Page 92 of Wayward

Two hours later the bungalow was filled with people. Ada was giving yet another statement in the kitchen. Chief Ramirez and her officers were coordinating with Sergeant Eric Dix of the Oregon State Police.

“Why does shit always happen in this town?” Dix asked Ramirez.

“Not all the time,” she assured him, smiling as she held Misha.

Everyone got briefed on the fact that I was a high-value witness in the prosecution of a member of the Russian syndicate.

“That being said,” Alvarez began, glancing at me, “I have to agree with Maks that this was not an attack on him but instead an attack on Deputy Chief Gale Malloy.”

I’d worked it out: whoever had been looking into the house had shot at Gale, not me or Ada. When Gale went toward the back door, so did the bullets.

“Also,” Byers chimed in, having come with his partner, “if Maks’s former associates found out his whereabouts, they would have sent a kill team, not one man with a bolt-action rifle.” He sounded resigned. “There would be five or six guys with automatic weapons, and they would have strafed this house with bullets and then come inside. No one would be left alive. Maks is a hundred percent correct in his supposition.”

Alvarez nodded. “Plus, I must reiterate that no Witness Security Program participant who has followed all program guidelines, like Maks has, has ever been harmed or killed. Period.”

It was a damn impressive track record.

“For all intents and purposes, Maks has been, so far, a model WITSEC participant. He has made a fresh start that is completely separate from who he once was. There is no possible way that this was an attempt on his life. That being said, we cannot allow him to remain here in this community.”

“That’s not fair,” Ada said, getting up from the kitchen table and walking into the living room. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“That’s true, ma’am,” Alvarez agreed, “but any coverage in the newspaper would include Maks, and we simply can’t have that.”

“But he has a new name,” Ada argued.

“Yes, but not a new face.”

“We can keep it out of the newspaper,” Chief Ramirez assured Alvarez. “I can speak to Javier Vega, who now owns the town paper, to make sure there’s no mention of this incident.”

Small town. So small. I was certain that until that moment, Alvarez didn’t really get how tiny the place actually was.

“Maks already has a stellar reputation in the community,” Gale chimed in. “Moving him from here when he’s only just arrived seems like a waste of both time and resources.”

Dix said, “I will chime in here and say that the biggest town around is Seaside, with a population of nearly 8,000.” He looked from Alvarez to Byers. “I think you’ve done an excellent job of placing a high-profile witness, and I’m certain the FBI would agree with me.”

“This is an insular community,” Ramirez told the two marshals. “In such a short time, Maks has made a place for himself and will continue to be an asset, I have no doubt.”

Everyone speaking for me was humbling. I had been a pariah in my old life, but no one saw me that way anymore.

Alvarez took hold of my bicep and led me out the front door. Together we walked out into the yard, near the barn. I noted that it was all closed up for the night. Ada never missed taking care of her sheep.

Alvarez let me go, took another few steps, then rounded on me. “Well?”

“This isn’t my fault.”

“Yes, I know. I’m just concerned for your safety.”

“Again, this isn’t about me. This is about Gale, and since I care about him, I need to get back in there to do some brainstorming and figure out who wants him dead.”

She nodded. “I do agree that if your father found out where you were, he would send the best people he could to end your life. Money would be no object.”

“Haven’t the Feds frozen all his assets?”

“I’m sure he could borrow it or—c’mon, Maks, we both know he’d figure out a way to get it done.”

“I agree.”

She took a breath. “I was going to tell you this next week when I came out to see you, but Lev Kamenov was recovered in Paris.”