Above Protection (Imperfect Heroes Book 1) (3 page)

We’d had some classes on WPD during
our training at Quantico, and it was those classes I was
desperately trying to conjure up in my mind as I left the office
and headed home to pack a bag. The instructions said I was to go to
her house, help her pack, and then take her to Virginia, some place
called Pembroke, to be exact.

I’d been a lot of places, thanks to
the USMC, but I’d never been to Virginia. Trying to think
positively, I told myself, at least I’d get to see it now. Not much
of it, mind you, but it was the only positive thing going for me at
the moment.

Parking my bike in the garage, I
killed the engine and sighed as I stared at my beauty. I would miss
her gleaming black paint with red flames painted on the side and
shiny chrome pipes when I was away on that fucking assignment. The
FBI was forcing me to take one of the undercover rides. A rookie
agent was set to deliver a car to me within the next
hour.

I rummaged through my closet until I
found my battered camouflage duffel that was as big as I was. I
stared at my gym clothes and sighed, realizing I probably wouldn’t
be able to get a workout while I was on this assignment. I absently
began to empty jeans, slacks, T-shirts, a couple dress shirts, my
boots, sneakers, and one pair of dress shoes into it. I then
emptied my drawers of underwear, socks, and T-shirts, zipping the
duffel once it was full. I had no idea how long I’d be gone. Which
reminded me.

Plucking my phone from my pocket, I
dialed my buddy, Kyle Adams, and it rang three times before he
answered. “Hello?”

“Hey, man. I gotta jet outta town. Can
you look after my house?”

“Hey, Duke. Absolutely. You mind if
Lucas and I use your pool? And can I bring Lucy?” he asked, his
voice friendly, as usual.

Lucas was Kyle’s kid, and Lucy was his
service dog. A yellow lab, I think. I’d done my first tour in
Afghanistan with Kyle, and unfortunately, Kyle had come back from
that tour missing half of his left leg. He was strong and
determined and I was proud of him for handling such a loss the way
he did. Unfortunately, his old lady hadn’t been cool with the whole
disability, and had left him to raise Lucas on his own.

Stupid, selfish redheaded
bitch.

“Absolutely,
mi casa es su casa
,” I
said in the worst Southern redneck Spanish ever.

He chuckled. “Thanks, man. How long
you will you be gone?”

“I honestly have no idea, and I can’t
tell you why or where I’m going.”

“I get it, dude. Just take care of
yourself. When do you leave?”

“Today, hopefully,” I
replied.

“Okay. We’ll head over tonight. Mind
if we just house-sit?”

I smiled in relief. “No, please do. It
would make me feel better. Just please watch your boy near the
pool.”

“Luke’s part fish. He already knows
how to swim and I would never let him swim without me in the water.
It’s all good, brother.”

I sighed in relief again. “You’re a
lifesaver. Key’s in its usual spot, and I’ll call you when I can.
Oh, and mow the grass when you get a chance. Fucking rain, it never
stops.”

“Of course,” he replied, a smile in
his voice.

I kept the key inside a planter in the
backyard, and Kyle knew which one. I was gonna owe that guy big
time.

Chapter 4

Rayanne

I jumped when my phone’s text
notification chimed. I had been doing a lot of jumping and
flinching lately since receiving the death threats. That day I’d
received the subpoena was nothing compared to this past
week.

At least once a day, if not more, I
would receive disturbing and horrifying phone calls about what
would happen to me if I testified in the Watson trial. I had come
close to just bolting and finding a nice safe place to hide. I
thought about booking a trip to someplace tropical just to get away
from it all. I had a cousin in Hawaii who said I was welcome to
stay with her and her husband for as long as I wanted. The problem
was – there was no way to book any sort of travel without a paper
trail. Everyone wanted a credit card for incidentals. You had to
show I.D. to get through security at the airport. It seems there
was no way to just disappear for a while – unless you were a
criminal, of course. There was also the chance of putting my cousin
and her family in danger too, and there was no way I would do that.
I was obviously toxic to everyone around me now.

Two agents from the Federal Bureau of
Investigation had come to see me a couple of days ago. They’d
searched my home from top to bottom and installed little
microphones they disturbingly nicknamed “bugs” around my house and
in my phone. They had told me to stay put and I’d be okay until a
permanent agent came to be my personal security. A continually
manned unmarked car had not left the front of my condo since then.
So far, the horrifying phone calls never lasted long enough for the
feds to trace them, except one time, when one came back to a
prepaid cell phone purchased here in town. It was a frustrating
dead-end. The FBI had also made it clear that my personal security
only extended to their resources as long as I agreed to testify
against the Watsons.

Well, isn’t that nice? If I’d said,
no, I wouldn’t testify, I guess they would have just left me here
to fend for myself – which would not have been a good thing. Yes, I
could shoot a gun. Did I actually own one? No. I thought about
going to my dad and asking for one – Lord knows he had enough to
choose from – but that would have just freaked him out, asking why
I needed one. He’d given me some pepper spray, but I wasn’t under
any illusions that that would help me very much if someone came in
to try to kill me.

A deep shudder racked my body, and I
took another sip of wine. It was 6 p.m. and I really hadn’t eaten
anything today. It’s not like I could leave the house to get food –
that seemed dangerous and stupid. I thought about getting pizza or
takeout delivered, but the thoughts of having a delivery driver
come to my door made me nauseous. What if this person threatening
me took a driver’s uniform and pretended to be him, and then killed
me?

