Sanctuary
Spike carried the suitcase and led her to the second floor apartment. She's been here before with Team One when Super Geek completed his improvements; he invited them to see what he had done, little did they know what awaited them. She recalled being in awe and wondered if she would feel the same seeing it the second time around.
They reached the second floor. Spike punched in the code to the apartment, she heard a soft click. He opened the door, invited her to enter first. The lights came on automatically as soon as she stepped in. She smiled. The sound of music filled the room. Josh Groban was singing the anthemic song, "You Raise Me Up."
The coffee-maker made noises, the aroma of freshly grounded coffee grabbing her attention. It, the machine, was making a cup for its Master.
Spike disappeared into the bedroom with her suitcase, and he came out barefoot. She tried not to notice but she couldn't help it – she noticed every detail about him. He looked nice barefoot and dressed casually in a white T-shirt and white drawstring, ankle-length cotton pants. Her heart skipped a bit and thought she really shouldn't have agreed to this arrangement.
She heard him asked, "How do you like your coffee?"
"White.. no sugar." He sipped his cappuchino as he programmed the machine to make another for her.
"What, exactly, am I doing here?" she asked.
He sighed. "We'll have coffee and then we'll talk." Her coffee, white with no sugar, was ready. He served it to her in a plain white ceramic cup and saucer. They drank their caffeine in silence. She just wasn't used to it. She was familiar with the happy, talkative and bouncy Spike. She didn't know this pensive guy. What on earth happened? It was all too puzzling.
He finished his cappuchino, ran his finger around the lip of the cup. "What's your involvement with the Scott Packer's case?"
Her jaw dropped. "How did you know about that?"
"Anjelica Delaney, she told me."
Winnie twisted the fabric of her dress with her ring finger, an obvious sign of anxiety. "Um, well… About six months ago, one of my friends invited me to go to this party. I didn't belong there but she insisted I go. At the party, I found Sonia Kruger in the ladies crying. Her nose was bleeding, her left cheek was swollen. She looked like she was punched in the face. I asked her if there's anything I could do. She said she didn't feel safe and asked if I could stay with her for a while. I stayed."
Her eyes brimmed with tears. Spike gave her a glass of water to drink.
"We sat on the marbled floor in the ladies," she looked down at her dress. "She said Scott, her boyfriend was upset and had struck her. I said she should report it to the police. I offered to go with her. She said thank you but she'd rather not. We talked for, ah… maybe, 15 minutes then one of Packer's minder entered the ladies. He said Scott wanted her. She went with him… reluctantly. I sensed she was apprehensive."
Teardrops stained her yellow dress. "I was one of the last to see her alive. I think I could have done more." Spike understood the "I could have done more feeling" well. He moved closer and pulled her to his chest. She sobbed into his shirt. The poor thing, he thought, has been carrying the weight of guilt that wasn't even hers to carry.
He stroked her hair, she found it soothing. "You ok?" Spike felt her head bob up and down. He released her, went away to the bathroom to get a box of tissues.
"That night, I took photos of her. I said in case she changed her mind about not going to the cops, at least, you know, we have evidence of her injuries that night. I took three; the front, left and right side of her face. I showed them to the police the day after her body was found. The Crown Prosecution's Office called and asked if I'd testify as a witness. I said yes. It was the least I can do. I couldn't help her when she was alive. I could at least do something to get justice for her.
"Angelica said that when Sonia's body was found, they couldn't find the murder weapon at the crime scene. She was strangled with something that may have been a necklace. The photos I took…." Spike got it. "She was wearing a necklace that night."
"Good girl," he said, feeling very proud of her.
Then it was his turn. "Your accident... it wasn't an accident."
"What do you mean?"
"The case against Scott Packer now rest solely on your testimony. The other two witnesses could no longer attend court hearing next week. One's in the hospital with a broken neck, head-on collision. The other had a skiing accident. What are the odds?"
She felt chills go up and down her spine. "Do you think they'll try again?"
"I won't lie to you. They would. You supplied the Prosecution solid evidence and your testimony will very likely nail Scott Parker. You're the only one standing between him and freedom or him and a 25 year stretch in the slammer."
"I'm scared," she said in a little girl's voice. It made her sound so vulnerable.
"Scared is good," he reassured her. "Scared make you careful and smart. Come here." He wrapped her in a protective embrace.
"Can you do it?
"I want to, I want to do it."
He cupped her chin and lifted her face so they were eye-to-eye. "I know you want to. I'm asking, can you?"
"Yes. I can."
