It also meant the company needed a lot of space at a reasonable price, which explained why it was located in the hills sandwiched between Tierra Santa and Mission Trails Regional Park.
In the middle of nowhere.
The good news was the traffic was sparse, making their travel time less than twenty minutes from the Palisades.
They passed the San Diego River and a few minutes later turned right off Mission Gorge Road into a parking lot. Torres brought the vehicle to a stop horizontally across a handicapped parking spot in front of the double doors that had the name Sullivan Logistics written on them.
“I’ve got this. Keep it running,” Charlie said and hopped out.
She pulled open the front door and marched into the stark air-conditioned lobby up to the receptionist’s desk. “Hello. I’m from the US Marshals Service. I need to speak with Mrs. Sharon Potter. It’s extremely urgent.”
After Charlie held up the badge that was prominently displayed from a chain around her neck, the twentysomething woman said, “FYI, she never changed her name from Sullivan to Potter.”
One more anchor for Sharon.
Charlie’s temperature rose. This trip was only going to eat up precious time.
In the end, Sharon wouldn’t choose Eugene...Edgar Plinski over everything and everyone else in her life.
The receptionist picked up the phone and dialed. “Mrs. Sullivan, you’re needed up front. A US marshal is here to speak with you. There’s some kind of emergency.” The young woman paused as she listened. “Okay.” Then she hung up and looked at Charlie. “She’s on her way.”
Charlie nodded, stepping away from the desk, and put her hands behind her back. The at-ease position was an old Marine Corps habit that came naturally to her.
After serving eight years as a military police officer, living in the culture of extreme violence of the corps, doing merry-go-round deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan, she’d needed a change. Something different but still inside her wheelhouse. She considered working as a contractor or local law enforcement.
A chance encounter in a nightclub that’d turned into a two-night stand steered her in a new direction.
The guy was interesting, intelligent, noticed things most civilian guys missed, had a killer bod and carried a gun. He was a US marshal. In those earlier days, Charlie wasn’t good with filler small talk after sex. Truth be told, she still wasn’t. Fortunately, the marshal was. He didn’t mind chatting about his job and had given her an inside perspective. She was hooked.
Once he discovered Charlie’s hard-charging attitude and affinity for the grind of the Marines and military police, he’d suggested not only applying to the USMS, but also setting her sights on the Special Operations Group.
Now she had a job she loved.
Charlie glanced at the tactical black SUV, itching to leave. Rather than tap her foot impatiently, she paced around the wide lobby.
The sound of sensible pumps click-clacking across the tile floor snagged her attention.
An elegant, athletic-looking brunette in her early sixties, with bright eyes and gray at the temples, entered the lobby. She wore a silk blouse with a long, fancy scarf tied around her neck and slacks. “Excuse me, I’m Sharon Sullivan. Can I help you?”
“Mrs. Sullivan, I’m Deputy Marshal Killinger. I need you to come with me. Right now.”
They’d already been attacked at the house. No way were they going to play sitting ducks twice in one day. Any talking would have to happen in the car and at the SSPC.
If Sharon later decided that erasing her past and forging a new life with Eugene wasn’t what she wanted, the marshals would allow her to leave. But that discussion wasn’t going to happen here at Sullivan Logistics out in the boonies.
“What is this about?” Sharon asked.
“Your husband. Eugene.”
Her eyes grew wide and her hand flew to her chest. “Has something happened to him? Is he all right?”
“Mrs. Sullivan, is it okay if I call you Sharon?” The conversation in the car was going to be awkward. Calling her Mrs. Sullivan in front of Eugene would only compound things.
She nodded. “Yes.”
“If you’ll come with me, Sharon, I’ll explain everything in the car.” Charlie extended a hand toward the door, but the older woman stayed planted, as if rooted in shock.
“Please, tell me, what’s going on?”
Charlie put a hand on her shoulder and gently coaxed her to start walking. “As soon as we’re in the car.”
The receptionist stood behind the desk. “Mrs. Sullivan, what should I tell everyone?”
“I’m not really sure,” Sharon said. She stopped and looked from the receptionist to Charlie.
“Tell them there was an emergency. She’ll check in with you later.” Charlie held the door open. “This way, please.”
Sharon walked across the threshold.
Charlie put a hand on her back, shepherded her the ten steps to the vehicle and ushered her into the third row.
“Honey, what’s happening?” Sharon asked, confusion stamped on her face.
Eugene reached for her and helped her sit. “I’m so sorry. I hate that you’re being blindsided like this. I never thought this day would come.”
Charlie climbed into the front seat, since Aiden’s wound was bandaged. Torres whipped the car around into a U-turn and headed out of the lot.
“Blindside me with what?” Sharon asked. “Why are marshals here?”
“Sweetheart.” Eugene kissed her hands. “I don’t know what to say, where to begin.”
“Sharon, your husband is in the federal witness protection program,” Charlie said, cutting to the quick of it. If left up to Eugene, he might hem and haw all the way to the SSPC.
“What is she talking about, honey?” Sharon turned to Eugene. “How could you be in witness protection?”
“It’s come to our attention that his life is in danger,” Charlie continued.
“In danger? Oh, God. This is all so much. I don’t understand. I thought witness protection made people disappear so they couldn’t be found.”
“That’s correct, ma’am,” Aiden said.
“Then how did someone find him?” Sharon asked.
“Yeah, I’d like to know that, too,” Eugene demanded.
A fellow deputy in their field office had compromised the US Marshals Service. He’d accepted a bribe and handed over a classified Department of Justice laptop to the Los Chacales cartel. In turn, the cartel used the laptop to breach the Pacific Coast WITSEC list, along with the personal information of every marshal in California.