit the start button.
The SUV exploded. The blast threw him backward into a parked car.
Flames shot from the SUV, warming his skin. His ears rang, and his head whirled. Debris floated in the air, and a dark haze drifted above him.
Had Tabitha survived?
Award-winning, bestselling author Sami A. Abrams grew up hating to read. It wasn’t until her thirties that she found authors who captured her attention. Most evenings, you can find her engrossed in a romantic suspense novel. She lives in Northern California but will always be a Kansas girl at heart. She has a love of sports, family and travel. However, writing her next story in a cabin at Lake Tahoe tops her list.
Books by Sami A. Abrams
Love Inspired Suspense
Deputies of Anderson County
Buried Cold Case Secrets
Twin Murder Mix-Up
Detecting Secrets
Killer Christmas Evidence
Witness Escape
Visit the Author Profile page at LoveInspired.com.
Witness Escape
Sami A. Abrams
There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.
—1 Corinthians 10:13
This book is dedicated to my friend Brenda Schulte. She is my cheerleader and the voice of encouragement when I’m discouraged with my writing.
Love you, Brenda Sue!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Excerpt from Unraveling Killer Secrets by Shannon Redmon
ONE
Wednesday, 7:00 p.m.
The warm day working with Valley Spring Fire Department Captain Phillip Scott on the recent arson case had sapped Detective Doug Olsen’s energy. Or maybe it had more to do with the disappearance and probable death of his Army buddy and good friend, DEA agent Michael Lane. A man who’d stood by him and vowed to help find evidence to put the person responsible for murdering Doug’s wife behind bars. Either way, Doug had hit his limits for the day.
He plodded toward a booth at the back of the local diner, Main Street Eats. He’d discarded his Kevlar vest, but sweat continued to drip between his shoulder blades. The evening temperatures had hung on, and he relished the cool interior of the restaurant.
The new owners had renovated the place into a fifties throwback café, and the customers loved the new vibe. Most days, he appreciated the atmosphere, but today wasn’t one of those days. A cool drink—or two—plus dinner called to him.
The greasy food aroma from the grill made his stomach growl. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, which consisted of a quick bowl of cereal. Not something that would stay with a person for twelve hours. The sun hung low on the horizon and inched toward disappearing until tomorrow. He needed food, rest, and answers. Not necessarily in that order, but he’d take the meal first.
“Evening, Detective Olsen.” Carl, one of the locals, greeted him. The man wore his typical Vietnam Veteran’s cap. The two had shared war stories many times over the past few years. Different wars, different challenges. Vietnam and Afghanistan, but he and Carl understood each other’s experiences on a basic level.
“Hey, Carl.” Tinged with guilt but not wanting to get roped into a verbal exchange, he waved at the older gentleman and continued toward the back booth.
Several patrons greeted him along the way. He smiled and returned the gesture. He hated dismissing Carl and the others, but if he stopped, a conversation would ensue. And right now, he desperately craved alone time with his thoughts.
The black plastic squeaked beneath him as he slid onto the bench seat. He placed two cell phones on the red retro table and sighed. His shoulders sagged. Doug had prayed for the past five years that he’d find enough evidence to convict businessman and drug dealer Tommy Wade for murdering his wife, Christine. So maybe Tommy hadn’t pulled the trigger, but he’d ordered the hit. Doug knew it. The police department in his hometown of Westmount, Indiana, knew it. The DEA knew it. Most likely, the FBI, ATF, and all the other alphabet-soup agencies knew it. But no one could put the proverbial smoking gun in Tommy’s hands. And even if they could, evidence had a habit of disappearing or having holes in it like Swiss cheese by the time the district attorney reviewed it.
Six months ago, Doug started working behind the scenes with his friend to bring down Wade’s entire operation. The drugs flowing through Anderson County made him sick, as did Wade’s untouchable status. But his hope deflated when Michael went missing and was presumed dead. The eyewitness saw Michael on the boat moments before it exploded. And his body hadn’t been found. The evidence left little hope that his friend had survived. There was no doubt in Doug’s mind the responsibility for yet another person’s demise landed at Tommy’s feet.
Doug had retrieved Michael’s special burner phone and a few files from his friend’s apartment earlier that day, hoping to find anything that would help him continue the investigation into the drug dealer slash murderer. Michael had hinted he was on to something big, but Doug had no idea what. They hadn’t had an opportunity to discuss his friend’s latest findings.
“Here’s your coffee, Detective.” The diner’s new waitress Beth Smith placed a mug in front of him. “Would you like a menu, or are you ready to order?”
