by Cate Beauman
She shook her head, even though she’d thought of little else since she woke this morning, knowing today had to be the day. “Somewhere big. Somewhere where he can’t find me.” She swallowed. “He’ll look. He’ll never stop,” she said, staring into the side mirror, waiting for the black Mercedes to rush up behind them and force them to pull over. “You have to be careful.”
Dylan huffed out an amused laugh. “That bastard doesn’t scare me.”
She wished he didn’t scare her either. “Be careful anyway.”
“I will, but he’s a coward.”
“No more than me,” she murmured, glancing down at the hints of bruised skin peeking out from under her sleeves.
Dylan tossed her a look. “Don’t go there.”
She sat back fully in her seat, unable to take her eyes off the mirror until Dylan eventually exited the interstate and drove toward the center of town, stopping in front of the Amtrak station as the train pulled up.
“Looks like you won’t have to wait.” She set the emergency brake and searched through her purse. “Here’s my license.” She handed over the Maine ID and paper ticket she’d bought and printed when Sophie gave her the green light from her kiosk at the mall. “We don’t look all that different with your wig, so this should get you your next ticket in Boston.”
“Thank you.” Sophie leaned over and gave Dylan a big hug. “Thank you so much. I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you.”
“Don’t look back, Sophie.” Dylan eased away, squeezing her hand. “Get out of here and never look back. Here are the phone numbers for the Stowers house shelters in Baltimore and LA I told you about—just in case.” She handed over the March copy of Trendy magazine with papers sticking out from the edges.
“Thanks. Please don’t forget to put flowers on my mother’s grave.”
“I won’t.”
She nodded and hugged Dylan for the last time. “Bye.”
“Bye. Take care of yourself.”
“I will.” Sophie got out, sliding her backpack on her shoulder as she made her way to the bored-eyed man at the ticket kiosk.
“Ticket and ID, Ma’am.”
Sophie handed over both, holding her breath, waiting for her plan to fall apart.
“Safe trip.” He gave them back.
“Thank you,” she murmured, letting loose a shaky exhale as she turned and moved toward the train, wanting to run instead of walk. She boarded the first available car and stared out the window as she sat down, watching Dylan pull out of the lot in the rusty hatchback, already missing the only person she’d had a connection with. She bobbed her leg up and down, struggling to keep her fidgeting at bay. Minutes passed, feeling like hours, until finally the doors closed. The train jerked forward, moving toward Boston—the first stop on her journey to freedom.
Chapter Two
April
Los Angeles
Sophie slid the dusting cloth along the frames of the glossy photographs lining the long hall. She glanced at the cheap sports watch she’d picked up at the store, pleased she was slightly ahead of her own schedule. Now that she had a solid routine in place, she was able to clean each office suite in twenty minutes or less. If she streamlined her process even more, she’d be down to fifteen minutes in no time, easy.
She stopped at the next door, stuffing the edge of the rag into her jeans pocket as she entered the darkened room, grabbing and tying off the trash. She replaced the old bag with a new one and walked out, plopping the garbage into the cart she pulled behind her.
Cleaning offices certainly wasn’t the dream job she’d envisioned on her journey west. She yearned to get back to jewelry making, but she couldn’t complain. Every under-the-table paycheck was a step closer to her own car and apartment. She was incredibly grateful to the counselors at Stowers House for helping her secure employment, giving her the opportunity to earn a living.
She moved to the next picture frame, wiping away any dust that had settled since last night, then walked into another darkened room. She glanced up as she replaced the soiled trash bag by the desk, pausing to stare out at the massive skyscrapers lit in the night, and smiled, still amazed that she was here. Los Angeles was huge. It was easy to hide in an area that stretched out as far as the eye could see. Shaking her head, she focused on her work, reminding herself that she wasn’t hiding. She was living her life and beginning again in the anonymity of a place that was home to millions.
