The Reluctant Witness

He wiped his eyes with his good hand, trying to get some of the blood away that was clouding his vision, but it seemed futile. The pain was so intense in so many places that he was still having trouble just staying conscious.

“Hey, mister. You still hanging in there?” The soft melodious voice surprised him, and when he opened his eyes, his princess was back, smiling at him and tying towels around the makeshift bandages that covered the wounds on his leg and torso. “I told you I’d be back. I promised—and I never break a promise.”

His mouth didn’t seem able to form words, so he just nodded, hoping she would understand. She moved his bad arm across his chest and somehow fashioned a sling around it that she tied to his neck. Then she put a washcloth against his head wound and secured it with an elastic bandage. Gently she wiped the blood out of his eyes with a small damp cloth, and he got a better look at her. She had a smile on her face that he assumed was for his benefit, but also a look of worry that she couldn’t quite hide. After she finished her ministrations, she leaned over him and gently cupped his face again. As severely injured as he was, he still found himself mesmerized by her eyes.

“We have to move you now, and even though it’s going to hurt, I’m gonna need your help. You’re a big guy and I’m sure you’re more than I can carry alone. Can you help me?”

Jack’s mind raced as his brain came back online. Okay. She wasn’t a princess after all, but she was helping him. He only remembered bits and pieces of what Stevens had said while standing over his body, but it was enough to know that he wasn’t safe staying where he was. Cooperating with this stranger was his only chance of survival. He nodded to her and grimaced as she moved him slowly into a sitting position. She braced herself under his good shoulder and he did all he could to help, yet it was still slow going as she got him to his feet and moved him toward the car parked only a few feet away. Eventually they were able to maneuver him into the back seat, though small beads of sweat popped out on his forehead from the effort.

The next thing he knew, she was tugging at him again to help him get out of the car, and he realized that he must have blacked out during the journey. He looked around, searching for hospital attendants, but saw none. In fact, from what he could see, he was still in the woods near a small log cabin.

“Are we...hospital?” he asked quietly, struggling to make a complete thought.

“No, sorry. We’re at my cabin. The nearest hospital is about two and a half hours away, and I doubt you could survive the trip.”

A small girl suddenly appeared behind the woman, and he noticed she had the same big blue eyes. She was a pretty child, with blond hair instead of brown, yet her expression was marred with worry. As the woman pulled him up out of the car, the girl tried to offer assistance as well but finally gave up and awkwardly ended up holding the door open for them instead.

“Thanks, Chloe. You’re the best.” The woman’s voice was soft, yet still somewhat musical to Jack’s ears. That was the last coherent thought he could manage before once again falling into blackness.

* * *

“Whoa!” Casey said forcefully as the man lost consciousness again and leaned heavily against her. They were only a couple of feet from the couch, but there was no way she could maneuver him that far now that he wasn’t helping. He was just too heavy for her to manage. She awkwardly eased him to the floor as gently as she could and after a few minutes had him lying on his back only a few feet from the fireplace.

“Chloe, honey, I’m going to spend some time cleaning up his wounds and checking out his injuries. Do you think you could build us a fire? We don’t want him to get too chilly.”

“Okay, Aunt Casey.” The child looked him over from head to toe. “He really is big. Are you sure he isn’t going to hurt us?”

Casey raised an eyebrow. She doubted the man would be a physical threat to anybody for quite a while, but the fact that he was an FBI agent was definitely disturbing. She sighed. It was more than disturbing. It was downright dangerous. Still, she couldn’t leave him out in the woods to die. Bringing him here had been her only option. Yet she knew the man’s presence signaled that her time left in the cabin was limited and she would soon have to find a new place to live. She didn’t want Chloe to worry about it, though. The child had been through enough.

“He’s probably a very nice man, honey, but we won’t know for sure until he wakes up. For now let’s just be very careful about what we say around him, like I said before. He can’t know who we are or why we’re living here. Do you understand? No last names, no information about where we came from and no telling him about anything that happened in Florida, okay?”

