Witness In Hiding. Lisa Phillips

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      And then there was the woman. Zoe, he’d called her. Who was she, and why did the gunman know her? The man had threatened her, and yet he’d let her live while he killed the man Jude had been there to see.

      Had he shot Moose because of the shotgun, or because Moose knew too much? Maybe there was another reason entirely.

      Jude reached the exit door, stood where there was cover and looked out before he moved to pursue the man. It wouldn’t do him any good to rush out and have the gunman attack him because he hadn’t been cautious. But the man wasn’t waiting.

      The peal of car tires screeched out the parking lot and the killer tore off at top speed in a silver, low-slung, rusty car. No plates. The undercarriage scraped the asphalt on the way out, and then the guy was gone.

      Lost him.

      Jude slammed the flat of his hand on the door frame. That man—whoever he was and whatever his motive might be—had just killed the best lead Jude had been able to find on his case.

      He pulled out his phone and called 9-1-1 to report what had happened.

      Jude’s job was mostly to identity theft investigations and illegal transactions. White-collar crimes involving money and state-of-the-art technology that cost this country millions each year. Jude would dig into the problem. He would solve the mystery of what was happening and who was involved.

      In this particular case, the pharmaceutical company and a South American cartel were moving money back and forth. It hadn’t been easy to trace the international transactions. But when Jude had found the Laundromat listed on one, he’d jumped on the information. He didn’t have enough evidence to obtain a warrant yet, but that hadn’t stopped him from heading over to the Laundromat to see what Moose had to say.

      Online banking was the new cash. Huge transfers could be divided up into hundreds of small transactions or transfers between online accounts. It was the job of the Secret Service to recognize evidence of possible money laundering. The question was, who had been sending the pharmaceutical company so much money, and why?

      Now his only lead was a rusty car. He’d have to get a description of the vehicle and the gunman to the cops and pray for a result.

      Jude trailed back through the hall to a now open door. The other was signed as a bathroom. Before he got there, he glanced around. Security cameras had been installed at the corner where the wall met the ceiling. Did they work? Maybe he could get an image of the killer and run it through the Secret Service database as well as the FBI’s system. They could get the man’s identity from that.

      If he knew who the guy was, Jude would be one step closer to figuring out what had just happened. And whether it was tied to his case.

      Jude looked in the office then and found the redhead at the desk, her back to him as she rifled through papers in a frantic search of Moose’s documents. Was she stealing from the man? A duffel lay on the floor beside her, bulky with something.

      The idea that such a beautiful, obviously scared woman could be a criminal stopped his forward progress. Jude knew looks could be deceiving, but that wouldn’t change his job. His personal feelings, even a rush of protectiveness, didn’t matter when the law came into the equation. Justice showed no partiality toward people.

      At least, it shouldn’t.

      Jude waited at the door with his gun hand loose at his side. Whether or not she was a thief, something told him she wasn’t dangerous. So he simply watched her to see what she would do.

      “No, no, no.” She shoved papers off the desk, picked up a manila envelope and looked inside. “Please be here.” She made a noise of frustration and threw it on the desk. “Please be here.” She renewed her search.

      “Cops are on their way.”

      The woman—Zoe, the man had called her—squealed and spun around. Wide eyes stared at him, so green they were like the forest after a spring rain. Really? Poetry? Jude pushed aside the errant thoughts and reminded himself she could well be a criminal. He said, “You might want to wrap up your thievery before they get here.”

      “Thievery?”

      Jude shrugged one shoulder. “First word that came to mind when I saw you rummaging through a man’s office.”

      She lifted two pale palms, though one was red marked. She’d been hurt? That reminded him of the other woman. He needed this woman to accompany him so he could check on her. The last thing he needed was two people disappearing.

      “As you can see,” she said, “I haven’t stolen anything.”

      “Which begs the question, what are you looking for?”

      * * *

      Yes, it did seem to lead to that question. Too bad Zoe had no intention of telling this guy anything at all. She’d faced enough questions from the injured woman out front.

      Before she shoved away Zoe’s attempt to help her. Like it was Zoe’s fault her shoulder was bleeding.

      Cute though this guy was, with dark blond hair in need of a cut curling around his ears, she couldn’t trust him. Nice suit. But not too nice; it just fit him really well. She’d always disliked guys who tried too hard to look put-together, or who used styling product in their hair—which was basically the same thing. This guy was clean-cut, and he looked...low-key.

      Zoe bit the inside of her cheek. “I should go.”

      He didn’t move, even though she needed to get past him so she could leave this building of horrors empty-handed. Don’t think about that. But she had to. She needed the reminder of everything that could go wrong to push her to be smart and cautious, to do everything she had to in order to keep her family alive.

      This should have been her last stop. Her ticket out for herself, her sister and her son. They would have been on their way. Free.

      That was gone now. All she had was nothing but a bag full of cash and no hope.

      Not to mention, the police would be here soon.

      “How about you stay for a minute. Introduce yourself?” He didn’t voice it like a question, even though technically it was. “I’ll even start.” He touched his chest. “Jude Brauer, Secret Service.”

      So that was what the badge on his belt signified. Zoe glanced at the wall like she could see outside and said, “Is the president in town?”

      He winced. “I’m local, not on the president’s detail.”

      “This is a nice chat and all, but I really should be going.” Where, she had no idea. But anywhere was fine when it would be away from a dead man, a woman who’d been shot and the end of all her options.

      “And you’re Zoe.”

      He wasn’t going to listen. He was trying to get her to open up when she had zero intention of doing so. Zoe moved then, and some distant, still hopeful part of her prayed he’d just step aside and let her pass. Like prayer would actually work for her now, when it hadn’t so far.

      He held out a hand. While not actually touching her, it was still a gentleman’s attempt СКАЧАТЬ