ONE
INDIGO
“Are you sure this is it?”
I peered at the snow-covered sign as we turned off the highway. It had to be a mistake. Jeff, who’d traveled with me on the flight, pulled over and checked his phone.
“I thought it was something like the Winter Wonderland Wilderness Lodge.”
That was a mouthful, but Agent Fairbanks had assured me it was the best place for short-term witness protection. It wasn’t traditional witsec where I got a new name, identity, and was moved to a different city. Nope, this was more of a precaution. It’d only be for a few weeks and I’d spend Christmas here. Not that I’d had any plans for the holidays.
“Moonridge Lodge,” Jeff read out. “This is the place, but let me check with the boss.”
Agent Fairbanks picked up immediately, his gruff voice echoing around the car. “Yeah?” Jeff read out the name. “That’s it. Had to make a last-minutechange.” He cleared his throat. “The original place was too crowded, and this lodge is very discreet. We’ve used them before.” The sound of kids arguing drifted through the phone, and he shouted at them to be quiet. “They’re expecting you.”
“All good.” Jeff hung up and drove in.
I stared through the window at what appeared to be a luxury mountain resort nestled in a valley and hemmed in on two sides by snow-capped mountains, instead of the modest one I'd been told about. There was a large main building and cabins dotted between pine trees, draped in fairy lights.
Maybe my time here wouldn’t be so bad.
Jeff got out of the car, ready to take me inside, but Agent Fairbanks had said before I departed that there was no need for him to suss out the joint, as he called it. The folks here had dealt with many guests in my situation over the years. I didn’t need babysitting.
“Never lost one,” Agent Fairbanks had joked when I last spoke to him. Maybe that was FBI humor.
Weeks ago, I'd been an accountant at Fitzgerald & Associates, and I’d discovered that my boss, Marty Fitzgerald, had been embezzling money. I puzzled over what to do but knew I had to contact the authorities. The guy was a friend and mentor, but I’d made the call.
After sitting in a small room for days, drinking bitter black coffee and telling the agents what I knew, I’d been told I had to disappear for a few weeks.
“Nothing dramatic,” Agent Fairbanks had assured me. “Just a precaution. He might lean on you to change your story, but we don’t think he’s connected tosomething bigger. We've got you set up somewhere safe. You’ll love it.”
I’d doubted that last part, but on looking at the lodge and its surroundings, I was thinking maybe he’d been right. Trudging through the snow toward the main building, I hadn’t been expecting a five-star stay. The government must have upgraded their witsec accommodations, because in the movies, it was always some cockroach-infested motel or scruffy apartment.
Pushing open the massive doors, the warmth hugged me and the scent of pine permeated the air. There were stone fireplaces at either end of the lobby and paintings adorned the walls. Leather couches and armchairs were situated around the space, but there was no decorated tree. Instead, the room was dotted with wreaths and candles.
The Christmas atmosphere was more subdued than in the city where the mishmash of colors and lights gave the impression Santa’s elves had tossed everything at the scene and scampered away giggling. Christmas at the lodge must be a quieter affair, and I appreciated the effort that brought the flavor of the season inside without blaring carols 24/7.
A woman behind the reception desk looked up as I approached.
“You must be our special guest!” She clasped her hands together. “We've been expecting you.”
Iwasspecial, but I was supposed to be lying low. But she’s just announced it to the world, though there wereonly a handful of people in the lobby, most of them reading.
“I'm Antonia, the lodge manager.” But as I approached, the color drained from her face, and she sniffed.
Did I smell? I moved my head to the side, trying to catch a whiff of my underarm. Nothing.
“Indigo—” Shit, I shouldn’t give my real name. Agent Fairbanks said it didn’t matter because the lodge had excellent security. It was too late now. I wasn’t good at subterfuge, and if I’d said my name was John or Maximilian, I’d forget for sure. I set my bag down and tried to look as though I belonged in a place with chandeliers.
“Is there something wrong?” Now was the time it’d be good to have eyes in the back of my head in case bad guys were poised to take me out. But my boss had stolen money. He didn’t have links to organized crime though Agent Fairbanks said they were still looking into it.
“Oh, there’s… maybe some… or no confusion at all.” Antonia’s fingers flew over her keyboard. “Cabin Twelve, just as arranged. It’s perfect, as it’s isolated from the other ones.”
It was supposed to be Cabin 150 at the other place, and isolated was good, but it suggested I’d be all alone with the mountains towering over me and snow blocking the doorway.
“And we've assigned you our best guest liaison to make sure you have everything you need during your stay.” For a second I wondered if I’d walked into a trap. But I was letting my imagination get away from me.
A guest liaison? Was that a polite term for a beefy guy with a gun who’d stand outside and fight off people intent on harming me? My mental image of witness protection had involved more hiding in seedy motels and less personal service.