“Okay.” The child’s lip quivered and Casey pulled her close and gave her a hug. “I know this isn’t what we planned to do when we came up here, sweet pea, but life is precious. We can’t leave this man out in the woods to die because of our secrets. God wants us to always love our neighbors and help other people whenever we can, not just when it’s convenient.”

“But what if he’s mean? What if he tries to hurt us?”

Casey grimaced as Chloe’s words tore at her heart. No ten-year-old girl should have to live in fear, but her young niece had already lived a lifetime’s worth of trepidation. “He’s injured really badly, Chloe. He’s not going to be doing anything to anybody for a while. But once he starts getting better, if he tries to hurt you in any way, all you have to do is scream and I’ll come running to stop him. I’ll protect you. I promise.” She flicked the girl’s nose playfully. “Now run and get my doctor bag for me while I get some things I need out of the kitchen.”

The girl darted away and Casey watched her go, then turned back to her patient. She hoped she had enough of the correct supplies to do what she needed to help this man under these primitive conditions. At least she had confidence in her training. She had completed four years of medical school and had been on her way to a residency program in the Atlanta area only five short months ago, but that life seemed like almost a dream at this point. Since then, her entire world had been upended. She had given up her future and everything else in her life all to make sure Chloe would be safe. The sacrifice had been worth it, and she would do it again in a heartbeat, but she couldn’t deny it felt good to be practicing medicine again. She’d loved learning to be a doctor and finding ways to help people get better. It had always been her dream, ever since she was a child.

She covered the man with a green cotton quilt, then went into the kitchen, got a large bowl of water and started heating it in the microwave. Then she grabbed a pair of scissors and a few other items she needed from the drawers. When the water was warm, she took it back into the living room beside the man, then took the scissors and cut away enough of his clothing to expose and treat the wounds. Chloe had brought her medical bag and also gotten a small fire going, then disappeared. Casey knew the child had probably gone back into the bedroom with a book and was silently glad that Chloe hadn’t wanted to watch her work. Cleaning and treating this man’s injuries wasn’t going to be pretty.

She opened her medical bag and was instantly thankful that she always kept it stocked in case of an emergency. She had never expected an emergency of this proportion, however, and she rummaged through the bag’s contents, hoping she would find sufficient supplies for closing his wounds. The bleeding had stopped on his leg and shoulder, so she focused on the wound on his side that was definitely the most life threatening. She checked for internal bleeding and said a silent prayer, hoping that the bullet hadn’t hit any vital organs. Seeing none of the telltale signs, she cleaned the damaged area and started carefully stitching the skin together, thankful that the man was unconscious and unable to feel the pain that would undoubtedly haunt him when he woke up again.

After she had finished treating that injury, Casey turned her focus to the gash in the man’s forehead. It was a deep slash and it took her quite a while to complete her work. She had not trained to be a plastic surgeon—or even a general surgeon—but she tried her best to keep her stitches small and even to minimize the scar. The man had dark brown hair in a very short, clean-cut style, but if he grew it out a tad on top, he could probably cover the scar with very little effort.

When she finished, she sat back and rested for a minute, taking stock of her handiwork. So far, so good. She looked carefully at the man’s face. He was actually kind of handsome, in a military sort of way. He had strong features, including deep-set eyes, high, chiseled cheekbones and a wide, authoritative jaw.

Again she wondered what had brought him out here to the mountains. She’d only been living here about five months and didn’t know any of her neighbors, but she still couldn’t imagine why an FBI agent would be in this neck of the woods. Who had those other men been? Criminals he’d been trying to arrest? She blew out a breath and reminded herself to stay focused on her task. Wondering wouldn’t bring her any answers right now.

She continued her work. At some point he would probably answer all of her questions if she could just get him healthy again.

The leg wound was next. The man moved a little as she worked but then seemed to lose consciousness once again. Casey said another silent prayer of thankfulness, glad that he was again out cold so he didn’t feel the pain. All she had with her was a local anesthetic, and it wouldn’t do much to help the throbbing he would have been feeling if he’d been conscious. She was especially not looking forward to digging the bullet out of his shoulder without the proper analgesic, but after completing her stitching on the leg wound, she took a fortifying breath and started her work.

