HIDING PLACE by Meghan Holloway

by Meghan Holloway

  I was not certain where Sam gained entry to the inn, but I left the sanctuary of the woods and shadows and hurried toward the back deck. The deck wrapped around the inn, which was built into the hillside with the front at ground level and the back of the building on seven-foot stilts. The side and front doors to the inn were likely all being watched, but I was counting on the back not being guarded, since there was no access into the inn unless one was prepared to climb.

  I pulled an Adirondack chair from where it was stored between two kayaks and a canoe and dragged it into position against one of the deck’s support beams. I stepped into the seat and then climbed to the arms of the chair before carefully balancing on the back of the chair. The Adirondack tilted with my weight, but the beam it leaned against kept the chair from tipping as I reached up and caught hold of the deck’s railing.

  My knee and ankle protested viciously as I hooked a foot over the edge of the deck, and my ribs shrieked as I pulled myself up. I clung to the deck railing, quivering with the strain and struggling to calm my breathing. The feeling of being so exposed urged me to rush, but I moved carefully as I adjusted my grip and hoisted myself over the railing onto the deck.

  I dropped into a crouch. There were no shouts to alert my presence, no movement within the shadowed interior of the inn. The deck remained empty.

  I crept to the sliding glass door that opened off of the great room. The glass door had always made me nervous. They were notoriously easy to pop open. When I first bought the inn and was working on renovations, I used a security bar to give me peace of mind about it. Once the inn opened to guests, I knew I could not keep the place locked up like a fortress. I removed the security bar and purchased a security system for the wing of the building we lived in.

  Tonight, the door was a boon. I knelt beside it and slipped the screwdriver from the waistband of my leggings. I made short work of jumping the door off its track. I caught the glass door before it fell, moving it aside and propping it against the exterior wall.

  I tucked the screwdriver back into my waistband before I stepped into the inn. I moved away from the moonlit threshold and stood with my back to the wall, letting my eyes adjust to the dark interior. My eyes roved the room, looking for movement, for shadows not consistent with the shape of furniture, but I saw nothing.

  Instead of putting me at ease, the stillness and quiet only set me further on edge. My footsteps were silent as I moved through the inn, and I found myself holding my breath.

  Breathe, I reminded myself as I moved through the sunroom and into the kitchen.

  I crept down the hallway, and it felt so much like the nightmare that had haunted me for the last five years that I had to stop and brace a hand against the wall to ground myself.

  I looked to the wall immediately to my left, expecting to see the framed photograph. The glass in the frame would be shattered, fractures spread in a corona from where a fist had been driven into our smiling faces.

  But this was not the same hallway. The fractured photograph was not there.

  The door to our apartment was ajar. I eased it open, braced for Kevin or one of his men to lunge at me. The living room was empty. I let out a shuddering breath.

  Light flickered in Sam’s bedroom. When I crossed to the doorway, I found Sam kneeling in front of his dresser. As I watched, he pulled the shelf free from its rollers, set it aside, and reached into the cavern left behind.

  He pulled something free from this secret hiding place.

  “Sam,” I said quietly, trying not to scare him.

  A sound like a frightened, cornered animal came out of him. He started violently and spun toward me, blinding me with the beam of his flashlight. He lowered the light as I moved into the room and knelt beside him.

  I held out my hand, and he hesitated for a moment before reluctantly placing what he held in my palm. At first, I thought it was a set of marbles, but when I realized what they were, I had to check my reaction to lurch away and drop them.

  Four eyeballs peered back at me from the palm of my hand. They were fake, I assured myself. The kind of glass eyes a taxidermist would use.

  “Did you take these from the senator’s ranch?” He dropped his gaze from mine. “You’re not in trouble, sweetheart. I know you heard what William said to me tonight, but I can promise you that none of this is your fault. Did you find these when you were at Senator Larson’s?” He nodded, still avoiding my eyes. “Did you take anything else?” He shook his head immediately. “Do you have a pocket?” I asked. He glanced up at me and shifted to pull his pant pocket inside out to show me. I offered him the eyeballs. “I’ll let you carry these. We need to get out of here.”

