Better Off Dead. Meryl Sawyer

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СКАЧАТЬ they tried to access. Could have been the FBI or CIA. Nothing to worry about.”

      Curt Masterson directed the WITSEC program. He was an impressive bull of a man who probably knew what he was talking about. If he were wrong, she was dead.

      “Your jacket is buried so deep that no one’s going to find it. Trust me, the Feds saw to it and Masterson double-checked them.”

      Federal Prosecutors were usually the ones who recommended witnesses for the program. It was in their interest to protect the confidential file—the jacket—on a witness.

      Reese Barnaby III—three-fer to his buddies—was among the most ambitious of the federal prosecutors. His successful prosecution of the top executives of PowerTec would make him a household word in Texas without him having to spend the millions it usually took politicians to buy name recognition.

      Lindsey took a bite of her salad. It was hard to swallow; life was hard to swallow. “I hope Masterson is right. I want to live to testify.”

      “I’m sure Masterson has taken precautions he hasn’t told me about. You’re a top priority. You know the 800 number you have memorized?”

      “Yes.” Before she left the safe house in D.C., she had to memorize the special number. Each time she met Derek, he had asked her to repeat the number she was to call in case she couldn’t reach him in an emergency.

      “Not every witness is given that number.”

      “Why not?”

      “Because a lot of them are lowlifes from drug gangs. It’s not safe for them to go home, but hit teams aren’t looking for them.”

      She managed a nod, her anger barely under control.

      “The number is for high risk, high priority witnesses. You call and a special task force will be mobilized to help you.”

      “What a joke! They’re supposed to rush from D.C. in time to save me?”

      “WITSEC will notify the FBI’s field office here. They’ll help you.”

      Lindsey found this somewhat reassuring. She had contacted the FBI when she’d discovered the discrepancies in PowerTec’s accounting records. The FBI had immediately responded, analyzed the situation and sent in an undercover agent to gather more information. Annette Sperling had been a top-notch accountant who easily joined PowerTec without anyone suspecting who she really was.

      Annette had worked at PowerTec six months, covertly analyzing their financial transactions, before someone killed her execution style. An hour after Lindsey found her body, the FBI yanked Lindsey out of Houston and put her in protective custody.

      “Any word on when those creeps will be brought to trial?” she asked.

      “No. These things take a while.”

      “It’s been almost a year.”

      “Don’t raise your voice,” he warned. “I know you’re frustrated. Remember Enron. It was over a year before indictments came down. It takes time to build the kind of case they need to get convictions. Rutherford and Ames can afford counsel who’ll provide the most amazing legal gymnastics imaginable.”

      Ted Rutherford, CEO and her boss, CFO, Jackson Ames. Thinking of them made something in her gut coil inside itself. Once she’d looked up to them, especially Jack. She’d worked with him every day—and never suspected the truth.

      “Has there been any progress in the investigation of Annette’s murder?” she asked, although she was certain she knew the answer. She monitored the case on SmokingGun.com. No leads. Nothing. All the signs of a professional hit.

      “No, but everyone knows who’s responsible.”

      “Rutherford and Ames.”

      “Annette didn’t deserve to die.”

      She didn’t say she might have bought it that night, as well. Tyler’s unexpected meeting with out-of-town clients had given her some free time. She’d returned to PowerTec just after the undercover agent had been murdered. If she’d arrived a few minutes earlier, the killer would have shot her, too.

      “From what I hear the Feebies thought highly of Annette. They miss her.”

      “Why did you come all the way here to take me to lunch and tell me you’re leaving? You could have called.”

      Two beats of silence. “There are things I wanted to discuss with you—off the record.”

      An ominous premonition snaked through her. What next?

      “If Masterson or anyone finds out—I’m finished.”

      “I won’t say a word. I swear.”

      “Most of the witnesses I’ve worked with have been drug dealers or LCN. Scumbags who flipped—turned on their bosses—but they’re still criminals.”

      She’d learned the FBI and U.S. Marshals called the Mafia by the abbreviated term for La Cosa Nostra—LCN.

      “I thought less than ten percent of WITSEC people return to lives of crime.”

      “True, but I still have to deal with a bunch of lowlifes.”

      “With Worldcom and Enron and now PowerTec, it looks like white collar crime is a growth industry.”

      He chuckled at her lame attempt at a joke. “Be serious.”

      “I’m serious. Deadly serious.”

      He waited for the server to remove their salad plates and serve their entrées. Lindsey mustered a smile for the waiter. She sampled the veal in tequila chili sauce after Derek was served his Adobo steak.

      “Like I told you earlier, you’re entering the period when most witnesses let down their guard. They call people they’re not authorized to call. You wouldn’t believe how many of them return home to attend a funeral or a wedding.”

      “I know I’m in danger. I was the one to find Annette Sperling’s body, remember?”

      She would never forget walking into the office where the agent was working undercover. Annette had been slumped forward over her computer keyboard. A single bullet had parted the blond hair at the back of her head, leaving a neat hole and a trail of blood running down her back and pooling on the carpet.

      “I remember,” he said between bites of steak. “We’re still worried.”

      We? Obviously he’d been discussing her with the boys at headquarters in DC.

      “Why are you worried about me?”

      “You haven’t adjusted. Living here, owning a gallery isn’t enough. You should have friends—”

      “I have a good friend. We’re having dinner tonight.”

      “One friend isn’t enough. If all you have is one friend, you eventually confide in him. Then they tell someone, who tells someone…” His tone said he’d seen СКАЧАТЬ