“No.” The mention of his snooty daughter made Sally’s hair stand up. The last time Laura found out that Pete had opened his shop doors to Sally all hell broke loose. She couldn’t cause a rift between the kind man and his family.
“You’ve stepped in and helped with deliveries more times than I can count and those arrangements you helped make for the wedding were fabulous. The least I can do is offer you a place to sleep.” Pete started coughing and she reached for his water, holding it so he could drink from the straw.
“You do enough.” She fixed his pillows. “You always pay me for the work that I do.”
He patted her hand, looking up at her with pale grey eyes. “One day you’re going to find a man who’ll give you the world, my dear. You deserve the kind of love my Missy and I had. God rest her soul. I still remember looking across the dance floor and seeing her, knowing that I would marry her.” His eyes always lit when he spoke about his late wife.
“Maybe one day, Pete.” Yet Sally wouldn’t hold out hope. She needed a man like she needed another hole in the head. After her last relationship that ended with her packing a bag and sneaking out in the middle of the night, she knew she’d never put herself in the same horrible situation again. She’d lost everything because of him.
“One day I’m going to hire you at the shop. Watch and see,” he said with a hint of a smile.
“Visiting hours are now over.” The announcement sounded over the hospital intercom.
“That’s my cue, Pete.” She grabbed her jacket and bag and tugged it up over her shoulder.
Reluctantly, she said goodbye to him and left the room, stopping at the small coffee shop to grab a coffee before stepping outside of the hospital onto the sidewalk. A gust of wind blew over her causing goosebumps to scatter her skin. The night was unusually cool, or maybe her mood contributed to her icy feeling. She hated seeing the elderly man in the hospital. He was the only friend she had in the world. He never looked at her as the homeless woman who ran away from her abusive boyfriend, and he always offered her kindness.
Slipping into her jacket, she dragged the collar up to protect her neck. Looking up at the sky, she gave a little prayer that it wouldn’t rain. It would only make her life more miserable.
She looked both ways on the sidewalk and sighed. What she wouldn’t give to be heading home to crawl into a comfortable bed tonight, but she’d given up everything for her safety. Freedom had a price and she’d paid dearly.
Tonight, she was on her own.
Every night she was on her own.
Where would she sleep tonight? The bus depot was an option, but she never slept well there. The local shelter had already closed and wouldn’t give out any more beds. She could always hang out and walk the streets, do some window shopping and want for all the things she couldn’t have.
A rain drop splashed her cheek and that solidified her decision. The bus station it would be then.
Warming her hands with the lukewarm cup, she listened to the faint sound of horns beeping and the low buzzing of the corner street lights. Hearing laughter she looked across the street as a man and woman greeted each other with a long kiss. Her throat constricted but she refused to allow her emotions to form self-pity. Once she let the tears flow they might never stop, and then what? She had no ear to listen to her vent or shoulder to soak up her tears. Crying made her weak, vulnerable. Living on the streets for six months now, it was important that she never allowed any weakness to show. Feebleness made her a sitting duck for the users, manipulators, and the street scum that scoured for victims.
She’d once been the victim, but never again.
One year ago, she would have never believed she’d be here, on the street with five dollars to her name. There was no one to blame but herself. Wrong boyfriend and bad choices equaled a devastating end to a life of comfort. Burke Combs had been a dream that turned into a nightmare. He’d stolen her attention and when he’d had her where he’d wanted her, he’d stolen her independence, money and left her stripped of a nice life—and her reputation. How had she missed the red flags that he was dangerous? That he’d use up his savings then hers to gamble and pay for entertainment.
Working her bottom lip, anger erupted inside her remembering what Burke had done that had been the end. She had been working as a physical therapist for a clinic and he’d used her key card to get in and steal narcotics from the locked cabinet. Even though she hadn’t done anything wrong, the company still fired her. That night she walked away, moved in with a friend, and never looked back.
Until Burke hunted her down.
