Page 8 of Safeguarding the Witness

The Cessna lined up on the runway, and she braced herself for takeoff. She’d never flown in a noncommercial, small aircraft before and wasn’t sure what to expect. The rush of air beneath the wings and liftoff exhilarated her as they swooped into the sky. “Cool.”

“Charter flights are one of the perks of my job. Makes it easier to get around in the Pacific Northwest,” he said. “I’m taking lessons to learn how to pilot a helo.”

“Super cool.” Just when she’d decided she didn’t particularly like Spence, he popped up with a surprising revelation. A helicopter pilot? “How long will it take to get to Cloverdell?”

“We’ll arrive at nightfall. From there, we’ll go to a safe place.”

“Not Aunt Irma’s house?”

“Not yet,” he said. “Back to your story. Tell me what happened when your father went into WITSEC.”

“Dad’s only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He witnessed the head of the Peligro Cartel receiving a drug shipment and killing someone in cold blood. When Dad agreed to testify in federal court, he was offered protection for himself and his family. WITSEC stepped in.”

“I know your sister was in Cloverdell at the time, attending culinary school part-time in Salem.”

“And discovering she pretty much hated cooking. The only part she liked was the wine tasting in a sommelier class.”

“And you were going to college in New Mexico,” he said.

Majoring in art history like her father, but Mollie’s dreams didn’t include teaching. She hoped to someday curate in a museum. “I had a paid internship in Santa Fe, and I decided to stay there and finish out the two months I had left. Madison went with Dad to their first WITSEC location.”

And then, Mollie’s life went to hell.

Outside her porthole window, she distracted herself by watching as a bevy of clouds danced through the faded blue and vibrant orange and yellow. None of the artwork she’d seen rivaled this natural beauty. She wished she could share the thrill with her sister. Madison would have loved a private plane. When she was younger, she imagined Madison could see through her eyes. And feel what she felt.

Mollie sank into her ultra-comfortable chair and closed her eyes, allowing the sound and rhythm of the turbine engines to soothe the turmoil inside her. When this was over, she hoped there would be no more nightmares. She wished she could return to a serene, peaceful life, laughing with Madison when she talked about a date with the captain of the football team or used her hairbrush as a microphone to accept an imaginary Oscar. Her sister had always dreamed big and loved glamor.

“Mollie, are you okay?” Spence called her back to reality.

“You know what happened next,” she said. “It’s been thoroughly documented.”

“I want to hear your version.”

She bolted upright, unfastened the seat belt and lurched out of the chair. The cabin in the Cessna was only a few inches over six feet, which wasn’t a problem for her, but Spence had to duck to avoid bumping his head. She stumbled toward the rear of the plane to the toilet, entered and locked the door. Despite the deluxe furnishings in the cabin, the bathroom was basically the same as every other plane she’d been on. She clung to the countertop, bracing herself. The inside of her head whirled with unspoken memories and bewildering fears that had been growing for five years.

When she looked in the mirror over the sink, she saw Madison looking back. Mollie could almost hear her twin’s voice telling her to “chill out” and “get a grip.” She reached toward the glass, remembering times when they had copied each other’s moves. “We’re not playing games, anymore,” she mumbled to herself. “I’m not going to run anymore. I’m going home.”

And what will I find? Much as she wished that her sister would be at the airport in Salem waiting to welcome her with a fresh-picked bouquet of dahlias and lilacs, that was not to be. Madison had been declared dead.

The thugs in the Peligro Cartel abducted her, acting under the orders of Julio Flores—a high-ranking leader who had seen Madison from afar and imagined himself to be in love with her. According to an undercover FBI informant, Julio never harmed her. The opposite, in fact. She was pampered and gifted with elaborate jewelry and clothing. Madison had written Mollie a letter while being held captive, telling her not to worry. Julio treated her like royalty. The members of the cartel had started calling her Princesa Peligrosa, which translated to Dangerous Princess. Two days after Mollie had received the letter, disaster struck.

Julio had taken Madison for a pleasure cruise near Mazatlán. Filmed footage from an FBI undercover operative showed Flores and his Dangerous Princess standing together on the upper deck, drinking from champagne flutes and kissing while the beautiful seventy-foot yacht skimmed the gentle waves. He had scooped her off her feet and carried her down to the lower deck and presumably to their cabin.

A violent explosion had shattered the idyllic, romantic scene. A blazing orange ball of fire had erupted from the spot where Madison stood only seconds earlier. Debris flung across the waters. A cloud of black smoke consumed the yacht. There were no survivors.

Mollie confronted her own reflection in the bathroom mirror and saw tears streaking down her cheeks. Angrily, she dashed them away.

She didn’t believe the filmed evidence or the witness statements or the report from the undercover FBI operatives. Never would she believe her twin was truly gone.

From the moment they were born, they were connected by an invisible thread that they called twin-intuition. Madison said they were two halves of one whole. Madison called herself the Twin Heart because passion and emotion ruled her behavior. Mollie represented Twin Vision with her sensitivity and keen appreciation of beauty.

Each knew what the other was feeling and thinking. They had no secrets from each other. Though Madison had been declared dead, Mollie still felt her twin’s energy tugging at their connection—the intuition of twins. She’s not dead. Someday, they’d be together again.

After splashing water on her face, she returned to the cabin where Spence had moved to a double-wide seat outside the closed door to the cockpit. He’d taken off his tailored suit coat and rolled up the sleeves on his pale blue shirt as though prepared for work. In front of him was a table that pulled down from the wall. He indicated that Mollie should sit in one of the swivel chairs opposite him. Two coffee cups rested on the table. Hers had cream. Of course, he’d know how she drank her coffee.

“Decaf,” he said. “Right?”

“Yes.” She didn’t bother to mention her tendency toward insomnia. He probably had a full medical workup, including her prescription for Ambien. “Do you need to know anything more about my life?”