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“For the attempted assassination of the crown prince,” she explained patiently. “Don’t you know?” She added a few specifics regarding the assassination attempt in St. Anne’s Cathedral in Drago during Crown Prince Raoul’s christening ceremony the year before, an assassination attempt foiled by her cousin, Angelina and Liam’s brother. “If Vishenko gets off in this trial, he still has to face justice in Zakhar. Alec told me the extradition paperwork has already been processed on Zakhar’s end. They’re only waiting for the outcome of the conspiracy trial here before pressuring the State Department to turn Vishenko over to them for Zakharian justice.”
“Alec didn’t mention it.” And there was an edge to Liam’s voice that said he was upset he’d been kept in the dark.
Cate put a hand out to touch his arm in commiseration, then drew it back. Instead, she said, “At first I asked Alec why I needed to testify. Why I needed to risk my life to put Vishenko behind bars in the US when he will be tried in Zakhar for what he nearly did to the crown prince. One of the shooters has already confessed, naming Vishenko as the man behind the attempt. The man who supplied the money.” She breathed deeply. “But Alec made me see it is not just Vishenko, although he is key. All the men in the conspiracy must face justice—the Zakharians who lured the trafficked women and the men from the US embassy who provided the false visas are just as guilty as the men from the Bratva. We cannot bring them down unless Vishenko goes down.”
Cate was silent for a moment. “Whenever I’m afraid—and I’m often afraid—I remind myself that even if Vishenko escapes justice here he will be tried in Zakhar. And the courts in Zakhar are much quicker than they are in the US. Justice is swift. Punishment harsh.” Her voice dropped a notch. “Even if he kills me he will not escape. And that is a very comforting thought.”
“He’s not going to kill you,” Liam asserted. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”
Warmth from out of nowhere filled Cate at Liam’s words. Not so much the words themselves as the tone of voice in which they were uttered. Coolly confident in his own abilities. Determined. And she knew he meant it. She was safe in his hands, as safe as it was humanly possible to be...which was a tremendously relieving feeling.
* * *
They arrived at the new safe house before midnight. As he’d done at the first safe house, Liam didn’t pull into the driveway, walk up to the front door and knock. He reconnoitered first, driving past the house and around the block slowly, then circling back again. It was a little thing, but it emphasized to Cate he wasn’t a novice at this. And that extra caution only added to her feeling of safety. Vishenko might still succeed in killing her—anything was possible—but Liam wouldn’t make it easy for him.
Just as before, Liam parked on the street a few houses away, and Cate knew he didn’t want to announce to anyone who might spot the SUV or who might have been following them which house they were actually in. Not that they’d been followed—Liam had made sure of that, too, long before they’d arrived at the safe house. Another little detail.
So many details, Cate thought. Between the US Marshals who’d guarded her before and Liam now, she realized just how much she hadn’t done to safeguard herself those six years on the run. Vishenko’s men hadn’t found her, so she must have done something right. But some of that must have been luck. Blind luck.
Liam handed Cate’s suitcase to her and grabbed his duffel bag with his left hand. He guided her down the sidewalk toward the safe house without actually touching her, his right hand tucked inside his jacket. And Cate knew why. He’d killed for her before. He would again, if necessary. And somehow, instead of making her afraid of that ruthless side of him the way she feared Vishenko, the thought helped her breathe easier.
* * *
It was after two in the morning, and Liam still couldn’t sleep. He was exhausted—more than exhausted after a long, adrenaline-packed day capped by a five-hour drive through what seemed an endless night. And he hadn’t been able to let Cate share the driving for two very good reasons. First, she had no ID at all on her, since she’d left her purse behind in the courthouse, so of course she wouldn’t have a driver’s license or other state-issued ID with her. And second—more importantly—she didn’t know how to drive.
He’d been dumbfounded when she’d admitted as much to him when they’d stopped for gas and he’d asked her if she wanted to take a turn behind the wheel while he rested. Except for a few anomalies, such as residents of New York City, what US citizen over the age of sixteen didn’t know how to drive? He’d held back the question with an effort, but then realized he should have known. Duh, he’d told himself when she’d flushed with shame at her deficiency. Cate wasn’t born and raised here. And if she’s been living off the grid for much of the past seven years, what chance would she have to learn to drive? To practice?
