Witness On the Run Read online

  Witness on the Run

  On the Run Series, Book 1

  Wylder Stone

  Contents

  Books By Wylder Stone

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Author Biography

  What to Read Next by Wylder Stone

  COPYRIGHT © 2021

  Wylder Stone

  Witness On the Run

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, or other status is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever known, not known or hereafter invented, or stored in any storage or retrieval system, is forbidden and punishable by the fullest extent of the law without written permission of the author.

  EDITOR: Jenny Sims

  COVER ARTIST: 5 Pines Publishing

  FORMATTING: 5 Pines Publishing

  Books By Wylder Stone

  On the Run Series

  * * *

  Witness On the Run

  Exposed on the Run

  Vengeance on the Run

  Danger on the Run

  Deception on the Run

  Stranger on the Run

  Reckless on the Run

  Hostage on the Run

  Murderer on the Run

  Betrayed on the Run

  Corruption on the Run

  1

  He was dead. Shot. And at the hands of a cold-blooded killer. Trista just watched her husband commit murder without reservation or remorse. His eyes were void of emotion, his expression seething, and his cold demeanor something she didn’t recognize. Murder was a far cry from the affair Trista Ryan-Perez feared she would stumble upon when looking for her husband after he skipped yet another date night – a sign her marriage was in trouble. The shock of what unfolded instead provoked a sharp gasp and sent her running when one of Cesar’s men caught her eye – he saw her. She ran blindly, her body on autopilot while the past several minutes played back like a bad movie reel, changing her life forever.

  When Trista had pulled up to the real estate tycoon’s building in the business district of New York City just minutes before, she thought it odd so many cars were in the underground parking garage at such a late hour. Cesar’s car was front and center in a spot reserved just for him according to the placard. Nobody holds board meetings that late. Or buys up anything worth a dime or even moral at that hour. No, that hour was reserved for the kind of business that only went down when the sun did.

  Mistake number one – she went inside.

  A sense of fury raced through her, and rage sent Trista storming from her car to the waiting elevator despite the warning bells sounding in her head telling her not to go unless she was prepared to deal with hard truths. Ignoring her own good sense, Trista went up the elevator to his executive suite.

  Mistake number two – if you act on emotion, be prepared for the inevitable fallout.

  Confident she was about to unveil the source of her husband’s distraction in the form of grossly enhanced breasts and a barely-there latex-like outfit that wasn’t even fit for a stripper, she was surprised to find his office empty. Fists tight and white-knuckled, Trista followed the sound of something she couldn’t identify, intent on finding her damn husband. Half of the executive floor was under construction, and as she followed the sounds, it began to look like it was just late-night renovations, given the sounds that filled the air. A drill, maybe a saw, even hammering.

  Mistake number three – unaccounted for people mixed with sounds that go bump in the night never ends well.

  A man’s bloodcurdling scream halted Trista to a still while a chill ran down her spine.

  Mistake number four – know the sounds of torture and agony, and run when you hear them.

  But she didn’t. Trista continued on until she found her husband, gun in hand, watching one of his associates drag a knife down the side of a bloodied and beaten man’s face while an equally brutalized man lay on the floor in a pool of blood. Ropes draped from the rafters strung up the near lifeless man at the other end of the torture. It was clear he could no longer stand on his own two feet. She was certain her loving husband had nothing to do with such heinous deeds, and she quickly convinced herself that he must have stumbled upon the scene just as she had. Her husband would free the man and call for help – the weapon he held was only for protection should the real assailants return.

  He was ready to use the gun, alright, and did but not at all the way Trista assumed he would. Gunfire rang out as the body on the floor jolted from the impact of the bullets Cesar just emptied into his now dead corpse. The man hanging from the rafters cried out and wet himself out of fear. Fear Trista’s husband invoked, fear only evil could stir, fear that suddenly consumed her, too.

  It wasn’t until one of Cesar’s men looked her way, noticing her through the sheets of plastic, that she realized how vocal she’d been in response to said fear. Keith. Keith heard her and now saw her. He was the man assigned to her, charged with her security and that of her son – often their driver who chaperoned them everywhere. When their eyes met, she became nauseous when she recognized menace resting in his stare. Trista ran. What else could she do? Completely unaware of how she made it down the elevator, through the lobby, and down to the parking garage and her car. She was just…there.

  Sitting behind the wheel of her now running car, she felt panic threaten to paralyze her until she saw Keith appear from behind the elevator doors, running toward her. Tears spilled over, and Trista gasped for air while her tires spun out on the smooth pavement. Consumed with every emotion one could muster, she not only realized her marriage was clearly over but also that she’d just witnessed a murder. What she did next was the only logical and obvious thing to do. Run.

