Witness To Kill (Change Of Life Book 1) by Kent Keefer Page B

voice was breaking. “This
    thing,” she picked up the pamphlet with two fingers like it was something
    dirty, then dropped it back to the table. “Christ! Talks about assigning us new
    names . . . new names!! And . . . what do they call it?” She leaned and
    read from it but didn’t touch it again. “ Relocation !” She bent toward
    him shaking her head, trying to find his eyes. “Relocation! They’re crazy! I’ve
    never agreed to any of that.” She sat back and pulled her running shoes up onto
    the vinyl. “I’ve made a decision. I’ve decided. I’m through with them.” She
    wanted her face to look firm, her voice to sound certain. “I’ve done it,
    Sherry. I’ve done my part. I’ve been honest and answered every one of their
    questions. A dozen times!” she said, shaking her head firmly. “They’re not
    getting anything else out of me.”
    The detective pulled a Bic from his pocket, regarded it,
    then laid it on the table beside his cup and rubbed his temples with the
    finger-tips of both hands. He filled her cup, then his own. He looked back into
    her eyes over the top of his cup as he sipped, hers stayed untouched. Mary
    struggled to hold her mind in the room, keep it at the table, willed it to stay
    focused on this awful subject she could not run from.
    “Yes . . .they are. They are.” His voice was soft but
    resigned. “They got you, Mary.” He sipped again, looked at her for a long
    instant and nodded before looking down at the brochure. “You’re caught.” He
    pursed his lips and sucked his teeth, scratched under an eye and shook his
    head. “You’re just plain stuck, Hon. Stuck ‘tween them killers . . . they’re killers Mary. Stuck ‘tween them and those gov’ment boys. Stuck”
    “Can they make me testify? Can they do that even if it puts
    me . . . me and Brian . . . in, in, uh, in jeopardy? Can they do that,
    Sherry?” She joined her hands on the table and worked at her knuckles. “Would
    they do that? We’re innocent here. We haven’t done anything. Would they put us
    in danger?” She squinted and studied his eyes.
    His words came even-paced and monotone. “Hon, they kin do
    that and they will. I been tellin’ you that, you know? Tryin’ to anyways. Don’t
    seem like you been really hearin’ me. Mebbe I ain’t been clear enough.” He
    shook his head again. “Long as you stick to bein’ able to identify ‘em, you’re
    in the middle o’this thing.” He paused thoughtfully then continued in a
    resigned voice. “Like you said before, Mary. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that . .
    . doin’ the right thing ‘n all. But then they hafta do what they hafta.” His
    voice lowered to a whisper. “And so do you.” He drank again, refilled from the
    pitcher. “The damn shame of it, though . . . the shame of it is you’all are in danger by your doin’ it.” He sighed softly. “From you tellin’ what I guess
    you think you got to tell . . . what you seen that night.” He wheezed. “ Who you seen that night. You got trouble’s, Hon . . . ‘n you got it comin’ from
    both directions.”
    “Don’t I have a say in this?” she asked.
    “Not much, don’t ‘spect,” he punched the brochure twice with
    a thick index finger. “They’re tellin’ you right there what your choices—”
    “Change my name . . . change our names! Relocate! Start a
    whole new life? What kind of a choice is that?”
    He scratched under his eye again and sipped, then raise his
    face to look full into her eyes. “Oh, there’s choices , Mary.” He glanced
    down at the papers on the table. “This’s one could mebbe save your lives.” He
    shrugged and looked over her shoulder. “On the other hand, ya know.” He
    shrugged again and looked into her face. “People make mistakes identifyin’ . .
    . it’s a hard thing, you know? People think they know things at first . . .
    later on they forget, ya know. Happens all the time.”
    She squinted and took her first sip, trying to use