Reclaim My Life

by Cheryl Norman

  He and Sam had dusted off the dining room furniture in the main house, hauled out the china, and asked their sister to come home for the holiday weekend. Wil cooked the turkey the night before, then sliced it Thanksgiving morning. Taylor helped cook, but Sam offered to do cleanup only. Dad seemed pleased by their efforts.

  At dinner, Taylor held up a water goblet for a toast. “To the first Thanksgiving we’ve spent as a family in … too long a time.”

  “Hear, hear.” Wil raised his goblet.

  They clinked glasses. Then Sam held up his glass a second time. “To Wil, for bringing us together and making it happen.”

  What? The unexpected gesture rendered Wil speechless.

  “Yes, thank you, Wil. You do the Drakes proud.” This from Taylor.

  “Yes, son.” His dad’s shaky hand added his glass to Sam’s toast.

  “Well, say something, Wil.” Taylor nudged him with her elbow.

  “Thank you.” He clinked their water goblets, then hid his self-consciousness behind a drink from his glass.

  They ate without conversation for several minutes. Sophie curled up at Dad’s feet beneath the dining table, waiting for a sneaked morsel or two. Wil’s turkey turned out juicy and tasty, thanks to the careful instructions he’d gotten from Lorraine and Boyd. His family complimented his cooking, adding to the strangeness of the day’s gathering. Growing up, he had never been the family’s object of praise and compliments. Or even approval. His mind grappled with the pleasant experience.

  It was the sort of thing he would’ve loved discussing with Elizabeth. Had his own lack of confidence fed his family’s earlier attitudes? Just remember: we teach people how to treat us. She’d been right, of course. And she’d done more to boost his self-esteem than any other person ever had. No wonder he loved her.

  “So tell me about this big murder case you cracked,” Taylor said.

  “Technically, I have two unsolved homicides. We know the identity of the killer but haven’t evidence to charge her. Two cold cases are hardly worth bragging about.”

  Sam picked up the bowl of fluffy mashed potatoes Taylor had whipped. “The real mystery is what became of my English professor and drama director.”

  Wil glared at his brother. “Sam.”

  Sam plowed on, oblivious to Wil’s discomfort. “I thought she and our brother had something going on, Taylor. They’d grown quite inseparable. Suddenly, she disappears and Amy and Ben are living in her house until theirs can be repaired.”

  Since the night Adam borrowed Wil’s john boat to rescue Amy and her kids, and then the later generosity of Elizabeth giving them a place to stay, tensions between the Gillespie and Drake families had eased. Phyllis even ran an objective account of the homicide investigations in the Drake Springs Democrat.

  “Let me see if I understand all this.” Taylor pointed with her fork. “Wil’s old girlfriend is living in Wil’s new girlfriend’s house, and the new girlfriend has vanished?”

  “Amy and Ben insist on paying rent, but Elizabeth charges them only her house payment.” She’d turned over her property to Otis Gibbons, the realtor who handled almost all the rentals in town. Wil took it as a positive sign that she hadn’t listed it for sale.

  “They pay utilities, right?” his dad asked.

  “Right. But I ran into Ben last Monday, and he says they’ll have their new mobile home by the first of the year. Then I guess they’ll be moving out of the house.”

  “Then what? Will Elizabeth be returning?” Taylor asked.

  Wil reined in his emotions. He’d not let his own heartache spoil the family holiday dinner. He gave a brief explanation of how Elizabeth had been moved to Drake Springs as a protected witness, leaving out the details of the trial. “She’s been relocated. Her cover was blown here.”

  Sam and Taylor stared at him, their faces nearly identical. Except for a few years’ difference in ages, they could’ve passed for twins. Their dad cleared his throat, and all three turned to him. “She saved Sophie’s life.”

  Wil explained about the rat poisoning and how Elizabeth had once been a veterinarian. Sam added his two cents about how suited she’d been for the college drama department. Taylor gazed at Wil with sympathetic eyes. “I wish I could’ve known her before she had to leave. Do you think she’ll be safe now that she’s been hidden somewhere else?”

