Winter Heat Page 3

  It was a large room that looked like the backstage dressing room for a Broadway show. It was so surreal and out of place in this lifeless federal building that I did a double-take. Was I still dreaming? There were small groups of people bustling around, getting things ready, rolling racks of clothing across the floor, wrapping up cords to hair dryers, sweeping up bits of hair next to barber chairs. I looked up at Liam, who was gazing out over the room as if this was business as usual.

  “What is this place?" I asked. Liam looked back down at me and gave me a long perusal. He frowned when his gaze got to my hair. He frowned and I touched my hair self-consciously.

  “It’s where we’re going to give you a new identity,” came a new voice from my left. I swung around to face the man striding forward with his hand outstretched. I shook it bemusedly. “I’m Chief Inspector John McIntyre, Senior Inspector Sullivan’s boss. You’re in safe hands here. Follow me, please, and I'll apprise you of your situation and what we're going to do to keep you safe." I looked up at Liam, who nodded and followed Chief Inspector McIntyre to a room off to the side. There was a side table with a coffee pot and a long table with four chairs in the room. I helped myself to some coffee and sat down.

  “Now, Ms. Jones, you are in a perilous situation, and for us to keep you safe, we need your full cooperation. Understand?" Chief Inspector McIntyre asked. I nodded over my cup of coffee as I nervously fingered the paper edges of the cup. McIntyre slid a thick file folder towards me, which I grabbed and opened. "You have been targeted by a brilliant, very connected serial killer. Until he is in custody, you will no longer be Kelsey Jones. You are now Agnes Day."

  I looked up at him and wrinkled my nose. “Agnes? Am I also a ninety-year-old knitting aficionado?”

  McIntyre looked back at me humorlessly. “You’d better get used to being called Agnes, Mrs. Day.”

  “Mrs. Day?" I asked. "Am I married in this new scenario?"

  Liam cleared his throat. “Yes, Agnes Day is married.”

  “Oh,” I said. “When do I get to meet my dearly beloved?”

  “I'm going to be your husband," Liam stated, with a similar humorless tone to McIntyre's. Man, these guys sure took life and death situations seriously. I wasn't wholly opposed to the idea of shacking up with Liam for a week, but his seriousness would get old fast.

  “You two are going to take a flight to Langdon Falls, New Hampshire at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. From the moment you step off that flight until the moment you board your return flight, you are Agnes Day, housewife to Amos Day, a carpenter. You and your husband are from Florida on vacation in New Hampshire. You are to avoid making any personal ties with the townspeople, but if they ask, this is your cover story. Langdon Falls has a tiny population, only about a thousand people, so it shouldn't be too hard to avoid people." McIntyre looked at me, assessing. "How attached are you to your hair? It's very distinctive."

  A wave of horror rose in me. I’d been growing out my mane of wavy blonde hair for the better part of ten years. I was pretty damn attached to it. “Um, I would rather not change it.”

  “Would you rather die with a pretty head of hair or live with slightly different hair?" McIntyre asked wryly. I considered this, truly not knowing the answer. "I'll put it this way- you've got no choice. Full cooperation, Mrs. Day." I slumped in my seat, dreading whatever they were going to do to my coif. "Take this file and memorize it."

  I took the file hesitantly, trying one last time to save my hair. “If I’m only going to be in hiding for a week, is all of this really necessary?” I asked.

  “A week is just a rough estimate. This could last anywhere from a week to ten years." With that, McIntyre stood up and walked towards the door. He held it open, indicating that he wanted Liam and me to exit. We walked through the doorway and into the large open space, where a team of Marshals was standing near the barber chair. McIntyre gave me a curt nod and left.

  “I’ll be back shortly to pick you up.” Liam inclined his head to me and turned on his heel, following behind McIntyre.

  “Looking forward to it, Amos,” I said, waving goodbye to him. I turned to my makeover team with distrust. “What are you going to do to me?”

  A woman with brown hair tied tightly back in a bun stepped forward. “I’m Linda, your stylist for the evening.” Linda pursed her lips, assessing me. “Your eyes and lips are pretty distinctive, and you have beautiful hair,” she said. “Unfortunately, we can’t do much about your face, but we can cut and dye your hair to make you less of a knockout.”