About an hour later, with sweat covering her brow, she’d finished the last of her surgeries and had dressed all of his wounds. She pulled off the rubber gloves she had been wearing and tossed them into the bowl of bloody towels, then checked his pulse and breathing one more time. Everything looked good and his pulse was strong. What he needed now was rest and time to heal. She covered him with a blanket again and leaned back, exhausted.

She paused a moment, then reached for the wallet that she had removed from his pocket. He had a law enforcement shield on one side, and on the other a couple of credit cards and his driver’s license. There was some cash inside, but she didn’t bother counting it—it was none of her business. But she refused to feel guilty for flipping out the license and examining the picture and the other information. She had a right to know the name of the man she’d let into her home.

The driver’s license definitely showed the man lying before her. According to the small print, his name was Jack Mitchell and he hailed from Charlotte, North Carolina. She closed her eyes and said a prayer for Jack Mitchell. Whether he survived or not was in God’s hands now. She could do nothing else for him but pray.

THREE

Casey adjusted the volume on the TV set, then sat back. The newswoman was interviewing a large Latino man who was identified as FBI unit chief José Mendoza. He was grim and stone faced and his expression was haggard, as if he didn’t want to accept what was unfolding around him. Crime-scene tape fluttered behind them and red-and-blue police lights lit up the scene and cast shadows around the apartment building’s parking lot.

A blue sedan was parked in the background and a group of men and women wearing FBI jackets surrounded the open trunk. Casey could just make out a thick piece of plastic hanging over the edge that seemed smudged with blood. Her heartbeat increased. That car had to be the one she’d seen racing away from the mountain after Jack Mitchell had been shot. The man in the trunk had to be the other victim the men had loaded inside. She leaned forward, eager to find out more about what was going on.

“Chief Mendoza, I understand that the victim’s name is Milo Denton. Can you tell us anything about him?”

Mendoza shrugged. “I can tell you he was a private investigator from Raleigh. We’ve already notified his family.”

“Was he shot?”

“Yes ma’am, the victim did sustain a bullet wound. We’ll know more after the local medical examiner has a chance to process the scene and complete her investigation.”

“Did anyone hear the gunshots?”

The chief shook his head. “No one has come forward so far. We’re asking anyone with information about this situation to call our FBI hotline.” The number ran along the bottom of the television screen.

“Do you know if he was killed in that car or at another location?” the newswoman pressed, motioning toward the blue sedan.

Casey noticed a look of discomfort cross the man’s face. “We’re not sure yet. It’s too early and I’d only be speculating at this point. You’ll have to give us a chance to do our job and perform a thorough investigation. Once we’re finished, we’ll issue a full report.”

“Of course. Can you tell us who that car belongs to?”

“No comment. Now, if you don’t mind...” He turned to head to the crime scene, but the newswoman followed him.

“Can you tell us how the body was discovered?”

“Anonymous tip.”

“And why is the FBI involved? Have you been called in to aid the local police with the investigation?”

Mendoza grimaced. “I’m afraid that’s all I can say right now. I need to get back to work.”

The newswoman raised an eyebrow but turned back to the camera. “Well, ladies and gentleman, to recap, the body of private investigator Milo Denton was just discovered in the trunk of a car at the Midtown Apartment complex. Apparently Mr. Denton was the victim of gun violence, and both the FBI and local police are investigating at the scene. Be sure to tune in at six for a complete update.”

Casey turned the TV off, disturbed by what she’d heard and more confused than ever. It seemed like the shooters had wanted the body to be discovered. Only they could have known to call in the “anonymous tip.” Who was this Milo Denton, and how did he fit into the puzzle? And why had he been shooting at Jack yesterday?

She turned and dabbed Jack’s lips with the washcloth. There was no use speculating. Answers would come eventually. She rewet the cloth and touched his lips again, wishing she had a proper IV setup so she could give the man the fluids he needed. He was still unconscious, but he didn’t have a fever so far and she knew that she should count her blessings. She reached for her medical bag and began changing his bandages, carefully examining each wound for signs of infection. He was exactly where she expected him to be with his recovery, but she couldn’t stop herself from worrying. What if he died? What would she do with him then?