  Her whirlwind love affair with Cesar was tainted at some point, and Trista had been determined to get things back on track. She wasn’t a quitter and was used to getting what she wanted. Thinking back, the socialite circuit that Trista and her sister, Lizzy, frequented exposed them to endless lines of suitors, but the one who caught Trista’s eye and fought for her heart – Cesar Perez – was also accustomed to getting what he wanted. He pursued her, wooed her, and finally won her over despite the enormous red flags she chose to ignore. He was too damn charming and easy on the eyes for her own good.

  It was a fairy-tale beginning, certain to end in a forever happily ever after. However, the newness eventually wore off, and the once doting husband became the absentee husband. When Trista became pregnant with their son, it seemed their happily ever after was back on track until the baby was born, and family life became boring to Cesar once again. Trista was very independent despite her trust fund and the allowance from her husband she lived off. Her confidence was intact and abundant until now. Now, she was at a loss. What to do – where to turn – where to go…who she’d become after this.

  It wasn’t the money and spoiled lifestyle her husband offered her because she grew up privileged. It was the love she thought they shared that she had been ready to fight for that left her nu
mb. Cesar would inevitably meet his match when all was said and done. He had to know where a life of crime would lead. But she was no match for murder and scandal, nor did she expect to stumble upon it. This very well could break her in ways she didn’t know she could be broken.

  Trista wasn’t that tough on her own. She knew she needed help because at least one man saw her and that could mean many others did as well. Sitting in a cold, musty interview room at New York City PD, her mind was reeling. It all started to fall into place as she sat alone in the room, lost in thought. So many late-night broken hearts and tears, wondering where her husband had been, fell into place now. A person doesn’t simply pick up a gun one day and create a scene such as the one she watched unfold. It was calculated, methodical, and horrific. He knew what he was doing because he had done it before, more than once, more than twice. Sure, some of those nights were likely spent seeking the companionship of other women, but how many were spent seeking blood and tears as a homicidal madman. What was he into that ended in such a horrific way? This wasn’t real estate. She could see he was used to partaking in this bloodbath, and he enjoyed it. It fed something dark and all-consuming within him. It was in his expression and the lack of restraint he showed when another man's life rested in his hands.

  How the hell did she love a man like that, and why the hell had she been so hell-bent on trying to make him love her back when he didn’t want her? Now she didn’t want him. In a matter of minutes, Trista exchanged her love for him for fear of him. When she told one of the police officers at the front desk what she had witnessed, he placed her in an interview room. She could feel him watching her through the large mirrored window to her left, trying to decide if she was crazy or a witness to a real crime. Maybe it was pure paranoia on her part, or maybe it was instinct telling her how far-fetched her story must have sounded. It was the stuff television and movies were made of – not real life – not her life. In an effort to seduce her husband, she’d put on a scandalous dress to entice him and now wished she’d chose something else. Something more modest. Something believable when she traipsed into NYPD with layers of thick makeup running down her face from floods of emotion and the kind of heels you only saw on women from certain street corners. She must have fallen at some point because the skinned knees and elbows weren’t helping her credibility. Trista looked like a drug-infused character right out of New York’s seedy nightlife.

  2

  Keith was trained to see, hear, and smell everything – to always be intimately familiar with his surroundings. Tonight, that skill paid off when a small, breathy sound in the distance caught his attention, and he quickly traced it back to its source. Standing halfway around the corner of a wall behind a plastic construction curtain in the dimly lit distance was Trista. He’d recognize those curves anywhere, even in the shadows. When their eyes locked, he knew exactly how much she had seen…everything.

  Even with the poor lighting, the terror and fear were evident in her expression. He needed to get to her before anyone else noticed her, especially Cesar. If she ran, if she told…she was screwed, and so were the rest of them for letting her get so close. Cesar was ruthless, soulless, and wouldn’t hesitate to make his son an orphan by taking out his mother just to protect his own ass. It didn’t matter if he loved Trista – assuming he was capable of such an emotion – he was a selfish, narcissistic sociopath who’d rather see her dead than himself behind bars. He’d bury her like he did all of his secrets. When Trista did exactly as Keith feared, he wondered if she’d read his thoughts. She backed away slowly at first, then turned and ran. Shit.

  Keith stepped back from where he stood and pulled his phone from his pocket as if he was taking a call, then excused himself. As Cesar’s right-hand, nobody, including Cesar, questioned him. Keith took many calls and responded to all the small fires that came with being affiliated with a crime boss. It wasn’t unusual for him to take calls and disappear to take care of business without explanation, and it worked this time too, despite the old played out I’m taking a call trick. The truth was, Cesar was entranced and distracted by the torture he and the rest of the men were inflicting. It was like a drug-induced high, and they were feeling and living every wicked moment of it. They didn’t care or even notice his absence. Good.

