As the worst-case possibilities run through my head, my heart starts racing.
David wouldn’t call me again, would he? Don’t be an idiot. Of course, he would.
My skin grows clammy as the call ends, and seconds later, my phone rings again. Finally, mentally jarring myself from my fearful paralysis, I silence the call and quickly block it, then immediately dial Jenson.
It rings and rings until his voicemail picks up.
“You’ve reached Drake Jenson. Leave me a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
After the tone sounds, I leave my message. “Jenson, this is Maggie. I got another call from a Chicago number. I blocked it, but I would really feel better if I got a new number and if you gave me an update on what you foundout when you looked into it.” Not that he’ll be any more inclined to help me if I’m polite, but I add a desperate “please” just in case before disconnecting.
I pace around my apartment, willing Jenson to call me back. I desperately want to call Ian and tell him, but I don’t. He has to work, and I don’t want to bother him with something that isn’t really anything since I don’t know who it was in the first place. Besides, it’s not like there’s a lot he can do. I worry that it’ll be frustrating to him that he can’t take action and has to just stand by.
After thirty minutes of waiting, I refill my coffee and take a shower. I need to stop driving myself crazy thinking and stressing about all of this. Surely, Jenson will get back to me at some point. It’s his job, and while he doesn’t seem to be all that great at it, at least when it comes to me, I get the impression he’s too selfish to do anything that would jeopardize his own self-interest.
I’m brushing my hair when I hear my door open. Every hair on my body stands up when I realize I never checked the door after getting up to make sure Ian locked it. But I highly doubt Ian would forget to do that. And Ian doesn’t have a key, so there’s no way that it’s him.
Debating whether I should shut and lock the bathroom door or stay as silent as possible and hope they leave, I breathe a silent sigh of relief when I spot my phone on the counter. At least I can still call nine-one-one.
Before I can make a final decision about whether I should alert the person in my apartment or not, a voice calls out, “Maggie! I know you’re home!”
The moment I recognize Jenson’s voice, I’m unsure if I’m relieved or not. Relieved I’m not about to get murdered, but enraged that this is the second time he’s come into my apartment without me inviting him in. Huffing,I throw my brush down on the counter with a loud clatter.
I storm into my living room, glaring at Jenson as soon as I spot him. “You don’t get to just come into my apartment. That seems pretty fucking unethical.”
Jenson looks unfazed and annoyed by my outburst. “I don’t think you’re in any position to complain. Your choices got you here, so now you have to deal with the consequences.”
“I think you’ve forgotten, I’m not the criminal!” I cry out, anger and frustration warring with the underlying fear inside me that has been present for more years than I like to admit.
He crosses his arms over his chest. “So you say.”
I take a calming breath. There’s nothing I can say that’ll change his opinion of me. “What do you want?”
Jenson releases a loud sigh as his hands drop to his sides. “It’s time for you to testify.”
Surprise and fear replace some of my anger. “Wait. What? Now?”
“Yep, trial starts in two weeks, and you are one of the first witnesses.”
I swallow down the bile that rises in my throat. My voice is weak when I repeat, “Two weeks.”
“That’s what I just said,” Jenson says with exasperation dripping from every word.
I shake my head. “But what about the phone call from David? Or my new phone number? I left you a message earlier. I got another call from a Chicago number.”
He gives a nonchalant shrug, as if none of this is a big deal. “I’m sure it’s fine. They don’t know where you are. No one can trace that cell phone. It isn’t a Tennessee area code. And if you do what you’re supposed to do, Reese is goingaway for the rest of his life, and you won’t have to worry about him.”
Indignation at his blatant disregard has my blood boiling. “Aren’t you concerned that if someone was able to get my number, they could get the rest of my new information? And I feel like you are forgetting that it might not just be Reese who would want me dead. And while I don’t have any information on them, the people he worked for still might view me as a liability. I really shouldn’t be the one to have to remind you of this.”
“No, I’m not concerned. Numbers are pretty easy to find. I talked to Franklin about it, and he also wasn’t worried. You even said it yourself. The people Reese worked for probably don’t give two shits about you. But”—he holds up his finger to emphasize his word—“if you stop whining about it, I’ll get you one tomorrow.”
I bite my lip in thought as I process all of this. I don’t even know what to say. I feel lost and helpless. I don’t trust Jenson, but Franklin has been nothing but kind and supportive. If he isn’t worried, maybe I am overreacting.
Jenson starts walking toward my door and calls over his shoulder, “And I told you this before, but I mean it. Get rid of the boyfriend. Don’t think I don’t know you’re seeing him.”
My heart stutters. This cannot be happening. Again. “Tell me why. Are people in Witness Protection supposed to just be alone forever?”
He gives me a look that tells me he thinks I’m the biggest idiot. “Obviously not. I already told you. It makes you vulnerable. Getting involved with someone during a trial is stupid. Besides, sometimes we have to move people after a trial.”