“Jaime? Jaime, is that you?”

Casey startled at his words. His voice was a mere whisper, but he was waking up and obviously disoriented. “Jaime, it hurts.”

She gently took his hand and ran her fingers over the skin in a soothing motion then squeezed lightly. “Shh. Don’t worry. You’re going to be okay. Just try to rest.”

He seemed placated by her words and drifted off again and she wondered for a moment who Jaime was. It was apparently someone important to him. A girlfriend...or a wife? He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but she’d heard that some law enforcement agents didn’t when they were on duty.

She finished changing the rest of the bandages, then gathered the old ones and leaned back. She was worried about him dying, but she almost had bigger problems if he lived. He was an FBI agent, and FBI agents were experts at discovering the truth. They were trained investigators, and the last thing she needed was someone asking questions about her and Chloe. Still, she couldn’t regret her decision to help him. He definitely would have died if she’d left him in the forest. Somehow she and Chloe would make it through this latest challenge. All she had to do now was figure out how.

* * *

A few days later Jack opened his eyes and groaned. Every muscle in his body seemed to hurt, and pain radiated from each of his wounds. He suddenly became aware of a girl about ten years old leaning over him and touching his lips with a wet cloth. He swallowed hard, his mouth incredibly dry.

“Water...please.”

The girl’s eyes widened when she realized he was conscious. “Aunt Casey! He’s awake! He just said something. Come here, come here!”

A few seconds later the woman he had mistaken for a princess stood before him with a grin on her face. “Hello, Agent Mitchell. Welcome back to the living.” She felt his forehead. “Not a bit of fever. You are definitely on the mend.”

The girl smiled at her aunt. “You did it, Aunt Casey! He’s alive!”

“God did it,” the lady corrected gently. “I just helped out a little.”

Jack was happy to be breathing, but his immediate need was for something to drink. He felt as if he’d swallowed a cup full of sand. “Water...”

“Of course,” Casey answered. “Let’s get you up a little bit first. Chloe, you put the straw up to his mouth once I lean him forward so he won’t choke.” She put her arms behind his back and gently lifted him forward, being careful to stay away from his shoulder wound. It hurt to move, but it felt so good to take a drink from the straw that he ignored the pain. He finished and Casey let him gently lie back down on the floor.

He looked around the small room and took in his surroundings. There was a small fire in the grate, and the rest of the room was obviously a log cabin with rustic yet comfortable furnishings. His eyes returned to the two ladies that were watching him closely. “Where am I?”

“You’re sharing our cabin,” the lady answered. “My name is Casey, and this is my niece, Chloe.” She paused. “I found you in the woods. You had been shot, so I brought you here to try to help you.”

Jack soaked in the information and searched for the memories. Bits and pieces of information flitted around in his brain. The last thing he clearly remembered was Stevens aiming his weapon at him and the bullet knocking him to the ground, and then a princess hovering over him. He looked back at Casey. She was definitely his princess. He remembered the clear blue eyes, but little else about how he had ended up on the floor in this cabin.

He looked around again, considering the bucolic setting. All in all, it was probably a good thing that she had brought him here. His life was obviously in danger, and Stevens could have very well finished him off for good if he had shown up in a public place in his current condition. He was clearly unable to defend himself. Still, he wondered why the woman hadn’t taken him to a hospital like most people would have done. He turned back to Casey and decided it was time to get some answers.

“Why not a hospital?”

The woman’s blue eyes quickly darted away for a moment, and Jack instantly knew that something wasn’t quite right.

“The nearest hospital is quite a distance away and I wasn’t sure you’d make it. You had lost a lot of blood.”

Jack mulled over her answer. He didn’t think she was lying, but she was definitely hiding something. His brain seemed foggy and he felt very weak and disoriented, but his investigator instincts told him that there was more to the story than she was telling him.

“How long have I been here?”

“Four days. You’ve been drifting in and out of consciousness, which is to be expected.”

