Bulletproof Princess (4 page)

Cassie was a lot less work than Mack had anticipated. Low maintenance, funny, self-effacing, even in the face of fabulous wealth. It would take longer to fly the forty-five minutes between Las Vegas and Phoenix than it did for her to gather her belongings and leave the hotel. She’d even been amenable to him taking her cell phone for the time being. Color him impressed.

They met up with his partner Ange at the airport. Angela Gonsalvez was almost as tall as him, with long curly black hair and blonde streaks. She looked like a model, and moved with a grace that distracted from the fact that she was a trained killer, late of the Fugitive Task Force. The gun on her hip was a department issued .45, one of few, and the one in her fashionably high-heeled boot was the same caliber. A transfer from the Chicago office, Mack always suspected she had eyes in the back of her head in addition to her marksmanship skills. He’d given thought to sleeping with her, but was not ashamed to admit he was terrified of what she’d do to him after the inevitable break-up. When they boarded the flight, the only reaction from her was to look up from her magazine with a raised eyebrow and nothing else.

“So where are we headed?” Cassie took her tablet out of her purse and extracted some headphones after some brief introductions. The seats on the Gulfstream were luxurious, and while Ange was stretched out on the couch with her Guns & Ammo, she made herself comfortable in the giant leather seat that faced him across the table.

“Back home,” he replied obliquely. It was almost not worth the cost in fuel to fly between the two cities, but it was better than a five hour road trip with Ange and her music trivia. Though they’d only been partners for the better part of a year since his former partner transferred out to D.C. with his family, he knew road trips with Angela were things to be avoided if possible.

“And where is ‘home’ exactly?” She didn’t look at him as she asked, fiddling with her seatbelt.

“Phoenix, with further to be determined,” Ange responded without looking up from her reading. Heart of a saint, that one.

Cassie frowned at his partner and stared out the window as they left the ground. When they leveled out, he could feel her glass-green eyes watching him. “So am I officially in Witness Protection?” She seemed calm enough, resigned to whatever had to be done, wherever that happened to be, but he could detect her nervousness as she tried to hide the way she wrung her hands in her lap.

“I think that’s one of the things that needs to be determined. There are special circumstances, obviously.” The corner of his mouth kicked up in a half grin. He despised lying, but suddenly seemed to be skating by on partial truths quite ably. Something else he had to thank Grambling for.

Cassie seemed to shrink back into her seat at his answer, putting her earphones in and watching the blackness out the window. Just as well, really, because it gave him time to study her. When Grambling said he’d be protecting Cassie Witt, he expected the full Pop Princess package complete with purse-size dog, armada-size entourage, and a child-size IQ. So far he could speak to the lack of veracity of the first two enough to believe he may have been misled about the third as well. Maybe it was his jaundiced view, but surprises were rarely as pleasant as this.

And she certainly was not hard on the eyes. He’d seen a lot of beautiful women, both on the job and off, but something about her intrigued him. Not enough to pursue it, obviously, her being his Witness and all, capital ‘W’, but he was honest enough to admit to intrigue. Maybe even a bit of fascination, nothing beyond that.

“What’d you see?” he asked, breaking the silence before they started their descent into Sky Harbor, halfway between Phoenix and Tempe. By now, in a normal situation, he would have been briefed and up to speed on her and her needs, but the fast-forward pace of this whole thing made him curious. He felt Ange’s steady gaze over the top of her magazine, but she didn’t speak.

Cassie’s eyes fell from the window to her hands as she shifted in her seat. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” she replied softly. Her eyes strayed for a moment to the lattices of lights out the window that stretched across the desert floor. “I can’t talk about it right now.”

Mack had never seen a person more in need of a hug. Cassie looked so lost and alone in that moment, and it tugged on heartstrings he thought he’d cauterized a long time ago. Anything he had to say was covered by the jolt of them touching down on the tarmac and the rev of the engine as they slowed on their approach to the hangar.

Ange hopped up from the couch and smoothed her hair before stuffing her magazine in her giant leather purse. “So, did The Great One tell you which safe house we’re going to?”

Mack curled his lip. “No. He pulled me out of a dinner engagement.”

His partner raised her eyebrows suggestively. “Oh, anyone I know?”

