Saving Alyssa. Loree Lough

Why the last home-cooked meal had been prepared on a hot plate. Why they hadn’t visited grandparents or cousins, or talked to anyone on the phone except for George. What amazed him more was that she didn’t seem to miss any of that. Not even her mother. All very normal, according to the agent.

      Normal. Nate didn’t think he could remember the definition of the word anymore, let alone experience the sensation.

      “When you’re all clean and shiny,” he called to Melissa, “you can watch cartoons while we wait for George.”

      “I like George. He’s nice. And funny.”

      Yeah. Hilarious. The agent was solely responsible for every inane riddle and groan-inducing knock-knock joke now stored in Melissa’s subconscious. But at least he’d kept her laughing.

      “Don’t forget to brush your teeth.”

      “I won’t.”

      As he packed their meager belongings, Nate heard the telltale splash that told him she still hadn’t tired of the trick he’d taught her that first night away from home. If squeezing a wet bar of soap until it spewed into the air and landed with a plop could produce giggles after all they’d been through, it was worth the time and effort required to clean up the bathroom floor. Far more important than that, maybe George was right, and Melissa would adapt to their new life, quickly, and with no lasting aftereffects.

      Nate folded the tiny pj’s purchased during George’s now-famous Fifteen Minute Walmart Expedition, and tucked them into the sparkly pink backpack that had replaced the purple one Melissa had carried to day care for two years. Using the list provided by Nate, George had also bought a week’s worth of clothes and shoes for dad and daughter, puzzles, crayons and coloring books, two Barbies and assorted outfits for each. While adding the last items to her pack, Nate cringed, because later today, Melissa would lose her favorite doll, Cassie, which had been hand-sewn by her mother while pregnant.

      He didn’t have time for a lot of self-reproach, because George arrived just then with breakfast. Melissa loved the way the agent changed things up. Doughnuts one day, bagels and cream cheese the next, fast food from the local burger joint the day after that. Nate understood that the different types of food had nothing to do with surprising Melissa. Three meals daily, purchased from the same take-out place by a guy alone, would have sent up red flags.

      Today, George produced pancakes from a big white bag. He opened foam containers and handed out plastic flatware, then dealt napkins as if he was playing cards, while Melissa shared last night’s dreams, unwittingly providing the opening that allowed him to introduce her to her new name.

      “You know how to play the name game?”

      “I guess so,” she said, pretending to feed her doll a bite of sausage.

      “Excellent! Let’s pretend your name is Alyssa, and my name is Mr. Poopie Pants, and your dad is—”

      “Poopie?” she echoed, wide-eyed. “But...but that’s a potty word!” She clucked her tongue. “You’re lucky Mrs. Cameron isn’t here. She makes everyone who says potty words stay inside when it’s playtime.” Melissa looked at Nate. “I know we’re not allowed to go outside, so how will we teach George about potty words?”

      “I think we can let him get away with it. Just this once.” Melissa donned her but-that-isn’t-fair! look so Nate added, “But only because he didn’t know the rules.” Nate shook a warning finger at George. “But next time, mister...”

      The agent chuckled while Melissa thought about it.

      Brow furrowed, she said, “Not even a time-out?”

      “Not this time.”

      “Boy, are you lucky.” A sly grin lifted one corner of her mouth. “Okay then, Mr. Poopie Pants, if my name is Alyssa, what is Daddy’s new name?”

      Present tense, he noted. And she’d said new name, not pretend. A lucky break? Or had she figured things out, all on her own? The latter, he hoped, because if she slipped up, even once, they could end up dead.

      Dead.

      The word caused an involuntary flinch. It didn’t seem as if she’d noticed his movement, but just in case, he stuffed a huge bite of pancake into his mouth to hide it.

      “The guy with the chipmunk cheeks, you mean? His new name is Noah. And you both get new last names, too. From now on, your name is Alyssa Preston.”

      “But why? Mommy told me that Melissa was her grandma’s name. And that her grandma was her favorite person in the whole world...until I was born.”

      George scrubbed both hands over his face. If it was that tough answering a question he’d no doubt been asked before, Nate didn’t know how he’d manage his own remorse for being the reason she was asking it in the first place.

      “Well,” the agent said, laying a big hand atop Melissa’s, “you know why we don’t go outside, right?”

      She speared a bite of pancake and used it to draw figure eights in the syrup. Nate winced when she said, “Because it’s dangerous, and we don’t want to get hurt.” She rested an elbow on the table, leaned her head on her palm. “But,” she said, emphasizing the word, “I think it’s a dumb rule.”

      “I know,” George said. “But sometimes it’s the dumb rules that keep us safe. One of the dumb rules is you can’t use your old name anymore.”

      She sat up straighter. “Never?”

      “Never, ever.”

      She put her fork on the napkin and leaned back in the chair. If she’d seemed sad or confused, Nate might have been able to ignore it. But she looked resigned to her fate, and that made him hang his head. Everything that had happened to her—her mother’s murder, her own near kidnapping, living like an Old West outlaw...all because of him. He deserved to die for that, but she did not. Joining the WITSEC program didn’t guarantee that, but, God willing, she’d never end up like Jillian.

      George folded large-knuckled hands on the small table. “Think you’re big enough to remember all that?”

      Her brow puckered slightly as she said, “’Course I am. I’m four.” She brushed blond bangs from her forehead and brightened slightly. “We learned about rhymes in school. Alyssa rhymes with Melissa. I can remember that.” She pointed at Nate. “And Noah starts with an N, just like Nate.” She shrugged. “Easy peasy.”

      George sent Nate a nod of approval, then fixed dark eyes on Melissa. “Your daddy wasn’t kidding when he said you’re smart for your age, was he?”

      Yeah, his girl was smart, all right. Smart enough to pass for a first grader when she started school in the fall? Smart enough to maintain the charade, permanently? God help them if she wasn’t.

      His mind whirled with the memory of those final seconds in the courtroom: he’d just opened the big wooden doors when a loud, gruff voice had stopped him. “Nate...Nate Judson!” He’d turned, saw soon-to-be former Senator O’Malley straining against the deputies’ grip. As the officers half shoved, half dragged him away, he had shouted, “You can run, but you can’t hide!”

      Nate groaned inwardly as George and Melissa swapped knock-knock jokes. He sipped coffee from a foam cup, remembering....

      The deeper the prosecution dug, the more evidence they’d gathered on O’Malley. The stuff they’d coerced Nate into testifying about was just the tip of the proverbial iceberg. Even now, more than a year after agreeing to turn state’s evidence, the senator’s threat made his blood run cold, because despite a lack of evidence linking O’Malley to Jillian’s murder, Nate knew the senator had ordered the hit. And if his hired goon hadn’t coughed, alerting the school’s staff, he would have succeeded in kidnapping Melissa, too. “Nobody turns on me and gets away with it,” the senator had said.

      George’s voice broke into his thoughts, and Nate wrapped trembling hands tighter around his coffee cup as the agent asked