Free Reluctant Witness by Sara M. Barton Page B

was
marked “concierge service”. It seemed simple enough to use.
    “Thanks,” Lincoln told her as he moved to see
her out, but she wasn’t done with us yet.
    “Would you like breakfast in bed? We serve
until ten. We also have a small dining room right by the elevator,
if you prefer that.”
    “Right now, I think we just want to get some
sleep, Mindy. It’s been a long night of driving to get here.”
    “Of course.” She nodded as she backed out. It
was a relief when Lincoln hung the “do not disturb” sign on the
knob before shutting and locking the door.
    “Okay, time to hit the hay. Pick your bed,
Marigold. Whatever you do, please don’t leave this room. I can’t
protect you if you’re not around.”
    “Not a problem,” I laughed. “I’ll be snoring
within five minutes of hitting that pillow!”
    “Try and keep it down,” Lincoln teased,
giving me a wink.
    I slept until two in the afternoon. When I
opened my eyes, the room was still dark and I felt a moment’s
panic, wondering where I was. But the throbbing of my ear was a
painful reminder of my last forty-eight hours fraught with
peril.
    “You want the bathroom first?” my temporary
roommate wondered, stretching his long body under the sheets of the
bed next to me. “I don’t mind waiting.”
    “Maybe you should take your turn. I plan to
take a really long time soaking in that tub, especially since I
can’t get my ear wet for several more days.” I was beginning to
wonder what my hair would look like when I finally got around to
washing it.
    “Perfect. I’ll step out and grab some things
while you do that.”
    “You’re leaving me alone?” I was
surprised.
    “Not alone. A former colleague of mine works
security here. That’s why I picked this place. He’ll keep an eye on
the room while I’m gone. Don’t worry. I won’t be long.”
    While I lingered in the hot, sudsy water,
trying to wash off the terror and the madness of the last several
days, Lincoln was busy. He returned to our room with burgers,
salads, and vanilla shakes. I grabbed my pills and swallowed them
as we sat in the club chairs and ate at the small round side
table.
    “I also bought a few things for you,” he told
me, pointing to three bags on his bed. When I opened them, I found
designer jeans, leopard-print flats, a pretty blouse, and some
knee-hi stockings for me.
    “I don’t want you looking like a bag lady
when we dine tonight,” he explained. “I also bought you a turban,
to cover your bandage. Don’t be surprised if folks give you that
pity look. They’ll probably assume you’ve got cancer.”
    “Because I’m wearing a turban?” I took the
brown cloth and slipped it over my head, tucking the escaping
strands under the cap. He nodded.
    “My cousin’s an oncology nurse. She says the
average person can’t stand to look at a hairless cancer patient for
more than five seconds. It reminds us too much of our own
mortality.”
    “My mother died of cancer when I was
twenty-nine. I helped my dad take care of her for the last two
years of her life.”
    “I thought your mother was still alive and
well, traveling through Europe, with your dad.” Lincoln seemed
surprised by the information. “Aren’t they celebrating their
anniversary with a big trip?”
    “That’s what I’m supposed to tell people.
It’s my WitSec bio, crafted as part of my cover.”
    “Does this mean your father isn’t a
botanist?”
    “Oh, he’s a botanist, but he’s also in the
program.”
    “I don’t understand. I thought you were in
the program because you witnessed the murder of Jared Spears
eighteen months ago.” Was that a note of alarm I heard in Lincoln’s
voice?
    “I was already in the WitSec program when I
met him.” The admission spilled out of me, and as it did, I saw the
FBI agent’s face instantly transform. His mouth dropped open, his
eyes widened, and I fully expected him to jump back in fear.
Instead, he held up his hands.
    “Stop! Stop right there,