FORTY-ONE
It had taken hours and hundreds of questions before the deputies let Rob and Britney go. Rob seemed to take it all in stride, but Britney was ready to gnaw through someone's throat in frustration. Just like Martinelli, the police kept asking the same questions over and over in slightly different ways until she was ready to scream. It seemed to her that a dead guy with a gun in their house, and another guy on their property with a high-powered rifle, made a compelling case of self-defense, and she couldn't wrap her head around why they were being questioned so severely about the shooting. Rob even went so far as to take one of the deputies into the house to show him his cell phone wouldn't get a signal unless he was standing right by the windows, and thus Britney and Rob couldn't have called for help.
In the end, she guessed they were cleared of any suspicion or wrongdoing, but she was exhausted. It was nearly one in the morning, and the stresses of the day were dragging on her. The soft drone and gentle motions of the car as Rob drove them to Bangor was starting to lull her to sleep.
After the cops left and the body in their house had been removed, she packed as Rob cleaned up the blood and glass. He didn't have any way to cover the broken windows or door, but he didn't seem concerned about it. He was going to return tomorrow and cover the broken glass with plastic and do something about the broken door until it could be replaced.
She reached over and placed her hand on his leg. He took her hand and squeezed it gently. She was feeling guilty. If he'd never met her none of this would have happened. Now she was going to have to move again, and worse, she might have to leave him behind. He said he'd follow her, but what if the Marshal Service wouldn't relocate him? Rob loved his job. She didn't want him to give up something he loved for her. It wasn't fair. She slowly pulled her hand back.
"How are you holding up?" he asked.
"Tired."
He nodded, his face barely visible in the glow of the instrument panel. "Yeah. It's late."
"What are we going to do?"
"Check into a motel."
She exhaled in annoyance. He was intentionally ignoring the elephant in the car. "I mean about tomorrow, and the next day, and next week, and next year."
He said nothing for a moment. "I don't know. I need to try to find out who sent this guy, but it's clear somebody knows you're here. We're probably going to have to relocate you again."
Hearing him say the words made tears threaten. "I don't want to go."
"It's for your own safety."
"I know, but I don't want to leave you. I don't want to leave Wurth."
"I don't want you to either, but you can't stay here. You saw what happened. We were too isolated and got pinned down."
She nodded in understanding. The urge to cry became stronger. She'd found true happiness for the first time in her life, and after only a year, it was being taken from her.
They were silent for the remainder of the drive. He pulled into a homey motel and stopped under the portico. He was grass-stained and dirty from his fight with the hood, and a nasty looking bruise was starting to show on his left cheek. She followed him into the lobby where a sleepy man waited. He watched their approach to the desk with wary eyes.
"May I help you?"
"Need a room for a week," Rob said.
Had she not been so tired and down in the dumps, she would have smiled. Rob spoke like showing up at a motel, beat up and dirty, at 1:30 in the morning was the most common thing in the world.
"For two?"
"Yes."
"Fill this out," the clerk said, sliding a card across the counter.
Rob filled out the information, presented his credit card, and the room was theirs. The man slid the two electronic keys across the counter.
"Room 18," the man said with a casual wave in the direction of the exit door.
Rob led her to the room and opened the door. "Wait here. I'll get the luggage, park the car, and be right back."
She sat on the bed after he left, so tired, both physically and emotionally, she could barely function. She stared at the wall, wondering who wanted to kill her and why, if not Kwang-hoon. She'd been shocked when Rob said he no longer believed Kwang-hoon had sent the killer. It obviously had to be someone from the Han organization, but who? And why? It didn't make sense.
She pulled her little Glock.380 from her purse, removed it from its compact holster, and placed it on the bed beside her. She'd been practicing semi-regularly with her sidearm, and while she was no Rob Cogburn, it made her feel better to have it near at hand.
She yawned mightily. She was supposed to go to WBEA and WQFT in the morning--later this morning, she mentally corrected--but she suspected Rob wouldn't allow it now. Truth be told, she didn't feel much like working.
She wanted to crawl into a hole and die. It seemed everyone around her got hurt. Joel and Lisa were innocent bystanders who were murdered, and Rob had put his life in danger several times because of her. The door clicked as the electronic lock released. It was almost certainly Rob, but she put her hand on her weapon just in case.
Rob came in, her suitcase in his hand. He looked tired too. He placed the case on the floor as she rose. She melted into him and sighed as his arms surrounded her. She'd known him barely more than a year, but she was more comfortable in his arms than anywhere else she'd ever been. When he held her, all her troubles seemed much more bearable.
