Leap of Faith

by Arianna Hart

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

  Macon GA 31201

  Leap of Faith

  Copyright © 2008 by Arianna Hart

  ISBN: 1-59998-897-6

  Edited by Heidi Moore

  Cover by Scott Carpenter

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: March 2008

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  Leap of Faith

  Arianna Hart

  Dedication

  To Natashya and Charles who liked it first. To Heidi and Crissy who took a chance on it. And to Jenn and Lori who read it so many times and still love me anyway.

  As always, this book would never have been written without loads of help from my family. Mom and Dad, thanks for the babysitting time. Paul, thanks for going above and beyond the call of daddy duty. To all of my friends who were ignored as I worked and reworked and obsessed about this book, thank you for not giving up on me. Special thanks to my daughters who waited and waited and waited for me to finish “just one more page”.

  I’m a very lucky woman, and the people mentioned here are only a small, but very important part of those blessings.

  Prologue

  The bells above the door jingled, sending her nerves skittering and her body into an instinctive defensive stance. The urge to drop everything and run almost overwhelmed her, but she fought it down. Her shoulder blades twitched, anticipating a bullet. It was never a good idea to have your back to the door—especially a glass one.

  Deliberately, she turned around and clutched the pen in her sweaty hand.

  No one was gunning for her. Yet.

  Releasing a relieved breath, she scribbled Lex’s address on the package and got in line behind some old lady mailing a box the size of Texas.

  Every little noise shot her heart into her throat and made her already weak knees even shakier. All she had to do was mail this, and hop on the next bus that came down the street. With any luck at all, they wouldn’t realize she’d left the compound and she’d have time to make her getaway before they even knew she was gone.

  The woman in front of her counted out the exact change from her gaudy, floral purse, and handed it over.

  Come on, Grandma, get a move on, she thought as sweat dripped down her back.

  The bells rang again, sending her into near cardiac arrest. She was ten seconds from bolting when her turn finally arrived.

  “Can I help you?” the pimply kid behind the counter asked.

  “Yes. I need this sent to Wethersfield, Connecticut, but I don’t have the zip code.” Hell, she didn’t even know if that was still Lex’s address. It wasn’t like they exchanged Christmas cards.

  Which was why she was sending it to him now. No one would ever think she’d mail him something this important.

  She tapped her foot impatiently while the kid looked up the zip code on the computer. Her eyes scanned the street through the windows.

  A black Cadillac inched past the strip mall. Crap! It couldn’t be them. How had they found her so fast? She tried to hide her face behind a display of boxes, praying they wouldn’t spot her in the UPS store.

  “Overnight for twenty-two fifty or three to five days by ground for nine ninety-eight?”

  “Ground is fine.”

  The Caddy backed into a parking spot facing the store. This was not good.

  “Do you want email confirmation of delivery?” he asked, plodding along like he had all the time in the world.

  He probably did. No one was trying to kill him.

  “No.”

  Two guys got out of the car, one the size of a mountain, the other bore a striking resemblance to a scarecrow. Adrenaline surged through her and sweat broke out on her forehead as they headed towards the store.

  “Signature confirmation?”

  “Sure.” Anything to get him moving.

  “Just sign here.” The kid gave her a pen and she scrawled her name on the bottom and slipped him a ten-dollar bill. He handed her a copy of the receipt and put the box in a bin. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “Do you have a bathroom? I’m afraid I’m feeling sick to my stomach.” She tried to make her voice waver. It wasn’t hard, the fear churning in her gut made her plenty nauseous.

  “We don’t have a public bathroom.”

  “Please, I really think I’m going to throw up.”

  She must have been convincing because he stepped back and pointed. “Down that hall.”

  She scurried around the counter and headed for the back room. Out the corner of her eye she spotted a delivery truck backing up.

  Pulling the door to the tiny bathroom shut behind her, she tore up her receipt and threw it in the toilet. After she flushed it, she opened the door a crack and peeked out. The loading bay was packed with boxes being heaved onto a conveyer belt leading to a truck. She waited another minute until she saw the bin that held her package disappear.

  Relief made her head swim. She’d made it just in time. If Grandma had had more packages to mail, she’d have been screwed. She waited until the door to the truck was closed and locked before she slipped out of the bathroom.

  A discarded brown baseball cap lay crumpled on the floor. She picked it up and slapped it against her leg before putting it on. The thought of what might inhabit the hat made her shudder, but it was better than getting shot.

  As the semi chugged away, she ghosted out the bay door, using the trailer for cover. If she could get to the corner without being seen, she’d blend in with the crowd waiting for the bus.

  The greasy odor of the diesel engine surrounded her as the truck waited to lumber out of the lot. Nervousness and exhaust fumes had her nausea back with a vengeance. The truck made its turn and she was momentarily exposed.

  Her cover was completely blown.

  She shot a panicked glance over her shoulder and saw the two goons running for her. The big one reached into his jacket even as he dodged a mother dragging a screaming toddler.