For four blessed weeks she’d woken on her cot at the shelter without fear—or mostly. For the first time in too long she wore what she chose, ate what she wanted, and enjoyed the simple fact that she didn’t have to walk on eggshells every blessed moment of every single day. But she still had to be careful. She pinned up her hair or braided it every day and wore a ball cap or hoodie whenever she left Stowers House, despite the relative safety of the city.
A door closed further down the hall, and a man walked by, moving toward the main lobby. He smiled. “Good night.”
“Good night.” She smiled back, remembering to meet his startlingly green eyes instead of look down and hunch her shoulders. If she wanted to blend in, she needed to behave like everyone else.
Alone again, she pulled her cloth free and moved to the last picture frame, wiping, peeking into the office where the man with almost shoulder-length, dark brown hair typed on his laptop. He was here often, at least twice a week, which meant that at least twice a week she waited until the last possible second to knock on his door. Nibbling her lip, she looked at the professional group picture she’d just cleaned, staring at the man’s gorgeous face among more than a dozen other handsome men, then at his powerful shoulders as he stood like the rest of his co-workers with their muscular arms crossed at their chests. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that bodyguards didn’t hurt people—they helped them—stepped forward again, swallowing, then raised her hand and knocked.
The man, Stone, she thought his name was, didn’t bother to look up.
“I’m—I’m just going to grab your trash.”
He grunted, his fingers never stopping on the keyboard as she hurried in, pulled out the full bag, replaced it, and left. She started back down the hall, relaxing her shoulders, glad the moment was over, trying to figure out why her frequent encounters with one of Ethan Cooke Security’s agents always left her so frazzled. He barely paid her any attention. Other than the one time he’d said, “Yeah,” in his deep voice, he responded in grunts. He’d never actually looked up from his laptop. He was just here a lot, which was oddly comforting…sort of…from a distance.
She walked into the final darkened office on her left, reaching for the trash bag, and stopped, staring as one of the men she recognized from the same picture held a black-haired beauty in an intense lip lock, chuckling as he nuzzled her neck and nipped at her ear before easing away.
“Hold on.”
“Where you going, big guy?” the woman asked, pulling him back, then dropped her hands as her eyes met Sophie’s. “Oh.”
“I’m sorry.” Sophie cleared her throat, backing from the room. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.
“No. No. Excuse us,” the woman said as she fixed her shirt. “We didn’t know anyone was here.”
“That’s okay.” Sophie automatically glanced down at her not-so-white Keds and looked up just as quickly, remembering her new rules on maintaining eye contact. “I was just—the trash.” She stepped forward, grabbing the bag, pausing when she recognized the bodyguard’s make-out partner as Abigail Harris. No, Abigail Quinn. The newspapers said she’d recently married.
“Don’t let us get in your way.”
“You’re not.” Was she actually in the same room as one of LA’s top fashion designers and the visionary of Stowers House? Abigail Quinn was petite, powerful, and stunning. It was impossible to tell that she’d been through a horrifying ordeal not all that long ago.
“Sorry.” The man skirted around Sophie, making his way to his desk. “We’ll be out of here in a s
econd.”
“Oh, I’m—” She secured a clean bag in the trashcan. “I was leaving.”
“You don’t have to.” Abigail moved forward, touching her arm. “Right, Jerrod?”
“Yeah. I forgot a file.”
“Work, work, work.” Abigail scoffed, rolling her eyes. “This guy thinks he’s going to stare at his laptop on a Friday night instead of make out with his wife.”
“I’m sure I can find time for both.”
Abigail grinned, and Sophie relaxed as much as she could.
“I’m Abby.”
“Nice to meet you.” Sophie moved back to the door, unsure how to handle Abby’s vivacious energy. She envied women who oozed such confidence. She’d always been shy and quiet. “I should get going. I still have a few offices to clean.” Jerrod’s trashcan was last on her list, but she didn’t want to stay and chat. She didn’t know how. “Good night.”
Abby’s smile dimmed. “Good night.”