  “I hope to God she is.”

  Most of the food on his father’s plate lay untouched, but Dad was a slow eater. At least Sam hadn’t grabbed knife and fork and started feeding him. “But, son, when she testifies and the bad guy is in jail, she can come back, right?”

  “This isn’t her home, Dad. Her family’s in Kentucky.”

  Sam scowled at him. “Wilson, surely you aren’t that obtuse.”

  Wil wasn’t getting into it any further with his family. He suffered enough in private, replaying parts of conversations. Reliving their night of lovemaking. He could never get enough of her. Yet, even if the state of Kentucky executed Frank Sullivan, would she return to him? He couldn’t shake the memory of her behavior after Sunny’s arrest. She seemed to take all the blame for herself. She’d seemed defeated, filled with self-doubt, when she should’ve celebrated her victory over one of the most cunning assassins on the FBI’s most wanted list.

  I have a history of being a poor judge of character.

  I didn’t see it coming… I never see it coming… I’ll never learn.

  Yet he clung to her earlier words …

  I will always love you.

  He knew she meant them. Somehow, she’d be back. She had to. The alternative was too terrible to consider.

  “Yo, bro.” Taylor waved her hand in front of his face. “What’s Sam mean about being obtuse?”

  Sam answered for him. “Her home is with her husband. And unless I miss my guess, Taylor, that’s going to wind up being our brother.”

  If Sam believed it, then Wil wouldn’t lose faith. He and Elizabeth—no, Fia—would make a home together. He’d be patient. But he wouldn’t give up. He raised his goblet for another toast. “All right. Here’s to making it happen.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Four months later

  Shedding her Brenda Martin identity for the trial, Fia once again could be herself. She and Special Agent Cory walked down the steps side by side, avoiding the crush of media in front of the courthouse. The blustery wind did little to dampen her spirits. “The sun shines bright on the old Kentucky home,” as Stephen Foster wrote. Naturally, the composer brought to her mind the county in Florida named for him, the song he wrote about the Suwannee River, and the cultural center devoted to his music. Most of all, it reminded her of Foster County’s sheriff.

  Fia tugged on the belt of her all-weather coat to tighten it. “Is it really and truly over?”

  “Sullivan can appeal the death penalty, but he won’t be able to appeal the trial. Your idea about turning Conger on him turned out to be good strategy.”

  “She’d kept records of everything. I have a feeling she either planned it for her own protection or perhaps blackmail.”

  “Insurance, most likely. She’s one shrewd, ruthless woman.”

  Fia shivered more from the memory of her close call with the contract killer than from the chilly wind. “So I won’t have to testify again?”

  “Not against Sullivan.”

  She let out a long breath and paused at the bottom of the steps. Sullivan’s attorneys had been granted a change in venue, bringing the trial to Jefferson County, to the same city where most of Fia’s loved ones still lived. Now that the verdict had been announced, her first order of business was to drive out to her mom’s and visit the family. She’d had to disconnect from them for two painfully long years. Next, she’d think about what she’d left behind in Florida … or, rather, who she’d left behind.

  “Do you think I still need to look over my shoulder?”

  “Sullivan’s going to be closely watched from now on, especially after Conger’s testimony. Still,
you can always stay in the program, just to be safe.”

  “No, thanks.” She’d thought long and hard, weighing all the pros and cons too many hours to hesitate in answering him. “There’re no guarantees in life, Cory. I could be hit by a truck crossing this street. I want to enjoy life to the fullest. If this witness protection business has taught me anything, it’s a deep appreciation for living on my own terms.”

  He nodded. “You’re right. Nothing is perfect, and no one is 100 percent safe.”

  She turned to face him. “Well, thanks for everything. You gave me the tools to stay hidden. That kept me alive. I won’t forget you.”

  “I wish all my witnesses were as conscientious as you. It’d make my job easier.” He stuck out his hand to shake. “Good luck to you, Sofia.”

