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Chapter Three


Nick jumped at the sound of someone knocking on the hotel room door the next morning. He’d sat up in the bed the whole night, staring at that door, waiting for it to be blown in Die Hard style. It seemed inevitable that the gunman would find him, like he was just passing time, holding his breath waiting for the moment to come. Mike was the only one of the entourage that stayed up with him. Eddie and Justin and the bus driver had a separate room. But even Mike seemed to be failing, his eyes getting droopier and droopier as the morning came nearer. By six, when the knock came, he snorted himself awake at the sound of the urgent rapping at the door. Nick stared, wide-eyed and anxious, at the door.

Mike walked over and peered through the peep hole.

“Who is it?” Nick asked him from the bed.

“A girl…” he paused. “Who’s there?” he called louder, through the door to the woman on the other side.

She turned to face the door, her brown hair pulled into one braid that hung over her shoulder. She had on polarized sunglasses and a gingham button-down shirt, tucked into a pair of jeans. She held up a badge toward the door. “I’m Officer Montgomery-Whitman,” she replied. “I’m here to speak with Nick Carter.”

Mike squinted through the peep at the badge and then undid the deadbolt.

“Who is it?” Nick repeated the question.

“A cop,” Mike replied as he pulled open the door.

Officer Montgomery-Whitman stepped inside and pulled her sunglasses off, looking around the room as she did. Her eyes landed on Nick. There was something slightly familiar about her to him. He stared at her, trying to figure out where he’d seen her before. Was she one of the girls that had been in the soundcheck the night before? he wondered.

“Are you Nick Carter?” she asked, looking at him.

Must not’ve been the soundcheck, he thought.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he replied.

She nodded, “First of all, let me apologize first hand to you for what you’ve been going through. It’s a terrible thing, what happened last night.” She cleared her throat, “Did the, uh, the department tell you I would be coming this morning?” she asked.

“The department didn’t tell me shit,” Nick answered.

Mike spoke up, “Eddie mentioned there would be someone here to talk to us about security,” he said.

“Oh,” Nick said, “Yeah, you’re right, he did.” He looked at Officer Montgomery-Whitman. “I didn’t think they’d be sending a chick.”

She frowned.

The frown made him realize where he recognized her from: she reminded him of the chick cop on Dexter.

That chick could kick some ass.

“Not that I think chick cops are any less capable or nothing,” Nick stammered, “I’m not like, sexist or nothin’, I’m just…” he realized there was no talking himself out of that, so he stopped talking altogether.

Officer Montgomery-Whitman said, “Anyway. I’m here because I’ve been assigned to your case.”

Mike had finished fastening the deadbolt again and he came back over and sat down facing the two of them, “So what sort of security measures are we talking?” he asked with a yawn. “Should I be expecting to be working overtime for a bit?”

Officer Montgomery-Whitman looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “You, sir, can consider yourself off duty. I will be the one handling the security measures for Mr. Carter until the perp is apprehended.”

“What?” Nick looked from Mike to the she-cop, “What do you mean? I need Mikey. What am I gonna do without Mike? Some dude attacks me, I don’t think no chick like you is gonna be able to stop him killin’ me dead.” He paused. “I mean that in the least sexist way possible, though, of course.”

“Of course,” she replied. Then she answered the question, “Have you ever heard of the Witness Security Program?”

Nick nodded, swallowing, “Yeah. Like on TV and stuff.”

Officer Montgomery-Whitman took a deep breath, “Well, Mr. Carter, welcome to the Witness Security Program.” She smiled wanly at him, then at Mike, then turned back to him. “I’ve come to collect you, welcome you to your temporary life, and bring you to the safe house.”

Nick looked at Mike, then back at the officer. “Where’s that at?”

“I cannot disclose the location to you until I can be assured that we are completely alone,” she answered with a glance at Mike.

Mike stood up, “Well wait a minute, you’re just gonna take him off somewhere, God knows where? How long? How will we get in touch with him?”

“Through the police department,” she replied. “He will be placed under 24-hour surveillance. Protective custody. The department will know how to contact me and I will be with Mr. Carter until the resolution of the case, when they’ve got the perp in custody.”

“Can’t they just call my cell?” Nick asked.

“You won’t be able to use your cell phone. That’s one of the best ways that criminals can track a victim is through their phones, forwarded mail, social media accounts, email…” She ticked the things off on her hands as she said them. “We can’t be taking any chances,” she explained. “These are extremely dangerous people we’re talking about.”

Mike shook his head, “You can’t just take him off to wherever. There’s gotta be a way for him to contact us.”

