Page 85 of The Saint

Liam’s wife, Chelsea, had been a federal marshal and was very familiar with the witness protection program. The truth landed like a bomb in his chest. They didn’t know who was after Amelia. They didn’t know why she was in danger. The CIA had caused this shitshow, so the least the federal government could do was give her a new identity. Poof—she would be gone. She would be safe but a memory.Fuck.That killed him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The next day, Camden tugged at the tight collar of his dress shirt. He didn’t mind wearing suits or dressing to the nines if the job called for it. Apparently, the exception was funerals. He hadn’t worked a funeral before. More than that, he was uncomfortable that Amelia would be in a church full of people. Whoever was looking for her had to know Jonathan Dumont’s funeral would be a good bet to find her.

“Are you sure there are investigators here?” Amelia asked as they walked into the large church.

“Without a doubt.”

If he had to guess, multiple agencies would have a presence: the CIA and FBI, not to mention the local police department. All were investigating wildly different angles of the same crime.

They clocked Amelia and Camden the moment they walked into the services. The various agents stationed around the church seemed to find him more interesting than her.Good.He wasn’t in the mood to unceremoniously explain to anyone how law enforcement had been barking up the wrong tree when they arrested her and that they were missing a huge part of the problem: Amelia was still in danger.

The funeral was held at a DC church large enough to hold a crowd. Whatever Jonathan Dumont had done in life, he’d left behind many people who wanted to offer condolences and say goodbye. Surreptitiously, Camden opened the camera on his cell phone and scanned a video of faces. He would send that to Parker and Shah. Maybe they would be able to cross-reference it against the video footage from the airport or Amelia’s condo. If they could get a name, that would go a long way toward keeping her safe.

“Amelia Stone?”

They turned to face an older man with a gentle demeanor.

“You have reserved seating.” The man smiled at Camden with a nod. “There will be room for both of you.”

They were seated in the row behind Jonathan’s parents. Camden didn’t like a room full of people at his back. The minister’s words were short but familiarly heartfelt. He prayed for answers and that Jonathan would be able to rest. Camden surmised that was a reference to the length of time needed before investigators would release his body—no one had a clue how many federal agencies had claimed jurisdiction—and waited for international family to arrive. Amelia whispered that she was certain Jonathan had never met the minister before, but they didn’t know for sure. Esme’s world catered to everyone.

The eulogies made Amelia cry. He squeezed her leg and left his hand on her thigh. She entwined their fingers, and he wished like hell he could make everything easier for her.

Finally, a sweeping refrain played on the organ as the services ended. Without a graveside burial service, he could do nothing more than extract Amelia safely and let her recuperate at home—or, rather, their safe house.

Jonathan’s parents turned in their pew and saw Amelia. Camden’s chest tightened. He was aware they’d talked but wasn’t sure how Mr. and Mrs. Dumont would act when faced with the woman who had been not just accused of but arrested for the murder of their child.

“Amelia,” Mrs. Dumont said with a quiet French accent, reaching for her hand. Her face was void of tears, but her eyes were sad. “Thank you for coming.”

Mr. Dumont nodded stoically to Camden then greeted Amelia with a friendlier nod. “We’re hosting a small reception at the private residence of a family friend. Would you join us?”

“Sure.” Amelia’s watery voice killed him. Her tear-stained cheeks turned toward him. “This is my friend, Camden Brooks.”

Mr. Dumont extended his hand. “You’ve been taking care of Amelia?”

“Yes.” Camden then offered his hand to Mrs. Dumont. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” Mrs. Dumont let her husband take her elbow. “I’ll have someone send you the address.” She glanced toward the man who had seated them and raised her chin. “We will see you there.”

The Dumonts turned to speak with others. Condolences were shared. Someone even mentioned how long the funeral had taken to arrange. Camden wouldn’t have had the manners of the Dumonts. Amelia made a disgusted face and whispered, “I really want to leave.”

The aisles were packed with slow-moving mourners. Short of knocking people out of their way, they had no choice but to process out slowly with everyone else. The usher who had been signaled by Mrs. Dumont offered Camden the address of the private reception. He sent the address to Shah.

Amelia clung to his side. “There are so many people here.”

“Funerals do that sometimes.”

“There are so many parts of Jonathan that I didn’t know.”

Camden rubbed her shoulder. “Isn’t that the case with most people?”

“I wouldn’t have thought it about him and Hailey. It’s unfair to learn about them like this.”

His phone vibrated with a message from Shah.

American residence of a French diplomat. Former chief executive of the European Defence Agency.

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