  “So soon?”

  His voice sliced through me like a razor. I shoved to my feet and spun, pushing Sam behind me.

  Kevin Hastings stood in the doorway of the bedroom, leaning casually against the frame. He met my gaze and smiled.

  Once, I thought his smile was seductive and confident. That was before I realized how dangerous he was.

  I backed away from him, nudging Sam behind me. Kevin did not move, but he watched us as idly as a hawk studying its prey. That gaze was calculating, and the mind behind it was ruthless and cruel.

  Our bedrooms were set up with a bathroom between them, and I angled toward the bathroom. Sam clutched the back of my sweatshirt in his fist.

  “What do you want?” I was relieved my voice sounded sharp and biting rather than quavering.

  “You had to know I would find you one day. Faye is what you’re calling yourself now, isn’t it?” He straightened, and I suppressed a flinch. He shook his head, disapproval written into the perfectly handsome mask of his face. “I never gave up. I want you to know that. But I lost hope.”

  “Hope,” I scoffed. I did not take my gaze off him as I reached back and pried Sam’s hand from my shirt. “You know what I want you to do, sweetheart.” I could feel his resistance, but this was something I made him practice over and over. The safe room in the closet in my bedroom was the best money could buy. Indestructible, impenetrable. “Now,” I said, the whip of urgency making my voice crack. And then his small, frail little body behind mine was gone, racing to safety. I braced myself, expecting Kevin to lunge after him, but he only watched me, smile sharp and predatory. “Where are your guard dogs?”

  “It’s just us tonight. They fucked up at the hospital and drew too much attention. This is a private matter.” He sighed. “Faye, Faye. You can’t keep him from me.”

  “You lost any claims to him a long time ago.”

  He chuckled, low and smooth. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. “You should know you don’t get to keep what is mine. Didn’t you learn that last time?”

  The words were exactly the blow he intended. Then again, he always knew exactly how to inflict the most pain while leaving the smallest mark.

  I turned and bolted. My knee and ankle almost gave out, but I ignored the grating agony and ran. The dark bathroom made it feel as if I were running through a cave, and the predator was right on my heels.

  I burst into my bedroom. I kept a pistol in the bedside table. I scrambled over the bed and yanked the drawer open. My tug was so forceful it almost yanked the drawer free from the table. I snatched the pistol from its resting place and whirled.

  He hit me in a flying tackle as he leapt over the bed. The force threw me off my feet, and the gun went flying. My head bounced against the floor with such force my vision went bright white for an instant before black crept in.

  He swung in a wide arc so when his hand cracked across my cheek it felt like it had the force of an anvil behind it. The slap stunned me. The swift succession of blows that followed drove consciousness to the edges of my brain.

  He reared back and plowed a fist into my stomach. I retched, trying to curl onto my side to protect myself, but he straddled my chest, his weight crushing me into the floor.

  “You thought you could get away wi
th stealing what was mine, you stupid cunt? I know all of your tricks, and this time, you won’t get away. I came prepared for them.” His voice was winded. He leaned over me. “I’m going to rip you apart,” he breathed into my ear before his teeth latched onto the lobe with such strength that I felt the skin break.

  The pain was sharp, bringing awareness rushing back in when a dull, steady throb had set up a reverberating tempo through my head and face. I could not keep a whimper from escaping. He wrapped his hands over my mouth and nose, jolting me out of the pained daze, and I scrabbled for a hold on his wrists.

  “When I’m done with you,” he whispered, “you’ll be begging me to kill you.”

  His fingers tightened around my cheeks. Panic flooded through me as I felt my throat work uselessly, my access to air cut off. I scoured my nails down his face and arms, flinging blows frantically, kicking and bucking against his weight on my torso, but he was unmoving, staring into my eyes.

