Christmas Witness Protection

A witness targeted...and on the run

The first Protected Identities novel

When key witness Corporal Holly Asher is abducted, Detective Noah Wilder risks everything to rescue her. Now they’re undercover as an engaged couple, hiding from a sinister hacker group—who plan on exposing every witness in protection on Christmas Eve. But can Noah and Holly stop a deadly conspiracy...without tipping off those who want to kill her?

MAGGIE K. BLACK is an award-winning journalist and romantic suspense author with an insatiable love of traveling the world. She has lived in the American South, Europe and the Middle East. She now makes her home in Canada with her history-teacher husband, their two beautiful girls and a small but mighty dog. Maggie enjoys connecting with her readers at maggiekblack.com.

Also By Maggie K. Black

Protected Identities

Christmas Witness Protection

True North Heroes

Undercover Holiday Fiancée

The Littlest Target

Rescuing His Secret Child

Cold Case Secrets

Amish Witness Protection

Amish Hideout

Military K-9 Unit

Standing Fast

True North Bodyguards

Kidnapped at Christmas

Rescue at Cedar Lake

Protective Measures

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Christmas Witness Protection

Maggie K. Black

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09758-1

CHRISTMAS WITNESS PROTECTION

© 2019 Mags Storey

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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“I’m guessing you don’t like this plan...”

“I don’t want anyone risking their life for me,” Holly said, her voice quiet.

Noah pulled back just enough that he could see her face, and something caught in his chest to see the worry and pain there. She’d radiated pure defiance and strength when he first laid eyes on her. Now something else hovered within the green depths of her eyes: vulnerability.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said. “They’re amazing cops, and it’s a team effort. We’ll get you working with a sketch artist and going over mug shots. The two most important things right now are keeping you safe to testify against General Bertie and stopping the Imposters, and both of those involve my keeping you alive.”

But still her head was shaking, and he could feel the softness of her pixie cut brushing against his fingertips.

“Look, I get it,” he said. “I really do.”

“No, you really don’t,” she said. “I don’t think I can identify the Imposters. I can’t remember what their faces look like...”

Dear Reader,

Welcome to the first book of my new Stolen Identities series. I hope you enjoy it! The best part of writing the True North Heroes and True North Protectors series was getting to know the characters better as I watched their lives crisscross each other’s stories. Now I’m excited to do it again in this new witness protection series, while bringing back both Liam Bearsmith and Seth Miles for more adventures.

I wrote this book while recovering from a concussion. During the slow recovery, I realized my usual way of sitting down and writing a book wasn’t working, and so I had to come up with new strategies. I owe a huge debt of thanks to my editor, Emily Rodmell, and agent, Melissa Jeglinski, for their patience and help in getting my writing back on track.

I hope that whatever you’re going through, you are surrounded by people who support and love you. And that when needed, God will help you find those people and bring them into your life.

Thank you again, as always, for sharing this journey with me.

Maggie

The bricks are fallen down, but we will build with hewn stones: the sycomores are cut down, but we will change them into cedars.

—Isaiah 9:10

To Zachary. Thanks for the left hook.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

It was a week until Christmas, and the early morning sky was every bit as cold and gray as the icy waters of Lake Ontario and the concrete loading docks that surrounded the car now transporting Corporal Holly Asher to her new life in witness protection. Her eyes flickered to the passenger-side mirror as another car came into view on the empty road behind them.

A tremor of warning brushed her spine.

“That looks like the same car I saw parked outside the safe house this morning,” Holly said. “I think we’re being followed.”

Officer Elias Crane, the gray-haired witness protection officer in the driver’s seat beside her, cut a glance to the rearview mirror. He frowned. “It’s fine.”

No, it really wasn’t. Her gut told her something was wrong—very wrong—and after surviving two tours of duty overseas on a combination of faith and intuition, she wasn’t about to start ignoring either now. Something about the Royal Canadian Mounted Police detective had had Holly on edge ever since Elias had woken her up at the safe house before dawn and given her exactly five minutes to get into the car. She’d done it in four, including an external sweep of the vehicle, which he’d told her wasn’t necessary considering it was unlikely “anyone would go to too much trouble to stop someone from testifying in some government inquiry about a handful of misplaced weapons.”

