“Why can’t I know?” My voice betrays me, making me sound like I’m begging. A new thought: what if there’s a reason I’m alive? What if he needs me for something? “Eli?”
“We’re in witness protection, Meg, to keep you alive.”
Chapter Twenty
I’m stunned into silence. That never crossed my mind. Because it doesn’t make sense.
If I’m in witness protection, I’d know. They would tell me. Even though I lost my memory, wouldn’t they tell me? Wouldn’t there be some kind of contact who would explain all of this to me, outside of Eli?
Keep me alive? From what danger?
He kneels in front of me and rests his hands on my knees. I refuse to look at him but he stays put, waiting. I hate how he stays calm when I lose it.
“I wasn’t supposed to tell you. I’m not allowed to tell you, so now…” A shrug. “Now I don’t know.”
Glancing at his eyes, I get that sense again that he knows much more, that he’s putting on that not-so-smart front. Meanwhile, he’s taking in every detail and reading my reaction.
“Meg?”
“Can I have a few minutes?”
He stands up slowly without stepping back. Instead of craning my neck back to look up at him, I stare at his pants. He might have reached out to touch my hair before dropping his hand.
“I’ll take a shower and then we’ll talk.” He waits a beat before walking into the bathroom and swinging the door partway shut.
I don’t move until the shower turns on, and then I only stand and pace a few steps. How does it make any sense that he knows, but he’s not allowed to tell me? That can’t be how witness protection works. I think back through my fuzzy memories—if they are memories—to see if they fit in with this. There’s that little thought or memory: I have to stop him. Could that be why I’m in witness protection? I knew something about a man and needed to stop him, but it got too dangerous.
My stomach coils up in pain like someone punched me.
The shower goes quiet, and a second later, Eli walks back into the bedroom with a towel around his waist. His hair is dripping and water droplets cling to his skin. I step back, seeing the dark look in his eyes. His arm muscles are tight, tense.
Eli reaches me and engulfs my body with his arms, pressing us together. Warm dampness seeps through my shirt to my skin. His mouth by my ear, he says, “I want to explain things, but not here. Let’s go up the highway and get a Christmas tree. We can talk in the truck so we’re not so tense.”
Why not here? Didn’t he already say too much here, if someone else is listening?
I can feel his strength humming through his arms; it’s like standing under a high voltage wire where you hear and feel the power flowing through it. This feels like all that power might snap at any second.
He leans back and looks at me. It goes on and on. I don’t look down—or back down. But I’m floating without an anchor, unsure of what to ask or demand, or even do.
“I’ll answer your questions in the truck.”
It’s a hook…but is it a trick? I want answers so badly I can taste the need in my mouth.
“Okay.” I watch as he turns and walks toward the closet, pulling the towel off to dry with it. His entire frame is taut and defined from his calves to upper legs, butt, his back. I eye that long scar on his side and the wing tattoo on his upper back as he disappears. Who is he?
“I got a permit the other day after we talked about it,” he calls from inside the closet.
“A permit to cut a Christmas tree?” It’s ridiculous. Only Eli would throw a wrench like that into things right now.
“You’ll want to dress warm.” He comes out in jeans and a short sleeve camo shirt and looks over my clothes: a pair of leggings and a long T-shirt. It’s his shirt. I had spotted a soft, black T-shirt in the closet with a faded car on the front. Eli doesn’t mention that; I’m sure he must notice but he doesn’t give any indication.
I stand there and stare at him, feeling inept. My mind is spinning so fast it feels like the floor is moving. A second later Eli hands me a pair of jeans and a thick, red sweater.
I hold them out in front of me. “Who picked out all of my clothes?”
Who set all of this up?
He raises an eyebrow at me before leaning down by the bed. I don’t see it, but what else could he be doing besides getting that handgun?
I pull the sweater on over my shirt and change into the jeans. Eli gets snow boots out of the closet before we head to the kitchen, where he packs the small blue lunch cooler.
