Rosamund swallowed. “So, what are you saying? Round-the-clock protection?” She tried to imagine having to wine and dine security at her place while essentially giving up her privacy. But wasn’t that preferable to being killed?

  “We’ll be placing you in the federal witness security program,” Paxton stated with a straight face.

  “What?” For a moment, Rosamund thought she misunderstood him.

  Then he reiterated it. “We need to keep you out of harm’s way till Griswold goes to trial in a few months. I know this may seem extreme, but—”

  She interrupted him, “Witness security program, really?” The thought of what that could entail unnerved Rosamund. “Can’t you assign marshals or even a secret service detail to protect me?” She glanced at Monroe Cortez, who remained impassive.

  “We intend to do the former. Not so much the latter.” Paxton rubbed his jutting chin for a beat. “In this instance, even that is insufficient for protecting you.”

  Rosamund sensed there was more to this. “What aren’t you telling me?” Or will I need to figure it out myself? she thought uneasily.

  He paused again, his forehead wrinkled. “We have good reason to believe that Simon Griswold put a hit out on you.”

  “What?” she said, chilled at the notion.

  “According to one of our informants, Griswold has hired an unidentified professional assassin to take you out,” Paxton told her bluntly. “Griswold figures that with you out of the way, he walks. He has a good point. Your testimony and corroborating evidence are enough to put him away for life. But if you die, with Langford no longer around to testify in court, the case against Griswold could very well fall apart. It’s a chance we’re not willing to take.” He flashed his eyes at Cortez. “This is where the U.S. Marshals Service comes in. Till we go to trial, under the WITSEC, they’ll be relocating you, and providing a new identity and authentic credentials to that effect. U.S. Marshal Cortez will coordinate this and brief you accordingly.”

  “I’ll be happy to answer any questions you have, Agent Santiago,” Cortez spoke up.

  Indeed, Rosamund did have more questions than she could get out at once, unsure precisely how this would work. But one question in particular came to mind. “When exactly will this go into effect?”

  “It already has,” Cortez responded matter-of-factly. “From this point on, your life is no longer your own, per se.” Cortez looked at Paxton for help.

  “You won’t be able to go back to your apartment,” Paxton advised her. “It’s too dangerous. Agent Flannery will drop by, accompanied by deputy marshals, to collect a few personal items and clothing and that’s it. You’ll need to hand over your cell phone and laptop, along with any other devices that have information that can identify or track you and possibly lead a hired killer to your whereabouts.”

  Virginia touched her shoulder. “I’ll be sure to keep my intrusion into your personal space as minimal as possible,” she uttered sympathetically. “And it will be just as you left it upon your return.”

  “Thank you,” Rosamund acknowledged, knowing she was only doing her job.

  “Sorry our newfound partnership will be short-lived,” Virginia said. “But we can pick up where we left off once the threat has been neutralized and Simon Griswold and his cronies have been put away in federal prison for the rest of their lives.”

  Rosamund nodded. Griswold deserves nothing less after his coldblooded murder of Johnnie, she thought. Same for his partners in the crimes involved within human trafficking. She looked forward to coming out of this on the other end and resuming her career as an HSI special agent. That was, assuming she was successful in hiding from Griswold’s hired assassin. The fact that he was willing to take this to such extremes made it clear that he feared what she knew and would say in court to take him down. She had to abide by the rules if she was to successfully testify against Griswold and reclaim her life.

  As if to hammer down those sentiments and sense of urgency, Paxton, with his thick brows knitted, said, “I don’t think I need to tell you, Agent Santiago, just how important it is for you and the DHS’s Center for Countering Human Trafficking, along with the other agencies involved, to keep you alive and able to do your job as laid out.”

  “I’m able and willing to do what’s necessary, Sir,” Rosamund made clear, in spite of some concerns about making the needed adjustments that came with a new life. How could she not acquiesce, considering the alternative? “You can count on me to cooperate fully.”