He lifted his gaze to the petite brunette with the most intriguing green eyes. The woman stood beside him poised with a pen and pad of paper. She looked familiar, but he had no idea from where. Too tired to think straight, he set aside the mental puzzle for another day. He waved off the menu. No need to peruse the items. He had them memorized. Besides, tonight was all about comfort food. “Cheeseburger and fries, please.”
“Sure thing.” Funny how the woman rarely made eye contact with anyone. She reminded him of a scolded puppy, and that gave him pause.
“Thanks, Beth.”
She nodded and hurried to the kitchen.
Thankful Beth had remembered his standing drink order, he sipped the dark brew and closed his eyes. Life had taken yet another turn. Why, God? I want to honor my wife and put Wade behind bars. Christine deserved better than her killer going free. Too many years had passed without justice. And the guilt of not protecting her continued to plague him.
The bell above the door rang, pulling him from his thoughts. He glanced at Beth, who stood staring wide-eyed at the entrance. A family of four strolled in and sat near the front of the diner. After a moment, she relaxed—if you could call it that. She bustled over and greeted the two adults and their young children. She placed coloring page menus in front of the youngsters, then extracted two small crayon boxes that held three crayons each and handed each child a set.
On her way to the counter, she scanned the room again. Her gaze lingered on the front window with a view of Main Street. Dusk had fallen, and the glow from the streetlight threw shadows along the edges of the sidewalk. Something about her actions sent his detective senses on high alert.
The owners of Main Street Eats spoke highly of Beth, and Doug had never had any reason to question her presence in the diner since she started working there, but the fear in her movements concerned him. Almost as if someone had abused her.
Since he’d left the Army and started working for the Anderson County Sheriff’s Department, he’d seen his fair share of domestic violence cases. It baffled him how people treated each other that way. He’d give almost anything to have Christine back, and meanwhile there were men and women who abused the ones they claimed to love.
He made a mental note to keep an eye on the new waitress in case his instincts had hit the target. Maybe he’d do a little digging to ensure no one had harmed the woman and it was only his imagination running wild.
He returned his attention to Michael’s cell phone and punched in his friend’s passcode. Thankfully, Michael was predictable and used the same two passwords for all his devices and accounts. Doug had lectured him about security on multiple occasions, but Michael held his ground. One password, his favorite baseball team—Guardians. The other, the date they changed the team’s name, 72321. Right now, he wanted to hug the man for not listening.
Doug scrolled through his friend’s contacts, consisting of three people. Doug, Michael’s boss, and the initials TW. TW? He scratched his jaw. Michael said he had an informant. Maybe that’s who the initials belonged to.
He opened the text messages between Michael and the TW person and read.
Michael: You can do it. I know you can.
TW: I’m scared. What if something goes wrong?
Michael: I’ll hide you until it’s over.
TW: Promise?
Michael: Yes.
TW: Okay. I’ll do it.
Michael: Thank you, Tabitha.
Doug sat up straight. TW’s a woman? Who was Tabitha, and where had Michael hidden her? Doug’s number one priority became finding this woman—for her sake and his. If the text referred to Tommy Wade like he suspected, he refused to let the slimebag destroy another life. With Michael missing and probably dead, the woman needed help.
Beth approached and placed his plate on the table. “Here you go, Detective.”
“Looks good. Thank you.” He smiled at her and unrolled his silverware from the napkin.
The door chimed again, and Beth jolted.
A small group of teens chattered as they strolled to a table and sat.
Doug’s brow furrowed. The woman’s eyes widened, and her chest rose and fell at a rapid rate.
She turned to go.
“Beth, wait.” He reached out but her jumpiness made him withdraw his hand before making contact.
“Is there something else I can get for you?” She fisted the hem of her apron.
“No, it’s not that. It’s just...” He exhaled. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she squeaked.
“If you’re sure.”
She bobbed her head up and down.
Doug pulled a business card from his wallet and jotted down his personal cell phone number. “I’d like you to take this and call me if you ever need anything.”
“I don’t need—”
He held up his palm. “Please, it’ll make me feel better.” He debated whether he should talk with her boss. Something was seriously off.
Beth took the card from his fingers and tucked it in the back pocket of her black jeans. “Thank you.” Her voice so soft he had a hard time hearing her words.
He watched her walk away and wondered if he’d done the right thing by not pressing harder.
The smell of greasy fries and grilled beef made his stomach growl. He dug into the burger, enjoying the solitary moment, but his eyes never wavered from the timid waitress. He chuckled at himself. Stalker much? But he couldn’t deny that the woman’s apparent anxiety troubled him.
A protector by nature, Doug wanted to reach out and convince her to confide in him. He’d struggled for years with guilt over his wife’s death, but God had helped him through those times. One of the lessons life had taught him was that he couldn’t save everyone. And he’d embraced that truth—mostly. Despite that bit of wisdom, something about Beth made him want to try to save her.