He had been drinking and when she’d refused to go home with him, he’d ransacked her friend’s apartment and threatened her. Sally knew she had to disappear.
Turning a corner, absorbed in her thoughts, Sally brought her gaze upward just as she saw a flash. She collided with the woman, sending her purse one way and the phone she had been using another. The top had popped off Sally’s coffee, splashing all over the stranger’s expensive looking fur coat.
“Oh my God!” the woman squealed. She was tall, a good six inches taller than Sally, her blonde hair was cut in a neat bob and she wore crimson lipstick. The diamond necklace around her neck reflected the street corner light.
“I’m so sorry. Here, let me help you.” Sally started to reach for the purse from the sidewalk.
“Don’t touch! You’ve done enough!” The woman looked around frantically as if she were looking for someone. “I can’t wait to get out of this neighborhood,” she mumbled.
“I-I…didn’t see you.” Picking up her empty cup and the crushed the lid, Sally blinked as the woman gave her a look that could jackhammer through rock. “What can I do? I could go into a shop and get paper towels.”
“You could make yourself scarce. That’s how you can help.” The tall blonde sighed in agitation as she hurried to pick up her purse and the contents that had fallen out. Sally took a step back, watching, realizing it was best to steer clear. The woman seemed panicked as she gathered her things and continued on her way. Her heels tapped loudly against the cement.
Sally dropped her empty cup into a trash can and that’s when she saw the small red change purse. “Oh no!” She grabbed the forgotten item and took off in the same direction where the woman had gone. Looking up and down the sidewalk, it was empty. A cab’s taillights faded down the street.
She swiveled on her heels and looked around the shadowed street, uncertain what she should do. And then the rain started, pelting down in fat drops that immediately soaked through the thin jacket and jeans she wore. Scurrying under the shelter of an overhang at a closed Chinese restaurant, she looked at the Chanel purse with disdain. With the attitude the stranger had given Sally, she had an urge to toss the purse back onto the ground and forget about it. The incident had already caused her to miss her opportunity to get to the bus station without getting soaked. Now she’d have to wait for the downpour to stop. She was already cold, but she’d be freezing by the time she made it to the station.
She didn’t owe the angry woman anything…
And yet, Sally couldn’t find it in herself to walk away.
Reluctantly, she unzipped the expensive purse and looked for the woman’s ID that was tucked in the plastic pocket. Monica Warren. “So, Monica Warren, you don’t make very nice first impressions.” Along with the identification card were a few large bills, a key, and a business card for a local attorney. Thomas Yates. Sally thought the name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place him.
Thunder rolled in the distance. The weather wasn’t letting up. She realized she had no choice but to go out into it and find the woman. Dragging off her backpack, she unzipped it, dropped the small purse inside and pulled the strap tightly over her shoulder.
The rain continued to come down hard as she made her way past closed shops. She raced in the direction that would take her the few blocks to the address she found on the woman’s address card.
Chapter 2
; STANDING IN THE corridor in front of the apartment door, Sally knocked a second time. Water dripped from her hair and clothing and her worn tennis shoes were soaked. The light at the end of the hall flashed off and on and she could hear loud music playing from somewhere on the floor. It wasn’t what she expected to find for the woman with the fur coat and expensive jewelry, but as Sally had learned, not everything was as they appeared.
Sliding off her backpack, she pulled out the purse and verified the address. She definitely had the right place. Looking up and down the hall, she worked her bottom lip. Then it struck her. There was a key in the purse. She could open the door, drop the purse inside, and be on her way.
Just as she’d suspected, the key fit and she unlocked the door. “Hello?” No answer. Opening the door wider, she peeked in, noticing that a dim light was turned on. “Hello? Monica? This is Sally…Sally Holloway. Sorry, you don’t know me…I’m the coffee woman. Rather, the coffee disaster. The one who spilled it all over your coat.” Oh my gosh. What was wrong with her? The woman who spilled coffee on your coat?
