The Witness (Miami Private Security #4)

7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Sabrina

“ I made everyone breakfast.” I turned and glanced over my shoulder at Steel. “There were tons of leftovers from the party and a carton of eggs.”

“You didn’t have to. But it smells great.” He smiled and stepped all the way into the break room. His beard hid a lot of his expression, but the tone was somber. My mother’s intuition told me something serious had happened.

“I wanted to do something for all of you. And cooking is my stress reliever.” I carefully lifted the edge of my egg frittata. It had started to brown. I turned down the heat and pushed the plunger on the toaster.

“Thank you. Normally, it’s a microwave egg white burrito or a doughnut around here.” He clicked the mute button on the TV I had tuned to the local news, so we didn’t have to talk over the broadcast.

“Yeah, I saw those in the freezer.” I shuddered a little, imagining the flat, dull taste of rubbery microwaved egg whites and low-fat cheese.

“I was at your house early this morning. Brought you some things.” He put a huge duffle bag I recognized on the floor.

I shut off the burner and moved the eggs off the heat before I pounced on the bag. On top were my knife roll and my recipe book. I’d debated long and hard about leaving them behind when I went to meet Lewis. Thank God I had.

“This is incredible. My recipes. And my knives. You sure know the way to a girl’s heart.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and squeezed. I intended it to be a quick embrace, a throwaway thing. But when Michael’s arms folded around me, I lingered pressed to his chest. It had been too long since I had been held by a man. Two embraces with him in less than 24 hours and I was addicted. My devotion to the food truck to restaurant in five years plan meant I lived and breathed work. Even my dreams were about recipes, not broad-shouldered men with swirling tattoos and a delicate touch that sent goosebumps racing down my arms.

“That smells amazing.” Quinn’s cheery voice had Michael and me jumping apart like the middle school principal had caught us necking.

I’d met the Smith Agency’s office manager earlier this morning when I stumbled out of my guest room looking for coffee. She’d been so freaking bubbly that pre-coffee me had almost punched her. She’d led me to the coffeemaker and introduced herself after my first sip of black gold.

“Michael brought me my knives.” It was a perfectly rational explanation for the hug. I was grateful. Nothing to blush about. Shit. I pressed a palm to my cheek. It felt maybe medium rare. Wow, this was embarrassing. Hopefully, they would assume the heat from the stove had caused the flush.

Quinn smiled at me and Michael like we were adorable. I bit my tongue to stop from explaining how my knives were like an extension of my hands. It would only make it worse. I’d come off as a full-on Edward Scissorhands type weirdo.

“You should see her house. It’s cute. And she has plants, live ones in pots. It’s amazing.” Michael told Quinn, glossing over the too long hug.

“Steel and I are serial plant murderers.” Quinn put a cell phone on the table and started getting out plates and silverware for four people.

“It’s purely selfish. I only keep mine alive so I can have fresh herbs.” I wanted to tell them it was Hailey that had the green thumb, but casually bringing up my dead daughter to near strangers freaked them out. They didn’t know how to act or what to say. I loved sharing stories and thoughts of her with others, but unfortunately, it often ended with everyone feeling uncomfortable, so I’d stopped. Hailey would hate me feeling awkward as part of her legacy.

Once she knew her diagnosis was terminal, her legacy became something we talked about often. Thus, I worked hard to preserve it the best way I could—living my life while not forgetting her.

The toast popped up, pulling me from my thoughts. “Butter or jam?”

Both answered butter, and the next few minutes were taken up with me serving the frittata I’d cobbled together from the leftover charcuterie board and crudité platter. The only interruption was the arrival and introduction of Simon. He was apparently the computer nerd for the company.

And for a guy that was skin and bones, Simon could put the food away. He ate more than Michael. I loved feeding people like him. Ones that ate with gusto and appreciation. It was like his whole body was involved, his focus only on the plate and each perfect morsel he’d select and devour.

“Good?” I asked Simon when he pushed away his empty plate.

“Awesome. Can we have it again tomorrow?” Simon answered.

I chuckled. “Well, I used up most of the leftov—”

“What do you need? I’ll get a Publix delivery?” Simon had his thumbs poised over his phone to type a grocery list.

I looked from Michael to Quinn. “Is he serious?”

“Simon never jokes about food or the size of a CPU.” Quinn stood and started cleaning up as I gave Simon a list. Tomorrow, I’d change it up: gourmet breakfast sandwiches.

“Thanks for breakfast. I’ve got to get back to my computer.” Simon ducked his head, hunched his shoulders, and retreated from the break room, the nerd part of computer nerd on full display.

Steel picked up the phone Quinn had brought with her. “Is this the burner I asked you for?”