The door chimed again, and a man in a tailored suit strolled in. He studied the patrons in the restaurant with laser-like precision.
Doug’s gaze shifted to Beth.
She spun and hurried into the kitchen like the building had caught fire.
The man continued his scan of the diner as if looking for someone specific, then turned and walked out.
Uncertain of what he’d just witnessed, but sure of one thing—trouble had found Beth, and she needed his help whether she asked for it or not.
* * *
Tabitha Wilson’s worst nightmare had caught up with her. Her breaths came in short pants as she smacked the crash bar of the diner’s kitchen door. She hurried into the darkening alleyway that connected with the small staff parking lot. She plastered herself against the brick wall and tipped her head back against the hard surface. Tears burned behind her eyes.
How had Clark Bretton, Tommy Wade’s second-in-command, found her?
Michael had promised to keep her safe. Where was he? He hadn’t answered his phone in twenty-four hours. She was worried about him...about her hidden identity. The man had checked in with her twice a day over the past couple of weeks—until yesterday.
She pushed off the wall and raced toward her car in the employee parking lot. She had to leave before Clark discovered her—assuming he hadn’t already. Two weeks of peace—gone.
A flat rear tire on her vehicle sent a jolt of panic through her. She skidded to an abrupt halt. Her stomach threatened to revolt. She had to get away from Clark. If the man grabbed her, she was a dead woman.
Instead of handing the task off to one of his minions, Tommy might kill her himself for running away. But if he knew about the murder evidence against him that she’d given to Agent Lane, not to mention the accounting data she’d collected as a backup for her own peace of mind, she could kiss a quick death goodbye. She shuddered at the images burned into her brain from the video she’d risked her life to acquire for Agent Lane. The one of Tommy torturing a man for disobedience.
How had she been so stupid to get involved with Tommy?
Trees towered beyond the pavement, casting shadows across the parking lot amplifying her unease. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Michael, where are you?” she whispered into the night.
“Beth?” A deep baritone voice sent shivers up her neck and over her scalp.
She spun and came face-to-face with Detective Olsen. Knees trembling, she placed her hand on the trunk of the car to steady herself. “Detective. It’s only you.”
“Doug. Please. And yes, it’s me.” The streetlight illuminated his worried expression. “Can I help you with anything?”
A refusal sat on the tip of her tongue, then she thought better of turning down his offer. “I...um...could use some help changing my tire.”
He glanced at the offending circle of rubber and scratched his jaw. His fingernails scaped against his five o’clock shadow. “Why don’t I drop you off at home after your shift, and you can come back tomorrow during the daylight to retrieve your vehicle?”
Tabitha pinched the bridge of her nose. She’d just walked out on her job. How would she explain it to her boss? “No. That’s okay. I can do it.”
“I’m not saying I won’t. I’d hoped to get it repaired for you in the morning.”
She tilted her head back and peered up at the man. His brown hair, not quite a military haircut, but short and neat. His brown eyes held a sincerity about them, but she couldn’t trust her judgment. Why the generosity? What did he want from her? “Just the tire, please. I appreciate your kindness, but I’d prefer to keep my car with me.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. “The tire it is. Do you have your keys?”
Tabitha nodded and pulled them from her jeans pocket. Michael had drummed into her brain the importance of keeping her keys with her at all times.
“Go ahead and pop the trunk. I’ll get the spare on and get you on your way.”
“Thanks, Doug.” She hit the unlock button on her key fob. The trunk bounced open. Her gaze darted along the tree line and across the darkened lot. Maybe Clark hadn’t seen her, and her new identity remained intact. Then again, when had life ever been kind to her? She chuffed. Never.
“I hate to be that person, but you ran out of Main Street Eats rather fast. If you need to go back to work or clock out and get your things, that’s okay by me. I’ll get the tire all fixed up while you do what you need to.” He jutted his chin toward the building.
She glanced down at her apron. Doug had a point. She had to return to the diner and apologize for her abrupt departure. “I think that might be a good idea.” Tabitha pocketed her keys. Call her paranoid, but Michael was right. Having a way to escape gave her a sense of security.
Doug dropped the spare tire on the ground then grabbed the jack from the compartment under the trunk floor. “Would you like me to walk you back?”
Tabitha’s heart rate kicked up a notch. No. She refused to allow her anxiety to take over. She’d made it this far, and determination fueled her to finish what she’d started. If Clark had seen her, he’d have grabbed her by now. Most likely, the man had moved on—for the moment. Then again, what if he hadn’t? A shiver rippled through her.