  Adrenaline kicked in and she bolted across the street, running for her life.

  A screech of brakes sounded right before she felt the impact of car against her flesh. Pain exploded through her body and then mercifully, everything went black.

  Chapter One

  Fired.

  She, Dr. Jane Elizabeth Farmer, had just been canned. Outsourced. Terminated.

  And over the phone no less. The little weasel didn’t even have the class to fire her in person.

  With her cell phone clutched in one hand and her canvas tote bag in the other, she stood stupefied on the front steps of the condo. The late autumn sun shining on her face couldn’t warm the coldness that had crept into her heart.

  How had her day gone from normal to catastrophic in one three-minute phone call?

  Chin up, Jane. This isn’t the end of the world, just the end of your radio career. You’ve handled worse in your life and gone on. You’ll handle this too.

  The internal pep talk didn’t do a heck of a lot to stem the tide of helplessness flooding through her. She’d loved her job as an on-air marriage and relationship therapist. So what if the sa
lary was half of what she’d made in private practice. It wasn’t about the money. She wanted to help people, and darn it, her show helped a lot of people.

  Not enough people to keep it on the air, apparently.

  One hour. She glanced at her watch. She’d give herself one hour to wallow in self-pity and anger, and then she’d put it behind her. Feeling sorry for herself wouldn’t solve anything and drowning in it would only be destructive.

  Beethoven’s Symphony Number Nine beeped loudly, shattering her shell of misery. She’d forgotten she still held her phone in her nerveless hand. When she saw her mother’s number displayed on the screen, she had an urge to drop the phone in the azalea bushes.

  Guilt kicked in and she answered.

  “Jane Elizabeth?”

  Who else would be answering the phone? “Hello, Mother. What can I do for you?”

  “Oh nothing, dear. I just wanted to say good-bye before Aunt Betty and I head for the airport. Are you sure you don’t want to come with us? I bet we could still get you a room.”

  “No! I mean, I can’t take the time off right now.” Going on a three-week cruise with her mother and spinster aunt was only slightly less hellish than getting a root canal without Novocain.

  “I hate leaving you for so long, but Aunt Betty has wanted to go on this trip for years. And well after that man took her for everything she had, I just don’t feel comfortable letting her go alone. Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

  “I’m thirty-three years old. I think I’ll be able to survive.”

  “Jane Elizabeth! There’s no need to be sarcastic. I’m concerned about you.”

  Oh God. Tension snapped the tendons of her neck as taut as bowstrings. Here it came, the litany of all of her faults and failings wrapped up in a web of her mother’s hurt feelings.

  “I’m sorry,” Jane jumped in, hoping to forestall the drama. “I didn’t mean to snap. You’re right. I understand that you’re concerned about me and I’m sorry for belittling your anxiety.”

  “Well, it’s just I worry.” She sounded somewhat mollified. “I’m glad you understand how I feel.”

  Whew. Eight years of study in the human psyche just paid off in spades.

  “I know. I’ll be fine here. You and Aunt Betty enjoy yourselves. Take lots of pictures.”

  A big brown truck rolled up to the curb in front of her condo and a skinny man in a UPS uniform disappeared into the back.

  “If you’re sure you’ll be okay…”

  Jane put a hand to one ear to block off the noise of the idling truck and shouted into the phone. “I’ll be right as rain, Mother. Have a great time.” If it were anyone else on the line, she could use the rumbling of the truck as an excuse to hang up, but not with her mother.

  “The cab’s here. I need to go now, dear. Take care of yourself, and don’t forget to water my plants.”

  “I won’t. Have fun.”

  A sigh of relief gusted through her as her mother disconnected. Thank God her access to phones would be limited once she was on the cruise ship. Even her mother wouldn’t spend eight bucks a minute to nag at her, right?

  “Do you live here?”

  Jane jumped and almost dropped her phone.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Sign here, please.” The deliveryman handed her an electronic clipboard with a plastic pen attached.

  Jane signed on the line and accepted the tiny package he thrust at her. “Thank you,” she said to his retreating back. He didn’t so much as wave in acknowledgement.

  What was this? Jane turned the small box over in her hands and racked her brain to remember if she’d ordered anything on-line recently.

  The address on the front of the package caught her eye. Luther D’Angelo, 133 Hopman Way. She lived at 133 Hopman Way, Mr. D’Angelo was at 131. Jane took a step toward the truck to correct the mistake, but even as she raised her hand to get the driver’s attention, he chugged out of the complex parking lot.

  Okay, no big deal. She’d leave a note for Mr. D’Angelo to pick up his package when he got home. Whenever that was. He was never home, which was just as well.

  On the rare occasions he graced the unit with his presence she had to tiptoe in and out of her condo to avoid him and his insolent gaze. When she’d first moved in, he’d cornered her in the foyer they shared. As he introduced himself, he’d stared at her with eyes so hot she’d felt the burn right to her toes. She’d had the irrational urge to cross her arms over her body, as if he’d mentally stripped off her silk sweater and linen pants.

