The Marshal Pt. 07

He heard the tractor growl past, watching her through the kitchen window as she parked it in the barn, appearing a moment later to pull on the rope to lower the equipment door, and started for the house.

"Hey," he said as she stepped into the kitchen.

"Hey, yourself," she replied as she stepped in close.

He kissed her. "Mowing?"

She smiled. She understood he wasn't actually asking about her mowing. "Yeah. Keeping busy helps. I got the east side of the lake done this morning before I went into Wurth to read to the kids. When you're not here I need something to keep me busy, so I don't think too much."

He kissed her again, a quick smooch before he stepped out of her embrace. "Dinner will be ready in a couple of minutes if you want to go wash up." Mowing was a dusty business.

A fleeting smile appeared before she turned for the bedroom. While she washed, he pulled the lasagna out and poured two glasses of wine. He wasn't sure wine connoisseurs would approve of blueberry wine with Italian food, but he didn't care. It was good enough for a frozen dinner.

As they ate, he told her the news he received today. She listened, saying nothing, until he was finished, and then nodded.

"I'm not surprised," she said after a moment. "The various factions respected Dad, but they feared Kwang-hoon. I know he, Kwang-hoon, often pitted one person against another in his sick little power games. Now that Dad's not there to hold them together, and they don't have to be afraid of Kwang-hoon anymore, people are trying to carve out their own little kingdoms."

"Any thoughts on how many factions there might be?"

She shrugged. "Five or six, probably, but that's just a guess based on the number of people that Dad, and later Kwang-hoon, seemed to give instructions to. I don't have any way to know for sure."

He nodded. "How does it feel to be the one to bring down a criminal empire?"

He thought that would earn him a smile, but she looked at her plate and pushed her food around with her fork. "Hardly my doing. Dad dying is what did it."

"No," he said softly. "If Kwang-hoon were still in charge, your father passing away wouldn't have made any real difference. You've played a major role in this."

"Maybe."

"No maybe about it."

That won him a small, if sad, smile. "Okay. Maybe I helped a little."

"More than a little. Joe wasn't that far off when he called you a superhero."

She looked up and her smile grew slightly. "It's Joel. Joel Egger. Laying it on kind of thick, aren't you?"

"I don't think so."

"You know, you don't have to try so hard. You're going to get laid tonight."

He chuckled. "That wasn't why I said it, but good to know." He paused for a heartbeat. "Can you wear your Wonder Girl outfit? Spandex and high heel boots turn me on."

She sniffed once in amusement and gave him her sex kitten look, the one she used when she was teasing him about their sex life. "Everything turns you on."

He smiled at her, glad to see a hint of her normal spark return. "What do you expect? Most guys don't get to sleep with Wonder Girl every night."

She watched him for a long moment before looking back at her plate. "Maybe not, but it's okay. Most women don't have the man of steel in her bed every night, either."

"Hey, Joel! You ready to get started? I'm almost finished," Britney said as Joel stepped into the breakroom.

She'd spent the past hour writing the advertisement copy onto her cards and practicing saying Squillante, one of the companies she was doing a spot for. She'd spelled it Squill-lan-tea, to remind herself of its pronunciation when it came time to say it in the spot. She only had five commercials to do today, so it should be a relatively short session.

"Yeah, whenever you are," he replied.

Joel and Britney had a good working relationship. They both arrived at the station around nine, he handed her the spots she was going to record that day, and then he left her to get ready while he did whatever he did when he wasn't working with her on commercials, reappearing about the time he suspected she'd be ready.

She finished copying the last line to her card, capped the pen, and stood from the table she'd been working at. She pulled a water from the supply of bottles the station kept in the 'fridge, and handed Joel the Mt. Dew she knew he'd want from the stash he kept in the refrigerator. She had no idea how the man slept at night considering he drank five or six bottles a day.

She was feeling better than she had since Rob told her about Dad's death. After two weeks, she felt like she was finally coming to grips with what happened. That wasn't to say she wasn't still sad when she thought about Dad, because she was, but she found it didn't weigh on her as heavily as it once did. Now, when she thought about Dad, if she felt like she needed to cry, she cried. Getting it out of her system often helped her feel better afterwards, at least for a little while. Her urges to cry were becoming less frequent, and her moments of weepiness didn't last as long. Best of all, now when she thought about Dad, sometimes she remembered the good times too.