  “Dye my hair?" I asked. I'd never in my life considered dying my hair. I was cringing at the thought of permanently damaging it. I did agree to full cooperation, though, so I sighed, inwardly accepting whatever was coming to me. "Okay, do your worst." Linda smiled.

  “I’m thinking chocolate brown. And we’ll cut it.” I was pushed gently into the barber chair and had an apron thrown across my chest. Linda swiftly gathered my waist-length hair into a ponytail. I watched in horror as she raised a pair of shears and cut off the ponytail, leaving me with shoulder-length jagged edges. “This should be good enough. Unless you want to go shorter?” she asked, looking into my eyes from the mirror. I shook my head rapidly. “Okay, time to clean up the edges, then get this mop dyed.” She winked at me. I tried to hold back my tears. I knew it was vain, but I had loved my hair.

  While she cleaned up my edges, Linda chattered away, trying to make conversation with me. I tried to answer and keep up with the conversation, but I was distracted by the gnawing dread growing in my belly. Somehow changing my physical appearance had made this situation feel more real, more so than being whisked away in a van or seeing Jack’s face on the television. I shook my head slightly to clear my thoughts and tried to focus on whatever Linda was chatting about now.

  After my haircut was cleaned up, Linda took me over to a sink, where she worked dark hair dye through my strands. She wrapped the hair in a shower cap, and I was instructed to sit there for a half hour. Linda sat down next to where I was twisting my fingers. She grabbed my hand and squeezed.

  “Listen, I know this is scary. I don’t know the particulars of your situation, but I’ve seen quite a few people come through this building. Ninety percent of them are criminals themselves, but that other ten percent, innocent people like you, they all have that same look on their face. It’s fear of the unknown. Sullivan is one of our best marshals, and he will make sure that you’re completely safe out there. You have nothing to worry about.”

  I gave her a grateful smile and nodded. "This situation is just so surreal. I went into real estate law to avoid the drama and intrigue of criminal law."

  Linda’s lips upturned. “Well, sometimes drama and intrigue find you despite your best efforts.” She squeezed my hand again. “Now let’s get that dye washed out of your hair and see what you look like as a brunette.” I leaned back over the sink as she washed all the dye out. I closed my eyes as her fingers worked through my hair, massaging my scalp. She wrung my hair out, then sat me up and ran a blow dryer through my hair. Turning me around to face the mirror, Linda let out a low whistle.

  “Damn, girl, even dyeing your beautiful hair doesn't even the playing field for us regular women." I rolled my eyes at the praise and inspected my new hair. It was insane how just changing the color of your hair thoroughly changes your appearance. The brown hair didn't look as mousy as I'd expected. Instead, it made me look exotic, especially when paired with my pale blue eyes and lips.

  “Do you think I look like Angelina Jolie?” I asked, looking up at Linda hopefully.

  “Don't press your luck," she said. I laughed, then looked over my shoulder at the sound of footsteps approaching. It was Liam, holding a suitcase. He eyed my hair silently but didn't comment. I was a little disappointed by this, but didn't want to examine that feeling just yet. I smiled brightly, ignoring his frown.

  “Take this and go through it tonight. We’re wheels up at eight tomorrow morning, so be ready to go by seven,”
Liam said, holding out the suitcase.

  “Sure thing, Amos,” I said, accepting them. “Hey, am I going to get fed? I’m starving.”

  Liam nodded. “Follow me.” I hopped off the barber chair as Liam led the way, waving goodbye at Linda as we walked. We walked back through the maze of hallways, eventually coming back to my room. Inside, someone had placed a tray with a sandwich, an apple, and a bottle of water on the bed. This gesture didn't help to dispel the prisonlike ambiance.

  “Inside that suitcase, you'll find your new burner cell phone. There are two numbers programmed in there- mine and McIntyre's. That should be all you need. Don't call any family members or friends on that phone. We don't need anything linking you to this." Liam stared at me. "Got it?"

  I nodded. “No personal calls, I got it.” I clasped the suitcase tightly. “Anything else?”