He narrowed his eyes and cast a quick glance at Cassie, who seemed to be lost in her own world. “Actually, yeah. Bex and Eli Miller from the Vegas office. I was detailed there while they remodeled here.”

She looked like she didn’t really believe him, but nodded to be polite. “I see.” Flipping her hair over her shoulder like a shampoo ad, she turned to Cassie. “Come on, chica. We got places to be and I am freakin’ starving.”

Cassie shook herself and rose from her seat with all the grace of a movie star. “Okay.” Her continued silence was worrisome, but not so much that it couldn’t be addressed tomorrow when her status was made official and the rest of the circumstances surrounding her entry to the program were sorted out.

They all piled into Ange’s immaculately kept Jeep she affectionately called Ruby. Mack would have preferred his Ram, but that was just a personal bias toward continued breathing, since she drove like she was still in Chicago and possibly being chased by demons. Cassie didn’t speak until they arrived at the safe house, a bungalow on the northern edge of Old Town Scottsdale.

Near enough to shopping and yet anonymous enough to not draw attention, in theory. The corner lot had gravel instead of grass, and was landscaped with ample desert flora. It was a cute little stucco house in a cute little neighborhood. And the inside was armed to the teeth. All potential entry points were alarmed and wired up to cameras. The yard, the street, the backyard, everything about the place was evaluated for tactical position, and there were all kinds of caches inside to help keep out any unfriendlies. In theory, it was the perfect place to keep a person for a short period of time.

At least, I hope it will be a short period of time,
he mused as he sent them inside to get comfortable while he walked the perimeter. Mack really didn’t relish being Cassie’s jailor, or having to entertain Ange while he did it. He fired off a quick text to Grambling to let him know they’d made it to the safe house and asked for an update. It was normal interaction in a situation anything but.

His partner was kicked back on the couch, with an empty yogurt cup on the floor next to her when he walked in, still absorbed in her magazine. “He call yet?” she inquired without looking up.

He dropped into the Mission Style chair next to her and crossed his feet on the coffee table. “No, don’t expect him to until tomorrow. You know Grambling needs his beauty sleep.”

“He needs all the help he can get, then.” Ange snorted and looked down the hall toward the closed bathroom door. When she looked back at him, her expression was stark. “She needs help, too. The quiet’s not natural. It’s like a heavy blanket’s been thrown over her personality and is smothering the hell out of it. I don’t know about you, but that kind of protection is definitely above my pay grade.”

Mack nodded, but had no helpful solutions. There was a lot about this that didn’t make a whole lot of sense, starting with why they’d been called in the first place. “Did Grambling tell you anything at all?”

Ange shook her head and tossed her magazine by his feet before rising and taking her trash to the kitchen. “He said he got a call and needed me to fly out with him, and then I’d be coming back with you and the witness. Said it was high profile, high risk kind of thing, quick extraction. Who it was and why weren’t on the table.” She paced around the room, stretching her long legs and keeping an eye on the slit of light from beneath the bathroom door.

That struck his ears wrong. The kind of man Grambling was, ambitious to the point of almost single-minded sociopathy, would definitely have wanted to brag about the coup of picking up Cassie Witt. Not to mention the other question, “Why the hell wasn’t the Vegas office notified? I was having dinner with two of their Inspectors, I would have thought since she was on their turf…” He let his thought trail off as he pondered it further. Vegas should have been the obvious first call. He and his partner being there made no sense.

Thankfully, the bathroom door came open and Cassie emerged in green plaid pajama pants and a Yoda t-shirt that declared her a “Jedi In Training”, wet hair braided down the sides of her head, eyes puffy like she’d been crying. He looked to Ange, who nodded and headed down the hall. “Hey, chica, surprised you’re not waterlogged. Why don’t we turn in for the night?”

“I’ll lock up,” Mack called from the living room, going to each and every point of entry and checking its security again. Something about this was wrong, way wrong, and the last thing he wanted was to overlook something and lose a witness because of a mistake. Pulling out his phone as he walked, he dialed. “Eli? Yeah, I’m so sorry I had to run out. You got a minute? I have some questions.”

