SAFEHOUSE

See, I had never been outside of the New York/New Jersey area. I’d never even been to upstate New York, where I knew it looked much closer to this than Brooklyn ever would. I wondered if we would be stopping along here, somewhere. Maybe I’d be working on a farm from now on. Maybe I’d be the one milking those cows in the morning.

We passed right through, just as we had been doing.

“How much further?” I asked, reaching forward to pull out my chapstick. I knew one thing—my lips were already feeling the change in altitude.

“We’re right around the bend, actually,” Agent Wilson answered sounding amused and pointing to where the road ahead turned from paved to dirt. I raised my brow.

As we made the hairpin turn to the right, I thought my eyes would pop out of my head. There, about a mile down, was the beginning of the longest driveway I’d ever seen in my life. The driveway was paved with a smooth sand-colored material, and along it on both sides were beautiful small rosebushes and thin yet bushy tall trees of the deepest green. The kinds of trees you only see when a professional landscaper is being paid tons of cash to maintain the grounds.

“Oh my word,” I whispered, catching glimpse of what was at the end of the driveway, and where we were clearly headed.

It was a castle. A real, freaking Disney-princess castle. With blue circular turrets topped with sky-high spires, millions of windows, and immaculate architecture. I could not believe my eyes.

“Most of the French châteaux along the Jura mountain range are named, but for some reason this one isn’t,” he said, mostly to himself.

“Ow,” I said, rubbing the skin on my arm where I tried to pinch myself. This couldn’t be real. There was just no way.

Agent Wilson chuckled at me. “Believe it, Miss Jackson. At least for now. This is your halfway house, where you’ll be staying until you’re on your feet. The feds are putting together a case, and we need you to stay put and stay out of sight until you can testify.”

I was so enthralled at the idea of staying somewhere that looked like this on the outside that I completely forgot to make a comment about him showing a smile for the first time since we met. I couldn’t speak.

When we pulled up to the front entrance, a middle-aged man in a very clean butler’s uniform opened my door, taking my hand to help guide me out.

“Mademoiselle,” he mumbled, tipping his hat to me, before going around to the trunk of the car and grabbing the rest of my things.

I blushed, unsure of what to reply with. I didn’t really know French, so I just gave him a smile and some semblance of a curtsy. That’s what people did here in Europe, right? I hoped I wasn’t expected to give him one of those weird two-cheek kisses.

“Wait here, Bree,” Agent Wilson said, before heading through the sandy brick arches and into the entry way. I fought the urge to frown at the name and distracted myself by looking at the rest of the house. House? No, this ain’t no house. This right here is a castle. Legitimately a castle.

I stood there dying to get a better view of the grounds alone, not to mention whatever else was going on inside the place. There were other buildings that looked slightly newer than the centuries’ old look of the castle. From what I could tell, one of them was actually full of horse stables.

But nothing beat what I saw when I turned my attention back to the front of the castle. Down the small set of wide steps came a man that was so ridiculously attractive that I was sure I had actually died and gone to Heaven. These past two months were a dream—I had really been shot that night in the hotel, and I was finally living it up.

He was tall and lean, with his light brown hair perfectly styled and clean-cut. Even from way over there, I could tell he had a strong jaw line with one of those dimpled chins. He looked like a younger professional who had just stepped out of a board meeting after winning over the billion-dollar client.

The man stood there with his hands casually in his pockets, leaning more to one side. Even though I hated using the word, I had to admit that he definitely had swagger. The kind that the movie stars had during the Golden Age of Hollywood.

Behind him, Agent Wilson followed, holding a thick file in his hand. The man turned toward him and firmly shook his hand, the two of them having a conversation in fluid French.

Agent Wilson nodded his head and came up to me, pulling me into a brief and awkward hug. “All right kiddo, I’m done here for now. I’m going to be coming to check up on you in two weeks’ time, okay?”

My mouth dropped open, and I fought the panic that was rising in my throat. As beautiful as this place was, I couldn’t imagine being dropped off and told ‘good luck.’

“That’s it? That’s all? Aren’t there more security measures than a simple ‘hey, howya doin’?” I demanded.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I checked in with my superiors, and everything is good to go here. Mr. Malveaux here does lots of work with the U.S. government. He’s had his home open for witness-protected people for five years now. You can trust him. I do.”

I glanced over his shoulder, looking at the handsome man who was now smiling at me. I bit my lip, wishing I wasn’t so paranoid about everyone’s intentions now. My life was one big ‘what if’ now, and I hated it.

“Okay.” I nodded, sighing to myself. “I get it. But . . . for cautionary purposes, is there a way I can contact you, or hell, anyone else? Y’know, just in case? I think it would make me feel a lot better.”

“Sure thing. There’s a cell phone in the bag I provided you. I expect you to set up the fingerprint scanner so no one else can use it. I have my personal number and a couple other important ones in the contact list. Just make sure to keep a good eye on it. And you can always call if you need to, for whatever reason.”

Well, that wasn’t too bad. “That makes me feel a little better. I guess I will see you in two weeks, then?”

“Two weeks. Until then, get some rest. Mr. Malveaux will be a big help to you as well, so make sure to use his knowledge. He’ll be the one helping you to secure employment and blend in with the locals.”

I looked at Agent Wilson and Mr. Malveaux, then looked down at myself pointedly. “Blend in?” I couldn’t help but chuckle. “No offense Agent, but I hardly think a young black woman is going to blend in with the locals. Isn’t the French countryside where all the rich white people buy a second vacation home or something?”