She gasped. “What?” Half a million dollars? “Because I walked in on that meeting?”
“I hoped that the cartels hadn’t realized their mistake with Jenna, but they did. Now, they’re offering a bounty on you.”
She hated how her voice shook. “I’m going to die, aren’t I?”
He met her eyes, his own hard. “You are not going to die. I won’t let it happen.”
She wanted to throw herself into the safety of his arms. It was all she could do not to.
He rubbed his scar. “The FBI will have a safe house ready for you in less than forty-eight hours. The roads will be passable by late afternoon, early evening. We’ll need to move carefully, but we will move.”
It was probably a dumb question, but she asked it anyway. “Why can’t we stay here?”
“You need to give statements to multiple agencies—the FBI, DEA, and possibly Homeland.” When she tensed, he took her hand and squeezed it. He pointed at the sketchbook. “There will be interviews and depositions at some point. Your sketches will be subpoenaed.”
Her ears rang, and she couldn’t hear the rest of what he said. Something about testifying when the case went to trial.
If I live that long.
“Does Blake know?” Her voice was steadier now. Hollowed out but functional. “About Jenna?”
Something crossed Mack’s face. “Probably.”
Blake knew. He had to. The news was probably everywhere by now—apartment fire in Missoula, a woman killed, an investigation. Even if the cartel hadn’t told him directly, he’d have heard.
Blake knew Jenna was dead. He knew Alyssa had to be devastated.
But he hadn’t called. Hadn’t texted. Hadn’t tried to reach her at all.
He’s protecting himself. Just like always.
“Should I call him?”
“No.”
Everything between them was tied up with her brother. Mack had saved her last night and brought her here. Had sat with her while she grieved.
Blake would have left. He hated it if she cried.
Forcing her spine straight, she nodded. She wasn’t going to cower. She wasn’t like that anymore. “So what happens now? What do I do?”
“You listen to me and do what I say until I get you into witness protection.” When she started to reply, he must have assumed she was going to argue, and he added, “I’m only looking out for you.” He squeezed her hand again. “I will keep you safe, Lyssa.”
“I know,” she said softly.
The migraine was receding to a manageable level. The grief was still there—would always be there, she suspected—but it had shifted into something she could carry rather than something that was carrying her.
Mack refilled her coffee without asking and set it in front of her. The gesture was so familiar that her heart skipped a beat.
Her sketchbook sat on the table where she’d left it. Inside were the faces from the party. Blake’s unfinished portrait. Mack’s hand that she’d drawn without meaning to.
She picked up the charcoal pencil. Her hands were steadier than they’d been. She didn’t know what she was going to draw. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. Maybe the way Jenna had looked the last time Alyssa had seen her—laughing about something stupid, hair in a messy bun, wearing that ridiculous oversized sweater with the reindeer on it, even though Christmas was over.
She opened to a blank page. The charcoal touched the paper.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mack stood at the kitchen counter watching Alyssa draw.