Runaway Witness

Iris’s feet pelted across the expansive parking lot and toward the safety of the truck. Behind her she could hear the Jackal’s van coming and Mack shouting at her to run. Panic welled up inside her throat. Somehow, one of Underwood’s Jackals had finally found her and for the first time in her life she saw with her own eyes the terrifying painted face mask she’d only heard whispered rumors of.

Gunfire filled the air, then came a deafening bang and a screech of metal, and she glanced back. Mack had shot one of the tires out, sending the van flying into a pole.

“Go on without me!” Mack called behind her. “Don’t stop! I’ll find you!”

How? She didn’t even know how he’d found her the first time. The Mack she’d gotten to know over the four months he’d volunteered at the center had claimed to be a recently laid-off dishwasher. He’d been gentle, sweet and the last man she’d have ever pegged for a cop. The first time they’d met had been when he’d come to her aid when the mayor’s chief of security had been roughly trying to force her out of City Hall. At the time, Mack had just calmly stepped in between them, like some kind of peacemaker, and in cool, measured tones, told the other man to back off and let go of her.

But now, as the van door opened and the green-masked Jackal leaped out, Mack ran right at him, like a football player going in for the tackle.

Her heartbeat thudded. A tranquilizer dart hung loose from Mack’s neck, seemingly tangled in his scarf. He’d been shot! The heavy sedative would be streaming through his veins, slowing his movements until unconsciousness swept over him and he passed out.

Despite every conflicted feeling swirling inside her, the sight of Mack in danger stabbed like a knife to her heart. She might not like what he’d done or the fact he’d somehow found her, but she couldn’t bear the thought of watching him die in front of her now.

The Jackal raised the tranq gun and fired at Mack again. She held her breath and prayed. Help him, Lord! One tranquilizer dart could put him to sleep for hours. Two might kill him.

She watched, almost frozen in place, as Mack dropped to the ground and rolled. The second dart flew past him and went skimming across the snowy ground. Then Mack spun back and threw himself at the masked man, grabbing the dart gun with both hands and wrestling it from his grasp.

The Jackal swung hard, leveling Mack with a swift blow. The Jackal reached for the holster at his side, but Mack didn’t give him the opportunity to grab his handgun. The detective reared up and swung back, striking the Jackal with a strong blow of his own.

“Iris!” Mack shouted, his voice ragged as he panted for breath. “Go! Get out of here! I’ll hold him off!”

All she had to do was get in her truck, gun the engine and hit the open road. She’d managed to hide from Underwood and his Jackals for this long. She’d evade them again.

But how could she just take off and leave Mack fighting for his life? Whoever he was and whatever he’d done, he deserved better than that. She’d lost him once. She wouldn’t lose him again.

At least, not like this.

She braced her feet on the ground and pulled her weapon. “Stop! Or I’ll fire! And I’m not shooting darts!”

But when she tried to set the Jackal in her sights, she realized it was no use. She couldn’t get a clear shot. If she fired, she could hit Mack. All she could do was watch helplessly as the masked man tried to beat Mack down, while he deflected blow after blow. He fought back with a strength, skill and ferocity that she had never imagined the gentle man she’d known could possess.

Who are you, Mack Gray? Why did you come looking for me?

All he had to do was break free long enough to make a run for it, leap into the truck and let her drive them to safety. But she could see Mack was flagging.

Then it happened, the Jackal caught him with a single, hard left hook to the temple that sent Mack flying. A cry slipped from her lips as she watched him hit the ground and roll.

Get up! Come on, get up!

The Jackal turned and ran toward her. Mack hauled himself up to his feet and jumped on the Jackal’s back, clutching a tranquilizer dart in his hand. He jabbed it hard into the Jackal’s shoulder. With a roar, the masked man tossed him off onto the ground. This time, Mack didn’t get up.

“I need backup!” the Jackal shouted into the walkie-talkie at his lapel as he charged across the lot toward her. “Hurry! I’ve been hit with a tranquilizer!”

For one brief fraction of a second, she glanced past him to where Mack now lay limp on his stomach on the ground. She prayed for him to move. His head raised, and his piercing blue eyes met hers in a glance.