She needed to just get this over with. She had a bench at the bus station waiting for her.
Hearing voices coming from down the hall, Sally panicked. It would be hard to explain to anyone that she was standing in the open doorway of a stranger’s home. Unsure of what she should do, she quickly stepped inside the apartment to wait for the talking men to pass.
They walked by and Sally sighed in relief, only to smell something strong, like gasoline. She glanced from the living room to the kitchen. Both looked like they’d been hit by a cyclone. Clothes, dishes and papers were scattered about. Had the woman been in a hurry to leave? Yet why was there a strong odor of gas?
It didn’t matter. She was wasting time.
Going into the kitchen, she dropped the purse onto the counter and started to turn back for the door when she heard a creaking sound and a large shadow loomed on the wall. Her heart slammed into her feet. Oh shit. There was someone in the apartment. How would she explain being here? Sure, the purse was proof, but what if Monica called the police? Would they arrest Sally? A homeless person never had a good defense.
She started to run for the door when a pair of strong arms grabbed her around the neck and shoulders and dragged her back. She knew this wasn’t Monica…
****
Cull grabbed his thermos and sipped on the coffee. He’d been sitting on the street for two hours and he hadn’t seen the woman. He’d been in Cheyenne for twenty-four hours and after speaking to a few of the staff members at the motel where Yates had been killed, he’d tracked Monica Warren to the apartment building that was rented under a false name, which didn’t surprise him. He knew finding her here was a shot in the dark, but he had a hunch she’d be back. He’d talked the apartment manager into letting him into the place under the pretense that he was a concerned family member, and when the man wasn’t looking, Cull did a little visual investigating and was quite surprised that Ms. Warren didn’t keep her large sum of money hidden better than under the mattress. He’d wanted to do more investigating, but the manager had mumbled something about getting back to watching TV.
Yeah, she’d be back, especially since her cash source was recently murdered.
He swiped a hand down his face. He’d never liked surveillance.
Reaching for his phone, he dialed his brother who answered on the second ring. “Find her yet?” Zander asked.
“Nope.”
“You giving up?”
Chuckling, Cull said, “Hell no. I’ll catch her.”
“If you say so, man. If you need—”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Cull whispered. “I’ve got to go.” He clicked off and stared at the slender silhouette across the street. The rain made the vision blurry. Could it be her?
Easing back into the seat, he watched her cross. She stopped and looked up at the apartment building, then directly at him, or rather at his truck. He doubted that she could see him, but he could see her better under the light of the security lamp. She worked her bottom lip and tucked a strand of damp hair behind her ear.
He pulled up her picture up on his phone. Although it was difficult to be sure, they did look similar.
The woman looked around her as if checking to make sure she wasn’t being followed.
His adrenaline and curiosity spiked.
Cull watched her closely. She was petite, dressed in baggy jeans and an oversized jacket…not what he’d expected for an escort, but then again, exactly what he’d expect for a woman who was in hiding. She was smart enough to dress in disguise.
Once she entered the building, Cull slid out of his truck and watched her through the glass door. He could see her hesitate at the bottom of the stairs and then move up them. What the hell was she doing here? Could catching her suddenly be this easy?
Two men stepped into the lobby, casually greeted him and started for the stairs. Cull overheard them talking about the winning numbers at the bingo game.
Waiting a few minutes, he made his way up the stairs behind them and to apartment two-ten. Surprisingly, he found that the door was left ajar. Carefully, he opened it a few inches wider, listening. He didn’t see or hear anything, but he did smell something. Smoke?
Stepping in, he was immediately met with a thick, grey cloud that filled his lungs. He coughed and took a small step back, gathering his senses. His protective instincts shot into gear. The place was on fire. He ran out into the hall, triggered the fire alarm and raced back inside. The smell of gasoline was strong in the air and his years of training, skill, and knowledge overtook the shock.
