“Let’s get you into your hiding place,” he said. She looked ready to protest, and he added, “I’m walking to Gabe’s. I won’t be able to get back to you in time if they show up here.”
She didn’t reply as she followed him inside.
With her tucked away, he replaced the ceiling panel, put the chair by the table and took off at a run. A hundred feet from the bar, he stopped to listen. For ten minutes he stood, hardly breathing, straining to hear. There was nothing. He skirted three sides of the building. Still no sound. Satisfied nobody else was present, Carlos darted across the parking lot and grabbed the chain from the mirror.
“Don’t move!”
He froze when he heard a rifle cocked. “Put your hands out. Turn around slow.”
Carlos spun toward the man pointing a gun at his chest.
“Bernie?”
“I was afraid you might be working with that gang,” Bernie said. “I was right.”
“No! I’m only trying to get them to leave the girl alone.” Carlos lowered his hands. That prompted Bernie to aim at his head. Carlos talked fast. “I found the drugs her boyfriend hid from the bikers and made a deal with them. They promised to stop going after her if I tell them where their dope is. They left this as a sign they’d keep their word.” Carlos held his hand out, the necklace dangling from a finger.
“Where are the drugs?” Bernie asked. Carlos’s mind reeled. Could Bernie be trusted? Tens of thousands of dollars were at stake. With only a few seconds to decide, he relied on his instincts. “In the 4Runner,” he said. “When the gang trashed it, they missed them.”
“Figures,” Bernie snorted. “They’re a bunch of idiots. So they’re coming here again?”
“Yeah. I’ve got to call them to keep my end of the bargain.”
“Okay. Go on, then.” Bernie lowered the gun. “And Carlos? You watch out for that girl, you hear?”
“You can depend on it.” He sprinted through the forest, stopping when he reached the cabin’s private drive.
Though he knew Andie would be impatient, she’d have to stay hidden until the gang returned to pick up the drugs, and had left for good.
He made the call. Hulk answered with a gruff, “What.”
“You’re stuff is in the Toyota.” Carlos used the fake voice again. “In the air filter housing. Left side of the engine compartment, black plastic cover with clips. Now you can let the skinny guy go.”
“Not part of the deal,” Hulk said. “Only the bitch gets off.”
“You don’t need him-” Carlos began. The line was already dead.
He retraced his steps up the footpath a few yards, then went deep into the trees. A half hour later, the cycles roared into Gabe’s, pausing for ten minutes. They came closer, turned onto the private road, and passed him on the way toward the lake. At the cabin they turned around and went by him again at a slow rate of speed. Carlos sighed in relief as they moved on toward the highway and rumbled away.
He raced back to the rental, vaulted over the porch, and ran into the bedroom with a chair. As he helped her climb out of the attic, Andie shook with sobs. He tried to soothe her. “I’m sorry, baby girl. I asked them to let James go. They refused to do it.”
“It’s not that, you dummy,” she wailed, hitting his chest softly with her palms. “You were gone so long I thought they’d taken you. I was scared I’d never see you again!” She hugged him fiercely.
“Shh. I’m fine,” he said, combing her hair with his fingers. “I’ll always come back to you. I swear it.”
~~~
The sun was so intense in the flawless sky, he squinted. At ten o’clock, the morning had already been a long one. He’d spent more than an hour on the phone, negotiating with tow companies. Andie believed he’d arranged to have her 4Runner taken to a local junkyard. She didn’t need to overhear it was being hauled to Uncle José’s garage. He’d tell her after he finished the repairs.
Now, he stood by her in the glare outside the terminal, beside the bus bound for St. Louis. She was annoyed with him. “Remember what I told you,” he said.
“I know! I know! Don’t show the necklace to anybody; don’t get off until I’m home; always be aware of my surroundings; be alert to suspicious people; never go anywhere alone,” she huffed. “I’ll be fine!”
He smiled. That’s my sassy girl. “You have my number, right?”
“Yes,” she said. “I entered mine into your phone, too.”
“Please let me know when you’ve arrived safe. Call me if you ever need anything, okay?”
“Okay,” she whispered, looking at the ground.
Gently he forced her chin up and stared into her beautiful eyes. “And don’t forget: if you need me I’ll always be here for you.”
“Yes,” she said. “I know you will. You promised.” On her tiptoes, she gave him a last lingering kiss, then turned and climbed aboard.