“Go…” The word moved silently on Mack’s lips. “Run.”

Iris threw herself into the driver’s seat, slammed the door behind her and slid the key into the ignition. The Jackal hesitated, like he didn’t know whether to finish Mack or go for Iris. She didn’t give him the choice. She turned the key, hit the gas and the truck shot across the parking lot toward them.

The green-masked Jackal raised his handgun toward her and fired.

Fatigue crashed over Mack, like a heavy wave pressing his body into the cold, wet ground. At the corner of his consciousness, he was barely aware of a vehicle roaring closer and gunshots firing, but it was like it was happening to someone else and very far away. He’d seen the effects of tranquilizers on other people firsthand and he knew he’d had it in his system when he’d been found shot in Lake Ontario. But now he actually felt it, a weird numbing and tingling feeling, heavier than any sedative he’d ever experienced. It coursed through his system and threatened to drag him under.

Desperate prayers filled his core. Frustration surged through him. His palms pushed futilely against the ground as he tried to get to his feet, but his body would barely move. He couldn’t die like this, not here and not now. He’d almost died once before and had woken up to find his career in jeopardy and Iris gone. The months he’d spent undercover volunteering at the center had been the happiest of his life and Iris had been the reason why. He’d just found her again and couldn’t lose his life in front of her now.

Lord, please don’t let Iris get hurt because of me. Please stop the Jackals for good and make sure every young person they kidnapped for Underwood is found. He tried to open his eyes, but it was like an invisible force was pressing his eyelids down. And have mercy on me, Lord, if this is it. I don’t know how I’m going to get out of this one alive.

The ground shook with the vibrations of a vehicle coming toward him. The rumble of the motor grew louder, he felt wind rush past him, and then tires screeched so close to his head he thought for a moment they were going to drive over him. He heard a vehicle door open and a voice calling to him, breaking through the haze.

“Mack!” Iris shouted. Her footsteps pounded toward him. “Come on, Mack, get up!”

I would if I could.

He forced his eyes open. The side of Iris’s brown-and-white camper was less than three feet away from his head. Then he saw Iris, sprinting across the ground and dropping beside him like a runner stealing home base.

“Get up! Now!” Her voice, sharp and strong, filled his ears.

“I…” He pushed his words sluggishly over his lips. “I can’t…”

“Yes, you can,” she said. “You’ve seen what this sedative does to people. You’ve helped me get them out of gutters, through the door and onto the couch, or into your car to drive to the hospital. And I’ve seen how tough you are firsthand.”

She shoved her shoulder under his arm and hauled him up. He stumbled to his feet.

“Now come on. You did a great job stabbing the Jackal with that dart. He’s run back to his van. Probably started feeling the effects and doesn’t want to pass out on the ground. But he called for backup, and I really don’t want to be here when more Jackals arrive.”

Iris was a force of nature. He’d never known anyone or anything that could stand up to her. He’d seen her forcibly remove disruptive people from the center’s free community meals and help scoop vulnerable youth up off the sidewalk on cold nights and bring them inside to warm up while she found an overnight shelter to take them. And now here she was, half dragging and half helping him across the pavement as he leaned against her.

“I…heard…gunshots…”

“Yup.” She reached the camper and yanked the door open. “He fired at me and missed, probably because of the sedative dart you stuck him with. Which is awesome and thanks again for that, because I really like my truck.”

Mack almost chuckled. Humor in the face of danger was a good quality to have. So was tenacity.

She hauled him through the doorway into the camper and he stumbled in. It was small, with a bunk-size bed set high into the wall on one side. Underneath it was a small table and a cushioned bench. A counter with shelves was adjacent under a large window. A laminated map of Canada covered almost all of the opposite wall, scrawled with words, squiggles and lines. It was the map from her apartment, showing the routes the homeless had taken across Canada. Photographs of some of the street youth who’d come to the homeless center were taped around the corners. He noticed she’d circled the faces of all those they suspected the Jackals had kidnapped but who hadn’t been found in the raids of Underwood’s farms and complexes.

“Are you looking for them?” he asked, mumbling the words.

“Well, I haven’t given up on them.”

His legs bumped against the bench. She gently pushed him to lie down, checking his eyes and his pulse as she did do.