  Not only was his behavior inappropriate with a woman he barely knew, it was also insulting. She was a well-educated psychologist with a variety of talents and interests, not some tramp angling to get into his bed.

  Even if, by the well-satisfied look of some of the women exiting his condo, he knew exactly what to do in that bed. A warm glow started low in her stomach as she imagined what he must do to put that expression on their faces.

  She’d never know.

  After their initial meeting, Jane had made it quite clear she wasn’t interested in becoming one of the hoards of women who marched through his door. Since then they’d done little more than trade cool, polite greetings and the occasional snipe at one another.

  Which was just the way she wanted it.

  Even if she caught herself staring at his naked chest when he came back from a jog and imagining what it would feel like to touch all those rippling muscles. He was a playboy all right, and he definitely had the body for it.

  Jane shook her head to get rid of the lusty thoughts. Unemployed for five minutes and her normally logical mind had already decided to take a vacation. She tossed the small package into her tote and dug around for a business card to leave on his door. She might as well use them for scrap paper, she wouldn’t need them for work anymore.

  A dagger of hurt pierced her and her eyes burned with unshed tears. As she printed out a quick note on the back of the card, she fought down the lump in her throat and slipped the note under Mr. D’Angelo’s door.

  Now what? She had the whole day ahead of her and nothing to do. Go to Nordstrom’s and indulge in some shopping therapy?

  Maybe not. Now that she was unemployed she’d have to watch her pennies. The trust fund her father had left her would hold her over for a while, but it wouldn’t last forever. Part of her wanted to drive to the radio station and give the station manager a piece of her mind, but she forced the urge down.

  Her mother would have a stroke if she knew Jane had made a scene. Although, it would feel wonderful to vent her spleen on the spineless jellyfish who didn’t have the nerve to fire her in person.

  Who was she kidding? She was just as spineless. For all her vengeful thoughts, she knew she wouldn’t do it. Good sense said she shouldn’t burn her bridges, and of course, Jane Farmer always showed good sense.

  Luckily, she still had her volunteer work at the battered women’s shelter. Maybe instead of buying things she didn’t need or feeling sorry for herself, she’d head over to the shelter and see if any new clients had come in over the weekend. Tomorrow would be soon enough to worry about starting the job search. Right now she wanted to feel useful.

  A warm breeze lifted her hair as she crossed to her late-model Saab. The small package tipped out of her tote when she dropped it on the passenger seat. For a brief second, she considered putting it in her condo for safekeeping, but dismissed the idea. It would be secure enough in her car until she got back home.

  And if Mr. “I’m-too-sexy” D’Angelo came back before she returned he could just wait for her.

  The Saab rumbled to life and she eased out of her parking spot.

  A black Cadillac racing around the corner almost clipped her bumper as she pulled out of the complex. Jeez, what’s the rush? Driving that fast in a small complex like this was a good way to kill someone. Some people had no regard for the safety of others.

  Chapter Two

  Flashing red and blue lights lit up the night as Jane
pulled into her condo complex. She grabbed her purse and hurried up the sidewalk to where the police officers were gathered. It wasn’t until she passed Mrs. Baker’s unit that she realized they were congregated in front of her condo.

  “Excuse me?” She tapped one of the cops on his shoulder. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

  “Do you live here?” he asked.

  After spending the day cleaning out a dusty storeroom at the shelter she probably looked like something the cat dragged in. She didn’t even want to know how bad her makeup looked or how red and puffy her eyes must be.

  “Yes, I’m Dr. Jane Farmer.” Anxiety churned in her stomach and her head ached from tension. Her fingers twisted in the strap of her purse.

  “Come with me, please.” The officer led her past yellow crime-scene tape that blocked off the steps to the entryway of her building.

  Her heel caught in a crack in the sidewalk and she stumbled. The officer grabbed her arm and kept her from sprawling face first on the ground.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  He grunted a response and led her to a middle-aged man wearing the ugliest brown suit she’d ever seen. He was about her height, maybe an inch or two taller than her five feet, seven inches, and had the beginnings of a beer belly.

  “Detective Stalanski? Here’s Mrs. Farmer.”

  “Dr. Farmer,” Jane corrected automatically.

  The detective’s eyes squinted at her in appraisal and apparently didn’t like what he saw. She lifted her chin and looked the detective in the eye. “Can you tell me what is going on, detective?”

  “I’m sorry to tell you, Dr. Farmer, but you’ve had a break-in,” he said in a gravelly voice of a man who smoked too much.

  But it wasn’t his voice that made her feel like the wind had been knocked out of her, it was his words.

  “I’ve been robbed?” For the second time that day she felt the world spin and had to force herself to breathe. “What did they take?” Her grandmother’s pearls! She almost sagged with relief when she remembered her mother had taken them to wear on the cruise. Thank God. She couldn’t replace them, and her mother would never forgive her.