Protecting His Witness. Marie Ferrarella

her from a bullet last time.

      So, rather than park her car inside the barren garage, she left the vehicle several feet away, sitting beside the curb that bordered the development. It wasn’t that far from her back door—if she needed it in a hurry.

      Still sitting inside the vehicle, she sighed. “You’ve got to stop this,” she murmured under her breath. “It’s been over eight months and no one’s come after you.”

      The fact that no one had—to her knowledge—was a relief, but not enough to put her at ease. There were days that she sincerely doubted she would ever be at ease again, ever allow herself to reclaim the easygoing person she’d once been. Reclaim the life she’d once had. The life she’d worked so hard to achieve.

      It could be worse, she thought ruefully, annoyed at the wave of self-pity that had claimed her. She could be dead.

      Like Jim.

      “No,” she upbraided herself. “Not tonight.”

      She couldn’t think about Jim tonight. Couldn’t think about what happened that awful day her life changed forever. Tonight she just wanted to get out of her clothes and fall into bed. And with any luck, not dream about anything until it was time to get up again.

      She wasn’t feeling all that lucky.

      The next moment, she had good reason not to. As she was about to head toward the back door that faced the alley, the chief feature that sold her on renting the tiny condo, Kasey caught her breath.

      There was a form slumped across the single concrete step in front of her back door. She stood frozen, trying to make out the shape even as she tried to convince herself that it was just the moonlight playing tricks on her. That it wasn’t what it looked like.

      But it was.

      It was a man.

      Her first instinct was to run back to the car, get inside and lock all the doors. Had she not been who she was, from the shelter of her locked automobile she would have called the police and had them come out to deal with the man on her doorstep.

      But she only took a few steps back and she didn’t call the police. The police held more terror for her than the man who was slumped across the back entrance to her home.

      Holding her breath, Kasey took a tentative step back. Then another. All the while her eyes never left the man on her doorstep. She watched for movement, for any sign of life.

      The man didn’t move a muscle.

      Was he sleeping? Was this some poor, homeless creature who’d just given up the ghost, dying at her back door?

      No, he was breathing, she could just barely see that. Staring at him, she noted the barest indication of his shoulders rising and falling.

      He didn’t look like a homeless man.

      Even though the streetlamp lighting was far from the best, she could see that her uninvited guest was clean. Looking closer, she saw that his skin wasn’t leathery. If he lived outdoors, it was a relatively new development.

      “Hey, mister,” she called out, doing her best not to allow her voice to tremble, “are you all right?”

      There was no answer. As far as she could see, there wasn’t even any indication that he had heard her. But she didn’t relax.

      He could be one of them. Could be playing “possum” just to get her to come in closer. If she knew what was good for her, she’d make a beeline for her car and head back to the bookstore that she’d just locked up.

      Making up her mind, she was about to do exactly that when something on the ground caught her eye. There was a dark pool of liquid forming beside him. Beneath him. Kasey didn’t have to guess what it was. She’d been part of this kind of scenario before.

      Nerves came to attention as her heart leaped to her throat. Kasey scanned the area, trying to peer into the shadows. Was there someone else out there? Someone who had done this? Someone who was waiting for her?

      But there appeared to be nothing to disturb the tranquility of the evening. Not even her neighbor’s orange cat was out tonight. Ordinarily, Cymbeline was out, inspecting the area, looking for the occasional mouse that strayed from the right-of-way into the development.

      It was almost too quiet.

      Kasey wasn’t sure if her training or just plain stupidity was to blame for her advancing several steps toward the man. She held her breath as she did so, as if that could somehow give her courage.

      “Mister, you have to get up and go.” When there was no response from the man, not even a change in his breathing, she tried again. This time, she spoke more authoritatively. And lied. “I’ve called the police. They’ll be here any minute. So if you don’t want to do your explaining to them, I suggest you stop playing around and get out of here.”

      Still nothing.

      He was really unconscious. And bleeding.

      So now what? she wondered, nervously chewing on her lower lip. She couldn’t just circle around to the front entrance and forget about him. Pretend he wasn’t there. No matter how much she felt she’d lost of herself these last two years, that compassionate part was still there. She wasn’t cold-blooded.

      She sighed. No, that wasn’t what she was like, even though there were times that she felt that everything she’d ever been had died that day with Jim. Gunned down just like him.

      Hesitantly, she stretched out her fingers and felt for a pulse at the man’s throat. The moment she touched him, his eyes opened and he grabbed her wrist.

      Kasey swallowed a scream as she jerked her hand out of his grasp. The fact that she could do so easily told her that the man was definitely weak. Someone that big, that strong-looking would have easily held on to her if he wanted to no matter how hard she pulled—if he wasn’t being impeded by a debilitating wound.

      “Help me.”

      The entreaty, hardly above a whisper, slipped from his lips and seemed to fade almost immediately into the dark night. But she’d definitely heard it. Heard, too, the desperate note behind the words.

      His eyes had closed again.

      Kasey blew out a breath, torn. Again she thought about calling the police. But what if he was running from the police? If she got them to come here, she definitely wouldn’t be doing this man any favors.

       So now you’re helping out felons?

      The question ricocheted in her head, taunting her. But what if he wasn’t a felon? And what if circumstances were such that he didn’t want the police? After all, wasn’t she in essence running from the police—from certain members of the police force? And she certainly wasn’t a felon. If anything, she was a victim. Just someone who wanted to live to see another Christmas.

      C’mon, make up your mind. Do something. Doing nothing was not an option. If she just turned her back and left him here, this man could very well bleed to death and she would be as guilty of his murder as if she’d pulled a trigger.

      There were only two options. She either called the police, or did something for the stranger herself.

      Kasey ventured a glance at the stranger’s face. He didn’t look like a bad guy, she thought. And if he did turn out to be one, well, it wasn’t as if she was completely defenseless. There was a gun inside the largest canister on her kitchen counter, right beside the ones containing flour, sugar and tea.

      She’d actually practiced getting the weapon out under adverse conditions—just in case. Jim would have laughed at her if he could have seen her.

      But then, she thought ruefully, as sadness strummed through her again, if he could have seen her, there would have been no reason to have a loaded gun hidden in the largest canister on her counter.

      The stranger’s eyes were still closed.

      And