“Sorry to bring you in here and not the truck,” she said, “but my truck’s a lot higher off the ground and I don’t think I can lift you all the way up to get you into the passenger seat. So, you’re going to sleep it off in here and I’m going to get us out of here.”

But his vehicle was parked not ten minutes away, complete with equipment, supplies, weapons and disguises. Plus, he desperately needed to coordinate with his team.

He heard the sound of another vehicle approaching. Iris’s eyes scanned the map.

“Just sleep and trust me,” she said. “I’ll get us to the closest safe place I can and we can regroup from there.”

No, that wasn’t the plan. He was here to talk her into letting witness protection safeguard her, not go on the run with her.

She jumped out and shut the door behind her, leaving him alone in the camper. There was the sound of fresh gunfire and voices shouting.

No, it wasn’t going to go down like this.

He pushed himself up off the bench and stumbled for the door. He wasn’t going to stay in here while she was out there in danger. He heard the truck’s engine roar and then the trailer lurched, yanking the door from his hand, even as he turned the handle. The door swung open in front of him and he fell toward it, barely grabbing the doorframe to keep from falling through as trees rushed past him. Bullets ricocheted against the side of the camper.

He had to help Iris.

Then the camper swerved wildly, he fell back hard against the bench, the door slammed shut and unconsciousness swept over him.

THREE

So far she’d been either savvy enough or blessed enough not to run into any of Underwood’s Jackals. She gripped the steering wheel and allowed herself one quick glance in her side mirror at the van following her. Now she’d left a green-masked Jackal behind in an empty parking lot and had a red-masked one on her tail on an empty Canadian highway. Her truck was probably strong enough to outrun them, but not with the camper attached to the back. Not to mention, a sedated Mack inside.

Her heart stuttered. How had Mack even found her? Why would a man who’d built his entire relationship with her on a false identity and a fake story cross the country and search so long and hard just to talk her into going back into witness protection? She cast another glance at the van behind her. Her chin rose, and she gunned the engine, pushing the truck faster and faster. Her eyes cut to the rearview mirror and the camper behind her. She whispered a prayer under her breath.

Help me, God. Please keep Mack safe.

Then she yanked the steering wheel hard to her right, in a U-turn. The truck spun, and its tires squealed as they slid on the hard-packed snow. She felt the pull of the camper as it spun out behind her, threatening to pull them off the road, and she prayed the trailer hitch wouldn’t break.

The red-masked Jackal was speeding toward her now, head-on, in a game of chicken down the empty highway. She waited, second after second, as he grew closer. Did he think she’d swerve? If so, he didn’t know who he was dealing with.

With her left hand, she slipped the gun from her pocket and rolled the window down. The Jackal drew closer, until she could see every line of the snarling animal painted on his mask. He raised his weapon.

She fired first. A single bullet flew from her gun, and his windshield shattered. The van spun off the road and into the snow-filled ditch as she sped by. She held her breath and watched the crashed vehicle in the side mirror until she saw the Jackal stumble from the wreckage. She breathed a prayer of thanksgiving that he’d survived the crash and that she hadn’t killed him.

She fixed her eyes on the road ahead and drove. Within moments, the few remaining scattered buildings of the town had disappeared into the side mirror, leaving nothing but endless tall pine trees and sky spreading ahead.

She started looking for a gap in the woods, until finally she spotted a thin and narrow dirt road jutting out of the trees to her right. She scanned the highway for any sign of a vehicle, and seeing none, she pulled off, weaving down the winding path between dense trees until the highway itself disappeared in the distance.

Only then did she cut the engine, climb out and run back to the trailer. She yanked the door open. Dishes, books and clothing lay scattered across the floor. There in the middle lay Mack. He’d apparently come to long enough to wrap himself up tightly in a warm and heavy wool blanket that she guessed had fallen from her bunk. He snored gently.

“Mack?” She knelt down beside him.

He nodded as if hearing her and smiled slightly, but his eyes stayed closed. His ridiculous facial prosthetic had slipped, making it look like his nose was on an angle. She ran her fingers along the lines of his face, feeling the disguise give slightly under her fingertips. Slowly she pulled the prosthetic off, peeling back the rubbery substance to feel the soft authentic skin of the sweetest, kindest and then ultimately the most upsettingly confusing man she’d ever met underneath.