  Liam stared at me for a beat, seeming to be on the verge of saying something. “No, that’s all,” he said in a clipped voice. “Make sure you’re ready tomorrow morning.”

  “Good night!” I called to his back. He waved his hand in the air, but didn’t turn to look at me. Spending the week with Mr. Personality was going to be fun.

  I closed the door to my room and flopped down on the bed, eyeing my food tray. I was so famished that even jail food looked appealing. I scarfed the food and chugged my water, placing all my trash neatly back on my tray. I stared up at the ceiling, desperately trying to fall asleep. My thoughts went wild though, and I stayed awake for hours, contemplating all the different scenarios that could play out once we hit New Hampshire.

  I hope this Sullivan guy is good at his job.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I laid awake for hours that night, drifting in and out of sleep as I thought about our upcoming flight. Every time anxiety pushed its way to the forefront of my brain, I tried to smother it. I tried to ignore the sharp pangs in my chest when I thought about the upcoming flight. I was a nervous flier in the best of situations, but flight anxiety coupled with anxiety about Jack was almost crippling.

  By the time seven rolled around, I had brushed my teeth and packed up the few things I’d removed from my suitcase. I was lying on my back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, when there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” I called, looking over at the door. Liam poked his head through, then came into the room.

  “Are you ready to leave?” he asked without preamble.

  “Good morning to you," I said, pushing up on my elbows. Liam nodded curtly, then picked up my suitcase and handed it to me.

  “Let’s go,” he said. He grabbed the trunk and hoisted it up. His tee shirt lifted a bit when he did this, affording me with a view of the flat plane of his stomach. I distracted myself from ogling him by looking down at my phone with exaggerated interest. He walked out into the hallway with the trunk, and I followed him with my suitcase. Watching his muscles work under that tee shirt proved to be a very useful anti-anxiety method.

  Two men in suits greeted us in the lobby, one of whom grabbed my suitcase for me and carried it to another black van. I got into the backseat and buckled up, closely followed by Liam. Once we started driving, I leaned my head against the headrest and closed my eyes, pinching my wrist to quell my nervousness.

  "You're going to be fine," Liam said from beside me. I opened one eye to look at him. He was gruff, but he was trying to reassure me. "I am an extremely capable marshal. You're not in any danger with me, as long as you listen to everything I tell you to do."

  "I'm not nervous about that," I said. "I mean, I am, but right now, the more pressing issue is my flight anxiety. I'm a bad flier."

  Liam raised both eyebrows. “Flying is the safest method of transportation. Even when plane accidents occur, it’s almost never fatal because the majority of accidents happen on the runway.”

  “I know all the statistics,” I said. “I realize my fear is irrational, but that doesn’t stop it from being real.”

  Liam nodded. “Well, this is only an hour and a half flight, so I think you’ll be fine. I can arrange to get you some anxiety medication if you think that would help.”

  I shook my head. “No, I should be fine. I’ll just have a couple of cocktails and try to go to sleep. With any luck, I’ll fall asleep before we lift off and wake up when we’ve landed.”

  “Good luck,” Liam said, making me frown. I didn’t respond though, and we stayed silent for the rest of the drive. We arrived at Ronald Reagan National Airport, and our drivers unloaded our bags for us. As we walked through the terminal, I looked around at all of the other travelers, gaining confidence from their apparent indifference to the impending doom of their flights.

  We went through security and got to the waiting area, where Liam parked in a chair to wait for boarding to start. "Liam," I whispered, sitting next to him. "Why are we flying commercial instead of private?"

  “We’re being inconspicuous. It is suspicious for federal planes to land in airports in New Hampshire. By catching a commercial plane to Manchester, we’re blending in. Be calm. There's no chance of someone recognizing you here." I nodded, satisfied. A woman announced over the PA that boarding had started for the flight from Washington, D.C. to Manchester, New Hampshire.

  Liam and I were in the second boarding group, and we settled into our seats while we waited for the rest of the passengers to finish boarding. I gripped my armrest, glancing around. "You guys couldn't have sprung for first class?" I asked, looking at Liam with a nervous grin.

  “First class is a little out of our budget. Besides, blend in, remember?"

