I Hide in the Woods

Morning Afters Are B*tches

I peeked around the corner and saw the blood seeping under the boots of the Russian mercenaries that had just shot my father's best friend. My uncle, the U.S. ambassador to France, lay on the concrete floor of the parking garage, deathly still, his face deathly pale. As one of the mercenaries turned, I gasped in shock. It was Eric Mables, Russia's ambassador to the U.S. His father was American but as his parents had divorced rather hastily right after Eric's birth, he had been raised in Russia by his Russian mother and stepfather. He'd always been involved in dirty, under the table deals, but murder was a new act in his repertoire.

Luckily, I went unnoticed as the mercenaries argued over what to do with my uncle's body. Quietly, I slipped away. The police would definitely hear about this...

Three years later

I woke to the sound of an alarm blaring. Rolling over in bed, away from Maven's warm body, I slapped the button that would shut the damn thing off and swung out of bed. Yawning, sleepy, and chilled, I groggily made my way into the bathroom to take a shower before even attempting to yank Maven out of bed.

The water took forever to get hot and the freezing water wasn't exactly doing anything to get me clean, as I avoided it like the plague on wintry mornings like this one. Finally, after what felt like an hour of dodging ice drops, I felt the water turn warm then hot, filling the room with steam. I was as quick as possible, knowing Maven, with her definite non-morning person-ness, would take at least thirty minutes in the bathroom, at least ten of which would be spent in the shower, even with me having gotten the warm water moving before I stuck her in here. Finished, I shut the water off and stepped out. I walked out the bathroom doors to find Maven stirring, doing her best to fall back into a deep sleep and forget that today was the day we were to testify against my uncle's killers.

All except one had been caught and were being charged with not only this murder but several others.

But their leader had gotten away.

Eric Mables had diplomatic immunity. Since he was only involved in one murder and I was the only person to see him there, he had been sent back to Russia and replaced by a new ambassador, one that knew nothing, saw nothing, and did nothing. But I knew Mables had been there and so did everyone else. There was not one person that had felt relaxed about sending Mables on his way back to Russia. It was like allowing Hitler to walk out of the negotiation room when he wanted the Rhineland. Something terrible was going to happen, we all knew it. But we didn't know what.

For our own safety, Maven and I had been sent into the Witness Protection Program. Separated from our families, old friends and our home, we had no one but each other. We had changed our last name, dyed our hair, gotten new jobs with forged degrees from the government, and settled down in suburban Louisiana to live out the rest of our lonely, quiet, sad existence until Eric Mables and the last mercenary turned up dead or in police custody.

Pulling out of my reverie, I poked the bare foot poking out the end of the blanket rolled around my partner and then began the slow process of enticing her out of bed. "Come on, Mave. Time to get up, shower, eat. We testify today. Come on."

"Corinne," she groaned, flinging an arm as she rolled over to face me. "I'm tired. Can't I sleep for another hour or so?"

I shook my head, smiling fondly at her pleading. "No, love. The FBI agents will be here to take us to the airport in an hour and a half. And it will take you most of that time to get ready so move." I slapped her butt gently to get her moving, but all she did was wiggle and give me a "Do that again and see what happens" look.

Knowing I had no other choice, I yanked the blankets and sheet off of Maven, exposing bare flesh to the cruel chill of the late-November morning. The heating had gone out the night before, so we had been snuggled up together under a few blankets. The chill, pervasive even as the sun rose outside, raised goosebumps on her bare arms and calves. It wasn't as bad as a D.C. winter, or even a North Carolina one, but after having had no heat all night as the temperature dropped to around thirty-five degrees, and then snuggling under blankets with someone she finds terribly attractive, Maven was assuredly freezing her pretty little butt off.