“Your pulse is still good,” she said. “Your skin isn’t clammy and the fact you’re snoring is a good thing. You probably just need to sleep, but I don’t know if we want to risk it. I’m over an hour from the closest hospital, but I’ll take you there and drop you off at the emergency room.”

“No, no, don’t.” Mack shook his head. His eyes fluttered open. “I’m okay. Just sleepy.”

She sat back on her heels. “Are you sure?”

“We stay together,” he said, and his words came out so slowly she had to fight the urge to interrupt. “You and me. No splitting up. And I only go to public hospitals in an emergency, just in case someone recognizes me and it blows a case.”

She wasn’t sure if she should be taking directions from someone who was barely awake. Or what she thought of him living a life that kept him from getting help if he needed it. Then again, she didn’t have any idea what risks she’d be putting Mack or herself in if she pulled up to a random hospital. If this dart affected him the same as the other ones she’d seen, he’d sleep it off and be back to his normal self soon, and there were definite benefits to staying hidden as long as the Jackals were so close on their tail.

“Okay, well, I’m still going to drive in that general direction,” she said, “and I’ll stop and check in with you every fifteen to twenty minutes. If I see any warning signs or you get worse, I’m speeding there.”

His eyes closed again, as if somehow that satisfied him. “Okay, and my team will help.”

Only his team wasn’t here, and she had no idea how to contact them.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“I know,” he said, “you’re Iris.” He rolled over and, in a moment, resumed snoring.

She stood slowly. Had she really just promised to take care of this man after everything he’d done? Somehow it felt so natural to talk to him like one of the people at her homeless center back in Toronto. Even if she now didn’t know if any of his stories about growing up in struggle and poverty, like she had, were real.

Her heart ached, wondering how the acting manager and volunteers at the center were coping without her at the helm. She prayed for the day all this would be over and she’d be able to go back to her normal life. She started tidying up the camper. She’d leave worrying about what to do for Mack for last.

“Why did you go to the trouble of becoming my friend?” she asked him. “You know me. I would’ve told anyone who listened what the street youth were saying about Underwood and the Jackals. You could’ve shown up at my door dressed like a cop, flashed your badge and I’d have told you everything. Instead, you wormed your way into my life. We spent hours together every day, working at the center, praying together, going out for food and telling stories about our lives—stories that I don’t even know are true anymore. You became the best friend I ever had. Why would you do that to me?”

But Mack snored gently and didn’t answer.

Mack slept fitfully, barely able to open his eyes for more than moments at a time before the pressing fatigue swept over him again. Iris’s reassuring voice floated in and out at the edges of his mind. Soft warmth surrounded him now; Iris had somehow pulled the mattress of her bunk onto the floor and helped him roll onto it before sticking a pillow under his head and practically burying him in blankets. He was vaguely aware of the vehicle moving for a while and then stopping again. Iris popped in to offer him water, reminded him to stay hydrated and chatted to him briefly before leaving again and going back to driving.

She’d definitely been attentive, but in a way that wasn’t over-the-top. Instead, he just felt safe and also guilty that the woman he’d hurt and come looking for was now taking care of him.

There’d been no more Jackal sightings, from what he’d heard of Iris’s 911 call. She’d kept her description of the attempted abduction anonymous and vague. He’d barely been able to sit up, let alone contact his team. There were probably at least two Jackals on the loose, one of whom he was fairly certain was the same man who’d tried to break into Iris’s apartment two months ago.

The fact Iris had brought her map of the country with her certainly explained how she’d managed to stay hidden for so long and how she’d managed to stay off the grid. It was also a testimony to the close and trusting relationships she’d developed with people at the homeless center over the years. It was smart and he was impressed, but it was nothing compared to the life and safety he and his team would be able to provide Iris when she went back into witness protection.

Not that he’d done a very good job of convincing her so far. But he’d spent his life moving in the shadows, pretending to be the kind of man he wasn’t and convincing the worst of thugs to turn against their bosses and criminals to trust him with their secrets. How difficult could it be to convince a spunky, kindhearted, talkative social worker to go back into witness protection?