Sophie hurried down the hall to the supply closet, dragging her cart behind her, taking her time putting her items away while she waited for Jerrod to close his door and for his and Abby’s voices to fade.
The main office doors shut, and she sighed, remembering why she treasured the night shift so much. There was no chatting or questions asked in a mostly empty building. No one bothered her in the dark. She shouldered the bag she never let out of her sight and hurried down the hall past Stone’s office, ready to enjoy her third full weekend in Los Angeles.
~~~~
“Good job, Aubrey. That looks great,” Sophie encouraged as she helped the eight-year-old bead a necklace at the Saturday morning craft table. “Do you want pink next or purple?”
“Purple.”
Sophie rifled through the large bucket of cheap plastic beads, looking for the desired color and shape as her eager student filled the pipe cleaner with the pattern they’d picked out only moments before.
“When will I be able to make bracelets like the kind you do?”
“Mmm, probably after you practice a little while longer.” It had taken Sophie’s mother an entire day to teach her how to twist and hammer metal into the intricate pattern that long-ago winter when she’d sprained her ankle. She touched the pretty sterling silver piece on her wrist, desperately missing mom’s patience and sweet, quiet voice.
“Your mom teached you how to make real good stuff.”
“Taught.” Sophie corrected, smiling.
“She taught you how to make good stuff.” Aubrey smiled back.
“Thanks.” Why was it so easy to relax around children when spending time with adults always tied her in knots? “Your mom’s going to be excited. Maybe we should add a bracelet to go with it.”
Aubrey nodded enthusiastically. “She’ll have a surprise to wear when she comes back from her job interview.”
“She’ll love it.”
“How do you know?”
“My mother always told me children’s gifts are the best gifts of all.”
“Did your dad hit your mom and make her cry?”
Sophie paused with her hand in the bucket, staring at the pretty little redhead at her side. Aubrey spoke so matter-of-factly about something no child should ever have to witness. “No. My dad always hugged and kissed me and my mother.” Until he died and left them with a mess to clean up.
Aubrey stopped beading, meeting Sophie’s eyes as if the concept couldn’t possibly be true.
“What color should we make the bracelet?”
“The same as this.” Aubrey pointed to her creation. “Mom can wear it when we get ice cream. She says we can have it, and that everything’s going to be different now.”
Sophie gave Aubrey a small smile as her heart broke for the sweet child. “I bet it will.”
“My dad’s never gonna lay a finger on either one of us again. He can’t find us, so I don’t have to be afraid anymore. My mom said so.”
“That’s good,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to Aubrey’s forehead. “That’s really good, sweetie.” She started rifling through the bucket again, glancing at the colorful clock on the wall, noting that her shift in the childcare room was almost over. Stowers House didn’t ask for money in return for a bed and safe place to stay, just volunteer time.
“My mom says…”
Sophie no longer paid attention to Aubrey’s endless chatter as she tuned into the cheerful, energetic voice across the room. She looked up, spotting Abigail Quinn talking to Lynn, the Director of Operations. Sophie watched Abigail’s big blue eyes scan the bright, pretty space as she continued her conversation. Sophie clutched a handful of bead when Abby’s gaze met hers, noting the immediate recognition and hint of surprise after their quick encounter last night.
“Sophie.” Aubrey tugged on the sleeve of her shirt. “Sophie.”
Sophie shook her head, fighting her way back into the moment. “Huh? Yes?”
“It’s finished. See?” Aubrey held up her necklace with a triumphant grin.
“Nice.” She shook her head again as the little girl’s smile dimmed. “Beautiful. Very, very beautiful.”
“I have to go to the bathroom, then we can start on the bracelet.”
“Okay.” She no longer thought of beads and pipe cleaners as her eyes locked on Abby’s for the second time. Lynn tapped Abby’s shoulder and Abby turned. Sophie took advantage of the moment, pushed back from the table, and headed upstairs. She slid the elastic tie she kept around her wrist into her hair, twisting the glossy blond into a tight bun, and pulled on her gray hoodie, covering her head. It was time to go.