  For the first time since she’d come into his office, Harold Paxton flashed a smile. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He glanced at Cortez. “Well, let’s get this over with, and in no time flat Simon Griswold will pay the price for all his illegal activities and then we can all go about our business of enforcing the law against other lowlifes like him.”

  Rosamund grinned in an act of cooperation, even while feeling butterflies in her stomach in taking on a new and unexpected challenge in her career.

  * * *

  ROSAMUND HAD BEEN temporarily relocated to Weconta Falls, a small, picturesque waterfront town tucked away in Northern California, not too far from the San Francisco Bay Area. Admittedly, this was the type of place Rosamund could have imagined retiring to, with its peaceful environment, abundance of Douglas fir, Western hemlock, and tanoak evergreen trees, and parks, and running trails. Problem was that her desired retirement was years, if not decades, away. Rosamund would have preferred to be back on the job, trying to do her part to put away the bad guys. Such as Simon Griswold. But she needed to lay low until such time when her testimony could wipe the smugness off his face, even as he awaited trial.

  In the interim, she was now Tisha González. Rosamund had chosen the name as a combination of her beloved late grandmother’s middle name and the last name of a childhood friend, Maria, before she married and took her husband’s surname. Rosamund felt the new name had a nice ring to it, even if she lived for the day when she no longer needed to use it. But for the time being, she would do whatever was asked of her if it meant staying alive.

  That included not drawing undue attention to herself, while still trying to fit into her new surroundings. Presently, she was at the Creek Crust Townhouses complex on Fenella Street, where she had been provided an end unit on a dead-end street.

  “Well, here it is,” voiced her handler, Leah Redfield. The deputy U.S. marshal was in her midthirties and well-proportioned on a five-foot-nine frame. She had short red hair in a pixie bob cut and blue eyes. This was her fifth year on the job and second as a divorcée. “Probably not what you were used to, huh?”

  Rosamund sized up the downstairs. Fully furnished with contemporary furniture, it was pleasant enough with a separate living room, dining room, den, and kitchen, with engineered hardwood flooring and faux wood blinds on bay windows. I’ll make it livable, she told herself. But still, she already missed her spacious split-level loft, with its floor-to-ceiling fiberglass windows, vinyl plank floors, and bamboo furniture. “It’s fine,” she told the handler, committed to trying to make the most of it.

  “Why don’t we take a look upstairs,” Leah said.

  Rosamund followed her up the staircase and found two bedrooms similar in size and with furnishings matching those downstairs. Again, not her taste, but it would have to do for as long as she was a resident of Weconta Falls. And who knew how long that would last. They went back to the main floor and Rosamund noted the door off the kitchen. She asked, “Where does that lead to?”

  “Actually, I was just about to show you.” Leah opened the door. “It’s a direct access to the garage. And your car.”

  “Really?” Rosamund stepped into the garage, curious. In her other life, she had recently purchased a Subaru Forester Sport. She eyed the silver vehicle.

  “It’s a Hyundai Elantra,” Leah told her. “Comes with GPS to help you get around more easily. Keys are inside.”

  “Hmm...okay.” Rosamund was ready to take it for a test drive, but that would have to come later, as they went back inside the townhouse.

  “There’s a security system,” Leah said. “It’s a pretty safe area, so there shouldn’t be any problems, generally speaking.”

  “Good.” Rosamund nodded, while thinking that an assassin was past the point of generally speaking, should he or she ever find her location before the trial. So a security system was an important part of her safety. Along with her firearm, one of the few things she had been allowed to keep in her new life as a means for self-defense.

  “Using the program’s vast resources and connections with a temp agency, we were able to find you a job as a waitress at a restaurant in town,” Leah was saying. “I looked at your file and saw that you did some waitressing in college. So this should be a piece of cake for you and save the trouble of looking for something yourself.”

