by Toni Leland
She looked up again, focusing on the gold cross. Every fiber of her being longed to make peace with herself.
“I’m so sorry if I’ve disappointed You...I need guidance,” she whispered. “But please, if you’ll just keep Coquette and the others safe...they don’t deserve to suffer because of my shortcomings.”
Her throat tightened and she struggled with the images intruding on her peace. She had to believe Stephen would not harm the horses to get back at her. A tiny sob escaped and she closed her eyes.
“Miss? Are you all right?”
Her eyes flew open and she stared into the kind face of a priest. His black hair was closely cut and his skin tone was warm olive, accentuating his dark brown eyes.
He gestured toward the seat. “May I?”
Julia nodded and scooted over to make room.
He sat down and gestured toward the altar. “It’s a magnificent church, isn’t it? I love coming here when there are no crowds, just to think.”
Julia hesitated, then met his gaze. “Father, do you believe self-preservation is an acceptable reason for leaving a marriage?”
His features softened and he nodded. “The sanctity of marriage is only as good as the two people involved. If one’s life is in danger, then survival is more important.”
Julia sighed deeply and nodded. Had she come here for that answer? Confirmation that she was doing the right thing? Would her feeble prayers keep Coquette safe?
The priest held out a business card. “I minister to one of the shelters in the metro area. If you ever need to talk, don’t hesitate to contact me.”
Chapter 12
One year later
Julia scowled, gazing at her puffy face in the mirror over the bathroom sink, reeling with disgust at the way she looked. A lot of fast food, desserts, and candy bars had made quick work of adding almost forty pounds to her light frame, and a good portion of it had settled around her jowls and neck. At least the extra weight changed her looks dramatically. That, and the ultra short hair cut and bleach job. The final touches to her façade were brown contact lenses and wire-rimmed glasses.
She stepped back, tucked in a baggy white blouse, and nodded at her reflection. “Time to go to work, Ginger.”
She glanced around the drab room as she headed toward the door. This was the third place she’d lived since arriving in the St. Louis area. A dumpy apartment complex just across the Illinois border in a tiny town off Interstate 270, but the price was right and it was close to her new job so she could walk or take a cab.
As she strode along the street, head down against a cold wind, she thought about her circumstances. Stephen and all the pain seemed so far away, so unreal, that at times, she wondered how she had entered into this madness. But thoughts of Coquette had stayed with her, every day a reminder that her beloved animals had been left to endure the whims of a cruel and unpredictable man. The only thing that had kept Julia reasonably sane was knowing Chet would never allow anyone to harm the horses. But after a year, was he even still there?
The focus on her disappearance had eventually faded and, the last she’d heard, the police hadn’t found any answers to her disappearance, concluding that she’d been killed and dumped somewhere like the other murder victims in the area. Unhappy with the assessment, Stephen had hired his own investigators. He was so full of his own self-importance that he felt he could do better than anyone at their job. A few stray snowflakes danced across her cheeks and she picked up her pace, shivering a little under the denim jacket, not from the cold, but from the memories. When Stephen set out to do something, he moved heaven and earth to make it happen. Then, as always happened when she thought about him, she wondered—had she inadvertently left any clues behind?
The door squeaked as she entered the small reception room at Bud’s Truck Parts & Service. A hefty man with a couple of days’ beard stubble looked up from the counter and scowled.
“Nothin’ like comin’ in right on the minute.”
“I’m here on time. What’s your bitch?”
“Got two drivers coolin’ their heels in the back. I can’t get nothin’ done if I have to do your job too.”
“So go hold their hands and let me get to work. You’re in my way.”
Julia hung up her jacket, then examined the two work orders. Neither were big jobs, and she should be able to get away for an early lunch. She craned her neck to peer through the window into the garage where one of the drivers was talking to Bud. He gave her a hard time, but he was basically a pretty good guy. Better than pretty good—he’d given her a job and had been agreeable to paying her under the table. He’d asked no questions, and she felt more or less safe around him. She sighed and turned back to the counter. No Social Security number had greatly limited what she could do with her life. She glanced around the small office. This was a life? She sighed again. It would have to do for now.
An hour later, one of the drivers leered at Julia from beneath a grease-rimmed ball cap. “Mornin’ sweetheart. You gonna give me a discount?”
Julia didn’t look up from the work order. “No, but I’m gonna charge you extra for callin’ me sweetheart.”
The old guy laughed loudly and reached across the counter toward Julia’s hand. “Aw, come on, you must be used to it.”
She yanked her hand away and glowered at him, speaking between clenched teeth. “Touch me again, buster, and you’ll be tellin’ it to the judge.”
Surprise lifted his gray eyebrows. “Whoa, you’re workin’ the wrong business, lady.” He tossed two hundred-dollar bills on the counter and stepped back. “Keep the change. You can use it for manners lessons.”