"Angelica thinks you've been assigned a protective detail. No one's been assigned because we didn't know the trouble you're in. I'm gonna speak to the Boss. In the meantime, you'll be in my protective custody til a formal arrangement can be made. It means no jogging, no walking on your own, no shopping, no calling friends. Til we can move to a safe house, you'll stay with me. Ok? Clear?" She nodded. She felt safe already.
"Will they go after my family?"
"Good question. Depending on how desperate they are, they might." She gasped. "I won't lie to you. We can't protect everyone 24/7. But I'll see what I can do, ok?" She exhaled, not realising she has been holding her breath for some time. No wonder she felt a little faint.
They stood fixed to the ground, locked in an embrace. She became aware of him massaging her back to help her relaxed. Her muscles were so tight they were starting to hurt. Then she became aware Josh Groban was no longer singing. Savage Garden was. Truly, Madly, Deeply. He must have become aware of it, too. He led them into a gentle sway, left to right, with the music.
When the song ended he said, "I can hold you forever but I've got work to do." He made for his phone and dialled a number.
She didn't know what to do with herself in this alien space. So she remained in the kitchen, drank her now very tepid coffee. She took one sip, yuck! She made a face, unfortunately just as he turned to see her do it. He smiled broadly.
Great! Can it get any more wrong! A stupid crunched face to add to the mismatched PJs, to the lacy night gown, to the steel wool hair, to the bruised purple skin. God, do me a favour. Kill me now!
He continued to speak quietly on the phone as he paced the living floor. Occasionally he'd glance at her which made her feel very nervous. Minutes later, he came over and gave her the phone, "Angelica."
Then it was her turn to speak quietly, pace the living room and occasionally glance at Spike.
When she was done talking to the Prosecutor, he gave her back her cellphone. He had put in a new SIM card, transferred the cloned information to it via Bluetooth, sent a group message to everyone in her contact list advising of her new phone number followed by a request not to share the information with anyone. "If it doesn't display the caller id, don't answer it." She nodded.
"Do you have a Facebook and Twitter account?" She nodded. She's been nodding a lot today, she thought.
"Did you bring your laptop with you?" She nodded. "Let's go get it." He led her to the bedroom to retrieve the device. They returned to the kitchen bench. He powered it up, "Is it password protected?"
"It is." He turned it around so she could type it in, which was very lucky because the password was "1h3artsp1k3" which was essentially Geek-speak for "I love Spike."
He got her to log into her Facebook account then he disabled it. She was mortified, "How will my friends know…. oh!"
"Exactly." He did the same to her Twitter account. "Strictly NO social media."
"I'm going to HQ. Make yourself at home. Use my bed. I'll sleep in the couch." She felt terrible and it showed in her face. "Don't worry the couch opens up to a double bed." He winked.
"Make sure you make yourself something to eat." He kissed her on the lips lightly and hurried off. She didn't want him to go.
Somewhere in Rosedale, in the Packer estate, Scott has gone ballistic. His devilishly handsome, chiselled face was hard and his temper flared like fireworks. The idiots he assigned to mark Winnie had lost her. Morons! "I want her found. NOW!"
At HQ, Spike had a closed door huddle with Sgt Greg Parker and Officer Ed Lane. They formulated a battle plan. There was one chink in the plan. They agreed that at some point they'd have to hand over the job of protecting Winnie to RCMP Witness Protection staff. Internally, Ed Lane has an issue with it; he didn't like losing control of situation. Parker and Spike both has misgivings about it, too. But the rule is the rule. SRU could hardly be expected to watch over everyone.
That done, Spike went to physio. The time to be slack about his recovery was well and truly over. He returned to HQ afterwards to practice shooting in the firing range.
It was just him and the paper target. He liked the Weaver stance, the two-handed technique in which the dominant hand holds the handgun while the support hand wraps around the dominant hand.
Noise cancelling earphones on, goggles on, his right hand held the MP5, finger on the trigger. Deep breathe, he raised his arms and assumed the position. The right arm's elbow was nearly straight while the support elbow was bent straight down. He positioned his feet in a walking stance, with the off-side foot ahead of the strong-side foot.
Being a right-handed person, his right foot angled out to approximately forty-five degrees to the side and to the rear at shoulder length. His upper torso leaned forward at the hips, the shoulders just over his forward foot. And fired!
He scored 90%. Not bad considering he's been off the firing range for three months. He intended to score 95% tomorrow; 97% after that; and he didn't plan to miss if someone so much as touch Miss Camden's hair.
The thugs went off. They had no idea where to begin looking for Winnie. They could hardly go to the police to make inquiries or dare watch the SRU HQ car park where she worked, that would be suicidal.
But…. they have a photo of Spike…. They could ask around. If they could get him, they could get to Winnie!