Seeing Abby at Ethan Cooke Security was one thing, but now that she’d been discovered at the shelter too, Abigail Quinn could connect her place of employment and residence. The fashion designer’s face was all over the newspapers and magazines now that her Escape line had taken off like wildfire. She was very much a well-known artist like Eric. They worked in different mediums, certainly, but what if they somehow knew each other? All it took was one question to the wrong person and her new life would be over before it had a chance to begin.
Someone knocked on her door, and she tensed.
“Sophie, are we gonna make my mom’s bracelet?”
She turned, swamped with guilt as she stared at the petite redhead in her pretty black dress and purple striped tights. Crouching down, she took Aubrey’s hands. “Sweetie, I have to leave.”
“Can I come?”
She shook her head.
“Oh.” Aubrey’s face fell. “Okay.”
Sophie raised her chin with a gentle finger. “You make beautiful jewelry. I taught you just the way my mom taught me. Go on down and finish up. I promise you your mother’s going to love it.”
“Are you coming back?”
She shook her head again, knowing Aubrey deserved the truth. “No, sweetie, I’m not.”
Aubrey threw her arms around Sophie’s neck. “But I’m going to miss you.”
She closed her eyes, hugging the little girl tight. For the last three weeks Aubrey had been her shadow when her mother left the shelter to take the steps necessary to start a new life for herself and her daughter. “I’m going to miss you too. Here.” She pulled off the bracelet she and her mom made over a decade ago. “I want you to have this.”
Aubrey hesitated. “It’s special.”
Sophie nodded. “Yes it is, and so are you.”
Aubrey put the jewelry on her small wrist. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She tapped Aubrey’s nose. “Be a good girl.”
“I will.”
“Okay.” She stood, shouldering the bag she never unpacked. “Bye, sweetie.”
“Bye.”
She did her best to ignore the tears on Aubrey’s cheeks as she slid out the back entrance, making her way down the block to the Metro stop. It was time to find a new place to stay until she could figure out what she should do next.
Chapter Three
Gritty rock n’ roll poured through high definitio
n speakers while Stone worked grout between the joints of his new marble tiling. Teasing the mixture into place, he made certain the air bubbles were gone before moving on to the next spot. He paused, wiping at the sweat dripping down his forehead despite the kerchief he wore on his head, and sat back on his heels, looking around his bathroom with a satisfied nod. The play of warm, sandy tones throughout the space had turned out exactly the way he’d envisioned. Another day or two and the first room in his new place would be completely finished.
The tiny fixer-upper across from the beach was just what he’d been looking for when he plunked down a good chunk of his savings late last September. With the addition well underway and new roof in place, by mid-summer he’d be living between the walls of his home instead of the camper parked outside, easy. He could technically live here now—there was running water and the kitchen was functional—but then he might rush, and he had nothing but time to make this place into exactly what he wanted.
He’d envisioned his beach house more than a few times while he sweated his ass off in the desert dodging gunfire. He’d scored big when he stepped off the plane and found this gem nestled on the hill overlooking the Pacific Coast Highway and ocean beyond. The structure had been little more than ruins, but the foundation had been good.
He glanced through the doorway toward the new windows in his soon-to-be bedroom, staring out at the cloudless blue sky and palm trees in the distance, content for the first time ever. This spot was his, and he was never leaving.
His cellphone rang on the waist of his grimy jeans, disturbing his moment of peace. He was tempted to let the call go to voicemail until he saw that it was Jerrod. Today was his day off, but that didn’t mean work didn’t need him. He set his trowel back in the thick paste and answered. “McCabe.”
“Hey, Stone, it’s Abby.”
He closed his eyes with a deep sigh. The exhausting Abigail Quinn. The woman talked too much, and she was so damn chipper. But he liked her. It was impossible not to. Somehow she wore a body down until they couldn’t help but adore her. She’d been through hell, yet she was a sweetheart. “Hey.”