After she lost her shit, and the resulting night of explosive sex, Rob had returned to the kind and thoughtful lover, making slow and tender love to her each night, or holding her warm and close without complaint if she wasn't in the mood. He was also occupying her with their wedding plans. He'd always been a good sport about listening to her ramble on about her plans, but now he was actively engaging her.

They were getting married in February outside by the lake. She'd picked out a wedding dress in gleaming white with long sleeves, gloves, fur on the collar and cuffs, and even a matching, fur-trimmed, hooded cloak to help keep her warm. The dress and cloak were simply cut and omitted lace for warmth, but the fabric seemed to glow in the light. In her imagination, the snow-covered trees and ground, and the incredible Maine winter blue sky in the background, was achingly romantic. Before Rob was mostly 'whatever you want to do, dear,' but the last few days he'd started making thoughtful suggestions. He probably still didn't care what she did, but she appreciated his gesture and his attempt to distract her from dwelling on Dad.

She pulled her thoughts back to the matter at hand because she had a job to do. She followed Joel into her preferred studio. She was glad they were going to have a short day because she had other things she needed to do, like deciding on a photographer. She only had six more months before she and Rob exchanged their vows. Fortunately, February wasn't a popular month for weddings, but she was running out of time to get her photographer booked. After the news about Dad, she hadn't felt like doing anything with the wedding until the last couple of days, and she needed to get going on it again.

She stepped into the recording booth and slipped on her headset. "Who are we starting with?"

"Squillante Investments. Before we start, while I'm thinking about it, I wanted to tell you that I got a call from a reporter Friday. He wants to talk to you."

Her stomach flipped over. "A reporter?"

"Yeah. He saw my post on Facebook about how I worked with a woman who looked just like that Han Bo-bae woman."

The room wavered and her legs weakened. "What did you tell him?" she asked softly.

He shrugged. "Nothing."

"Joel, it's important. What did you tell him, and what did you put on Facebook?"

He looked at her curiously. "All I posted was that I worked with a woman who looked like Han Bo-bae, and linked to a photo of her in the article. Why?"

"When? When did you make the post?"

He shrugged. "Wednesday, after I saw the report, I think. Why?"

"And the reporter?" she pressed. "What did he want?"

He shrugged again. "He said he worked for the New York Times and was following up on some story. He wanted to know your name, where you lived, phone number, that sort of thing. He said he wanted to contact you."

Her chest felt tight. "What did you tell him?"

"Britney? Are you okay?"

"What did you tell him?" she yelled.

"Nothing! I don't know where you live or your phone number, and I wasn't comfortable telling him your name without asking you first. What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not okay!"

Joel was quiet for a long moment, his eyes large behind his glasses. "Oh my God, Britney, are you her?"

"How could you do that, Joel? Why would you do that?" she murmured.

"You're her?" he asked again. She started to deny it, but he'd know she was lying and nodded her head, unable to speak. "Holy shit! What? Christ! Are you on the run from the mob?"

"No. Witness protection," she said, her voice soft. She didn't have the strength to make it any louder.

Joel sat, staring at her for a long moment. "Shit, Britney. I didn't know. I didn't know! I'm so sorry!" He picked up his phone, and as she watched, he typed and swiped a moment. He slowly placed the phone back on the control console. "I've deleted the post. I'm so, so sorry, Britney. I wouldn't have posted that if I'd known. What can I do?"

"The reporter, you really didn't tell him anything?"

He shook his head vehemently. "No. Nothing. Not even your name. I told him I'd have to ask you if it was okay for him to contact you before I told him anything."

"Please, Joel, please don't tell anyone who I am. Please!"

"No, I won't. I feel terrible. If I'd known..." He looked down. "I didn't think anything about it. I just thought it was kind of cool that I knew someone who looked like another person. I never thought..."

"Promise me, Joel. Promise me you didn't tell the reporter anything."

"I swear on my mother's life, Britney, I didn't tell him a thing. I'm supposed to call him back tonight after I talked to you. I won't call him, and if he calls me, I'll tell him you said you didn't want to talk to him."