  Rosamund frowned. “I’m still drawing my salary, but not able to access it, of course,” she pointed out, which was the least her employers could have done for an involuntary reassignment until it was over. In the meantime, before this went into effect, she was able to draw out some cash from her savings that had been tucked away for a rainy day, which this certainly qualified as.

  “That’s great you’re still getting paid. Not all persons under witness protection are afforded that luxury.” Leah smoothed a thin brow. “But it’s important for you to give the guise, if nothing else, of fitting in with a normal life so as not to stand out. Working in a job that doesn’t draw much attention is part of that process.”

  “I understand,” Rosamund relented. “Don’t mean to be difficult.” Or maybe venting a little made her feel better about the situation. She forced a grin. “When do I start?” She hoped the waitressing all came back to her in a snap.

  “Tomorrow,” her handler said. “All you need to do is show up. The sooner you get acclimated, the better.”

  Rosamund nodded. “Juggling dishes and drinks, here I come,” she joked.

  Leah chuckled. “Well, I’ll let you get settled in.”

  “All right.” She walked her to the door, while Rosamund wondered what the future had in store for her as she navigated this new life under an assumed name.

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” Leah turned around and pulled out a cell phone from her leather jacket. “This is for you.” She handed it to Rosamund. “It’s a secure line and you’ll always be able to reach me whenever you need to. I’m sure it goes without saying that you’re not to use it to contact family, friends, colleagues, you get the picture. Anyone from your former life who has even an inkling of your whereabouts could put you in danger, along with themselves.”

  “Got it.” Rosamund clutched the cell phone to her chest. One of the most painful things in leaving Dallas was not even being able to call her parents and younger sister to say goodbye. But those were the rules of WITSEC, along with temporarily removing access to credit cards, bank accounts, social networks, and any other traceable means for someone out to kill her. She was more than up to the task, having no desire to jeopardize the safety of anyone she cared about.

  Leah smiled. “Then I’ll be on my way.” She gave her a supportive look. “Good luck with this.”

  Rosamund smiled back. “Thanks.” She saw her out and peeked through the window as Leah got into her official vehicle, a red Buick Encore, and drove off. Alone for the first time since all this started, Rosamund got the measure of the place she would be calling home for the foreseeable future. She ended up in the en suite of the primary bedroom. Glancing at her reflection in the mirror above a soapstone countertop, she took note of the new hairstyle. Her previously mid-back-length curly dark hair, cut in a U-shaped blunt style, was now medium length in a layered lob. She liked it, but it would still take some getting used to. It hadn’t been a prerequisite of the program, but more of a precautionary move to make her appearance that much different than before. What hadn’t changed was having a complexion that made it unnecessary to wear much, if any, makeup. Hopefully, I’ll fit right in with the surroundings and new job, she told herself. As though she had much of a choice. Not when it came down to that in order to stay alive.

  * * *

  THE HITMAN WONDERED where the pretty Homeland Security Investigations special agent was hiding. Rosamund Santiago had seemingly vanished into thin air. At least that was what Special Agent in Charge Harold Paxton would have one believe. In coordinating with U.S. Marshal Monroe Cortez, they had put Rosamund in the federal Witness Security Program and relocated her somewhere across the United States, other than Dallas, believing she would be safe from harm. Long enough to testify against the hitman’s employer, Simon Griswold. Well, think and think again. That would not happen. As far as the assassin was concerned, the question was not if, but when he would fulfill the hit on the target for which he was being paid handsomely.

  He was sure it would be sooner than later. Rosamund Santiago may be living under a different name to try to escape her all but certain fate, but he was undeterred. The hitman was methodical in tracking down those slated for death. His very reputation depended upon finishing every job he started. That meant following every lead and turning over any stones that would point him in the right direction. Enjoy hiding out, Agent Santiago, for as long as you can, the hitman thought, feeling the adrenaline rush that came with the hunt before the kill. When it was over, Rosamund Santiago would be dead like her late HSI partner, Johnnie Langford. And with this, the case against Griswold would go away.

