Hard Escape (Notus Motorcycle Club Book 2)

by Debra Kayn

  He grimaced and shook his head. "Only that night. She had an apartment and found herself without somewhere to live."

  Wayne leaned forward and braced his elbows on the table. "Gomez said she was involved in a DOA on a heroin—"

  "Yeah." He gritted his teeth. "I get it."

  "You sure?"

  Heidi's past beyond the nights he made her stay at his house was questionable. She made no mention of family, friends, or coworkers. Being without a place to seek shelter, she'd planned to live on the street. That risk wasn't something a person took if they had others in their life. Even an acquaintance would help her out. Hell, he'd been a stranger to her, and she'd accepted his handout.

  He rubbed his mouth. If she hadn't run, he would've slept with her. He still wanted her, even with all the new details and assumptions toward Heidi out in the open.

  "Did you hear Chrysler plans to dock ten extra ships come September?" Thad's boot tapped under the table, changing the subject. "That's overtime for us and probably new-hires if demand stays up."

  "Bro, get off the overtime kick." Chuck laughed. "You've got the money from the club's pot to have the search done on Rich. Hell, we can even take off one Friday after work and head up to Seattle ourselves and find him, if he's there. I still can't see him making a life for himself up there. Too many fucking yuppies and granola types. He'd hate the place."

  "Portland is worse," muttered Wayne. "Next thing you know; those types will be spreading out and taking over St. John's."

  "Not as long as we have Vavoom's and Lombard Street." Thad grinned. "Keep people real and make them earn money for a living and you keep out the entitled."

  "People change." Glen realized he spoke his thoughts out loud. "We don't know Rich any longer."

  "Bullshit," mumbled Wayne. "We know him. He can change the way he looks. Live a different lifestyle. Move on with different people in his life, but he can't forget. He's a part of our lives, even if he wants out of Notus."

  Glen drank his beer. If that was true, there were people looking for Heidi or at least wondering where she was located. She started life with parents, maybe siblings, childhood friends, teachers, and coworkers. Someone out there missed her.

  He finished his beer. "Wayne, when's the last time you checked your messages?"

  "From Gomez?" Wayne stretched his arms overhead and latched his hands behind his head.

  "No, not through the police department. Calls from private parties wanting to hire us to find someone?"

  "When I sat down with my beer. Why?"

  "Just thinking." He stood, picking up his empty mug. "I'm going home."

  "Already?" said Chuck. "You're turning into a lightweight in your old age."

  Wayne held out his hand. "Leave the mug. I'll clean up."

  Glen lifted his chin. "See you all tomorrow if not sooner."

  He left the bar, looking up and down the street. Heidi was around here somewhere. Her backpack was at the house. The way she was attached to the thing, she'd be back. He'd be home if she showed up.

  Chapter 12

  Five blocks away from Glen's house, Heidi stood in a partitioned bus stop. Her stomach rolled. A mix of hunger and fear. She ignored the pain and watched Stewart's house where she and Evan had lived together.

  Since Evan moved out over a year ago and she'd lost track of him, she'd stayed away. It was too hard to see Stewart from a distance. She'd always respected him as Evan's father for letting her move in with high hopes for a long-term commitment with his son. At the time, neither her or Evan could afford their own place, and Evan had her believing he loved her.

  She blew out her breath, hoping her stomach would settle down. The only reason she was here tonight was that she had to learn how active Evan was in his dad's life. She had to learn his routine and if he frequented this part of St. John's often. She'd need to leave if there was a chance of him finding her again.

  Yesterday, her safety net had fallen away from the security she'd built around her. The close encounter with Evan left her vulnerable and scared.

  The Route 4 bus pulled up blocking her view and cutting off the last of the sun as it set over the horizon. Two people waiting beside her stepped onto the bus. The driver raised his brows leaving the door open for her. She shook her head and watched the door close and the bus pull away, leaving a cloud of exhaust heavy in the air.