“Are you not listening? Contact with your former life before the perp is apprehended is the number one way that victims end up killed,” Officer Montgomery-Whitman snapped at Mike. “If you need to contact him after he is transferred into protective custody, then you can call the department and they can get in touch with me.” She turned to Nick, “Get your things.”

Nick took a deep breath. He was scared enough of the gunman that he didn’t really see any other options. “Once the guy’s caught, I get to come back and everything?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered.

“Okay,” he turned and grabbed the bag of clothes and things he’d brought in from the tour bus.

“Leave your cell phone and any other electronic devices that connect to the internet here,” she said, “So you can’t be traced without our knowledge.”

Nick rooted into his bag. “I can keep my iPod, though, right?” He looked nervous.

“As long as you disable internet service.”

He turned off the cellular and wifi and tossed it back into the bag.

Mike and Officer Montgomery-Whitman stared at one another as they waited for Nick to finish going through his bag.

Finally, Nick said, “Okay. I think I’m good.” He licked his lip. “What about, like, money and stuff? I probably can’t use my credit cards. Can we stop at a bank before we go?”

“Yes,” she answered quickly. Then she coughed, “I mean, we definitely have to stop before we go anywhere or else they could track your location by the use of the ATM,” she explained.

Mike frowned severely, “Is there anyone particular we should talk to at the police department if we need to get in touch with him?”

Officer Montgomery-Whitman paused, “Well. Yes, yes, you could ask for Mr. Scott Matthews, and he’ll know exactly how to get in touch with me.”

“Scott Matthews,” Mike repeated.

“Yes,” she nodded, “Scott Matthews.” She turned to Nick, “Okay, Mr. Carter, let’s go. I’ll give you more information in the car.”

Nick hesitated. He looked at Mike with a nervous expression, suddenly scared to be going off on his own.

“Take care of yourself,” Mike said, pulling Nick into a hug. “Stay out of trouble. Don’t give her any bullshit like you give me sometimes.”

Nick nodded.

“Don’t worry,” Officer Montgomery-Whitman said, “It won’t be long before the PD has this case figured out.” She smiled. “Let’s get this show on the road,” she added.

“See ya man,” Nick said, and he patted Mike’s back, breaking away from the hug. “You heard her,” he said, “Won’t be long.” He nodded.

Mike nodded back.

“Ready?” Officer Montgomery-Whitman asked.

“Yes,” Nick replied.

“Okay, come with me,” she said, and she led the way out into the hallway, Nick following behind her. Mike stood in the door, watching as they walked the length of the hallway, and got on board the elevator.

The doors closed and Mike took a deep breath, ducking back into the hotel room. He looked around at the room, at Nick’s phone and Nintendo 3DS sitting on the bed where he’d left them, two devices that it seemed Nick never, ever went anywhere without, suddenly abandoned. Mike picked them up and set them carefully into his own backpack before sitting on the bed, feeling kind of empty and alone now that Nick was gone. He listened to the silence for some time, then, when he couldn’t stand the quiet any longer, he turned the TV on.

“-- latest information from the Cincinnati police department on the fatal shooting last night at the 7-Eleven includes images captured from the security footage of one of the two suspects involved in the crime,” faded in a voice from the Channel 12 news station. But Mike changed the channel before they flashed the screen capture from the security tape.





“Do you have, like, I dunno, a first name?” Nick asked as the car, which smelled faintly of cigarettes, pulled away from the parking lot of the hotel, leaving the tour bus and everything else behind.

“It’s Avery,” she replied.

The moment the name was out of her mouth, she regretted it. She should’ve used an alias, should’ve made up a name, she realized. How had she and Marty not thought of that? she wondered. They’d worked so hard formulating this plan, coming up with the idea, the way she’d do it, the words she’d use. Of course the hardest part had been trying to make a $3.99 children’s toy from the 24-hour Kroger look like a real police badge. That’d taken the most time. The rest had kind of fallen into place in that thrown-together-enough-to-make-it-work-fast kind of way that things sometimes do. The details hadn’t really been ironed out to perfection and the fact that she just instinctively told Nick Carter her real name had definitely been one of those wrinkles they should’ve ironed.

“Avery. Like the paper company?”

“I guess so,” she answered with a shrug.

“I never met anybody named Avery before,” he explained.

She shrugged, “It’s not a common name. Not like Nick is.”

“I guess,” he answered. “So... where are we going?”

“The island of La Motte in Vermont,” she replied, “But we’re headed north to upstate New York for now, where we’ll stay in a hotel tonight and continue on from there in the morning.”