  * * *

  DETECTIVE RUSSELL LYNLEY sat in the well-worn tufted armchair at his equally weathered wooden desk inside the small office at the Weconta Falls Police Department. The office had been passed along to him eight months ago by his predecessor, Fritz Kowalski, who retired the day he reached sixty-five, while still able to go out on his own terms. Russell only wished he could say he’d taken the job under his own terms. Instead, his life and times had been more or less dictated by family heritage and misfortune. None of which he had been able to have much control over, if not for lack of trying.

  His parents, Taylor and Caroline Lynley, had both been involved in the criminal justice system in Oklahoma, where Russell was born and raised. While his father had a career in law enforcement with the Oklahoma City Police Department, rising to the rank of chief of police, his mother left her mark as an Oklahoma County District Court criminal judge. When they weren’t dispensing justice, his parents were raising four children, including one adopted. Like Russell, all would end up following their parents’ footsteps into law enforcement.

  Russell was the third oldest sibling, behind Scott and Madison, and just ahead of Annette. After graduating from the University of Oklahoma with a Master of Science in Criminal Justice, Russell chose to go Scott’s route in joining the FBI, becoming a special agent. Two years ago, he had been based in St. Louis, Missouri, enjoying the good life with his college sweetheart turned wife, Victoria, and their seven-year-old daughter, Daisy. Then unimaginable disaster struck. A brazen daytime home invasion left his wife and daughter dead, devastating Russell. Though the culprits were apprehended, tried, and convicted, before being sent to prison for the rest of their disgusting lives, the violent victimization left its mark on his life, coming so soon after the death of Russell’s parents two years earlier in a car crash. Losing Victoria and Daisy had shaken his faith in human nature and the laws of morality.

  Feeling empty and disillusioned, Russell quit his job with the Bureau. In spite of the support of his siblings, who had always been there for him, it simply wasn’t enough. Wanting to seek a new direction in his life, he landed a job with the Weconta Falls PD as a senior detective and had settled, more or less, into a life in the small town in Northern California. While he wouldn’t go so far as to say it was a crime-free atmosphere—there were the occasional murders, attempted murders, and other crimes of violence—much of the criminal activity was nonviolent or juveniles stirring up trouble to escape boredom. All in all, it was a nice respite from the big city crime and its consequences that he had left behind.

  Though he would always carry with him the treasured memory of his wife and daughter, Russell had reached the stage where he was at least open to pursuing a new relationship, should it come knocking on his door and the pieces fit. Until such time, he was content to roll with the punches in simply fitting in and enjoying the things he did in his personal life, such as jogging, working out, reading, and relaxing to the sounds of jazz standards.

  Russell was finishing up some paperwork on an investigation into an overnight shooting between feuding neighbors, leaving one with a non-life-threatening gunshot wound to the leg and the other in jail, when Detective Ike Wainright and Detective Gloria Choi stepped into his office. The two were partners and probably the ones Russell felt closest to on the force. Like him, both were in their early thirties. Ike was African American, an inch taller than Russell’s six-foot-two height, a bit leaner, and had sable eyes and dark hair worn in mini dreads. Gloria was Korean American, a few inches shorter than six feet, slender, with long black hair pulled tight into a ballerina bun, and brown eyes.

  “What’s up, you two?” Russell asked, knowing they had been investigating a drug deal gone sour.

  “We arrested the suspect,” Gloria said. “Turns out the drug dealer was a twenty-seven-year-old unwed mother of three.”

  “Claims she only wanted to sell a small amount of fentanyl to pay the bills,” Ike said.

  “Did you believe her?” Russell asked, not that any excuse was justifiable for distributing illicit drugs into the community.

  “Not really,” he responded. “If she’d had her way, we’d be trying to locate more than a small amount of fentanyl, along with the meth and cocaine she possessed. But her buyer turned out to be a church deacon, who not only stiffed her, but turned the illegal drugs over to the authorities.”