  She ignored the hand and threw her arms around him for a hug. “Sue me for sexual harassment.”

  “Take care, lady.” He hugged her in return. Then his gaze drifted over her shoulder. “What’s this?”

  She turned and followed his stare. Huddled together at the corner, hunched against the brisk early March wind, stood all the people she loved most. Her grandma’s tight white curls hugged her head despite the breeze, her mom’s tears smeared her mascara in dark rivulets over her cheeks, and Nina in her wheelchair held Samantha’s hand while the youngster bounced with excessive energy. Fia choked on a sob at the sight of her niece, who was so much older than when she’d last hugged her. Joey, the consummate professional dressed in a tailored suit, with his arm around Sally, his pretty brunette wife. And …

  They opened up their huddle to reveal another of her loved ones. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight, and she cried out, “Wilson Drake!”

  She rushed them at once, hugging each one multiple times. “Oh, God, I can’t get enough of you all.”

  “We cheated,” Grandma said. “We weren’t supposed to know about the trial, but we have insider information.”

  Tears streamed down Fia’s face when she stepped into Wilson’s arms. “But how—”

  “I’m the insider,” he said. “Let’s get out of this wind, and we’ll fill you in, darlin’.”

  She turned to wave goodbye to Cory, who smiled and held up his hand. “Let’s go someplace warm so we can talk.”

  “I’m starved.” Grandma blinked back tears, struggling to maintain her tough gal image. She seldom let anyone see her cry. “Take me to the nearest restaurant.”

  Joe pointed toward the river. “There’s a café one block over. They have blue plate specials and great coffee.”

  Nina spun her wheelchair around. “Hot coffee? Let’s go.”

  “Aren’t ya gonna kiss your young man first?” Grandma asked.

  Wilson chuckled. “I’m supposed to tell you I passed Grandma’s litmus test. I hope that’s a good thing.”

  “It’s a very good thing.” Fia pulled his face to hers and gave him a quick kiss, murmuring against his mouth, “It’s wonderful to see you.”

  “You look beautiful,” he whispered, hugging her again. “But you’ve lost weight.”

  “Not a lot.” Since she’d returned to normal, more healthful eating habits, she’d dropped almost fifteen pounds.

  “She needed some meat on her bones,” Grandma said, but her grandmother hadn’t seen Fia at her chubbiest.

  She turned to face her grandmother. “So Wilson meets with your approval, Grandma?”

  Grandma indicated they should follow Fia’s mother, who walked behind Joe and Sally. “Lucinda thinks now that I’m eighty-five, I should give up driving and sell my PT Cruiser. Wil told her lots of folks in their eighties and even nineties drive in Florida. He invited me to live down there with you two.”

  When Fia cast a questioning look at Wilson, he shrugged. “She turned me down, but the offer still stands.”

  “This one’s a keeper, Fia. You’re going to be very happy living in Florida—”

  “Wait a sec. I’ve been in hiding for more than two years. Don’t be in such a hurry to get rid of me.”

  “Rid of you? Honey, we’ll be spending every winter at Drake Oaks. Wil said so.”

  Again, Wilson shrugged at her raised eyebrows. “All of you?” Fia asked her grandmother.

  “No, silly. Just me and Lucinda. Wil and I are going to fix up Lucinda with his dad. What do you think?”

  Fia’s mother turned around and glared at her grandma. “I think you should mind your own business. Walk up here with me and give them a little privacy, Mother.”

  “What do you say, Fia?” Wilson asked. “Will you come home with me?”

  “Sounds as if you and Grandma have my future all mapped out for me.”

  He stopped and gazed at her, a mixture of hope and uncertainty in his face. “Only if it’s what you want.”

  Fia wanted to live life on her own terms. And Wilson was the man who’d let her. He’d not lost his temper when she’d lied to him or disobeyed his instructions, even though in so doing she’d jeopardized her safety. He’d kept her identity secret when it might have compromised his homicide investigation. He’d met her family on his own and traveled seven hundred miles to be with her at the end of the trial, but not out of any need to control her or make her decisions.