That was the moment she’d first felt her jaw set. It had been far more than just a handful of weapons and they hadn’t been misplaced so much as illegally bartered, sold and given to warring factions by one of the most respected generals in the Canadian military. It was an international scandal, one that had the potential to ruin General Alberto “Bertie” Frey’s career. Holly had grown up in a military family and dedicated her life to serving her country. After a decade of exemplary service, she’d agreed to come forward, testify in the upcoming inquiry against her former mentor and explain the best she could exactly how a man as beloved as General Bertie had somehow allowed dozens of Canadian military firearms to end up in the hands of warring desert families in a remote area of the world where the Canadian military was deployed. For that, she’d been treated like a pariah by some of the people she’d served alongside and had her reputation dragged through the mud online. Then had come the final breaking point—three thugs had jumped her one night in downtown Ottawa and tried to intimidate her, later claiming to police that some stranger had paid them to show her just how bad her life could get if she didn’t keep her mouth shut. But they’d clearly underestimated the strength and power of the woman they were trying to scare out of testifying.

Even then she wouldn’t have delayed deployment on a third tour of duty or gone into witness protection if the RCMP hadn’t insisted and the inquiry hadn’t wanted to risk losing their star witness.

“I’m telling you it’s the same car.” She opened the sun visor mirror and took a better look, glancing past her own short-cropped black hair and the dark shadows that framed her green eyes. She couldn’t see the driver’s face in the darkness, but something about the sense of alert tension that seemed to radiate through his muscular arms and broad shoulders was anything but forgettable. “Could be a potential hostile.”

“This is Canada, not Afghanistan.” A chuckle slipped from Elias’s lips, and Holly felt her spine stiffen. He gestured to the rearview mirror. “And that’s just Detective Wilder. He’s got a bit of a burr stuck in his fur about our drive.”

“Why is he concerned?” she asked. “Has he been assigned to me, as well? Is there something wrong with my new temporary identity?”

The irritation that flashed in Elias’s eyes told her the answer to the third question at least was no.

“Look, Corporal, it’s fine,” he said. “Can I call you Hildy?”

“No.” Because it wasn’t her name and she’d never been one for being called anything other than who or what she was. Her given first name was Hildegard, an old-fashioned family name shared by both her mother and grandmother. Her parents and very closest friends had always called her Holly, in part because she was born on Christmas Day. For everyone else in her life Asher would do. “Either Asher or Corporal is fine.”

“Well, then, just learn to relax, Corporal, or it’s gonna be a really long drive.”

But how could she relax when something inside kept telling her something was wrong?

Help me, Lord. Something’s not right. I can feel it. Help me know what it is and what to do about it.

A phone began to ring. She reached in vain for the cell that used to be in her pocket before she’d entered witness protection, and then realized it had to be Elias’s. The officer yanked his phone from his own pocket and her eyes barely caught the name on the screen before he held it to his ear. Det. Noah Wilder.

“Back off, Wilder,” Elias said. “I’ve got it covered. I don’t need your help. I’ve been doing this since before you were in diapers and you’re not even supposed to be on active duty!”

She didn’t hear whatever answer Detective Wilder gave, but it seemed to be taking him a long time to say it. Elias was still driving with his phone to his ear and one hand on the steering wheel. Then he wedged the phone into his shoulder and his left hand darted out of sight. A loud and sudden click resounded through the car. Officer Elias had activated the child safety locks. He’d locked her in? Why had he locked her in? Elias swerved up an on-ramp and onto the elevated highway that ran through Toronto’s downtown core. For a moment, the city spread out below her and skyscrapers pressed in around them. Then he darted down another ramp and back into a maze of docks and warehouses. Green and red cardboard letters in the windows of an ugly brick building wished her a Merry Christmas. She glanced back. The blue car had stayed on the highway and was now traveling parallel to them on the road above.

“You were wrong, plain and simple,” Elias said. “The safe house was clean, the route wasn’t contaminated and—Yes, I’m sure it’s really her! I’m not about to pick up some imposter!”

