“Isabel Stewart,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Isabel.” Frank’s voice came through, and just the sound of it made her smile. “William’s set up a more secure line. I wanted to make sure it’s working.”
“It seems to be,” she said, sinking onto the window seat, grateful the store was empty. “How are you and Tommy?”
“Hanging in there,” he said, and she could hear the weariness beneath his voice. “One of the agents is teaching Tommy how to play chess. He’s enjoying it more than I thought he would.”
“That doesn’t surprise me at all,” Isabel said, picturing Tommy’s serious little face as he contemplated his moves. “I have some news—I made an offer on a house today.”
“The one on Maple Street?” Frank asked, surprising her.
“How did you—” She stopped, realizing how Frank knew what she was doing. “The agents who are watching me told William.”
“Yes,” Frank admitted. “I hope that doesn’t upset you.”
Isabel shrugged. “It’s strange, but I understand why it’s necessary. And yes, it’s the house on Maple Street. It has a wonderful sunroom with built-in bookshelves.”
“It sounds perfect for you,” Frank said softly. There was a pause, then: “The trial’s been moved up. It’s now three weeks from Monday.”
Isabel gripped the phone tighter. “That’s good, isn’t it? The sooner it starts, the sooner it’s over.”
“That’s the hope,” he said. There was a noise in the background, and Frank sighed. “I have to go. Tommy wants to say goodnight.”
“Put him on,” Isabel said, smiling as she heard the phone being handed over.
“Isabel!” Tommy’s voice came through, bright with excitement. “I beat Agent Martinez at chess!”
“Congratulations,” Isabel told him. “Chess is a great game.”
After Tommy said goodnight, Frank came back on the line. “I’ll call again when I can. Be careful, Isabel.”
“You too,” she said softly. “Both of you.” Isabel ended the call. Three weeks until the trial. That was at least twice as fast as Frank thought it would be.
And, hopefully, it would halve the time before Isabel saw them again.
CHAPTER 38
Frank looked over the court documents spread across the table, the text blurring as fatigue set in. He’d been reviewing testimony and evidence for hours, and the clock on the microwave showed it was well past midnight. The trial was less than two weeks away now, and the prosecution team was being thorough—perhaps overly so—in their preparation.
He rubbed his eyes, leaning back in the kitchen chair. The house was quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator. Tommy had gone to bed hours ago, and the FBI agents on the night shift moved silently around the property.
Frank closed the folder and stood, stretching muscles stiff from sitting too long. He moved to the kitchen window, peering through a narrow gap in the blinds at the darkness outside. Somewhere out there, Dave Winters and his hired guns were still looking for him, still determined to silence his testimony.
But for the first time since the shooting, Frank was thinking more about what would happen after the trial than before it.
The quiet sound of shuffling feet made him turn around. Tommy stood in the doorway, hair tousled from sleep, Fido clutched against his chest.
“Can’t sleep, buddy?” Frank asked softly.
Tommy shook his head, moving into the kitchen. “I had the dream again.”
Frank’s heart sank. The dream had been recurring since the shooting. Tommy was underwater, unable to breathe or find his way to the surface. Some nights, Frank could hear him whimpering before waking up.
“Come here,” Frank said, pulling out a chair for his grandson.
Tommy climbed onto it, Fido still firmly in his grasp. “Do you think Mom and Dad can see us from heaven?”
Frank was surprised by the question, but he shouldn’t have been. Tommy had asked similar things in the months after Sarah and Tony’s accident.
