Shelter

by Stephanie Fournet

  She gave no sign that she’d heard me, but Elise didn’t leave me waiting long. A minute later, she’d found me in the hall that led to our garage, her brows drawn together in worry.

  “How’s your mom?” she whispered.

  I shook my head. “We need to leave. It’s time I took care of this.”

  Her eyes rounded. “Took care of this?”

  “Yeah. Get Mom and Ava to safety. Have him arrested. Get a restraining order.” I counted off these tasks on my fingers. “If I can manage it, get her to legally separate. But I don’t know if I that’s gonna happen.”

  Before me, Elise sagged on an exhale. “Oh, thank God,” she murmured.

  “What?” I asked, frowning.

  She gazed up at me in obvious relief as her chest rose. “I thought you meant… I was afraid you’d… Your gun.”

  My brows leapt at her meaning. “Oh! No, no, no.” I shook my head, taking a step closer to her and grinning at her relief. “I’m not… I don’t think I have it in me.”

  Her eyes, glinting amber pools, tangled with mine. “I never believed you did, but I’m glad to hear you’re smart enough to realize that.” Her words made both of us smile. I wanted to touch her, so I clasped her hand in mine and lifted it between us.

  “Speaking of smart, I had no idea you knew how to pick a lock with a hair pin.” She’d done that with the hand I now held, and I felt like it was owed its share of worship. I ran my thumb over the back of it, memorizing its shape and surprising softness.

  I watched her attempt to beat back her smile. “The locks on the guesthouse bathrooms are the same. The one in my room catches from time to time.”

  “So, you figured it out,” I said, admiring her resourcefulness. I didn’t want to have to lean on her for more, but I trusted no one else.

  And I’d always trusted Elise.

  I squeezed her hand, knowing that the moment was coming when I’d have to let it go, and I wanted to shrink from that moment.

  “Could you help me with something else?” I asked, my voice going soft.

  Elise nodded. “Of course.”

  I swallowed. Because what I was about to ask of her was risky. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”

  She squeezed back. “Just tell me,” she said, her frown returning. “What do you need me to do?”

  Her eagerness to help pulled tension from my shoulders I hadn’t even realized I was carrying. Still, I worried about her safety. “We’re leaving tonight. In a few hours. We’ll have to sneak away.” I watched Elise bite her bottom lip as I spoke. “My mom needs a bag of just a few essentials that can see her through a day or two. Is there any way you can—”

  “I can do it.”

  “Are you sure? If you don’t—”

  “I can do it,” she said again, resolve blazing in her eyes. “Your mom likes a pitcher of ice water on her bedside table at night. I’ll carry that up and pack what I can.”

  I blinked at her ready plan. “H-how will you get it down? Someone might see you on the stairs.”

  Elise shook her head. “I’ll send it down the laundry chute.”

  My eyebrows leapt. “Elise, you’re a genius!”

  Color rose on her cheeks, but she crimped her mouth in a way that told me my words pleased her. “I can put it in your car when I take out the trash.” The corners of her eyes crinkled with mischief. “No one will ever know.”

  I didn’t think about it. I didn’t even hesitate. I tugged her hand, pulled Elise against me, and covered her mouth with mine. Her startled gasp met my tongue, and a bolt of desire shot clean through me.

  This morning, our kiss had been a measured exploration. But not this time. This was a conquest. And even though I led the kiss and it was my arms that wrapped around Elise and gathered her tight against me, I was the one conquered.

  Even as I plundered her mouth, I knew surrender was my only option. How could I resist her? She was fearless. She was flawless. She’d redefined what I knew of beauty. Yes, anyone could see she was beautiful. But who else but me knew how brave and capable she was? How ingenious and resourceful? How genuine?

  She knew all of my secrets, and still she opened her mouth to welcome my outlaw tongue. And those were her hands diving inside the shelter of my jacket, skimming over my thin dress shirt and leaving behind a signature of heat.

  I had no business getting hard in the shadowed hallway of my parents’ house on the night of our escape. With Elise Cormier, no less. But under her touch, I was like a brick. I’d never wanted anyone like this.