Nick nodded. “I like islands. I live on one in Florida. I like the ocean.”

“It’s a lake,” she said. “It’s Vermont. It’s land-locked.”

“I dunno if I’ve been to Vermont,” he said. Nick had never been great at geography and he wasn’t positive he knew which one of the states Vermont was. “Isn’t it next to Maine?”

“New Hampshire’s in between,” Avery answered.

“I’ve been there. We did a concert there once. There’s a lot of woods up that way. We been to Maine, too. And Massachusetts, but that’s more cityish than the others in New England, isn’t it? Have you ever been these places before? Do they use different safe houses everytime someone enters the program or is there like certain houses the department uses over and over again? Have you been an officer a long time?”

Avery looked over at him pointedly.

“Oh. Right. Sorry, I ask a lot of questions when I’m nervous. It’s one of the things that pisses Kevin off about me. He gets really annoyed when I talk a lot, but I never really notice it when I do it. You ever do that? Things that annoy people that you don’t even realize you’re doing, it’s just like something you do? Like talk a lot, I mean?”

Avery raised her eyebrows.

“Damn it, I’m still doing it aren’t I?” he asked. Nick took a deep breath, “Okay, I swear, I’ll shut my mouth now. Can we turn on the radio maybe? That’ll help.” He reached for the knob.

As it turned up, the news update was about to start. “And now bringin’ you the local news. An update on that 7-Eleven hold up last night --”

Avery turned the radio off quickly. “No radio station,” she said. “They, uh, they could track it, it’s satellite radio.” She cleared her throat. She had a pretty strong feeling that was definitely not true, but weak as it was it was the only argument she could come up with to keep him from hearing the update at that moment. For all she knew they’d positively IDed her, they might have a name or something. “I have an iPod plug somewhere,” she said, because she didn’t really want him to start talking again. “It might be in the glove box.”

“Okay.” He pushed the glove box open and started rooting around inside. “You smoke?” he asked, surprise in his voice.

She looked over. There were four packs of cigarettes that Marty had stolen, two Zippo lighters, the AUX cord he was looking for, and a half eaten Toblerone. “Occasionally,” she replied.

“Looks like you smoke like a chimney with that kind of stock,” he muttered, pulling the AUX cord carefully out of the rubble. “I mean I figured you did anyways, ‘cos it smells like it in here, kinda. You should get one of those Febreze car air fresheners. They really work. I know ‘cos I used to smoke,” he informed her, “All the time. I was really stressed. Did a lot of drugs, too, back in the day. I kicked’em since, though. I’m doing pretty good actually. Quit smoking a couple months ago. It was fuckin’ with my voice. I get this bronchitis, it’s kinda like chronic or whatever it is when you get it over and over. Like I get over it, then I get it again, it’s like a cycle, like it just keeps coming back, ‘cos I fucked up my lungs, with alla the smoking and the drugs and shit and it kinda blows. Especially when you’re a singer ‘cos it’s hard to sing when you got the bronchitis. I got tested once for that COPD stuff, you know, but they said I don’t have it but if I did it’d be okay because singing is actually an exercise for it and --”

Avery grabbed the AUX cord out of his hand and plugged it in, “Here, hook up your iPod,” she said, handing him the other end.

“Sorry, I did it again, didn’t I?” Nick asked. He reached in the bag and found his iPod. “I’m just really nervous, I swear I’ll stop doing it once I calm down. Really. I’m actually pretty quiet normally, like unless I have something real good to say I’m usually pretty quiet. I swear it.”

“I look forward to your calming down,” Avery said.

Nick plugged in his iPod. “What kinda music do you like?” he asked, looking down at it, biting his lower lip, “I can make a playlist. I have all kinds of music on here. I really like a wide variety. Basically anything, really. I like Journey. With Steve Perry, of course. Steve Perry’s awesome. I met him before. He’s so bad ass. I always wanted to meet him when I was a kid, but I --”

“Journey’s great, just put it on,” Avery interrupted him.

“Sorry.” Nick looked down at the iPod, scrolled through the artists screen and found Journey and hit shuffle.

Winter is here again oh Lord
Haven't been home in a year or more
I hope she holds on a little longer
Sent a letter on a long summer day
Made of silver, not of clay
I've been runnin' down this dusty road

Nick started singing along.

Avery took a deep breath.

Wheel in the sky keeps on turnin'
I don't know where I'll be tomorrow
Wheel in the sky keeps on turnin'…

Avery hoped his they got the payoff they were looking for quick, or else she was gonna end up killing him anyway.