He said the last word so loudly it seemed to reverberate inside the car. Warehouses hemmed them in on either side. Fleeting glimpses of ships docked in Toronto’s harbor rose to her right, through the narrow, vertical slits between buildings. He turned down another, even narrower street, and though the man was old enough to be her grandfather, her own years of tactical experience made the hair stand up at the back of her neck. Not only did he not take her, or apparently Detective Wilder, seriously, he’d chosen a route with terrible lines of sight.

“You know, Corporal,” Elias started, and it took her a second to realize he was now talking to her, “sometimes you’ve got to ask yourself if whatever stand you’re trying to make is really worth all the trouble it’s gonna put you through.”

Gunshots split the air to their left, taking out the tires and shattering the driver’s and back seat windows in a spray of bullets and broken glass. The phone fell from Elias’s hand. His lifeless body slumped over the steering wheel. The vehicle swerved wildly.

No one was driving the car!

“Help me, God!” The words flew from her lips as she lunged for the wheel and fought to straighten the car. But the vehicle began to speed faster, as the pressure of Elias’s full weight landed hard on the accelerator. She yanked her seat belt off, then threw her leg over the center console, kicking his foot off the pedal and pressing her own on the brake. The car spun on the icy ground. She clenched her jaw and tried to force the wheels to the right. But they reached a lamppost first, taking out the front of the hood as the vehicle slid into it. Her head slammed against the dashboard, then her body landed back against the seat. Pain filled her skull. The sound of a horn filled her ears as Elias fell against it.

“Hello? Hello?” A male’s voice, deep and disjointed, floated up from somewhere below her. “Are you there?”

She pulled herself back into the passenger seat, checked Elias’s neck for a pulse and couldn’t find one. Lord, have mercy on Elias and those who love him. Then she felt around on the floor behind her for the phone.

“Hello?” She’d snatched it to her ear so quickly nausea swept over her. “Hello?”

“Corporal Hildegard Asher?” Detective Wilder’s voice was warm and concerned, with just the faintest hint of a growl, and for some reason made her think of the protective wolf character from a book she’d loved as a kid.

“Speaking,” she said. She slid the phone into the crook of her neck and carefully pulled Elias’s service weapon from his holster.

“I’m Detective Noah Wilder,” he said. “You can call me Noah. Are you okay? Where are you? Where’s Detective Crane?”

“Detective Crane was shot and appears to be deceased.”

She heard Noah whisper a prayer as she looked around. Her head was pounding, and it seemed to be affecting her ability to focus. Brick buildings and gray empty streets filled her gaze through the maze of broken glass. Noah’s blue car was nowhere to be seen.

“Our vehicle was shot, and we crashed,” she added. “I’m as okay as can be expected. But I can’t see any street signs. Hang on, I’ll go search the area.”

“No, stay in the car,” he said. “Wait there, until I can find you and assess the situation.”

Her eyes rolled. She was just fine assessing the situation on her own, thank you very much, and then she could help him locate her and brief him better on his arrival. If only her head would stop pounding.

“Don’t worry,” Noah added. His voice softened. “It’s all going to be okay. What happened?”

She opened her mouth to tell him, then closed it again. It had all happened just seconds before and yet somehow her mind was fuzzy.

“Gunshots came from our left,” she said. “I didn’t see the shooter.”

“And then?” he asked.

“Then the vehicle lost control. I had to grab the wheel and force it to stop. We crashed.”

And she’d hit her head. Motion dragged her attention back to the window. She looked up. A white cop car was pulling into the alley in front of her. A slim, uniformed officer sat behind the wheel. In recent years, Toronto police had slowly started swapping out their signature white cars for nondescript gray cruisers that blended perfectly into the dreary city streets in winter. But this one was an older model, its white hood reflecting the dim street light against the predawn sky. She glanced to the mirror. A second police vehicle was pulling up behind. It, too, contained just one officer—a large figure in a peaked uniform cap. “The cops are here. I’m going to go talk to them.”

She grabbed the handle and pushed the door open.

“Wait! No! Stay in the car!” Noah’s voice rose. “They might not be cops!”

What? What did he mean by that?

“What do they look like?”

“The cops?” she asked. “One’s big. One’s skinny. I can’t really see their faces or give you much of a description from this distance.”