  I had to stop. I knew this. But I just wanted to keep kissing her. To lie down with her. To listen to that delicate cry she sang into my ear as my lips moved to her neck. But what I wanted more than anything was time. Time to discover all of her secrets. I wanted to hear everything she wanted, and I ached to give her whatever I could.

  But I could have none of that. Especially time.

  I traced my way back up her neck, over her jaw, and settled onto her lips again, taking three more gentle kisses. And then I pushed myself away.

  “If I keep you here any longer, it won’t be safe to send you upstairs,” I whispered, finding her eyes. They were dewy and half-lidded. I suspected mine were too.

  But she recovered immediately with a nod. “I’ll be up and down in two minutes.” She took a step back, loosening her arms from around my waist. But then she reached up and swept a hand over my cheek in a gesture that made me feel something new and unknown.

  Cherished?

  Holding my gaze, she backed away until her hand fell from my face, and she turned and crossed the hall with silent speed. But before she disappeared back into the laundry room, Elise glanced back at me.

  “Cole?” she hoarse whispered. She was looking at me over her shoulder, her right hand resting lightly on the door sill and her body turned in a bewitching profile.

  “Yes?”

  She drew her bottom lip between her teeth as though uncertain about her next words.

  “What is it?” I prompted.

  “Don’t leave without saying goodbye.”

  My smile was immediate, grown from all the way inside me. “I won’t,” I promised. And then I watched her disappear.

  Chapter 13

  ELISE

  I left Cole in the hallway, his eyes following me as I walked away.

  They were leaving. He was leaving. And I didn’t know if he’d be back.

  That thought made my stomach lurch like I’d just missed a step on the stairs. How quickly my world had turned upside down. Before kissing Cole, I’d never wondered when I’d see him again.

  Now the question nearly sent me into a panic.

  But Cole needs my help, and that’s all that matters.

  I crossed the kitchen and opened the cabinet that held all of the Whitehursts’ pitchers. Mrs. Abigail had quite a collection, and she wanted them put to use. Filling her bedside pitcher was a nightly ritual.

  I picked up the small, white porcelain one with the pink roses painted on the side. It was delicate and beautiful. Just like Mrs. Abigail. As I filled it, I nodded to myself. Cole needed to get his mother out of here. For a split second before he’d slammed the bathroom door in my face, I’d seen her sprawled on the floor, a hunted look in her eyes.

  I knew Mr. Whitehurst had hurt her, and I knew well enough that there was no one else who could help her except Cole.

  He needed to leave, and I’d do whatever I could to help him.

  “You bringing that up to Mrs. Abigail’s room?” Mama asked as I filled the pitcher.

  “Yes ma’am.” I bit my tongue after to keep from chattering nervously.

  “You think she’s going to turn in soon? It sounds like there’s still a few guests in the front of the house.”

  I nodded. “There’s still a few, but she just looks tired.” This was true. Mrs. Abigail looked exhausted, but I knew she was suffering from more than fatigue. “I figured I’d put it up there now so we wouldn’t disturb her
later.”

  The lie was easy enough, and Mama didn’t look at me twice as she worked on the dishes, so I didn’t linger. As if nothing was different from the dozens of other nights I’d done this particular chore, I walked through the dining room into the hall, carrying the small pitcher and averting my eyes from the lingering guests.

  I felt, more than saw, Cole’s gaze on me, but I knew better than to look in his direction. Mr. Whitehurst was there too, and I didn’t want to give him any chance to read the emotions I might have carried on my face. Because my heart thumped heavily in my chest as I climbed the stairs.

  Cool air settled on my arms and back as the shadows upstairs swallowed me. Ava had left her bedroom light on, but otherwise, the second floor was dark. I tiptoed quickly down the hall that led to the master suite and opened the door onto darkness.

  I debated for a second about leaving the door opened or closed. If Mr. Whitehurst came up and found me in his bedroom, which would be worse? I quickly decided that leaving the door open would at least give me the advantage of being able to hear his approach, so I left it wide and crossed to the far side of the room.