  Alone at the stop, she looked up and found Steward walking out of his house in his blue uniform and get into his car. She sat on the bench, bent her head, and used her hand to cradle her head while keeping watch on Evan's father. Spying on him let her know he worked swing-shift today and he was going to work. That meant he'd be gone for the next eight hours. Plenty of time to find out where Evan lived.

  Tears threatened to block her view, and she willed them away. It seemed like a lifetime ago when she was a young lady, innocent about relationships, and living away from her parents for the first time. She'd leaned on Stewart for support. He would've been the most likely person to help her when it came to Evan, being a policeman, a father figure, and all-around good man, but Evan ruined even her ability to seek help.

  Stewart was blind and deaf to his son's monstrous ways of abusing her. When Evan threatened he'd kill his own father if she told him about the abuse, she knew he was serious. Evan had no empathy toward anyone and felt no loyalty or love for a father who raised him on his own after Evan's mother left the family when he was eight year's old.

  The red Ford Focus backed out of the driveway and drove off in the opposite direction. Heidi stood and walked in the direction of the house, looking at the homes on each side of the street. Everything appeared the way it had two years ago when she called the people living here her neighbors. And, because she knew them, she also knew they worked during the day, except for Belinda who was a stay at home mom, who appeared to be gone for the day because her SUV wasn't in the driveway.

  Walking straight up the walkway, she stopped beside the brick planter, and picked up the ceramic frog, grabbing the hidden house key. She unlocked the door and slipped inside. Pressing her back against the door, she inhaled deeply. Despite her confidence that nobody was watching, she still felt panicked, which pushed her into action. Only giving herself five minutes to search the house for any clue where Evan now lived, she went through the stack of mail beside Stewart's recliner.

  The familiar smells of the house filled her nostrils. Her stomach cramped, and she clamped her hand over her mouth. She couldn't get sick now. Somewhere in the house, there had to be an address or something with Evan's new address on it.

  She swallowed the nausea down of being back in the house. Evan was not here. He couldn't hurt her.

  Not finding anything in the living room, she hurried down the short hallway to the bedroom she shared with Evan. She stumbled at the entrance. It looked exactly the same.

  The bed.

  The dresser.

  Evan's old guitar and her tennis racket propped in the corner.

  She walked to the closet and opened the doors. A gasp escaped her. She slowly stepped forward and ran her hands over the clothes. Stewart had kept all her belongings. Or, Evan had forced his dad to keep her things.

  She grabbed the hanger holding her winter coat and held the thick, warm material to her nose. She could still smell the perfume she used to wear. Knowing if she took any of her clothes there was a chance that Evan or Stewart would notice an empty hanger, she hung her coat back up.

  Stepping back, she grabbed for the door knobs to close the closet and stopped. She hadn't noticed at first that only her clothes hung on the bar. Evan's things were gone, validating that he was living on his own now.

  After a quick look in the dresser, she hesitated at her underwear drawer. They wouldn't notice if she took a couple pair of panties and a bra, and a couple pair of socks. Without her backpack, she needed the items desperately.

  Aware of how much time she'd used searching the house, she stuffed the underclothes into her pockets and walked
out of the bedroom to search the rest of the house. There were no clues of where Evan could be living to help her protect herself from running into him again.

  He was going to be looking for her now that he knew she was in St. John's. She'd need to get to Portland and check into one of the homeless shelters. While Evan was busy looking in town, she'd regroup and get the necessary supplies handed out at the many places of refuge offered in the next city over. But first, she needed her I.D. card and the eighty-five dollars left from her first and last pay day which was in her backpack at Glen's.

  Only the best homeless shelters required I.D. In return, she'd get a shower, toiletries, and a couple of outfits from the donation bin. Her stomach gurgled. She pressed a hand to her midsection. If she made it in time, she could check in tonight and be there in time to get the free breakfast in the morning.