Julia closed her eyes as he disappeared through the door and headed for his truck. She’d hear about this, for sure. Being so close to the big truck plaza, Bud didn’t have all that many customers. He wouldn’t appreciate her being rude to any of them.
“Miss? Excuse me?”
Julia jumped, then gaped at the tall man standing at the counter. “Can I help you?”
“Bud said you’d have my bill. A to Z Trucking.”
She picked up the work order and moved to the calculator. “Gimme a minute.”
As she ran the numbers, she felt distracted. The man was not the typical truck driver who came through those doors. He was clean shaven, muscular and toned as though he worked out, and his clothes were clean. She threw him a furtive glance through her eyelashes. And he was handsome as hell in a scary way. She suppressed a smile. Whatever are you thinking?
She wrote the total on the work order and pushed it across the counter. “Three-eighty-seven ninety. Includes tax.”
The man handed her a credit card.
“Can I see some ID?”
He pushed a commercial driver’s license across the counter, then folded the invoice into thirds and stuck it into his shirt pocket.
The driver’s license identified him as Hector Dillon, and she smirked. With a name like that, he’d probably settled his share of scores over the years. And he looked like he could handle it. The address on the license was a small town in Massachusetts. She looked up.
“You’re a long way from home.”
He gazed at her for a moment, then shrugged. “I’m a truck driver. Uh, I’m in a bit of a rush?”
She swiped the card and handed everything back to him.
A minute later, he strode out the door and she watched him climb into an older green Freightliner truck. Why would a guy like that come to a place like this for service, instead of the large, efficient service garage at the truck stop? He was startlingly different, compared to the usual trucker types. A trickle of apprehension moved through her head. He was too different. Was he one of Stephen’s private investigators? Panic rose in her chest, then she shook it off. An unlikely possibility, but she’d have to stay sharp.
“Ginger, what the devil’s gotten into you this morning?”
She jumped and grinned. “A little hung over, boss. Just need to get me some lunch and I’ll be fine.
See you later.”
“Gotta start inventory today. God-damned gummint!”
She chuckled and pushed through the door into a light swirl of snow.
The truck plaza was about a two-block walk and the exercise felt good. Her life was pretty dull compared to a year ago. Sadness crept into her thoughts and she struggled to push away the mental images of Coquette. Did the horse miss her? Of all the questions in Julia’s mind over the past months, the biggest and most worrisome was what had happened to her horses. She could think of no way to find out without jeopardizing her anonymity. Chet might talk to her—he’d always seemed sympathetic to her situation. She frowned. He’d certainly wasted no time reporting to Stephen when she’d disappeared in Oklahoma, but maybe he’d been genuinely worried about her safety. On the other hand, if he knew what she’d done, he might consider her a coward, or a traitor for abandoning the animals. Calling him was out of the question. She couldn’t risk anyone finding out that she was still alive.
She stepped inside the warm, brightly-lit restaurant and headed for her usual spot in the corner, then stopped abruptly. Hector Dillon was in the adjoining booth, reading the newspaper while he cradled a mug of steaming coffee.
He looked up, his deep blue eyes reflecting confusion. “Something wrong?”
Julia flushed. “Uh, no, I…” What is wrong with you? “Just surprised to see you again. You did say you were in a hurry.”
She quickly moved past his table and sat down in the next booth. The waitress poured coffee and Julia ordered lunch, her concentration fractured by the sight of that head of short dark hair. As though he’d sensed her attention, he turned around and draped an arm across the back of the seat. A slight smile twitched the corners of his mouth and his eyes were friendly.
“You new around here?”
Julia nodded. “About a mo—week.” Focus, Julia. Don’t forget who you are and why.
He gazed at her for longer than made her comfortable. “This is kind of the armpit of creation out here. I would have thought a young woman would want to be closer to the action.”
In spite of herself, Julia grinned. “I’m not so young, and I don’t care much for the social life.”
“So what brings you here?”
Julia’s smile faded. Too many questions. A shot of panic revved her pulse. He could be a spy for Stephen. She needed to get out of there.
She gave him a non-committal look. “Lunch.”
From the corner of her eye, she noticed a man and woman walking toward the empty booth directly across the aisle from her. There was something familiar about the man, about the way he walked. Julia gaped, her brain trying to comprehend the absurdity of the situation. She glanced at Hector Dillon.
He was studying her closely. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
She grabbed her jacket off the seat and started to scoot out of the booth. “I don’t feel so good.”
“Julia?”
Nausea rose in her throat and she sank back into the booth, staring up at the man standing beside the table.
She found her voice. “Who?”
The man stepped back, bewilderment washing over his features. “Oh. You look so much like someone we know from the horse show circuit, except she was—” He glanced at Dillon, then bobbed his head in apology. “Sorry to disturb you.” He returned to his table.
Julia struggled out of the booth seat and dropped a ten-dollar bill on the table for the lunch she wouldn’t be eating.