Cassie figured there was only so much time she could spend curled up in a ball on the shower floor before they came looking for her. Once the hot water hit her skin, the tears she’d been fighting flowed easily, and the bone-deep grief could surface unabated. So many thoughts, images raced around her brain while she eased the pressure valve on her emotions. She could hear her father saying Clint got what he had coming, since her friend assumed the job that had been her old man’s. She’d never been sorry for hiring him, and now, since he had no real family other than her, she wouldn’t even be allowed to bury him.

She’d emerged from the shower after she figured there were just no more tears left, and gotten into her jammies. The house was nice enough, not at all unlike the house she grew up in, in Santa Fe, but not like the places she’d been staying in the last couple years since her albums had gone multi-platinum and her singles topped the charts. A large part of her success was directly attributable to her late manager, and while she still had Trista, the shock of the evening had worn away, leaving her with a nearly overwhelming sadness.

Mack and Angela were in the living room, seemingly awaiting her appearance, or her drowning, whichever. They were deep in a conversation that had both of them looking like they could chew glass, intense enough she figured her escape to the bedroom would go unnoticed. No such luck, though, since Ange volunteered to put her to bed. It seemed surprisingly natural coming from her.

The female Marshal checked the windows before pulling out a pair of black yoga pants and a Diamondbacks jersey from her suitcase. “I’ll be right back in a minute, all right?” Like she needed to ask permission. Cassie nodded out of politeness rather than actual acknowledgement of the words.

How the hell am I supposed to sleep?
she wondered as she stretched out in the twin bed farthest from the door. Her mind, full of images and sounds of the evening: Clint’s hug and words of encouragement before she went onstage, Trista’s face when she burst into the concierge’s office, the face of the man who put her manager down like a lame horse, churned in a continuous loop like the half-hour rotation on a cable news channel. Ceaseless.

When the female Marshal returned, she looked like a real person and not a fashion goddess. It was hard for Cassie to imagine she carried a gun, much less used it. Now she looked like the older sister she never had with her hair down in braids on the side of her head like her own and her Montero #26 jersey and black capris. “Are you okay?”

Cassie figured she’d have to hear that question a lot in the coming days, but it didn’t make it any less galling. “I’m…here.”

Ange smiled and hopped into her own bed and made sure her gun and phone were within easy reach. “I get it. I do.” She stopped speaking, and then seemed to change her mind, finishing with, “You grieve however you need to, and we’re here to keep you safe, okay?”

She nodded and reached for the bedside lamp. She did her best brooding in the dark. They lay like that for a while, listening to the fan from the swamp cooler and the occasional vibration from the Marshal’s cell phone. Cassie thought about her phone in the Marshals’ possession, but didn’t want to keep Ange up half the night from the light as she responded to the half a billion text messages she possibly had. Another thing to add to tomorrow’s already unreasonable to-do list.

Her mind coiled in on itself as she lay there examining the darkness in minute detail. The sheets were scratchy, the bland border that encircled the room near the ceiling was starting to peel at the corner closest to her, and her manager was still dead. Dead, hauled out in a black zippered bag on a gurney, extra long.

To distract herself, she asked of the darkness, “Did you lose someone, too?”

Ange chuckled softly, surprising Cassie that she was still awake, much less willing to talk to her. “Yeah, going on four years now.”

“I’m sorry,” Cassie gulped out of reflex. Maybe it was the way she’d paused earlier, like she had something more to add. She didn’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories for the other woman.

Ange hummed her dismissal. “Thank you. A day doesn’t go by that I don’t think about her. She’s always going to be a part of me, like Clint will be for you.”

The kind words pricked her skin, bringing tears to her eyes again. Rubbing the bridge of her nose to stave them off, she asked, “Your mom?”

“No, my wife.” The lack of follow up filled the darkness with all the answers Cassie needed.

“I’m so sorry,” Cassie repeated in a whisper that was swallowed by the oppressive darkness. She could tell they were both awake, like each was waiting for the other to cut the somber veil that descended between them. Her thoughts were invaded by everything her manager had done for her, salvaged her career from the shambles her father had left her with, taken her farther than she ever dreamed possible in country music, been there when she needed him, regardless of time or place, and now she just had a hole in her life. In her heart. She couldn’t get past the feeling she’d lost her father, though even when she’d voluntarily cut the man whose biology she shared from her life, she hadn’t felt this bereft, adrift. She was left with one question. “Does it ever stop hurting?”