  If she arrived too late, she'd be stuck on the street, again. She refused to go to the unsecured shelters. They were a free-for-all.

  Men harassing women. No inspections. No showers. No food.

  She'd survive better on her own under an overpass or in someone's backyard.

  She peeked out the window, checked the street for any traffic or neighbors around. Deeming it safe, she opened the door, pushed the lock, and slipped outside, putting the key back under the ceramic frog. The sun was almost gone. In fifteen minutes, give or take, the streetlights would come on.

  If she crossed North Columbia Boulevard, she could walk the two blocks toward Cathedral Park and cut across the expanse of grass and arrive at Glen's house before nightfall. Afterward, she'd only have an hour to take public transportation into Portland. Then, she'd be able to breathe for the night.

  Once out of view of Stewart's house, she jogged. If she believed in crossing her fingers or having good luck, she'd arrive at Glen's house and find that he'd put her backpack on the front step. Though nothing ever came easy for her. She'd just have to make sure that Glen wouldn't stand in her way.

  Out of breath, she cut across the park. Desperate to deal with Glen and make it to Portland in time, she ignored the squatters under the trees. Most of them were lost in their heads, untreated for mental conditions. She pumped her arms, walking faster.

  "Hey, Blondie," said a male voice behind her.

  She glanced over her shoulder and kept going.

  "I've got half a sandwich if you want to bed down with me." The man huffed. "It's good."

  She ran, knowing she could outrun him. Everywhere she looked at night there were lonely people looking for comfort. For the first six months out on her own, she'd hid from everyone. Scared of the men who were always propositioning her and not trusting the women. But, even she wasn't immune to loneliness.

  Eventually, she'd found others like her. Some were running from abusive spouses and boyfriends, others were running toward addiction. Some succumbed to relief from a harsh life while others became stronger.

  She was one of the strong ones.

  Losing her job and a roof over her head was only a step back. She would step forward again.

  She slowed to a walk at reaching Glen's street. All the houses looked the same. There seemed to be only three paint colors allowed in the subdivision and three styles of houses. She had walked past Glen's house before she realized she'd gone too far and had to backtrack.

  Her pulse sped up, and a burst of energy filled her. His motorcycle wasn't in the driveway, and the house was dark. Knowing a single man without children would not leave a spare key by the front door, she walked straight to the six-foot wooden fence at the side of his garage and opened the gate.

  She exhaled loudly in relief at finding it unlocked. "Thank, God."

  In the privacy of his backyard, she hurried onto the deck and tried the glass door. It was locked.

  "Shit," she muttered with the last hope that getting her backpack would be easy.

  Meow.

  She whirled around and spotted the stray cat under the patio set. Her chest warmed, and she dropped down on her butt and patted the deck. "Did you come out to say hello?"

  The cat came closer and purred. Heidi sat still, unthreatening.

  "You remind me of my cat. In fact, you could be her sister, you look exactly like her. Yes, you do." She sighed. "It seems like I haven't seen her in forever. She's gray like you and temperamental, but she loved to cuddle. I bet you do too once you get used to having people touching you."

  The night she'd left her parents' home to live with Evan, she'd left her cat in the care of her mom and dad with plans to return once she'd settled into Stewart's house. That chance to get her beloved cat never came. Evan showed his true colors from the moment she stepped into the house with him. She ended up in the emergency room getting stitches in her thigh from where she'd been hit by the glass Evan threw at her when she suggested he slow down on their drive home.

  "Her name is Daisy," she whispered, emotions choking her. "I bet you'd like her."

  The cat came closer. Heidi leaned forward and put her hand out. After several minutes, she was able to pick up the cat. Cradling the kitty to her chest, the strength she'd clung to in the last twenty-four hours slipped. Regrets, sky high, slammed into her.

  She'd gone over every option available to her the night she left Evan. At one point, six months later, after her broken ribs had healed, she hit bottom and had talked herself into going to her parents for help. She sniffed, unable to control the tears flowing. Before she could act, she met a woman who had run away from an abusive relationship. The woman told her about the first time she tried to get away, her boyfriend ran over her mother to show her what would happen to her if she tried to leave again.