The woman…she was inside. He knew she was here somewhere.
He moved slowly. “Lady?” he yelled. His voice seemed engulfed by the threatening cloud which grew thicker as he moved deeper into the apartment. Flames shot out from the living room, eating up the curtains and climbing the side of the wall.
Not able to see past a few feet and his breathing was growing labored from the smoke, he dragged off his shirt and held it against his face as he took slow, precise steps, searching through the darkened space for the woman. “Hello? Lady?” He moved his gaze erratically.
Taking his phone out of his pocket, he used the light to see where he was going.
Flames now reached as high as the ceiling and were spreading fast.
Where the hell was the woman?
“Lady? Where are you?” He stepped toward the hallway where thankfully there wasn’t as much smoke and he could see beyond a few feet. He heard a noise from one of the rooms. A loud thud? Or a moan? “Lady?” he was yelling louder now, moving faster too, so fast that he’d dropped his shirt somewhere in his haste. With a boot to the locked bedroom door and the splintering of wood everywhere, he rushed in to find her lying on the floor. The window across the room was wide open and the thin white curtains were ripped and billowed in the wind.
Cull dropped down to his knees beside her and checked her pulse. Although it was slow and faint, she was alive. “We have to get out of here,” he commanded, stealing a quick glance over his shoulder, checking the status of the fire. The smoke was thicker in the hallway now and he could feel the temperature rising. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the heat and adrenaline rush. “I’ll get you out of here,” he said to the unconscious woman. He reached beneath her and gently lifted her, although his protective side yearned to grab her up and hurry the hell out of the burning apartment before they both ended up dead. When her hair swept off her forehead, he saw the blood smeared at her hairline. She’d been struck. Someone had left her for dead.
Hearing menacing pops and creaks, he realized they didn’t have long before the place was consumed in fire.
With her tucked in his arms, he started for the door when he stopped cold. The flames were within several feet, blocking his exit. “Shit!” The apartment was going up quick.
Looking back at the window, he realized there was only one way out. Scrambling across the room, he peered through the op
en window, feeling a rush of fresh, cool air that gave his lungs relief. The woman weighed nothing and he easily held her against the safety of his chest and arms as he climbed through the window onto the fire escape. The rusted metal creaked and scraped against the brick building as if in warning that it didn’t meet code. He wasn’t too sure about the stability, but what choice did he have? With as much gasoline as he smelled poured throughout the apartment, he wasn’t sure how much time they had before the place was engulfed.
Bracing her so that if they fell he’d protect her from getting hurt, he took each step carefully, but instinct cautioned him that he needed to move faster. When he finally reached the ground, he heard a loud crack, closely followed by the breaking of windows. A shower of glass poured around him. Fire alarms were going off inside the building and he hoped residents were all hurrying out.
Then a new sound joined the others. Loud familiar pops. Shit! He dropped down to his knees behind a car, still holding the woman close, frantically looking around into the darkness. They were being shot at!
Where was it coming from?
Cull covered the woman with his body for protection as he looked around the front of the fender. He couldn’t see anyone from his position. It was too dark. In the distance he could hear the rustling of clothing then the thudding of shoes against concrete. Drawing his gun from the waist of his jeans, he squatted by the tire and waited, using all his senses.
Another succession of loud pings hit the car and screams sounded from people nearby. People were gathering in the commotion.
Someone was pissed that he had saved the woman.
Crawling on his stomach along the rough concrete, he narrowed his eyes, targeting every inch of space where the gunman could be hiding…and then he saw movement in the shadows almost a hundred feet away. A man dressed in all black jumped out from behind a dumpster and ran for the alley. Cull was on his feet in seconds, chasing the assailant. At the corner of a building, he stopped, aimed and took several shots. The gunman jumped the chain-link fence, falling hard on the other side. He let out a low groan of pain, but he was up and running.
Sheltered by the Lawman (Lawmen of Wyoming Book 5) Page 2