###
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Want more? Maddie and Zac’s story begins in
Book 1 of the series
The Art of Going Home
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The Art of Going Home
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Acknowledgments
To all those who patiently supported the growing pains of this story, I thank you. Special thanks to Ann. Without you, this story would never have been conceived. Also, thanks to Vern, Dawn, and Bill for your help. Your support and faith in me means the world.
About the Author
I currently live in the rural the Midwest. After making my home in various parts of the U.S. and visiting abroad, I recently moved back into the house where I spent my first eighteen years. I enjoy country living: ours is a small community where everyone knows everybody. I also appreciate the culture of the city: the shopping, dining, art, the opera, and ballet.
I love traveling, especially to other countries, and I speak Spanish. I write poetry in English and Spanish. My sidekick is a tiny Yorkshire terrier named GiGi.
Connect with Nicole
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Email: [email protected]
Website: http://www.nicolesorrell.com
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Nicole-Sorrell/e/B00QVRHZD6/
The Art of Going Home
Nicole Sorrell
Prologue
Wednesday, June 25, Eighteen Years Ago
“MY ANGEL!” the woman sobbed. Her agonized wails spewed from the depths of her soul, tortured and foul. Clutching her wet daughter to her chest, she sat on the grass by a shallow wading pond, rocking back and forth.
A few yards away, a ten-year-old girl was gently lifted by a police officer from where she lay in a puddle of vomit. The cries seeped into her semi-conscious mind. She opened her eyes to glance toward her desperate mother.
“What did you do?” her mother screamed. “What did you do?”
As the officer approached, the woman turned away, refusing to release her claw-like grip on the girl's twin.
He had already checked. There was no pulse.
Chapter 1
Wednesday, July 1, Present
I DIDN’T WANT to be here.
The other passengers in the crowded coach seats seemed inexplicably happy to have arrived. I wasn’t so enthusiastic. I hadn’t slept at all during the flight to Kansas City. My anxiety wouldn’t let me rest. Over the last two days, my grief had worn me down. I shuffled down the narrow aisle, off the plane, along the dingy hall, and through the airport toward the carousel to wait for my checked luggage.
Suddenly, a warm hand landed on my shoulder from behind and turned me around. A tall, solid man held m
e against him in a tight hug. I couldn’t see who’d grabbed me, and I started to push away.
“Maddie, you have no idea how happy I am to see you,” a familiar voice said. It belonged to Zacarias Redondo. I’d had a crush on him since I was in middle school. I wrapped my arms around his waist. He cradled my head as he rested his cheek against my hair.
I hadn’t seen him in ten years, though we’d spoken on the phone three days before. Too soon, he straightened and gazed intently at my face. His look made me lightheaded. “I didn’t recognize you at first,” he said.
“What were you expecting?” Despite the circumstances, I couldn’t help teasing him. Because I’d known I wouldn’t have time to change, I was already wearing my black fitted dress and pumps. The ballerina neckline dipped low, and my long honey-brown hair was swept to one side and tied with a black ribbon.
“It wasn’t this. You’re… um…” he said.
“Um?” I prodded, raising one eyebrow.
“Sophisticated. That’s the right word. How are you holding up?” He brushed his fingers against my cheek. I amazed myself by tilting my head into the tender caress.
“I’m in shock, I guess. How are you doing?”
“Well enough, considering.”
“Why did you come to the airport? I was going to rent a car so you all wouldn’t be troubled to pick me up.” He took my hand as we moved toward the suitcases that were rotating on the luggage belt.
“We couldn’t let you do that. It’s no trouble.”
“How’s Sheriff Rey?” I asked. Zac’s father, Reynard Redondo, had been promoted from Deputy Sheriff to Corporal in the County Sheriff’s office six years ago. We’d always called him “Sheriff Rey.” The title stuck, despite its inaccuracy.
“Dad’s doing okay. Holding up. Taking it hard.”
Zac grabbed the suitcases I indicated, ignoring my attempt to take the lighter bag. He led me into the heat and sunshine to his parked truck. Its gleaming white paint looked pristine. He opened the passenger door and helped me up into the cab. While Zac was stashing my luggage in the bed, I let myself sink into the seat. We made our way out of the airport complex, onto the interstate that would carry us away from civilization—first east, and then south—and toward the miniscule town of Clantonville.
Zac held his hand out, palm up. I raised my brows, hesitating before placing my hand in his. I didn’t remember Zac being that affectionate. I decided he was being extra supportive due to the sad event that had forced me to come back.