I’m wondering why he needs the gun—and if he’s going to kill me, why is he packing lunch? He’s bent over, shutting the lid on the cooler, and pauses to look at me.
“It’s okay, Meg.”
“Is it?”
“It will be.”
I sit at the table while he brews coffee and packs the truck. He’s acting like it’s another normal day, and we’re starting off on a day trip. How does he do that? Is that why he was chosen for this assignment?
My question stops me—at some point I started thinking of all of this an operation. It’s got to be some kind of conspiracy. I picture him in dangerous situations, bullets flying overhead, while he calmly carries on. The image isn’t that foreign to me.
But witness protection? I really don’t know.
Why am I still here? I should have run when I had the chance. He must have known I wouldn’t, and that infuriates me. All my conflicting emotions are paralyzing me, emotionally, intellectually and physically. I should have run while he was in the shower but instead I’m getting ready to go up into the mountains with him.
He sets my boots next to me and pulls his on.
“Okay, truck’s packed. I threw in heavy coats. Ready?”
I stare at him a minute before getting up and following him out the door. A thin fog is shimmering and burning off, and the early morning brightness hurts my eyes. I shiver and hurry to the truck. It’s warm inside, and he must have turned on the heated seats when he started the truck. It’s only the third time I’ve been in it. Still smells like leather, and Eli keeps it very clean. During one of his runs, I poked around in here and found a knife tool, compass, maps of Oregon, and a few odds and ends. Not much at all.
We’re buckled in and halfway down the road, headed toward the highway, when it hits me that maybe Eli is certifiably off his rocker, like a crazed maniac killer. Of course they seem normal when they’re at work or hanging out with friends. Otherwise the cops could go arrest the killers and psychos before they killed people. Oddly enough, I suddenly have a memory of someone telling me something like that. I see a short, half bald guy with prickly, gray whiskers growing on the sides on his head and hard, dark brown eyes—they look empty in a weird way, like he’s extremely angry and holding it in. It’s always the normal ones that have bodies in their basement. That’s what he told me. Maybe that guy had a body in his basement.
“Coffee?” Eli holds out a travel mug. I take the cup and sip. It’s good and hot with a touch of cream, and the fragrant smell fills the truck cab. There’s more in a thermos in the plastic tub behind us. Eli has a king cab so our things are in the backseat. The sun peaks through the fog, giving the impression of a promising day.
“What is this about?” I ask. When he glances over, he looks confused. “This trip. Why do this now? Why couldn’t we talk in the house? Is someone listening to what we say there?”
“It’ll be good for us to get out and do something fun, and going up in the hills always clear my head.”
“Something fun? Eli, you just told me we’re in witness protection. That means you’ve been lying to me. Which I knew already, but now you’re admitting to it.”
We turn onto the highway and head east, first through town and then out toward the mountain and national forest. Eli is silent, making me wonder if he’s really planning to answer my questions or if that was a lie too. He passes a red Honda to reach open road. Seeing the wid
e open country ahead and around us stirs something in me, a sense of possibility that traveling brings. I grab onto that spark of hope like it’s a butterfly trying to get away.
He still didn’t tell me why we couldn’t talk in the house. I wonder if he made that up so I’d come with him.
“I haven’t lied to you,” he says quietly.
“How’s that?”
“Some of the things I had to tell you aren’t true.”
“Which is the definition of lying.”
“But I didn’t lie.” His hands twist on the steering wheel. “I didn’t like that part of this, but I had to keep you alive and safe.”
We come up on a car and Eli passes, ripping over into the other lane to fly by the old station wagon.
“Nutmeg,” I say to myself.
“What?”
“Nutmeg is a spice. Rosemary is an herb. Is that where Megan came from?”
He throws me a look. It’s too quick to read but I think I’m right.
“You’re still not telling me everything. I know you’re buying time to make up more lies.”