Yeah, my overactive imagination had
been with me since childhood and it wasn’t slowing down any time
soon.

I sat at my dining room table and put
my head in my hands. I had been quarantined here for four days now
and I was going insane. I wasn’t allowed to use my cell phone or
the computer if it required Wi-Fi. It was either TV or books. I
chewed my thumbnail as I wondered how the hell I was gonna pay my
bills. I obviously was out of a job, and had been forbidden to go
out and get another. My savings was gonna diminish quickly if I
didn’t supplement my income. But how? I was so stressed out, I just
couldn’t relax. I did need to get something in my stomach,
though.

Getting up, I went to the kitchen. As
I rummaged through the cabinets, I found some boxed mac and cheese.
Putting on a pot of water to boil, I turned on the burner and stood
there with my finger to my lip, watching it without seeing, as
thoughts engulfed me. Fearful, awful thoughts of death and
hopelessness.

I’m not gonna lie, the death threats
were terrifying. I kept telling myself they were just trying to
scare me, get me to back off from testifying. But what if they
weren’t? Having me buried six feet under would help the Watsons’
case greatly. After all, I had recently been told that the case
hinged on my testimony. It all happened when they were between
accountants and I was trying to eke my way through their financials
and try to keep their bills paid and their business afloat. I truly
had no damn clue what I was doing, but I had tried nonetheless. I’m
a paralegal, not an accountant. I could barely balance my own
checkbook, but the selfish bastards obviously hadn’t cared about
that. They just used me to get a job done ‘til they could hire
another. They should have called a temp agency instead of relying
on my inexperience. But maybe that had been done on purpose. Deep
loathing and resentment was beginning to take root in my gut. Anger
was starting to stew inside me at their selfishness.

The hissing and smoke of boiling water
caught my attention and I threw the pasta into it, stirring it a
little as I went back to my musings. Again chewing my nail, I
wondered what was gonna happen once this agent arrived to “protect”
me. Was he going to stay here? Sleep on the couch? I have two rooms
but had yet to furnish the second one. It was nothing but four
walls, a closet, and a few of my boxes. Maybe he was going to take
me somewhere? How long would I be on the run? What if I had to run
forever? What if I had to change my name, move to a different
state, say goodbye to my family and friends and become someone else
forever?

The smell of something burning caught
my attention. The water had completely boiled out of my pasta and
now it was scorching the bottom of the pan. I turned off the burner
and sank to my ass on the floor of the kitchen and burst into
tears, cradling my face in my hands. I was in shambles, crying over
ruined pasta.

No, I was crying over my ruined
life.

I woke the next day the same I’d had
the past four days. Full of despair and wondering what the point
was of getting out of bed. But I knew I had to. I was 27 years old,
and my life was far from being over. I had to fight for what was
left of it. So I slogged out of bed, showered, and forced some
instant oatmeal down my throat. I didn’t, however, manage to bother
fixing my hair or putting on any makeup. I mean, what’s the point
of looking pretty in prison? Because really, that’s where I was –
in prison. Imprisoned in my own home. It felt like Hell. Yes,
that’s where I was. I was in Hell.

As I flipped on the TV to stare
mindlessly at daytime television, my cell phone chirped. I
reluctantly went over and checked it. The FBI had made me turn off
my data (okay, they had called my service provider and made them
disable it) but I could still get texts and calls. I had a text
from “Jack-N-Jill” – the not-so-cute name they had made me add to
my phone’s address book to indicate that the FBI was texting or
calling.

The text read:
He’ll come calling around 4.

I rolled my eyes. Cryptic
much?

My reply:
Who?

The response was
immediate:
Your knight in shining
armor.

I laughed at that. At least whoever
was texting me had a sense of humor. And here I didn’t think the
FBI had one.

So my agent was on his way. I glanced
at the clock on the phone. It was 9 a.m. Well yippee, I get to mope
around my condo for the next 7 hours and hope the guy sent to
babysit me arrived on time and was a decent person.

Deep down, though, I had a feeling I
was in for a rude awakening, and the next 11 days until the trial
was going to very much suck.

Chapter 5

Duke

The damn GPS sent me down the wrong
road again. What the fuck is wrong with this thing? I pulled the
cord from the cigarette lighter and chucked the entire device into
the floorboard of the passenger seat. Spying a gas station up
ahead, I decided to put away my man card for the first time ever
and just ask for some damn directions.

Slamming the car door and fumbling
with the little key fob lock thing, I managed to find the lock
button. The government had given me a tiny little black Nissan 370Z
sports car. The thing had speed and style, I’ll give it that, but
I’m 6-foot-3 and could barely fit in the damn clown car. Another
one of the government’s confiscated drug dealer cars, I was forced
to take whatever they had to give me. After all, it’s not like I
could go driving my vic around in a plain white sedan with
government plates.

The small gas station’s door chimed as
I entered. The smell of coffee and something sweet hit my nose.
Deciding I could use some coffee, I filled a paper cup with the
black nectar and secured a small white lid on top. Taking the cup
to the counter, the young girl working behind it smiled at me shyly
as I approached.

“I’ll take a can of Copenhagen Snuff,”
I said to her, pointing at the display of chew cans behind
her.