it’s just too much. Would it be all right to do this tomorrow? Everything is a blur.”
“No. We’d like to interview you when it’s fresh.”
But an hour later in the sheriff’s office, the deputy looked at her in frustration. She was blanking out on every question. She couldn’t help it. Only once before had she ever been this shaken and not even then. She’d been too young.
“I’m sorry, I’m just...” She paused, not sure what she was. “Maybe tomorrow.”
“Traumatized,” he finished for her. “The morning will have to do.” He looked at his watch. “Let’s say eight o’clock. I’ll bring a sketch artist to your house and we’ll do a complete interview then.”
After that, he drove her home. It all seemed anticlimactic, yet more than a little frightening. Was she safe here? Was she safe anywhere? Her world had blown apart. She wrapped an afghan around herself and collapsed on her couch. She was a wreck. The fact that her usually organized mind couldn’t connect the dots of what had just happened terrified her.
An hour later, she was terrified all over again. She’d calmed down, realized that she was safe exactly as the deputy had said. And then she’d double-checked the contents of her purse and discovered that her artists’ guild card with her picture, name and address was gone.
She’d had it when she’d left home. She’d intended to go to a local art gallery and discuss some of her latest works with them. For that, she needed the card. She usually had it in her wallet but today she’d been in a rush, known she’d be pulling it out shortly and had slipped the card into her purse and not into the wallet. Had it fallen out? Had the man who knocked her to the ground also picked up her artists’ guild card? There’d been nothing on the sidewalk when she left. She’d double-checked. She could think of no other reason for its absence. Fear ran through her as she thought of the information he’d glean from the card.
She thought of calling the sheriff’s office and asking for protection. But she knew what happened to people who witnessed a crime. And the law could only do so much. Now that the men who had robbed the bank knew who she was and where she lived, she wasn’t safe. She couldn’t wait for someone else to give lip service to the fact that they might help her.
Witnesses died. That was a fact. She’d lived her whole life knowing that terrible outcome. She couldn’t wait. She couldn’t depend on anyone else to protect her. She needed to get away until things cooled down.
Within an hour, she had a flight booked and was packing her things for the drive to Denver International Airport.
“I’ll be back, and I’ll give my testimony,” she promised grimly as she locked the door of her house. And, she vowed as she gripped the wheel of her small pickup truck, not only would she live, but she’d make sure the jerk and his gang were put behind bars for the rest of their lives.
“YOU SCREWED THIS UP, you fix it!” snarled the man who liked to be called Evan. “Damn it, Luc, she saw you!”
Lucas Cruz held back the urge to slam his fist into Evan’s taunting mouth. Evan had been the last to join the gang and even before this, he had been the proverbial thorn in Lucas’s side. But there was no getting around it. Evan had seen the entire incident and he’d put the dots together. Because of that, he not only had to resolve a major screwup but he was being judged by the very men he’d led for the last few years.
“Not a problem,” he snarled. “I’ll fix it. Now, get out of my face before I—”
“Yeah, I’ll get out of your face,” Evan bristled. “When—”
“Shut the hell up,” Rico broke in with a look of disdain at them both. “Lucas knows what has to be done. And we all know that the last thing we need is the cops on our tail. We’re good now. But she opens her trap and it’s all done.” He glared at Lucas despite his words of support only seconds earlier. “I hope you have a plan.”
“I’ll deal with her. Meantime, carry on as planned,” Lucas said with steel in his voice. He’d had enough. One more challenge from Rico and he’d take him out. That was what he’d thought only yesterday but now everything had changed and Rico knew it. “Get out of state. Go to Albuquerque and I’ll meet you there. At the usual place. I know it’s not ideal—”
“Hell,” Rico snarled. “We could be caught because of your stupidity. She knows what you look like.”
He was on Rico, his hands around his throat threatening to choke the life out of him. Someone had him from behind and pulled him off.
“It’s over, Lucas, you don’t call the shots on this one,” Rico said with a knife’s edge to his voice. “Take Chen.” He gave the young man a shove.
Lucas had to fight to cool the anger that ran hot and blistering through his veins. He had to fight not to kill Rico here and now. But those feelings would only get in the way of what he needed to do. Rico was right about one thing: he’d screwed up royally. It was him the witness had seen—no one else. This was the first time there’d been a witness who had seen one of their faces. His face.
He couldn’t believe he’d screwed up so royally. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking, or more accurately, not thinking. He’d thought nothing of it when he’d bumped into her on the street. She was a passerby, nothing more. She didn’t know who he was or what he’d done or what he planned to do. Instead of on her, his mind had been on the heist.
The last place he had expected her to go was the same bank he was in the process of robbing. She’d been on the wrong side of the street for that. So was he, but that was part of how he entered any bank, from the opposite side. That upped the chances that anyone who might see him wouldn’t connect him with the bank. He was also superstitious. He considered an approach from the opposite side to be lucky.
Their encounter had been an inconvenience—that was it. They’d bumped into each other and gone their separate ways. And now, she had to die for what she’d seen.
He grimaced. Bad luck had tailed him since the beginning of this robbery. To have the woman who’d gotten a clear view of him enter the bank in the midst of the robbery was the height of bad luck, or so he’d thought. But it got worse. The interruption allowed one of the tellers to set off the alarm. There’d been no time to do anything but get the hell out.
As a result, they’d run down a back alley, jumping into the nondescript SUV that had brought them there. By the time they were in motion, the sirens were shrill. The call had been too close, and it had all been downhill from there. They’d gotten away with a few thousand dollars, and only one step ahead of law enforcement. That was way too narrow of a getaway and too little of a take. The whole thing had been a fiasco from beginning to end.
She had no idea who he was, but she knew what he looked like. The authorities would soon have his face on file. Everything had looked grim until he’d remembered the card he’d picked up when her belongings had scattered on the sidewalk. He wasn’t sure why he had done it—it might have been instinct. What it turned out was to be a bit of good luck. He had the witness’s identity and her address. He’d had to wait until dark and even beyond that. It was around eleven, late enough that if the neighborhood wasn’t asleep, it had mostly settled in for the night.
“Slow,” he hissed in Spanish to the driver of the vehicle as they took the turn into the crescent where she lived.
“Here,” he said a minute later. “Stop.” They were half a block from her house.
He paused on the sidewalk. The few streetlights left the street shadowy and the houses in darkness. Despite that, he knew what the area was—he’d learned that immediately after finding her identity. It consisted of a middle-class group of mixed ethnicities, he thought with disdain. Some day he would buy and sell an area like this. Small cozy houses and neatly kept lawns as if the residents had nothing better