“I’m trying to figure out how to explain things so you can understand, so you won’t…”
“Won’t what?”
Nothing.
“Why did you get to know the truth?”
“It just happened that way.”
“AHHH!” I pound on the dashboard and consider pounding on Eli. He looks over, calm as freaking hell.
“I’m trying to figure out if I should start with the big things or the beginning, but I’m not even sure where or when that is anymore. This hasn’t been easy on me, either.”
“Golly, I feel so bad for you.” I throw myself back in the seat, then slap my hand on the heater button to turn it off. I’m burning up.
Would it help if I threw a tantrum like a two year old? Maybe that would rattle him. But nothing will. I know that much about this man who says he’s my husband.
“So we’re really married?”
“Yes, we’re married.”
“How did we end up in witness protection?”
“I got in too deep…”
I don’t press him—not if he will finally share. After a few minutes, he continues.
“I worked for this guy building houses. Well, we were partners. It didn’t start out that way but he brought me in and kept cutting me in for more. I should have seen what was happening, but you and I were looking at houses and talking about starting a family.”
“So you weren’t lying about us? About our life?”
He looks over, his eyes shiny. “We were married and in love. You trusted me.”
“And you had problems at work?” I had a hard time believing it would lead to this.
The wipers squeak. Fat snowflakes are plopping on the window and wipers. Wet snow, the kind that makes good snowballs. Eli slows down and turns on the four wheel drive. The road is still mostly clear but I wonder if we’ll have to turn around soon.
“It got complicated. He was flipping houses—” Eli glances over. “Buying them cheap, fixing them enough to sell them for a profit. That’s perfectly legal, but he was cutting corners, and I found out he was even getting the houses through questionable means. By that point, I was in deep enough that my name was on a lot of the papers. There was a secret bank account with my name on it too. I looked guiltier than he did. Maybe more. I think that was the idea.”
“So it’s about money?”
“And more.”
The snow lets up. Eli’s eyes are trained out front as we start up the mountain.
“I went to Gary and tried to bow out gracefully. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, so I had been trickling a little money into the business accounts and trying to build some protection for myself. You know, make sure he couldn’t lay it all on me. He was furious. I figured things would get ugly. I never thought he’d go after you.”
“After me?” I wish I could remember something from all of this. “That’s why you said we’re in this to protect me? It seems like he’d be angry with you.”
“You’d think, yes. I thought he might even try to kill me. But, when I was snooping around I found a bunch of pictures of you in files on his computer. I still don’t know if he was keeping tabs on you as insurance, so he could use you against me, or if he was stalking you. He was a sick son of a bitch no matter how you cut it.”
“So we got out and moved here to Sandy. Why such a tiny town, out here in Oregon? Did you have a say in it?”
“We did, both of us. If Gary sends men looking for us, he’ll be thinking New York, or the South, or maybe the west coast, but I’d bet on somewhere in California. Seattle or Tacoma in Washington. But some tiny town in the mountains in Oregon? If he thinks of Oregon, it’ll be the coast or Portland.”
It makes sense in a crazy way. I watch the falling snow for awhile. It’s blanketing the evergreens on the sides of the roads, making a beautiful pattern of dark green needles and bright white snow. The forest beyond that is black like the middle of the night. Inside the truck, it’s dim due to the snowfall outside.
“Why couldn’t you tell me?” I finally ask, turning back to him.
“This is where it gets messy, and I had to go to the authorities.”
“Why not start there?”
“He had me framed. The money was in my name. Gary had even taped me talking to his shady business partners—he had more going on than I knew. I suspected drug trafficking. I had no part in that, though. There was unexplained money, people working for him that didn’t need to be there… He might have been hustling some local businesses.”
“Like the mob or something?”
“Like that. I don’t know if he was tied into something bigger. But I had to go on that assumption. I confessed everything to you and we agreed to go to the authorities. But we had to be careful. We disappeared, going through Canada and back to Michigan to go to the police. Then the FBI came in.” He pauses and looks at me quickly.