The camper stopped again. His eyes opened and he sat up, his head finally feeling clear. Darkness filled the windows. A battery-operated alarm clock told him it was just past nine o’clock at night, and a soft buffeting sound against the windows told him the snow had started again.

The door swung open, bringing a fresh blast of February air with it. A light shone briefly in his eyes, before the beam dropped to the floor at Iris’s feet.

“Mack,” she said softly. “You’re up.”

“Pretty much,” he said. “How long was I out?”

“Almost two hours,” she said.

He blinked as the time on the clock finally sank in. His team hadn’t heard from him since he’d run out of the diner to follow Iris. He was now a two-hour drive from his truck and its small cache of weapons, disguises, food rations, all the best electronic gadgets an undercover detective could need and a bag of essentials for Iris for when he found her. He ran his hand over his head, vaguely aware that she’d pulled the itchy prosthetics off his face. The glue that had been holding them on remained like scar tissue.

Lord, I’m really thankful that she managed to get us out of there alive. If it hadn’t been for her quick thinking, we could both be dead right now. But please help me get this mission back on track pronto.

Iris set the flashlight on the counter, directing it toward him like a spotlight, locked the door and knelt beside him. At some point since escaping the diner, she’d yanked a pair of jeans on underneath the skirt of her waitress uniform, and the soft flashlight glow sent golden highlights dancing along the maple brown hair that fell in loose waves around her shoulders. His breath caught. How was she even more beautiful than he’d remembered?

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Thirsty and a bit sore, but good, everything considered,” Mack said. “Thank you so much for getting us out of there alive and managing to hide well enough that the Jackals apparently haven’t tracked us.” He rolled his head from one side to the other, cracking his neck. “Where are we now?”

“Outside some kind of a farming complex.” She frowned. “The map is a bit hit-and-miss. I’d gotten the impression from the kids who told me about it that Crow’s Farm was the kind of place they could camp at while they pitched in a few days to make some honest cash. Some of them were talking about it as a safe alternative to working at one of Underwood’s places.” She shrugged. “But I built this map on rumors and gossip, not facts. Sometimes it lets me down, and this is one of those times. Crow’s Farm isn’t a farm. It’s basically a big walled complex with some greenhouse-type buildings inside. But there’s a pretty big campground less than an hour from here we can try next.”

Mack grabbed both of her hands in his, feeling the familiar softness of her fingertips. “Or you can stop running and risking your life,” he said. “Let my team bring you in and go back into witness protection.”

She sat back on her heels and pulled her hands away. “Because the police were such great listeners when I was trying to get someone to believe that Oscar Underwood was abducting people and forcing them to work at his farms?” she asked. “Or because witness protection did such a great job of protecting me?”

Okay, maybe he should’ve been prepared for this. Iris had always been headstrong and both local and federal police had let her down in different ways. But what she didn’t know was the incredible work his team had done since the witness protection files were breached and how they’d quickly found new lives for people whose identities had been auctioned off.

He ran his hand over his face. “You don’t have a lot of faith in the cops.”

“I have absolutely no faith in the cops.” She crossed her arms. “Police brushed me off, time and time again, and did nothing to help protect young people from Underwood and his Jackals.”

“That’s not true.” Mack grabbed the counter and stood, feeling his back straighten and shoulders broaden as he did so. “At least one cop took you very seriously. Me. The RCMP was well aware that local police, for whatever reason, weren’t taking the claims against Underwood seriously. So, I went undercover to find out if there was any truth to the rumors. I’m really sorry the local cops were dismissive of you—of us—all those times I went and filed reports with you.” He scowled. “Believe me, as a detective, it really got under my skin to see you brushed off like that. But at the same time, you also have to realize just how kooky you sounded when you claimed men in ski masks with animal faces painted on were abducting homeless youth. Not to mention how often people like the kind you care for in your homeless center lie to police. Those in authority were right to be skeptical. None of those missing kids even gave you their real names. Or called you by yours, for that matter. When you asked them to call you either ‘Iris’ or ‘Miss James,’ they called you ‘Missy.’”