He gave me a grin and turned his attention to the road. “You’re more beautiful than I remember, Maddie,” he said. Even after so many years, his familiar smile caused my heart to beat faster.
What? “I didn’t realize you ever thought I was beautiful. You should get your vision checked,” I said, deadpan.
“Madisen Jessica Chandler! I’ve always noticed how beautiful you are. How could you not know that?” he admonished. “And my eyesight is perfect twenty-twenty.”
He squeezed my hand with a devilish smile, knowing full well the effect he had on women. The inevitable pink seeped into my cheeks. I still blushed every time he complimented me.
“How have you been? And don’t tell me you’re ‘fine.’ How are you really?” he asked.
I didn’t avoid looking at him like I used to, studying his profile slowly. I saw all of the reasons I’d been infatuated with him when I was in eighth grade, and he was a junior. His Latino good looks made my stomach flutter. He had sensuous lips that begged to be kissed, straight white teeth, and cleanly arched brows. His smooth olive skin and chocolate eyes promised to grant secret desires. He was six foot three, with a perfect masculine body. He exuded raw power, like a captive animal that might attack at any moment. He looked particularly handsome in his suit and tie. For the first time ever, I wasn’t self-conscious around him. Maybe you’re too exhausted today.
“I’m numb, I guess,” I replied. “Aunt Ceci’s passing was such a blow. She never told me the cancer was that advanced. I’m going to miss her so much.” I fought the lump in my throat. “I should’ve been there. Now I’ll never get to tell her goodbye.”
“She didn’t want to put you through seeing her in pain at the end.”
What? Why not? I was too surprised to comment.
“How are you doing otherwise? With life in general?” he asked.
“My life is going well,” I answered automatically. He threw me an unconvinced look. “Truly it is. I guess Aunt Ceci told you that I finished my Chartered Property and Casualty Underwriter coursework?” Zac shook his head. “It’s a designation for insurance professionals, kind of like an MBA. The classes and exams are pretty demanding. It took me four years to finish. Also, I got a promotion at work a couple of months ago. Our San Antonio office has about thirteen thousand employees, so the competition is always extreme. For the ten positions they were filling, there were about two hundred and sixty applicants.”
“Wow! I heard about the promotion. I didn’t realize how many people you beat out for it. You know I’m proud of you,” he said. “What about your life outside work? What keeps you busy? Anybody to hang out with? Anyone you’re close to?”
I knew what was behind his questions. I was positive Aunt Ceci had kept him updated about everything. About my small circle of friends. That I had no boyfriend.
Not that it was difficult for me to talk to people. I gave presentations at work with confidence. Yet, I always worried that, if others got past my protective walls, they’d think I wasn’t good enough.
“You may not think I form intimate relationships, but I do,” I said defensively. “I’m sure you’re aware I belong to a running club. Well, I guess it’s not a club. About twenty of us get together after work three times a week. On the days I don’t run, I work out at the gym. I know people there, too.” They’re acquaintances, at least.
“What do you do on weekends? Holidays?” he pressed. “Who do you talk to? Someone close enough to confide in?”
You’re letting this go too far, Madisen. “Okay, Zac. I get it.” I tried to cross my arms. He wouldn’t let go of my hand. “You don’t think leaving home was the right decision. Nevertheless, I’m satisfied with my life.” It was mostly true. My best friend, Tabitha, was the one person I’d told about my “just-sex hookups,” when I couldn’t take the loneliness anymore.
Zac’s expression grew serious. “It’s not that I think your decision to leave was wrong,” he said. “When you escaped the bad memories of Angeline’s death, you left behind everyone who loves you.”
He was right. I’d paid a high price to leave the only home I’d ever known. I couldn’t tell him that memories of my murdered twin weren’t the sole reason I’d fled. Aside from being disliked by nearly the whole town, I also left because it was the one place I heard my dead sister’s voice in my head. I was certain full-blown insanity would follow. It had happened to my mother, and I was terrified I’d inherit her mental illness.
I managed to keep my voice steady as my eyes stung with tears. “I know I left good things behind,” I agreed. “Aunt Ceci was the best. She cared for me as if I were her own daughter, and I wasn’t there for her at the end. I won’t forgive myself for that. And I won’t stand for you lecturing me about the choices I’ve made. I did what I had to do.”
With a pained look, he let the subject drop. I suspected it wouldn’t be the end of the discussion.
###
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The Art of Getting Away (Companion Short Story to The Art of Living series) Page 4