  I nodded. The flight attendant shut the heavy door after the last passenger had walked down the aisle, put his bag in the overhead compartment, and buckled up. The pilot came over the loudspeaker, announcing that our flight was on time and we'd be taxiing down the runway for takeoff shortly. The plane backed up and turned, moving down the runway. I closed my eyes tightly. This was the worst part- the takeoff. The landing was not nearly as bad because it meant my feet would be on solid ground again. But taking off was nerve-wracking. I hadn't even had a chance to have a drink to dull the panic yet. I wished I had anything to distract me from the terror coursing through me. I'd flown many times, and had repeated the statistics about flying to myself many times, but in the moment, nothing rational could cut through the panic and the fear.

  As the plane accelerated rapidly, preparing for takeoff, I clenched my fists, my fingernails digging into my palms and almost drawing blood. A large hand covered mine and pulled my fingers apart, flattening my hands out. Liam looked at me as he held my hand, his eyes reassuring me. I smiled gratefully at him and leaned against the headrest, gripping his hand tightly and trying not to panic with every dip that the plane took as it climbed higher and higher. Once we reached steady elevation, I loosened my grip on Liam's hand and reluctantly let go. When the flight attendant came around with the drinks, I ordered three and drank them in quick succession, much to Liam’s amusement. I eventually drifted into the darkness of a deep sleep.

  I woke up to a couple of nudges to my shoulder. I groggily looked around at all of the people starting to stand, and realized with relief that we'd landed. "How was your nap?" Liam asked.

  I shrugged wordlessly and unbuckled my seat belt, then hopped up and grabbed my suitcase. The sooner I was off this plane, the better.

  As soon as we stepped onto the gangway, I breathed a sigh of relief. We walked down the hallway into the airport lounge, bags in hand. I was ecstatic about having my feet on solid ground again, so that crisis was over, but now my mind was free to devote itself entirely to worrying about my other, more realistically dangerous situation. I squared my shoulders and resolved not to think too hard about it, and to trust Liam to keep me safe.

  I gasped when we stepped through the doors into the taxi area- snow was softly falling onto the already heavy coating of snow blanketing the surrounding land. I loved snow, and living in Virginia Beach, I rarely saw it. Something about snow just makes everything feel softer a
nd more magical.

  Liam stared at me, bewildered, as I giggled and ran to the nearest snowbank. I shoved my hand in and wiggled it around, only slightly disappointed when I pulled my hand out and it was covered in dirt and rocks. It must be the snow from the driveway that someone had plowed into a pile.

  “Okay, insane person, come on. We have a car waiting for us,” Liam said impatiently. I reluctantly picked my suitcase up and followed Liam to our black cab. The drive was short, and I spent most of it staring out the window with my chin resting in my hand. The views were gorgeous- snow as far as the eye can see, clear skies punctuated by white mountains, pine trees glistening with icicles. I could get used to this winter wonderland.

  We drove past a small village and down a long, winding driveway that led to a little cabin. Liam got out of the cab first, picking our suitcases and the large trunk from the Witness Protection center, and nodded at the driver. After I got out of the car, the cab made its way slowly back down the driveway, snow crunching under the tires.

  “You didn’t pay the cab driver?” I asked Liam.

  “That was a marshal,” Liam said. “You thought we’d just pop into a public taxi that would take you to your safe house?” I felt silly and so didn't respond. I turned and focused on the cabin we'd be staying in for the next week. It was cute, with a front porch that had a swing and a chimney that I hoped led to a real fireplace. I followed Liam up the front steps and through the front door, which led into a large living room. There was a couch, a love seat with an ottoman, and a recliner arranged around a large rug with a coffee table on it. I squealed when I saw that there was a real fireplace built into the wall across from the furniture.

  “Ooh, I love fireplaces. I've never had one, but one time I went skiing, and the resort had a giant fireplace. This place is so adorable!" I gushed with an ear-to-ear grin. Liam looked around the place, seemingly unimpressed, and shrugged.

  "Agnes, this isn't a vacation home. It's a safe house. You need to be on your guard at all times and hunker down while we're here, not treat this like it's a casual ski weekend," Liam said, locking all four locks on the front door.