If he wanted to make something up, wouldn’t it be bigger somehow? More over the top? This… this could be possible. I sneak a look at him, picturing him in the world he described. He didn’t tell me much about Gary, who apparently had me followed and photographed. I shiver.
The snow is getting deeper on the road.
“Aren’t there trees here that we can cut?” I gesture out toward the road.
Eli leans forward and looks around outside. “Let’s watch for a good place to park.” He drives another five minutes and turns on a side road. I’m not sure I like the idea of venturing off the main drag, but he parks after a minute and we sit with the truck running. He grabs the thermos and pours coffee for both of us.
Little things like that make me think we have been married for a few years, but it’s also so hard to believe.
“Want to go look for a tree and then eat lunch?”
I turn to him, my mouth hanging open. “Eli, you just told me how we ran for our lives and went into witness protection, and now you want to walk out into the snow for a tree?”
“Yes.”
I study him, hoping he feels like I have all the times he’s scrutinized me.
“I’ve been living with this for awhile. I guess I feel better to have it out in the open, so we don’t have it between us.”
I scoff and fold my arms. I haven’t taken a drink of the coffee he gave me.
“This life we’re living right now? It’s all we wanted when we lived in Maine. All we talked about. Building our own house. Starting our own family. Working on our yard. Exploring the mountains together.”
Chills run up my back, making me shudder. “And now you have it.”
“We have it.” He reaches for my hand. “Let’s go find a tree.” His voice lifts as he switches into an eager little boy.
“If I go out there, am I coming back?” There is no point in asking; it’s not like he’s going to tell me if that’s the plan.
“Meg.” Eli takes my chin and turns my face ar
ound to him, his brown eyes tender and searching. I’m not expecting it when he plants a warm kiss on my mouth. “Please let go of that crazy idea. Even as stubborn as you are, you gotta see how ridiculous it is. I love you. I would never hurt you. I sat by your side in the hospital and I’m going to stand by you as you put the pieces back together. I’m doing everything I can to protect you.”
His face is right in front of mine, his thumb holding me still while my eyes fill with tears.
“Don’t you see that?”
“That you love me?” I ask.
“That, yes. And the fact that it makes no sense whatsoever that I’d play some kind of sadistic game to… I can’t even say it.”
No, it doesn’t make sense. But then again, do serial killers make sense?
He’s right. This situation has made me doubt everything. I open my door, and a wet, wintery wind blows in.
Chapter Twenty-One
I grab my heavy brown coat, hat, and gloves and bundle up. Eli pulls on a tan Carhartt coat and goes to the back of the truck, where he pauses and asks me, “Maybe we should look for a tree first.”
I glance into the truck bed and see an ax and chainsaw.
“For the tree.” Eli says it like he can’t believe he has to say it. Am I the crazy one here?
Tiny flakes fall on his hair while he stares at me. All the light bouncing off the snow makes his brown eyes look softer, warmer. That’s how mine look in the mirror, a startling thought because it makes me picture babies with our brown eyes.
Keeping his gaze on me, Eli takes several slow steps and leans in to kiss me softly on the mouth—a sweet, lingering kiss that makes me close my eyes briefly, enjoying the feel of his lips on mine. He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes for a long minute.
“Okay, let’s find a tree.” I turn toward the forest. Now that we’re out of the truck, I can see into the trees. It’s not quite as dense here in this forest of younger trees. They’re not pines, that much I can tell, but I’m not sure what grows here. We start into the trees and I blow out a breath to watch it puff in the cold.
Eli leads the way, empty handed—I think until I remember the gun. My heartbeat sounds in my ears but I slap my fears down. Eli’s right that it doesn’t make any sense.
“I was hoping there would be noble firs,” he says, pushing a branch back for us to walk between two trees. “The forest service guy said they grow above three thousand feet.”