She began to calm down. "Okay, thank you. And you won't tell anyone who I am, right? You promise?"

"Britney, I swear to God, I'll take the secret to my grave. I feel terrible about what I did. I like you and I'd never do anything like this on purpose." He was quiet for a long moment. "Can you forgive me?"

She swallowed hard and nodded. What was done was done, and he hadn't known the ramification of what he was doing. "Yeah. You didn't know. Just, please, don't--"

"You have my word. I promise," he said, cutting her off.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I need a minute."

He nodded. "I understand. Take all the time you need. I... do you need some time alone? You want someone else to run the board? I can switch places with Roger if you want. I'll tell him I'm not feeling well or something."

Joel looked miserable. He was the stereotypical nerd with his glasses, beard, long hair, and collection of sci-fi movie t-shirts, but he was a decent guy. A couple of years ago she wouldn't have trusted him to keep the secret five minutes, but in the past year she'd learned most people were kind and decent if given half a chance to prove it.

"No. It's okay." She took another deep breath and let it out, trying to focus. It seemed every time she took a step forward, something would happen to drag her back into her pit of despair. A thought occurred to her. "How'd he find you?" she asked.

"I'm not that hard to track down. I have where I work on my profile, and the station's number is everywhere. He called me here."

"Any idea how he found out about your post?"

He shook his head. "No, but it's Facebook. A search maybe?" He sounded like a kicked dog.

She wanted to say some really bad words, but she was a professional. She took another cleansing breath. "I think I'm ready."

"Are you sure? We can do this another day if you want."

She shook my head. "No. I'm okay. Squillante?"

Joel nodded. Dammit. She almost felt sorry for him. He could barely meet her eyes. "In your own time," he said softly.

She took another cleansing breath as she looked at her cards. "Retirement is a time to enjoy the fruits of your labors." She looked at Joel.

"Are you sure you want to do this today? That was awfully flat."

She sucked on her lips, trying to reel in her emotions. Between Dad and this, she was starting to lose her shit again. "This is fine. Let me try it again." She took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself and tried it again. "Retirement is a time to enjoy the fruits of your labors."

"I'm sorry. One more time."

She ground her teeth in annoyance. It wasn't his fault she couldn't do her damned job. "Retirement is a time to enjoy the fruits of your labors," she said, trying to put some oomph into it this time.

"Britney..."

"I don't know what you want!"

"Are you sure you're up for this?"

She yanked the headset off her head, slammed it over the copy stand, and stomped out of the room. "I'll be back in a minute," she snarled as she stormed past.

She hurried into the women's bathroom, stopping at the sinks to stare in the mirror. She was the only woman in the studio until Maria Konk, the voice behind Afternoons with Stacy, arrived at two, so she didn't have to worry about being interrupted. Why was this happening her? All she wanted was to live her fucking life! Why would a reporter care about her? Did he suspect she'd disappeared into witness protection and this mystery woman in Maine might actually be Han Bo-bae? Why would anyone care? Why was he willing to risk her life for a story?

She felt sick and coughed out a sob as she continued to stare at herself in the mirror. She thought she could have a normal life, thought she could become a better person than she was, thought she could leave the stigma of the Han name behind, but she'd been wrong. Why couldn't she just live her life? She wanted to grow old with Rob, to maybe have some kids and watch them grow up. Was she asking for so much? She whimpered again. She didn't want to move again. She loved it here, and she wanted to make a life in Wurth.

She stared at the woman in the mirror, her lips twisting and her face melting. She began to gasp, trying to get control of herself, but she couldn't stop the tears.

It took Britney a long time to get her emotions under control. Thank God she was on radio and not television because her eyes were red and puffy from her tears. She wanted to go home, curl up in Rob's arms, and feel safe, but she couldn't. Rob wasn't home, and she still had a job to do, a job she enjoyed. She cleared her throat and held handfuls of cold water to her face, bubbling and spluttering as she tried to make herself presentable again.

"There's nothing you can do about it now, so just deal with it," she told the woman in the mirror so she could listen to how her voice sounded. It was a little thick and mucusy, but some water would help with that. She patted her face dry while blowing air from pursed lips. She was over it, at least for the moment. She squared her shoulders, cleared her throat, and marched out of the bathroom.