  I scrabbled for the handle tucked into my waistband, but I could not reach it with his grip on me. I could feel my arms and legs growing weighted and wooden, and darkness crept closer around the edges of my vision.

  It was the same way Mary died, suffocated at his hands. My chest burned with the knowledge of the pain she felt in her last moments. I struggled harder.

  “No!” It was a voice I did not recognize, hoarse and small and tremulous.

  Kevin flinched suddenly, falling to my side. I sucked in a frantic, raw breath that scraped along my windpipe and filled my starving lungs with such pain tears leaked from the corners of my eyes.

  Even though the voice was unfamiliar, I knew it, and it galvanized me. No, no, no.

  “Sam,” I tried to whisper, but my voice was soundless.

  I blinked my vision into focus, rolling my head against the floor to find Sam standing beside me, baseball bat gripped tightly in his hands, face ashen in the moonlight pouring through the window.

  Kevin sat rubbing the side of his head. His smile was full of menace even as his voice was soft. “Look how much you’ve grown. Do you know who I am?”

  Sam stared at him for a long, taut moment. His grip did not relax on the bat when he nodded. “You’re the monster in my nightmares,” he whispered, voice raw.

  My eyes slid closed, and a pained moan escaped me. Oh, this boy. My sweet, fragile ghost of a boy. He could not see this unfold before him. Not again.

  My fumbling efforts found the handle tucked in my waistband, and I clenched my fingers around it. I would not get another chance.

  Kevin laughed and extended a hand toward him. Sam took a quick step back, lifting the bat like a weapon. “No, son, I’m your dad.”

  Sam’s gaze darted to mine, and in that instant, Kevin lunged toward him.

  It was the opportunity I needed. I yanked the screwdriver free, shoved myself up with every last ounce of strength I possessed, and plunged the narrow blade of the tool into the side of Kevin’s neck.

  Blood hit me in the face, hot and metallic, and a choked gurgle escaped from Kevin as he staggered, going down on a knee and then onto his side. His wide gaze met mine, dark in the moonlight, his blood black in the low light as it spurted over his hands when they flew to his throat. He tried to say something, but the only thing that came from his mouth was a spill of more blood.

  “I was ready for your tricks, too,” I whispered.

  thirty-three

  GRANT

  It would have given me some satisfaction seeing him handcuffed to the bed had drool not trickled down my chin as I entered his hospital room. Swearing silently, I turned away and fished a handkerchief from my pocket. I wiped my face and considered changing my mind.

  He stared at me as I approached his bedside. Even beaten, his gaze was hard and direct. The man had too much pride by far. I was disappointed to see it had not been kicked out of him.

  “I came to let you know you haven’t ruined me.”

  “What’s that, Larson?” he rasped. “I can’t understand your mumbling.” He smiled, sharp-edged and mocking.

  In that moment, with my jaw wired shut, my tongue seeming to fill my mouth, my face numb, I wished I had killed him myself and been done with him.

  I needed to do something before I lunged at him. I pulled a chair close to his bedside and took a seat. “What you don’t understand, what your wife didn’t understand, is that with men like me, things like this get swept under the rug.”

  “You’ll be impeached, and you can kiss your political dreams goodbye.”

  I clasped my hands together so I would not clasp them around his neck. “You’re right. And I’ll have to pay fines. But there will be no prison time, no loss of finances I can’t recover from. I’ll keep doing what I’m doing, largely without consequences.”

  “There are always consequences.”

  “You’re not that naive, Hector,” I reminded him, and was gratified when he looked away. “That’s why I warned Winona to rethink what she was going to do with the information she collected.”

  His gaze came back to mine. I was glad he was chained to the bed. “What did you do to her?”

  I remembered the day with startling clarity. Winona had not shown up at the ranch for three days, and I thought it meant she had finally heeded my warnings and was too frightened to return. When the police had shown up on my doorstep asking about Winona, I feigned shock when the officer told me she and her daughter were missing.