“No. You learn to live with it, eventually, but it doesn’t go away. Some marks are permanent.” And with that bleak proclamation hanging in the air, they both drifted off to a restless semi-slumber peppered with fever dreams and night sweats, even in the cool of the room.

Cassie woke to what she thought was thunder, feeling like she’d only dipped her toes into the waters of Lethe, but it was nothing so peaceful. Mack burst into their bedroom, catching the door from slamming into the wall, and said only one thing.

“We’re compromised.”

Like they’d arranged it ahead of time, Ange was on her feet in an instant, gun out, hustling her out of bed and out to the garage to the car, while Mack gathered things and tossed them in after her. Ange drove with one hand and messed with the radio with the other while he sat stoically in the back seat with her, thoroughly abusing the touch-screen of his phone while he texted. He looked strung out, stressed, intense, and dangerous.

It was impossible not to notice earlier in the evening when he’d escorted her to her room and stood guard at the door while she packed. Not that he explicitly said so, but he made no secret of his thorough check of the room before her entry or how evenly he divided his attention between desultory conversation with her and the status of the door’s electric lock. Mack was deceptively dangerous, she’d thought then. Classically handsome, in a refined way that struck her as a bit odd, on the leaner side of muscular, the way he moved told her anyone who challenged him would have been in for a surprise.

Now, he looked downright lethal. Red-eyed and mean, and quite possibly ready to bite the next person who spoke to him. Fortunately for her, it was Ange who bit that bullet.

“What’d he say?” Her calm voice was unnerving given that they’d all just been rousted out of bed due to some unknown danger. The casual disregard she had for conventions like posted speed limits and overall traffic laws was honestly more upsetting than the other circumstances surrounding them.

Mack’s answer was more of a growl than actual words. “I got a call that just said we needed to get out ASAP. He said he’d fill us in at the alternate.” He texted some more before shoving his phone in his pocket and glaring out the window. Turning to her, he pinned her down with a speculative gaze. “What did you see?”

“Mack,” Ange drew his name out with a warning tone from the driver’s seat.

Cassie would have preferred if she paid more attention to the driving at light speed than the backseat conversation, but she figured this was not unusual for them.

Cassie blinked, completely unprepared for the question. “I…my friend…the party was…” Every sentence she started made her stomach churn, and she dug her nails into her palms to keep herself together.

“I need to know.” He reached out and took her hand in an unexpected gesture of kindness. “We need to know what we’re walking into so we know how to protect you.”

“Mackenzie,” his partner barked. “This is not—”

He shook his head. “This is most definitely the time. Grambling won’t tell us what the hell is going on, and I’m not taking fire or getting knifed in my sleep without some kind of explanation.” The hands that had been cradling hers with surprising gentleness tightened as he spoke. When she pulled back, he shook his head absently and muttered, “Sorry,” before turning back to his partner. “I’ve lost count of the number of unorthodox things about this situation, not the least of which is our lack of knowledge about the players.”

Ange nodded tightly. “None of which are her fault, either. We’re almost there, you can ask him yourself. Leave her alone.” The way she said it seemed to dare him to contradict her, but he didn’t, sinking back against the seat and continuing to hold Cassie’s hand.

It was only a couple more minutes before they pulled up to a house that could have been on the other side of the world as fast as they’d been travelling, and she felt Mack stiffen up beside her. He held the door as he handed her out to the gravel driveway already occupied by three other dark and conspicuously nondescript sedans.

It was a one story Spanish mission kind of house with a long curved driveway and a fountain in the middle. Ange and Mack took up positions flanking her as they approached the heavy antique wooden door. It opened before they had a chance to knock.

“I apologize for the time,” Grambling started and he held out an arm to welcome them inside. “It seems we’ve had a few…complications.” His phrasing was as delicate as his voice was light, doubling the feeling of foreboding that had started in the pit of her stomach since she’d been awakened.

“Oh, I can’t wait to hear this,” Mack snarled as he shoved past him.