He looked around at his makeshift bed. They had given him a pillow and blankets, and he was lying on a green braided carpet. “Why am I on the floor?” he asked.

“Because you weigh a ton!” Chloe blurted, then shyly shrank back. The two women shared a laugh, and Casey tugged on Chloe’s braid affectionately and received a smile for her efforts. Casey’s expression seemed somewhat relieved that the conversation had shifted and Jack noticed that her posture seemed tense. Yes, something definitely wasn’t right here, but he didn’t get the sense that he was in any danger with them. On the contrary, they had saved his life.

“We tried to get you to the couch, but you passed out and we just couldn’t manage to get you up there,” Casey said. “You’re a pretty big guy, Agent Mitchell. You’re lucky we got you in as far as we did.”

“Jack,” he corrected. “Please. Call me Jack.”

“Well, Jack, now that you’re awake, do you want us to help you up to the couch? It might be more comfortable.”

“No, not right now. I’m okay right here.” Just that small bit of conversation had tired him out and he felt himself becoming drowsy.

Casey noticed and felt his forehead again, then picked up the cup he had used and leaned back. “Okay. Chloe, let’s let our friend get some more rest. Can you throw another log on the fire? I’m going to go back outside and chop the rest of that wood.”

Jack felt a little strange to be lying on a floor out of commission while a woman was outside chopping wood, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. This whole scenario seemed strange and out of place, and he couldn’t seem to make sense of any of it. A host of questions floated around in his mind, but for now, he let sleep consume him.

The next time he awoke Casey was sitting by his side and gently changing his bandages. It was obviously later in the day and the evening sunlight was barely coming through the windows. The pain was a little less severe, but still throbbed at even the smallest movement. At least his head seemed clear and he was able to think straight for a change.

“Aspirin. Do you have any aspirin?”

Casey nodded. “Sure thing, Agent Mitchell...ah, Jack.” She reached for a bottle that was on the end table, took out two tablets and helped him hold his head up enough to take them with water from a straw. “They’re actually a little stronger than aspirin and might make you a little drowsy.” Jack raised an eyebrow but didn’t question her about the pills. He had so many questions at this point that what type of pain medicine she was giving him was pretty far down the list.

“So you’re the one who stitched me up, right?”

“That’s right.”

“What was the damage?”

“You got shot four times. Your leg injury missed the bone and is just a flesh wound. With some physical therapy you should heal up quite nicely. The gash on your forehead is the same. There was a lot of blood, but no bone damage. The one on the side there is a testament to God’s grace—it just missed your vital organs by a hair. Your shoulder wound also missed the bone, but I had to dig out the bullet.” She held up a little bag that was sitting on the end table. “I saved it for you as a souvenir.” She gave him a soft smile. “All in all, it’s amazing that you weren’t hurt any worse. I was really worried that you’d go into shock because of all of the blood loss or that you’d have internal bleeding, but you’ve pulled through amazingly well.”

He wrinkled his brow. “Are you a doctor?”

Casey shook her head. “No, but I’ve had some medical training.”

“Enough to operate on my shoulder and take out the bullet?”

“Apparently.” She put the bag back on the table and moved as if she were going to get up, but he grabbed her arm and stopped her escape. Her expression was guarded.

“Do you have my gun?”

“I do, but I unloaded it and put it away. I didn’t want Chloe to get curious.”

He loosened his grip. That made sense. Children and guns didn’t mix. “What about my satchel? It was black leather with a silver buckle. Do you have it?” He tried to remember what had happened to it. Had Stevens taken it? A foggy memory seemed to suggest that, but he couldn’t be sure. All he could really remember was the fire in Stevens’s eyes right before he had pulled the trigger.

Casey shook her head again. “No. I didn’t see a satchel anywhere around when I found you.”

That was disappointing. No, it was devastating. The laptop and papers he’d discovered were the only lead he’d found. He’d been desperately hoping that they held evidence that would actually support his theories. Now he was virtually back to square one in his investigation. No, worse than square one, because this time he didn’t even have a partner to watch his back—or shove a knife in it.