Shielding His Christmas Witness. Laura Scott

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СКАЧАТЬ booted up the computer, then drummed his fingers on the table as he waited for the operating system to kick in. As soon as the wallpaper image bloomed on his screen, he opened a browser and began a background search on Vince Ackerman.

      He found several, but none in the right age range. Or what he thought was the correct age range. Somehow he couldn’t picture Kari with a guy fifteen years her senior.

      Although what did he really know about her? Other than the basics?

      Kari Ann Danville was twenty-six years old, grew up in Oakdale, Wisconsin, a suburb just outside Milwaukee. She’d been working at the Oakdale National Bank for the past four years, since graduating from college with an associate’s degree in graphic arts.

      Graphic arts and banking didn’t necessarily go hand in hand, but he’d also found a freelance graphic-arts website hosted by KariAnn’s Designs. Maybe she was using the regular paychecks from her day job at the bank while she worked on getting her design business off the ground.

      He wondered what she’d do once the baby was born. Not that Kari’s life or career prospects were any of his business. He couldn’t afford to let the aching loneliness in her eyes get to him.

      Which brought him back to the baby’s father, Vince Ackerman. He scowled at the federal database he was logged in to. There were a few possibilities, but all of them were located on the other side of the country.

      He sat back with a sigh. He should have asked for the guy’s age, and his last known address, but couldn’t bring himself to go next door to wake her up.

      Marc scrubbed his hands over his face, knowing he should follow her lead and get some sleep, too. But he needed to figure out his next steps, not least of which involved contacting his boss.

      The dead cop and empty safe house would raise an alarm when the relief officer arrived on the scene, in roughly—he glanced at his watch—two-and-a-half hours. His boss, Special Agent in Charge Evan White, would demand answers.

      Unfortunately, he didn’t have any.

      Since he’d ditched his phone, he had to use the motel phone. He reluctantly lifted the handset of the motel phone and dialed the main office number. No one would answer, but he could use a passcode to access Evan’s mailbox.

      “This is Callahan reporting in,” he said into the voice mail. “I have our witness in custody, but the safe house was breached and the officer watching over her is dead, the result of a gunshot wound inflicted at close range. I don’t have my phone... I’ll let you know as soon as I secure a replacement.”

      He disconnected from the call, relieved to postpone the inevitable confrontation with his boss.

      They were safely isolated here for the moment, but they couldn’t just hang out here until the trial. He needed help from someone he could trust.

      His family.

      As the oldest, he didn’t like turning to his siblings for help. His brother Miles was the next in line, and also happened to be a detective with the Milwaukee Police Department. There were six Callahans total, and thanks to his parents’ crazy sense of humor all their names started with the letter M.

      Marcus, Miles, Mitch, Michael, Matthew and Madison. Matt and Maddy were twins, Matt the elder by three minutes. Maddy hated being the baby of the family, constantly lamenting the fact that she had five older brothers. His father had been thrilled to finally have a daughter, and while they were always protective of their baby sister, they’d all also spoiled Maddy a little too much.

      He swallowed the painful lump in his throat when he thought about their father. Max Callahan had been a cop, and the acting chief of police, before he was killed six months ago, in the line of duty.

      His mother, Maggie, and their grandmother, Nan, still lived in the house where they grew up. Sunday church service followed by brunch was a steadfast Callahan tradition.

      Max Callahan had instilled a strong sense of duty and commitment to serving their community in all of his children. And the Callahan legacy lived on, as they’d followed in his footsteps in one form or another, well, except for Michael, who worked as a private investigator. Their father hadn’t been thrilled with Mike’s choice and had constantly badgered him to go back to the police academy.

      It still burned Marc to know their father’s case remained unsolved. Especially since his father was murdered by a sniper during an investigation into a police shooting of an unarmed teenager. It wasn’t normal for the chief of police to go to crime scenes, but his dad had wanted to make a statement that they were taking these types of incidents seriously.

      Only to be shot and killed for his efforts.

      Marc had recently begun his own personal investigation into his father’s death, hating the thought that the person responsible might get away with the crime. But it was as if the shooter had vanished into thin air, without leaving so much as a shell casing behind as a clue to his, or her, identity.

      Marc must be more tired than he thought, to allow his thoughts to be sucked back into the past.

      Unfortunately, he couldn’t allow his father’s death to become a distraction.

      Not when faced with an immediate threat to his witness.

      He picked up the motel phone again and punched in his brother’s number. Several rings went by before Miles answered in a raspy voice.

      “Who is this?”

      “Marc. I need a favor.”

      As if by magic the sleepiness in his brother’s voice vanished. “What’s going on? Why are you calling me from an unknown number?”

      “That’s the favor,” he said, avoiding a direct answer. “I need two new untraceable phones. Are you in the middle of something? Can you get them to me ASAP?”

      “That depends on where you are,” Miles said. “Is this related to your serial bank-robbery case?”

      “Yeah. The safe house where I stashed my witness has been compromised. I don’t want to call the Feds or the locals for help. Not until I have a better understanding as to what’s going on.”

      Miles was quiet for a long moment. “That’s not good,” he finally said. “Okay. Prepaid phones, check. Anything else?”

      He knew his brother would come through for him. “Not at the moment, but I’ll let you know if that changes.”

      “Where are you?”

      “Ravenswood Motel. It’s off Highway WW—on the right. You can’t miss it.”

      “Okay, but it will take me some time to get there and I have to wait for the stores to open.”

      “Understood. Thanks, I owe you.”

      “Yeah, and don’t think I won’t collect,” Miles shot back. “Later, bro.”

      Marc hung up the phone then glanced up in time to see Kari standing in the opening between the connecting doors. He was surprised to see her up and moving around on her injured ankle.

      “Who was that?” she demanded.

      “My СКАЧАТЬ