Joel was sitting at his console. He looked positively miserable. "You okay?" he asked softly.

"Yeah." She patted him on the shoulder. "It's going to be okay. I know you didn't intended to cause trouble. Just keep this between you and me and everything will be alright."

"I will. Who else knows?"

"Nobody. The only people who know are you, me, and my handler."

"Handler?"

"The marshal that oversees my protection. I'm going to have to tell him what's happened, but--" Joel went pale. "Don't worry. I'll tell him it was an accident."

"Am I going to be in trouble?"

She shook her head. "No, I don't think so, as long as you keep this between us."

He swallowed hard. "I will. The last thing I want to do is get my ass thrown in jail."

She nodded and forced a smile. "Yeah. How will you see all the new Marvel movies coming out if you're in jail?" He barely smiled. She patted him again. "Don't worry about it." She took a deep breath. "You ready to try this again. I think I have my shit together now."

"If you are."

"I think." She entered the small booth and put her headphones on. "Still Squillante?"

"Unless you want to do another one first."

She shook her head. "No. Squillante's fine. From the top?"

He nodded. "In your own time."

She closed her eyes and focused. "Retirement is a time to enjoy the fruits of your labor," she said into the hanging microphone. She looked to Joel. It sounded fine to her.

"Great. Next."

"At Squillante Invest--" She stopped when she butchered the company's name. She took a breath and looked at Joel in frustration as she slowly released it. It seemed it was going to be a long ass day after all.

Britney stepped out of the WBGR studio. She hadn't been wrong. It had been a long ass day. She should have been done by one, two at the latest, but it was almost three-thirty. Joel had been endlessly patient with her as she botched lines, lost focus, and mispronounced words, but she'd finally gotten through all the copy.

She pulled out her phone and dialed Rob. She needed to hear his voice. The phone rang several times before switching over into his voice mail. She hung up and dialed his office number.

"United States Marshal's Office, Deputy Marshal Quinten speaking."

She'd told a small lie to Joel. Joel, Rob, and Britney weren't the only people that knew Britney had been born Han Bo-bae. The Bangor marshal's office also knew.

"This is Britney Hadley. Is Deputy Marshal Cogburn in, please?"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Hadley, he's out of the office at the moment. Is this an emergency or would you like me to transfer you to his phone so you can leave him a message?"

"No, neither. Thank you, Deputy Marshal. I'll talk to him later."

"You're welcome, Ms. Hadley."

She hung up, feeling very alone and afraid. He'd have said there's nothing to worry about, she told myself. Taking a deep breath, she dropped into her car. She hoped Rob didn't have to work late. She needed him to hold her in the worst way.

She began her drive home and noticed a white Chevy Tahoe riding her tail. Every turn she made, the Chevy followed, and she began to worry. She stopped at the last night before she left Bangor, and the Tahoe grill loomed large in her rearview mirror. She didn't know what to do. She thought about calling the police, but that would start a series of questions she didn't want to answer. She also thought about calling the marshals but decided to wait until she was sure whoever was in the Tahoe was actually shadowing her. If they were, she'd call the marshals and lead the asshole in the Chevy right to their office.

When the light turned green, she floored the throttle and the Subaru pinning her back in the seat as it raced away from the light. She kept her foot down, the speedometer passing fifty, then sixty, then seventy as the car strained for speed. That might have been the last light, but she was still in the Bangor city limits and the speed limit was forty-five. She glanced in the rearview and watched as the Tahoe rapidly disappeared in the distance. Whoever was driving wasn't even trying to keep up. She slowed, but only slightly, and as Bangor fell behind her, and the speed limit went from forty-five, to fifty, to finally fifty-five, she kept raising her own speed in equal measures until she could no longer see the Chevy.

She released a long exhale as she relaxed. She was jumping at shadows. She'd been on a major corridor through Bangor that turned into Highway 15. If whoever was driving the Chevy wanted to leave town to the northwest, it made sense they'd follow her.

She didn't see the Tahoe again, but it wasn't until she turned into their drive that she fully relaxed. Their house had that effect on her. It was home in a way she'd never felt before moving here. She gathered the few pieces of mail and drove down the drive and parked her car in the garage.