“You know that guy, don’t you?”
A flash of anger rolled through Julia’s chest and she leveled a steely gaze on the handsome driver. “How about you mind your own business?”
She strode past him and out the front door, so frightened she didn’t even feel the icy sleet peppering her cheeks. What were the chances of running into a horse show exhibitor at a truck stop out in the middle of nowhere? Her shoulders sagged as she hurried toward Bud’s. Obviously, the chances were better than average, and her disguise hadn’t made much difference.
Chapter 13
For the next two weeks, Julia took her lunch to work. She could no longer risk eating in the busy restaurant at the truck stop. Too much chance of another encounter with someone who knew her. On the day of that sobering experience at the restaurant, she had taken the bus to a grocery store and purchased sandwich supplies, a small cooler, and some ice. Dinner was a little more difficult. She had no choices except two fast-food places, and a tavern frequented by locals who were less than savory. Gradually, she began to wonder if it was time to move on to another place, but she was haunted by worry that she wouldn’t have the same luck finding a job.
One morning, as she combed her now-red hair, she thought about her plans. She was basically just drifting, almost in limbo. No future, no discernible chances for a normal life with other people. Was this really better than enduring Stephen’s cruelty? She thought back to her second conversation with the counselor at the safe home for battered women. Freda had encouraged her to go through legal channels to leave Stephen, and make a new life within the framework of society and the legal system. But Julia knew it would never work that way. No one seemed to understand that Stephen’s possessiveness and trigger temper were a recipe for tragedy. She didn’t fit the normal profile of a battered wife. She’d collected her birth certificate, Social Security card, and marriage certificate, sewn them into the bottom of the canvas tote bag, then stored it in the tack trunk. At the time, still in physical pain from the last altercation with her husband, she’d not believed anything would work. He’d rather see her dead than on her own. She stared at her image. Was this much better than dead? Maybe it was time to resurrect Julia Dorsey and force her to stand up for herself. Maybe face him again.
As she approached work that morning, she spotted a familiar rig parked by the garage doors. Her pulse quickened a bit and she smiled. Handsome Hector was back, and her pleasure at the thought was surprising. Self-preservation squelched the thought. Why would he be back? To check on her? She frowned. She was being irrational. If he was working for Stephen, she’d have known about it after their first meeting. She relaxed. Hector Dillon was simply a customer, nothing more.
She entered the office and hung up her jacket, then finger-combed her wispy hair. Stepping over to the window of the garage, she peeked through. Bud and the driver were looking under the hood of the Freightliner, and she could hear Bud’s deep voice, but couldn’t make out the words. She gazed at Dillon’s square shoulders. At least she’d have a chance to apologize for her rude behavior at their last meeting.
Ten minutes later, Dillon stepped through the front door and nodded. Something about the man’s body language emanated authority, and she wondered if he was ex-military.
He didn’t smile. “Bud said you’d drive me up to the restaurant.”
Julia’s jaw dropped, then she stammered. “I, uh, don’t have a driver’s license.”
He scrutinized her for a moment. “I don’t think there are many cops patrolling the two blocks between here and there.”
Julia swallowed hard. “Okay, only…”
He leaned close, his voice low. “I promise I won’t molest you.”
She blinked, then threw her head back and laughed out loud.
Dillon grinned. “Well, it’s not that outrageous!”
Julia stepped over to the door to the garage and hollered at Bud. “I’m taking this driver up to the truck stop. Answer the phone.”
A couple of minutes later, she clenched the steering wheel as though it would fly out the window if she let go. Her passenger was silent until they pulled up beside the restaurant door. He grabbed the door handle and gave her a long look.
“Want to get a cup of coffee?”
“Can’t. I have to get back.”
“Okay. See you this afternoon.”
“Hey, listen. I’m sorry I was so rude to you last month.”
He looked confused, then grinned. “I have thick skin.”
; He climbed out and Julia eased the old pickup truck out of the parking lot and down the hill toward the garage. If she could just get some ID, life would be so much simpler. Finally, she allowed herself to think about Dillon’s friendlier attitude. She wanted the comfort and companionship of another human being—a dangerous desire, but too strong to deny. Did she dare let herself become involved with him? He was probably a safe choice, given his mobile lifestyle. She doubted that truckers paid more than cursory attention to regional news.
She glanced in the cracked rearview mirror. What was it about her appearance that had caught the traveler’s attention in the restaurant last month? To her own assessment, she looked nothing like she did twelve months ago. She parked the truck and stared out the window. Was anyone still searching Oklahoma for her body? It was time to visit a library and get caught up on her own saga.
Julia swallowed the last bite of her tuna sandwich and folded the brown paper lunch bag in thirds before sticking it into her jacket pocket. Bud shuffled in from the garage and laid a work order on the counter.
“A to Z’s job is done. You can go pick him up.”
Julia licked her lips. “You know, I shouldn’t be driving your truck without a license.”