Free Reluctant Witness by Sara M. Barton

anyone will,”
Jack quickly added. How could he be so sure? And then I remembered
I was worth more to the bad guys alive than dead. Is that why the
hired killers let me live?
    The men helped me into the Kevlar contraption
and fastened the Velcro straps. It was bulky, just slightly less
annoying than a life preserver, but definitely more useful on dry
land for someone like me. By the time the big ski parka went on, I
was feeling like the Michelin Man.
    Lincoln had a handful of ski hats to choose
from, and he selected a silver faux fur one that he tied under my
chin.
    “There. Beautiful. You look
just like Lara in Dr.
Zhivago . ” He took a step back, looked at
me from several different angles, and declared me unrecognizable.
“Jack, can you see that bandage?”
    “Nope. The fake fur takes care of that.”
    “In that case, we’re ready.”
    “I’ll get the guys coordinated. The buzz
phrase is ‘stormy weather’, Lincoln Log.”
    “Roger that, Cracker Jack,” the FBI agent
told his brother. “Be safe.”
    “You too. And good luck to you, Marigold. I
hope it all works out for you.”
    “Thanks...for everything.” I put out my hand
and he shook it, his grasp still remarkably firm. Brutus came up
for a nose rub and a scratch behind the ear. “Good dog.”
    Three minutes later, Lincoln and I were
huddled by the back door, waiting for our signal. Jack was on the
front deck, observing the slope down to the road. His men had
scattered just before Ron arrived at the door; once he stormed out
of the house, two of them followed him. The others were positioned
around the property, to make sure Ron hadn’t left a colleague, or
worse, another hit man behind.
    “We’re going to do some walking. The snow’s
starting to come down, so it will hide our tracks rather quickly.
Ready?” asked the FBI agent.
    “Ready.”
    The moon was barely visible as the big flakes
floated down from the heavens. Lincoln led me up the hill behind
the chalet and we crossed into the yard belonging to the closest
next-door neighbor. From there, we moved on to the next yard, and
then the next, weaving our way west. When we reached a side street,
we headed down the hill towards the main road. About a hundred
yards ahead, I saw a snow-dusted car. Lincoln leaned over to
me.
    “Not to worry. That’s our getaway vehicle,
Marigold. “One of the guys has been sitting on it for us. Are you a
decent driver?”
    “I guess so,” I responded.
    “Then you take the first shift at the
wheel.”
    A moment later, I was sitting in the driver’s
seat of a dark VW Jetta and Lincoln was encouraging me to start the
engine.
    “I’ve got to take you away from here. Right
now, my job is to make sure we’re not being followed. I’ll give you
directions as we go.”
     

Chapter Eight
     
    We were on the road for what remained of the
night. Overheated, I soon shed the ski parka and hat, and unzipped
the ski pants from the ankles all the way up to the knees.
    By the time we hit the Garden State Parkway a
couple of hours later, I figured out we were heading for the Jersey
Shore. Thankfully, the traffic was light, due to the four inches of
snow that fell. Lincoln spent much of his time watching the action
in the passenger side mirror.
    We stopped for coffee at a Dunkin Donuts just
before we got to Atlantic City. Feeling stiff after so much time
sitting in the car, I yawned and stretched. My body was too aware
of every bruise, every muscle ache accumulated over the last two
days, and my ear, hot to the touch, throbbed with pain.
    “Don’t forget your hat,” he reminded me,
handing me the faux fur cap. With a grimace, I pulled it over my
sore ear again.
    In these last few hours before the dawn,
there were few customers. We passed another couple as we entered
the coffee shop. Handing me a tote bag, Lincoln urged me to change
my clothes in the ladies room.
    Once ensconced in a stall, I found a pair of
black stretch leggings inside the canvas bag. Hardly glamorous,