Key Witness by Christy Barritt

the doorway.
    Denton. Wearing jeans, a white shirt and a holster around his shoulders. Elle swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. The man had never looked better.
    She quickly came to her senses, remembered that he was off-limits, on more than one level. “You wear that thing to bed?” She pointed to his holster.
    He smiled. “Maybe.”
    She held up her snack and shrugged. “I tried to be quiet.”
    “I’m trained to be alert.”
    “I should be thankful, then, because it proves you’re adept.”
    “You needed me to prove it?”
    She started past him, catching the scent of his cologne. She didn’t realize she even liked the smell until that moment. “I didn’t say that, but a little assurance is always nice.”
    “I see how it is. I’m going to have to prove myself to you.” He nodded. “I can respect that.”
    “Don’t mind me. I don’t trust easily. It comes with the lifestyle.”
    He nodded toward her cookies. “Hungry?”
    “Since you’re up, why don’t you grab something?”
    “I don’t mind if I do.”
    She paused and waited for him to snatch a couple cookies. He popped one in his mouth as they started back down the hallway. “Good stuff.”
    “Shirley, our cook, makes the best.”
    “Shirley Black. Fifty-one. From South Carolina. She’s worked for your family for fifteen years. Not married. No kids.”
    “Impressive.”
    “I know all about everyone in this household, from your dad’s advisors to your cook and even the people from the cleaning company who come three times a week.”
    “You did your research.”
    “Did you expect any less?”
    “Of course not.” She veered off into the library, one of the smaller rooms in the house—and one of the few with no windows. That gave her a moment of security, a temporary measure of peace.
    She hadn’t been in this room for a while but little had changed. Books lined three of the walls and a massive fireplace adorned the fourth. Two couches faced each other in the center of the room, atop an expensive oriental rug.
    “I used to love coming in here when I was girl. My sister and I would play library and would take turns as librarian.” Her smile faded as Emily’s picture came to mind. What she wouldn’t give to have her sister here to reminisce with.
    “It was a rough day.” Denton sat on one couch, and Elle sat across from him. She set her milk on the table between them before pulling her legs underneath her.
    “You can say that again.”
    “You holding up okay?”
    She shrugged, breaking off a piece of her cookie. “Define ‘holding up.’”
    “Keeping your sanity. Holding on to hope that things will get better. Finding peace in the middle of the storm.”
    She frowned thoughtfully before taking another bite of her cookie. “I don’t know. I know that I don’t like living like this.”
    “Come on now. Is it that bad having me around?” He flashed a winsome grin.
    “Believe me, it’s not your company that bothers me. It’s why you’re here. Last week my biggest worry was whether or not my father would be reelected. Now I’d just like to survive to make it to the election. I kind of thought I’d had my quota of crazy in life and that I had some kind of pass for the next decade or so. I guess life doesn’t work like that, does it?”
    “Wouldn’t it be nice if it did?”
    “Yeah, it would.”
    Silence stretched for a moment. Denton leaned forward and picked up a photo album from underneath the table. He flipped it open. Pictures from one of her father’s fund-raising galas filled the pages.
    Elle’s heart twisted at the sight of the pictures. “Dad has a big gala every year. There’s one tomorrow, now that you mention it.” She shook her head. “It feels like it should be a month until then. Time has gotten away from me.”
    He flipped the pages. “Looks like fun.”
    She shrugged as memories tugged at her. She didn’t want to remember some of the moments that had transpired at those fund-raisers. They were too