  Switching on Mrs. Abigail’s lamp filled the space with a soft light, and I set down my pitcher on her bedside table. I scanned the room and let out shaky breath. I’d been in here hundreds of times, but that didn’t mean I knew where she kept everything. The walk-in closet, I decided, would be the best place to start.

  When I flipped on the light, I spotted her Mediterranean White Vera Bradley bag on the shelf above her hanging clothes. The bag was big enough to fit a few necessities and small enough to go down the laundry chute. I grabbed it. Mrs. Abigail’s dresser was situated under an elaborate shoe rack that really wasn’t a rack at all, but a honeycomb of cubbies. I chose a pair of ballet flats before I started going through her dresser drawers.

  Two minutes later, I had a bag stuffed with three pairs of undies, a bra, one nightgown, a turtleneck, a blouse, and two pairs of pants. I moved to the bathroom and thought better of taking her hairbrush and toothbrush. Mr. Whitehurst might notice their absence from the counter.

  Luckily, I found an unopened toothbrush and a comb in the drawer of her vanity, and I tossed a compact, a tube of moisturizer, and a few other cosmetics from the drawer. Mrs. Abigail never left the house without her makeup, and I knew sending her to New Orleans without it — even in the dead of night — would make her feel shabby and vulnerable.

  It was time for her to have better than that.

  I turned off all the lights behind me except Mrs. Abigail’s bedside lamp, which we always kept burning after we brought up her ice water. I paused just outside the door, listening. The only sound I could hear was my own agitated breathing, so I held it and listened again.

  The creak of a floorboard froze me in place. I had Mrs. Abigail’s bag slung over my shoulder, and anyone other than Cole, Ava, or Mrs. Abigail seeing me like that would spell disaster. And not just for me.

  A scenario played out in my head like a movie reel on triple fast forward. Mr. Whitehurst or one of their guests spotting me sneaking around with Mrs. Abigail’s belongings. If I was lucky, they would assume I was stealing. And in a flash, I knew I’d let that stick.

  Okay, so, maybe Mama would get fired for that, or maybe I’d just be banned from the house. But Cole and his mother and sister would be safe.

  I crept up to the open door on soundless feet, brought my fingertips to the wall and leaned in, trying to peer farther into the hallway unseen. It was still dark, but just as I chanced to poke my head into the hall, I heard a door click closed to my right. I squinted into the shadows. The hall was empty, but I saw the light on under Cole’s bedroom door.

  Had he come upstairs? If he hadn’t, I didn’t want to stick around to find out who had.

  On tiptoes and with quick steps, I left the master bedroom. The laundry chute was all the way at the end of the hall, but I had to pass Cole’s room to get there, and I didn’t want whoever had come upstairs to find me. And maybe no one had come up. Maybe I was imagining things. My heart raced and my hands shook with nerves.

  As silently as possible, I pushed the chute door open, carefully stuffed the Vera Bradley bag inside, and prayed as I let the bag go.

  Please, don’t let Mama hear this drop into the laundry room.

  I listened for the sound of the bag dropping into the basket below, but I heard nothing. Letting out a breath, I closed the chute door, dashed to the stairs, and made my descent. I was far from calm, but I hoped I’d managed to appear calm.

  I kept repeating my prayer as I made my way to the kitchen. Mama was busy collecting the chafing dishes on the dining table. She gave me a look.

  “You just coming from upstairs?” she asked, wrinkling her brow. I rushed to the table to help her carry the pans of water.

  I lowered my voice, hoping to sound modest. “I had to use the restroom.”

  “Oh.” Mama rolled her eyes but wore a smile. “I could use a break, too. Can you finish these for me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said with a nod, and then I practically scurried into the kitchen. I set my load on the counter and made a beeline to the laundry room.

  Mrs. Abigail’s bag had made a safe landing on a pile of tablecloths Mama must have collected. I plucked it from the waiting basket and scanned the laundry room for a place to hide it. Finding nothing promising, I carried it out to the garage.

