Reluctant Witness by Sara M. Barton Read Free Book Online

and its sweeping headlights came dangerously close
to our position. A silver Dodge van with a rooftop extension came
to a stop a good fifty feet away and a tall, lean silhouette of a
man got out. As he passed the glow of a lantern along the walkway,
I could see him more clearly. He wore a bright orange cap on the
top of his head, a dark ski parka, light-colored pants, and heavy
boots. We could hear him as he noisily trudged over to the steps of
the diner, the soles of his boots scuffing along the pavement, and
up to the door. Once he was inside, Jack nudged me.
    “It’s time to move out.”
    We made our way around the
woodsy tree line that surrounded the parking lot, and when we got
to the area by the van, we stopped and tucked ourselves into the
black shadows to wait once more. I felt my hand brushed against
Brutus’s soft, furry neck as he sat on my foot. Good dog.
    “Okay,” Jack whispered by my ear. “Here’s
what we’re going to do. We’re climbing into the camper, Marigold
and we’re going to lay low while we wait for Johnson to come back.
I want you to lie on the seat with Brutus. Don’t get up until I
give you the all clear. Understood?”
    “Understood.”
    Scurrying over to the side door, Jack
carefully opened it. The click of metal on metal as the latch
released seemed overly loud. A part of me wanted to stop him, to
warn him that we were just too exposed if there was really anyone
out there waiting for us, watching for us. I expected the overhead
light to come on and expose us, but the interior of the camper
remained dark.
    “You’ll have to feel your way around,
Marigold. Johnson turned off the van lights. Just settle in. I’ll
be moving about, so keep the aisle clear for me, just in case we
have an emergency.”
    About ten minutes later, Johnson returned to
the camper van with a big paper bag that smelled of burgers and
fries. He climbed behind the wheel and tossed the bag on the
passenger seat.
    “Ready to roll, chief?”
    “Ready.” I turned to look over my shoulder.
Jack was tucked into a ball, scrunched up at the back of the van,
scanning the parking lot through the small window.
    “Where to now?”
    “We’re going fishing.”
    We were on the road for about a quarter of an
hour when Jack nudged me. “You can go sit in the passenger seat.
Hand me the food. I’ll put it in the cooler. We might need it
later.”
    I stood up and retrieved it, passing him the
still-warm paper bag, and as I climbed past the console and buckled
myself into the seat, I stole a glance at Johnson. Without his
orange cap on, he was a good-looking guy, on the short side of
thirty-five, with a nice profile and a winning smile, which he
flashed at me briefly as he looked my way.
    “Howdy. I’m Steve Crockett.”
    “Crockett, not Johnson?” I asked, taken aback
at the unexpected change.
    “Johnson’s my nickname at work, because I’m
such a fine-looking ladies man and the other guys are all jealous.”
He tossed me a wide grin and I caught the glimmer of his perfect
teeth in the glow from the dashboard.
    “Ah,” I nodded, laughing for the first time
in a long while. “Of course, Crockett, Johnson, as in Don
Johnson.”
    “And sometimes Nash or Bridges. What can I
say? These guys are lacking in many ways, and their petty emotions
sometimes get the better of them....”
    “Single guys always have a line, Marigold.
You’d be wise to remember that with Pretty Boy here,” Jack told me
from the back of the van. “Tell her how many times you’ve been
married, Don Juan-son.”
    I turned in the direction of the driver,
expectant. A shrug signaled defeat.
    “Twice. I just haven’t met the right girl
yet, one who understands my need, my desire to serve and
protect.”
    “Oh, brother!” the state trooper behind me
groaned. “Can somebody hand me a shovel?”
    Steve turned off I-87 down near Kingston, and
drove several miles on Route 28. “What do you want me to do,
chief?”
    “Let’s shoot past Route 214