devoid of function. I pour myself a cup of coffee and hand her one, as well. She takes it silently and sips at the kitchen table. A few minutes pass in silence before she says anything at all.
"This has to do with the National Gallery," she says. "That code was completely off."
I nod. "You found evidence of an upcoming heist. A high-end thief hacked their system before you did. We finally had an identity, and you found the evidence to nail him. He's in lock-up right now and facing real jail time."
"Jesus," she shakes her head.
"He hired that hitman, but you're safe here," I tell her. I explain all the protocols which go into hiding a witness, along with the multiple layers of protection we use to secure each protocol. She listens, appearing again overwhelmed.
"How long will I be stuck here?"
"The prosecutor is working hard to fast-track the trial. We're hoping not more than a month."
"A MONTH?!" she asks, her eyes suddenly sharp.
"It could be a lot worse," I try to explain, but Shelby can't see beyond her own circumstance, like every other witness I've secured.
She looks around the house and her entire personality drains. I've seen this before, but this is the first time my heart breaks.
"Do you have any clothes for me?" she asks blankly, wearing the only outfit we have here for her: a t-shirt and sweatpants.
"We can't go to your house to get yours," I tell her. "The men after you are most likely watching. Rankin is shopping for you now."
She sighs.
"Don't worry. He's done this before. He knows your size and will get you some basics. Witnesses usually opt for comfortable , so expect more sweats."
"Tell him I like yoga pants," she says, then her eyes flicker up to mine. "Jesus, is he buying my underwear?"
I grimace at her tone. "Like I said, he's done this before. Don't even think about it. He won't be."
She sighs again. "Then tell him just to buy me panties and some camis. I don't need him fondling my damn bras. Can I have a computer?"
I look at her in annoyance. "Not a chance."
She frowns and sips her coffee again.
Not much else is said until Rankin comes back with a few shopping bags. He walks them directly to her room.
"Let me give you the tour," I tell her as I stand. She obediently follows, still half-seeming like a zombie.
I show her around the house and point out the multiple safety features we installed. We gave her the master bedroom, complete with her own shower and over-sized tub. "Towels are in that cupboard. We stocked the bathroom with some basic supplies, but Rankin can buy whatever else you need."
"Right," she says. "My own personal shopper."
"This is also a safe room. We reinforced the doors and walls, even the ceiling. In the unlikely event anyone breaches, you sprint to this room."
"Ok," she says in quiet disbelief of her situation. I've seen this before, too.
The entire rest of the day is spent rather quietly. Shelby watches some random tv shows but doesn't seem to be paying any attention. I wait for any cue she's ready for conversation, but none comes until Sunday afternoon.
She furrows her brow.
"Ok then. If I can't have my computer, I need more than a tv and crappy magazines. Can I get a Kindle at least? You can load it up somewhere else and keep the wifi offline. I can give you a list of books."
"Yeah, I can do that." We don't have the budget for things like e-readers, but I'll buy her the damn Kindle myself if it will help her sanity. "Give me a list of books and I'll get one as soon as I can. Are there any magazines you think aren't crappy?"
"No," she says before she walks to her room again. This time I follow her.
"Look, I know you hate being stuck. I know this will be a strain, but people survive it. I'll make sure you don't go insane."
"Right. Got any vodka?"
I actually roll my eyes at her before I leave her alone. Shaw was right. She's going to be a handful.
By Tuesday she has a Kindle in her hand. She doesn't seem happy , exactly, but somehow