“Yep, nice and untraceable.” Quinn popped a dishwasher tab in the machine.

“Perfect,” Michael said.

I cocked my head to study him and the “burner phone.” I’d heard the phrase in movies, but I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen such a thing. It looked like any cheap cell phone to me. Seriously, this was a whole new world I was in.

Steel put the phone on the table in front of me. I looked at it askance.

“You need to call your brother and mom. We’ve got to fill them in.”

So this was the serious issue Michael had on his mind when he showed up in the break room. Breakfast only delayed the assignment.

“My mom, sure, she’s local, but Gary is kind of, um, a pain in the ass and lives in Tampa.” I loved my brother, but he wears on my last nerve. And this situation was one where he, as a police officer, would want to explain, in his professional opinion, the best course of action. He was the kind of cop that liked to give commuters speeding tickets during Monday morning rush hour.

“I hate to say it, but I don’t think you have many options.” Steel pointed to the muted TV where a PR photo of me from the Food Truck Fabulous website was on the screen. The label under it said, “Sabrina Dalton, reality TV show chef, a person of interest in the Oceanfront Diner shooting.”

“Shit. If Mom sees that, she’ll have a stroke.” I reached for the phone; Steel’s hand closed over mine before I could lift it off the table.

“I need to ask about one other thing first.” He pulled a framed photo from my duffle and put it on the table. “Who is she?”

I jerked back and stared at the picture of Hailey from my bookshelf. The silence grew in the room until it was uncomfortable. Quinn, feeling its weight, beat a hasty retreat with barely a backward glance, leaving me and Michael alone with the photo. So much for keeping Hailey’s legacy free of awkwardness.

“That’s Hailey.” I smiled, but unshed tears made my voice catch. “My daughter.”

“We need to know where she is so we can protect her.” There was a note of accusation in his tone. He didn’t understand and was questioning if he could trust me. I hated seeing the suspicion in his eyes. He was my rock in this hurricane. My shoulder to cry on, literally.

“She’s gone. A brain tumor. The same week as my fortieth birthday. She was sixteen. That photo was our last farmer’s market.” I rubbed the shallot tattooed on my arm. I’d gotten it a few days after Hailey’s funeral. The same day I put down the deposit on my food truck.

“Sabrina, I’m so sorry. I saw the photo and then her room. I worried—”

“Why did this photo catch your attention?” I cut him off to keep him from apologizing.

“The shallot. Symbols are powerful, none more so than those you choose to have permanently etched on your skin.” He looked at my forearm and then back to the photo.

“You’re right, it is a symbol. It represents a promise I made Hailey that I’d pick myself up after she died and chase the dream. I never would have been willing to chase it while she was alive. A restaurant of my own. Single moms don’t risk every penny they have on a dream. But a forty-year-old with no responsibilities.” I shrugged. “What did I have to lose? So, I gave myself five years to pull it off.”

“I thought you said two years ago?”

“I did. Winning that TV show contest accelerated my timeline a lot. And now all this Sandoval shit may cost me everything. Life is unpredictable.” I wasn’t thinking about my good luck with the TV show or what happened on that boat. I was thinking of my beautiful daughter losing a short and ugly battle with a fast-growing tumor. With my fingertip, I traced her face in the photo.

“Man, or in this case woman, plans and God laughs.”

“Yeah, something like that.” I reached for the cell and considered who to call first. “Can I call a friend too? She won’t need protection, I don’t think. But if she sees me on the news, she will freak out.”

“Who is she?”

“Katie Bartholomew, a friend that is going to come to work at Viande.”

“Sure. Don’t tell her much. Keep it short. We can’t have her doing anything that would put her in Sandoval’s crosshairs. Tell her to stay the hell away from the restaurant and your house.” His warning gave me pause.

Did I risk calling Katie? She was my best friend and would soon be head pastry chef at Viande. If I ever got out of this mess. Even if she didn’t see me on the news, she would be worried. I wasn’t going to lie, but I didn’t want her in danger either.

As I dialed, Michael stood and started wiping down the kitchen counter to give me the illusion of privacy. It was a thoughtful gesture, both the cleaning and extra space.

“Hello?” Katie sounded suspicious.

“It’s me, Sabrina.”

“Hey sweetie, what’s with the blocked number?”

“Long, long story. I can’t really explain, but trust me when I say shit is going to be weird for a little while. I need you to stay out of it. Understand?”

I’d been such an idiot when I arrived at the Oceanfront Diner not having told Katie or Mom anything. No way witness protection would have let me make this kind of call. But then again, my picture wouldn’t have been on the local news if witness protection had… worked. The very idea of it having worked made me wince. Whisked off into Neverland for an unknown length of time. I’ve watched way too many episodes of Law and Order. Olivia and Elliot had me believing crimes were solved in an hour or less.