  Grandma was right. He was definitely a keeper.

  “What about Sullivan? There’s no guarantee he won’t hire another hit on me out of vengeance. That possibility will be hanging over my head.”

  Wilson smiled. “I’ve thought of that. I think we should change your identity again.”

  “Again? I’ve had to learn to be Elizabeth Stevens and then Brenda Martin—”

  “Just one last name change, darlin’. Could you live with the name Fia Drake?”

  “Live with it?” She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him to her for a long, tender kiss. “For the rest of my life, darlin’.”

  a special presentation of:

  “This is an exciting, explosive suspense thriller … Cheryl Norman keeps fans off balance as other possibilities crop up. Mindful of Linda Howard’s novels, Running Scared is a terrific thriller.”

  –Harriet Klausner, Midwest Book Review

  ISBN# 978-193383641-6

  Mass Market / Romantic Suspense

  US $7.95 / CDN $8.95

  Available Now

  Her running shoes striking the pavement in sync with her breathing, Ashley Adams navigated the predawn mist with nothing but the overhead streetlamps to guide her. She and Marvin Jones, her self-appointed coach, hoped to get a jump on the Florida heat by starting out before sunrise. A hint of a breeze brought little relief from the warm October air, unseasonable even for Jacksonville. Serenaded by crickets and bullfrogs along the banks of the nearby St. Johns River, she was reluctant to interrupt the peacefulness by speaking.

  Marv broke the silence. “So how do you feel now that it’s finally over?”

  Although conversation passed the time during their morning run and helped them to gauge their pace, his question was more than idle chatter. She knew he’d been worried about her and with good reason. How did she feel now that the divorce was final? She wanted to reassure him, but she’d need more than court papers to feel safe again.

  “I just hope it’s really over.”

  “You’re free now, Ashley.”

  “Free.” She pumped her arms to pick up the pace. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be free of Peter Adams.”

  “The restraining order—”

  “—doesn’t faze him.”

  “You’d be surprised. He’s a bully. Most bullies are cowards.”

  “Except with women.” The few times she’d stood up to Peter taught her that lesson only too well.

  They crossed the road and headed into the upscale residential development on Pointe Landing Circle. “Is he stalking you again?”

  Was he? No longer could she distinguish between genuine fear and paranoia. “I can’t prove it. Sometimes, though, I feel as if I’m being watched. He still calls me.”


  “Don’t let him spook you, kiddo. Call the cops.”

  Ashley snorted. “As if! We both know the cops washed their hands of me—”

  “Call them, dammit.”

  Biting back a protest, she steadied her breathing. Easy, girl. It wouldn’t do to fatigue herself this early in the run. True, they used conversation to pace themselves. Marv often reminded her that if she was too winded to talk, she should ease up on her pace. Nevertheless, she needed to stick with mundane chitchat, not emotional discussions.

  “If Peter shows up, I’ll call the police.” Both Marv and his wife were her closest friends, but both could be overly protective. She decided to redirect the conversation. “So how are you adjusting to retirement?”

  “Ask Gina. She says I’m making her nuts, just like when I retired last time. After the marathon, I’m thinking I’ll start on career number three.”

  “I will ask Gina. I doubt she minds having you at home.”

  They rounded the curve toward the riverfront residences in Pointe Landing. She started to ask Marv what he had in mind for his next career, but just as they jogged even with the driveway of one of the houses, a bathrobed middle-aged man stooped to pick up his newspaper. From out of the darkness, an automobile roared to life. Headlights sliced through the fog. The vehicle shot toward them.

  “Look out!” Marv yanked her arm, pulling her from the path of the speeding sedan.

  She stumbled and landed in the wet pampas grass that edged the driveway. Blinking against the glare of the overhead streetlamp, she caught a glimpse of a figure leaning out the opened car window.

  A loud crack shattered the morning tranquility when the car backfired. Marv gasped as the driver sped away with squealing tires.