  Ran her mother over with a car. That story stuck with her and made her stronger because it was something Evan would do if she went back home, she had no doubt.

  She rubbed her wet cheek against the cat and squeezed her eyes closed. What she feared could happen if she told the truth to those she loved was confirmed by the many stories she heard over the last two years of living on the streets. She could put up with a lot and live through anything if it meant her parents and Stewart remained safe.

  Unfortunately, even going to the police meant Stewart would become involved. He was a cop. He had his view of Evan, and she had hers. They were totally different. Stewart would believe his son because that's what good father's do. Evan would hurt him, and that would be on her conscience, too.

  She leaned over and rested on her backpack, the cat snuggled against her chest. Closing her eyes, she soothed the burning dryness caused by her tears. She'd wasted too much time. There was no way she'd make it to Portland in time to check in at the shelter.

  Not wanting to go out on the streets because everywhere seemed to put her at higher odds of running into Evan now that he knew she was close or to the park where the squatters already set up camp, she stood with the cat in her arms contemplating where she could go.

  The overpass off Marine Drive was always an option. She knew the guy who was the leader of the group of homeless that occupied the area. He always made sure nothing happened to those in his care. Though it was a five-mile walk from Glen's house and she tried not to be out after dark. The danger level increased for a lone woman.

  If she could get her backpack, she could hole up by herself with her sleeping bag. While the days were warm, the nights cooled enough that by three o'clock in the morning she froze without cover. Last night was miserable with no cardboard to lay on and only using her extra shirt to cover her arms.

  She looked at the sliding glass door and jolted. Glen stood inside the house watching her. How long had he been there?

  Her throat closed and she looked down at the cat. How could she find it hard to walk away from Glen when she found it easy to run from Evan. Glen was no less of a threat. Her physical safety might not be in jeopardy with him, but with one phone call, he could destroy everything she'd accomplished to make sure those she loved were safe.

  Chapter 13

  The anger and fr
ustration Glen felt when Heidi ran away, leaving him hanging with unanswered questions, disappeared at seeing her talk to the stray cat. He inhaled deeply, slowing the need to rush out and comfort her. The words she'd spoken were private and unknown to him, but he'd experienced the emotions he'd witnessed her going through.

  Heidi stared at him through the glass. He unlocked the door without taking his gaze off her. He wouldn't make the mistake of letting her go again. She wouldn't get another chance to run.

  Opening the door, he stepped back and waited. He wanted her to come inside on her own. To give her consent for him to help her. To take a chance to discover him.

  He couldn't forget how she tasted. The way she'd eagerly and yet innocently explored his body. He could practically feel her hands still on him, shaking with need or shyness, he couldn't be sure.

  Heidi held the cat higher in her arms and stepped into the house looking into his eyes. The tension in his chest tightened at the leeriness in her gaze that she'd regained away from him. Why had it returned? Why was she scared of him?

  He slid the door closed, flipped on the light in the dining room, and walked through to the living room expecting her to follow. Needing to see her in the light, he flipped on the lamp beside the couch and sat down.

  Heidi remained standing, holding that damn cat.

  "You returned for your backpack," he stated.

  She cleared her throat. "Yes."

  Her red-rimmed eyes stared at the coffee table. He puckered his lips, stopped, and let the spasm go through him.

  "When I took you over to Wayne's yesterday, I found out that you're really not Heidi Lundin. Your I.D. is fake." He put his boots up on the coffee table. "Who are you?"

  The cat squirmed and hissed to get down. Heidi struggled to hold onto her, and Glen worried that she'd get bit or scratched.

  "Put her outside," he said.

  Heidi hurried back to the dining room. Glen ran his hands over his face while she was gone. There was always the chance that she'd leave, but he had to believe she'd stay.