“Out of what?”

“Anything. Everything. This is more important than when I wouldn’t tell you I won Food Truck Fabulous for three months. Stay away from my house and Viande.”

“Okay.” She sounded thrilled.

“I’m going to be missing in action, but as soon as I can I’ll explain everything.” I didn’t want to mislead Katie, but her jumping to good conclusions was better than bad. It still felt like lying.

“Damn, you landed Viande on some super-secret reality TV show, didn’t you? Never mind.” She squealed with delight. “You are incredible. I won’t tell a soul.”

I crossed my fingers, hoping she’d never see the local news report with my photo.

“Perfect. And, ah, thank you for everything, Katie.” I swallowed past the lemon-sized lump in my tight throat.

“You are so welcome. Have fun filming the pilot. I won’t come within a thousand feet of the shoot.”

We hung up after a quick goodbye that I had to force past the sour lump in my throat.

Something about Katie thinking this was a good thing had made me remember just how bad my situation really was.

“Mom next, I guess.” I gave a weak smile to Michael, who had turned his attention to tidying up around the coffeemaker.

“Just keep it simple. Tell her you’re safe and that the Smith Agency will work with her senior living community to get her some extra security until this all passes. Make it sound like a big misunderstanding.” He turned back to a stubborn water spot on the coffeemaker’s chrome.

He obviously didn’t know my mom if he thought a misunderstanding would satisfy her. I steeled myself for what was to come and dialed. My mother was like a force of nature when she wanted to be.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Sabrina! Oh, thank God. The FBI was here, on a Sunday, looking for you. I don’t understand.” She’d gone from excited I was alive to hysterical in six words or less.

“It’s a long story, Mom. But I’m okay.” I tried to keep my voice even, but damn if her anxiety wasn’t contagious.

“No, you’re not okay. The FBI is looking for you. They don’t look for people unless something is very wrong. And Esther from the fourth floor called. She said your picture was on the news.” Mom had started hyperventilating.

“Mom, please calm down,” I pleaded. Her blood pressure was likely skyrocketing, and that might trigger one of her fainting episodes. God, this was a bad fucking idea. I shouldn’t have agreed to do this, especially not over the phone. I should have kept her out of this, but it was too late now.

Michael’s hand rested on my shoulder just like it had last night when I’d talked with the Smiths. He squeezed, and I took a slow breath in and out, trying to keep it together. What I really wanted to do was to curl up in his arms until this was sorted out. Mom. Sandoval. All of it. Let his broad shoulders carry the weight of my burden.

“I can’t, I just can’t. Those FBI men said you were in trouble. They had guns.” She nearly sobbed the word guns, which set off the damned parrot.

In the background, Captain Morgan squawked. “Put em’ up! Put em’ up.”

“Mom, are you sitting down? Please sit down. Are you lightheaded at all?” I sure as shit felt lightheaded and nauseous. The last time she fell, she’d ended up in the ER getting her hip x-rayed.

“Of course, I’m woozy. There were FBI agents here asking about my daughter. And then the call with Esther. I can’t keep still. No way.”

“No how!” screeched the Captain, finishing one of his favorite phrases.

“What is going on, young lady?” It was her mom voice, the one reserved for the most serious of teenage infractions.

I envisioned her waving a hand in front of her face as she paced her apartment. She needed to sit down before she fell down. Another trip to the emergency room right now wouldn’t help the situation.

“Mom. Please sit, so I can explain.” I would beg. Rip out my hair, make her ten bowls of high cholesterol fettuccine Alfredo, but she needed to sit down.

She audibly huffed. “Fine, I’m sitting.”

“Thank you. I’m safe. But there’s been a big misunderstanding. And it would be best if you had some extra security. The Smith Agency—”

“Security. You aren’t safe at all, are you?”

“Mom, please.”

“No.” She was about to cry or pass out. Her voice had gone weak. Her shallow breathing filled the phone line with white noise. At any moment, I expected the phone to clatter to the floor when she fainted.

“Okay, you know what? You’re right. We will come get you.”

I looked at Michael, all the desperation I felt channeled in his direction. There was a second guest apartment next to the one I was staying in, so I knew there was room. And frankly, I didn’t care if this was a rational decision.

Smith wanted my help; well, I wanted my mom here where she’d be safe.

Michael winced and rubbed a hand over his beard before giving me one painfully slow nod. I could have hugged him.

“Stay in your apartment, pack a bag, and we will be there in an hour or two.” I mouthed a silent thank you to Michael, who dipped his head in reply.