  Once out of their blood-thirsty view, he rushed out of there like a man on a mission. He came through the elevator doors and entered the parking garage as her car tore off like a bat out of hell. Hell was exactly what she was escaping. It was the only way to describe the darker side of what he witnessed and the man he worked for. Cesar Perez may as well have been the devil himself. Keith tracked her GPS and followed Trista. He had a hunch as to where she would go. Where would most people go after seeing something so heinous? But he’d hoped she wouldn’t. It was too dangerous – for her. Unfortunately, the route she was on made it very clear that she was indeed on her way to the nearest NYPD precinct, and he needed to stop her before she ruined everything and got herself killed.

  Keith finally made it to the police station after hitting every red light on the route and found Trista’s car haphazardly parked right out front. It was still running with the keys in it. She was in a petrified frenzy, no doubt. He hoped he was there in time to stop her from making the biggest mistake of her life. Before she incited her own death sentence.

  It didn’t take long to find her – everyone was talking about her. She must have caused a serious scene, which only made his job harder. Cesar owned the local PD. They were deep in his pockets. When you were in the business he was, local law enforcement went to the top of your payroll because you would need a lot of favors. He caught the attention of a familiar face he knew he could trust and was quickly taken to her. Keith had people on his payroll too.

  The color drained from Trista’s face when Keith entered the room and said, “Let’s go.”

  “No!” Trista said, turning to the officer as she made a desperate plea. “You can’t leave me with him. He was there. He…he knows!”

  The officer smiled. “Whatever you say, darlin’. I’m doing you a favor.”

  “A favor? I’m as good as dead. You have to help me! Please don’t leave me with him!” she pleaded to no avail, and again, the man just smirked while Keith glared.

  “Thanks, man. I got it from here. I’ll take care of the problem.” Keith tried to keep it cool to avoid any more unwanted involvement. They needed to get the hell out of there before any unwanted attention came from the wrong officers.

  “Problem? I’m a problem? I think you mean witness – to murder – one you seemed heavily involved in.” She turned to the officer one more time, so desperate her voice fell to a whisper. “You can’t leave. Please arrest him. Don’t leave me with him. He’s going to hurt me. He’ll probably kill me.”

  Something Trista said hit Keith hard. He didn’t know why it mattered so much to him at that moment, but she was afraid of him. She thought he was as bad as Cesar and that stung. The very thought of being held in the same light as Cesar would be a compliment to most, but not Keith.

  The officer fired back in a less than gentle way, “Hey, you’re lucky I’m even letting you out of here. You came into a police station under the influence of God knows what, trying to file a false report and stir shit for what was probably a trick gone bad. I should arrest you for all of the above, including driving under the influence. You parked your damn car on the front steps of the police station!”

  “Under the influence? Like drugs? Trick?” Trista saw red, and her whisper quickly became a raging roar. “You think I’m a prostitute? Who the hell do you think you are talking to? I’ll have your badge for that!”

  Keith could only imagine what was going through Trista’s head. She knew that he saw her at the crime scene, or she wouldn’t have run or feared him now. Then she went for help, was denied, and the officer not only insulted her but was willing to turn her over to someone she assumed was an accomplice to murder. He didn’t want her to fear him, but Trista needed to unt
il they got out of there.

  Keith approached her and grabbed her arm, pulling her close enough to hear what he had to say. “Go along with this, or neither of us is getting out of here alive.”

  Confusion filled her stained and streaked expression but was gone as quickly as it came.

  “Let’s get out of here, Joanie,” he said. “The boss wants to see you. You’re late.”

  Initially, Trista had no desire to trust him, but something changed when he called her Joanie. He had always been good to her, patient without ever offending or intimidating her – that he knew of anyway. He was at risk as much as she was and hoped he was communicating that by subliminally letting her know he was worried about getting out alive too. He made sure she understood her choices were slim. Stay with cops who think she’s a drugged-up whore and get tossed in jail where Cesar is sure to find her. Or take a gamble with Keith, who seemed to be giving her a way out…even if he wasn’t clear as to where?

  “Get your hands off me, jerk.” Stumbling came easily as he manhandled her a bit, trying to get her to the door. Keith was pleased with the effort she made to sell the idea she was intoxicated. “I’m not going to see the boss. He can kiss my ass.”

  “Uh-huh, whatever you say, sweetheart.” Trista stalled, probably wondering if Keith was still playing along or if he was really taking her to the boss, Cesar. He leaned down and whispered assurances, “Trust me.”