  The Whitehursts’ garage was the neatest in all of history. They used a service for their landscaping and lawn maintenance, so it was free of the usual yard tools. The family’s bikes were mounted along the walls flanking the his-and-hers Mercedes. I didn’t even know what model they were because Mr. Whitehurst traded up every two years.

  The only items that weren’t posh and expensive in the whole garage were the trash and recycling bins. I tucked Mrs. Abigail’s bag behind the recycling bin, knowing that even if Mama made a trip out here to throw out wine bottles and soda cans, she’d have no reason to move the hefty container.

  I darted back inside before she could notice my absence. The party was definitely fizzling out. I could only hear a few sets of voices in the front of the house, and the grand piano in the den was now silent.

  I bustled back into the dining room to help Mama with the rest of the platters, and I scanned the spaces I could see for Cole. Through the archway, I spotted him in the living room, standing by his mother’s side. He had an arm around her, and she leaned into him in a way that made me cringe. It looked as if he was bracing her.

  As if she was in pain.

  Ava stood on the other side of her mother, smiling brightly at the guests who were telling them goodnight. But I could see that her smile was a little too wide. Almost a little crazed. Maybe it was the way her jaw seemed to clench under that smile.

  In the instant I watched them, I knew that the couple talking to them just wouldn’t leave. The weariness and forced patience was etched on all three of the Whitehursts’ faces.

  Leave, dammit! I mentally screamed at their guests. Apparently, my telepathic powers weren’t strong enough because they just kept talking. I hefted up the remaining tray of sliced roast beef and cast my gaze into the hallway, looking for any other stragglers. Seeing no one, I wondered where Mr. Whitehurst was lurking. Maybe he’d walked an important guest outside.

  While Mama stored the leftovers in the kitchen, I could still hear the couple in the front. They were telling a story about a recent trip to Napa Valley and a rental car with a faulty horn. The woman continued to laugh as her husband narrated, but she’d break in with “And…” then “tell them what happened…”

  By the time they’d gotten to the part of the story when a police officer pulled them and their malfunctioning horn over, I couldn’t stand any more.

  The light switch for the dining room chandelier, oddly enough, was on the kitchen side of the wall, so I simply flipped it off, plunging the room nearest the Whitehursts and their guests into darkness.

  From
behind me, Mama gasped. “Elise Nicole, what are you doing?”

  I ignored her and poked my head into the dining room, going for my most innocent look. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” I gushed, slapping a scandalized hand on my chest and flipping the light back on. “I thought everyone had gone.”

  Ava and Mrs. Abigail looked at me in confusion because no one could have thought the house was empty with the loud storytelling. But Cole’s blue eyes narrowed with suspicion before his mouth tightened against his grin.

  “It’s all right, Elise,” he said gently. He gave me a grateful smile that sparked heat in my belly. Something in his eyes told me I had his admiration. No one had ever looked at me like that before. “It’s an easy mistake to make at this late hour.”

  Beside him the two lingering guests looked horror-stricken as they seemed to realize they were the last to leave.

  “Oh, dear, Marshall,” the woman gasped. “Is that the time? Goodness’ sakes! We’d better go.”

  Marshall chuckled, shaking his head. “Forgive us, Abigail. You know it’s a good party when it’s almost midnight, and your guests won’t leave. Let’s go, Daphne.”

  Mrs. Abigail managed a forced smile, but I suspected some of it must have been genuine relief.

  I stepped back into the kitchen to find Mama gaping at me like I was crazy.

  “What did you just do?” she asked me in hoarse whisper. A scolding was coming my way, but it was worth it.

  “Those people wouldn’t leave,” I whispered back. “I was trying to be helpful.”

  Mama’s brows pinched together. “You were being rude.”

  I rolled my eyes. As far as Mama was concerned, I was always being rude. “Trust me, they appreciated it,” I muttered.

  Mama huffed, likely knowing I was right, given the late hour and the endless Napa Valley story, but she wasn’t going to admit it. “That’s enough back-talk. Go take the trash out, and then you can turn in. Your toes are probably killing you in those shoes,” she grumbled as though her toes were the ones being pinched. “I don’t know why you had to dress to the nines and wear those things. Your black blouse and pants would have been more sensible.”