  At first, I thought she had run. But the more I thought about the woman I loved, the more I realized those actions did not suit her character. She was not a woman who would have run. She had too much honor, too exacerbated a sense of right and wrong. It was why I knew I would have to kill her as soon as I realized she knew.

  “I threatened her,” I admitted. “She disappeared before I needed to do more.”

  “And you expect me to believe you,” he said, that blunt voice dry and scathing.

  “I’m not lying.”

  “You’re a politician. Every word out of your mouth is a lie.”

  I told him the truth. “I admired Winona. Immensely. Had she not been so loyal to you—misplaced as it was—I would have wanted her in my bed.” His hand tethered to the railing by the cuff clenched. “I would have hated to hurt her, but I’m telling you I never needed to.” I stood and moved to the foot of his bed. “I could have not only had you stripped of your badge but also thrown in jail. I’ve spoken with the chief, though, and the cuffs will be off within an hour. I’d say you owe me one, wouldn’t you?”

  “I know what type of politics you play, and I’m not interested.”

  I shook my head and moved to the doorway. “A little gratitude would not be amiss.” I should have known better than to expect it of him.

  But truth be told, I did not do it for him. I did it for the memory of Winona. I missed her every damn day.

  “What about Jake Martin?” he asked suddenly.

  I turned back. “Who?”

  “The taxidermist.”

  “I’ve never heard of Jake Martin.” I held his gaze. “I was feeling generous toward you this time. I won’t feel that way again. If you set foot on my land, I’ll shoot you myself.”

  I strode down the bright corridor. My grief over losing Winona was tangled up in relief. I mourned the loss of her swift smile, of the glint of the sun on her hair, of her laughter, of the gentle magic she worked on a horse. I frequently wished I had ignored her refusal. But even in that regard, Winona was different. She was the first woman whose no I had respected.

  Her loss was something I felt the twinge of every day. But over the last fifteen years, I had been so damn thankful that I had not had to kill her.

  I had avoided Hector Lewis for years. I hated the man on principle. He had what I desperately wanted. But I should have known. He had ruined my chances with Winona. Of course, he would ruin this for me, too.

  Winona would have loved the irony of her husband being my downfall. I
could picture the satisfaction in her dark, flashing eyes.

  I had expected to feel a level of triumph to see Hector broken and bruised. I thought I would relish seeing defeat in his eyes. There had been nothing in his gaze but animosity, though.

  As I wiped a trickle of drool from my chin, the feeling of victory was far out of reach.

  thirty-four

  FAYE

  “Wake up,” a voice whispered urgently. “Faye, you have to wake up.”

  My face throbbed with heat, and fire was tracing through my midsection. I whimpered as the darkness receded.

  Awareness returned like a blow. I sucked in a gasp of air, blinking rapidly. Evelyn’s face hovered above mine, tension etched between her brows.

  “Sam,” I whispered, voice hoarse.

  “He’s right here.” Evelyn moved aside and caught Sam’s hand, drawing him forward into my line of sight. “Easy,” she said, holding him back when he would have flung himself at me.

  I groaned as I struggled to push myself upright. Sam’s face was damp with tears and tight with terror. I propped myself up with one hand and held the other out to him, nodding to Evelyn. She released him, and he crept toward me on his knees. He leaned against me, hugging me carefully, but his narrow shoulder glanced across my cheek. I hid a flinch and ran my hand over his trembling back.

  “I’m okay,” I assured him.

  “He came to my room and woke me,” Evelyn said quietly. “I didn’t hear his knock until…” She hesitated, and I glanced at her. “Until I heard him calling my name.”

  I cupped the back of Sam’s head as he buried his face deeper into my neck. You’re the monster in my nightmares. I shuddered, then felt the same shiver course through Sam.

  I looked around. I was still sprawled in my bedroom floor. The lamp on the bedside table was turned on. If it were not for the pool of blood on the floor, it would seem as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “Where is he?”