Tires screeched. The vehicles ahead and behind her surged forward, as if both drivers were mashing their accelerators at once. They were coming up fast on either side, trapping her in the middle. She leaped from Crane’s ruined car and started to run, feeling another wave of nausea sweep over her. Help me, Lord! The cruisers roared closer. She rolled, tucking her body tight and desperately hurling herself out of the way. The phone fell from her hand. She heard the screech of metal smashing hard against metal. Slush and dirt flew, spraying over her.

She lay still for a moment, shivering on the cold ground, urging her body to rise. Then she heard footsteps running toward her.

“I’ll grab the phone and laptop, you grab the girl.” The voice was thin, high-pitched, and made her think of a weasel. Then large, rough hands grabbed Holly. “We can use her.”

RCMP Detective Noah Wilder scanned the cold, dark Toronto streets for any sign of Elias’s car. The officer’s phone was dead, Corporal Asher was gone and he’d lost sight of the vehicle when the overpass had turned slightly to the north. But he’d heard the sound of gunshots, and a car crash had split the morning air.

He never should’ve done what Crane wanted and backed off. Yes, the old officer had served for so long he’d twice declined retirement and now chose his own assignments. But he was also too set in his ways and didn’t understand the nature of dark web threats. Not that Noah was exactly an expert, but he had an excellent source. One that had told him there’d been chatter in the seedier corners of the internet that a pair of cyber terrorists, called the Imposters, was going to hijack Corporal Asher’s witness protection transfer.

But why? And what for? What would a pair of notorious dark web hackers and thieves want with a military corporal? He still had no idea. He just wished he was wrong.

Noah opened his window. Cold wind and the smell of burning fuel assailed him at once. For a moment the sound of the crash still seemed to bounce and echo off deserted buildings in the frosty morning air. Then they faded, and silence descended again. He pulled up one street and down another. Three cars came into view, mashed and tangled together. There were two white cop cars, with Crane’s vehicle in the middle.

Noah stopped the engine, pulled his weapon from its holster, thankful he’d maintained his authorization to carry a handgun. Then he leaped out and ran toward the wreck. Thick snow swirled down from the sky above him. The passenger door and trunk of Elias’s vehicle were open. The elderly officer lay against the steering wheel, and even at a glance Noah could tell he hadn’t made it. Corporal Asher was nowhere to be seen. Sets of footprints spread across the ground were quickly disappearing in the blanketing snow.

God, please help me find her.

He grabbed his phone and hit a number. Seth Miles answered before it had even rung once. “Hey, Noah? I’m getting intel that the Imposters might be posing as cops.”

Seth was what was known in the tech industry as a “white hat” computer hacker because he only used his considerable powers for good. He was notorious for taking down and exposing abuse and corruption in places of power, starting with his own violent military general father. For years Seth had tried to be more of a heroic outlaw, hacking at will, infiltrating various criminal organizations and tipping off law enforcement, while skirting laws that got in his way. Then some violent criminals, linked to organized crime, had kidnapped him, hoping to use him for their own purposes, and Noah had saved his life.

“Too late,” Noah said. “Looks like they already found Officer Crane and Corporal Asher. Are you tapped into whatever area surveillance you can get of the Port Lands around the water filtration plants—”

“That would mean bending the terms of my witness protection agreement—” Seth started.

“Understood,” Noah cut him off. He’d been responsible for Seth’s protection for eighteen months and knew all too well the terms he’d agreed to, as well as his habit of skirting them. Noah didn’t much like it, but that was a battle he’d have to save for another day. “But you already opened this can of worms when you tipped me off and I’m asking not instructing. Right now you’re an informant in a possible murder and possible kidnapping. I’m looking at a car crash, a missing whistle-blower and a dead RCMP officer. I think the Imposters took Hildegard.”

“Sorry, on it.” Seth took a sharp breath. Then came the sounds of typing. “I think her friends call her Holly, by the way. I’m guessing it’s because she was born on Christmas.”

Holly.

Noah’s mind flashed to the image of the strong, slender and attractive woman with dark hair and piercing green eyes he’d seen in her file. Yes, that name suited her better.

“Rumor is she hates being called Hildegard,” Seth added.

“You know her personally?” Noah asked.

“I know of her,” he said. “We both grew up military, went to the same high school for a year and even as a teenager she had a reputation for being exceptionally talented at both precision shooting and hand-to-hand combat.”