by LENA DIAZ,
He raked the covers down and slid underneath them, fully dressed. He put his arm around her waist and pulled her close, her back to his chest.
“I told you earlier I’d take you somewhere else tonight, but it’s only a few more hours until dawn. There’s a security guard right outside the door. And once the police leave, there will still be a dozen guards throughout the house, working in pairs this time. If you’re okay with waiting, we can both rest for a little while and figure out a new plan in the morning. Are you okay with that? Staying here until morning?”
In answer, she snuggled into the pillow, content to have his arm around her. With Richard, the arm would have felt like an anchor, pulling her under, drowning her. But with Luke, it was a protective circle, making her feel safe, cherished, as if—for once—she actually mattered.
* * *
AS SOON AS Carol woke the next morning, she took care of a task that she’d been dreading, but that she knew had to be done for her to move forward. She called Leslie and fired her. Leslie hadn’t taken the news well, and the call had turned ugly.
After that, Carol had straightened her shoulders and informed Luke she was going to pack and leave. Her destination? Anywhere but the house where she’d lived for the past five years. No, correction—she’d told Luke four-and-a-half years. For the first six months of her marriage she and Richard had lived in a smaller house about an hour outside of Savannah.
Which was where they were going right now.
Luke was still shocked she wanted to go to a home she’d shared with her late husband, but while driving there in his beat-up old Thunderbird—which he’d insisted on taking rather than her car since hers had a GPS tracker on it—she’d told him a lot more about her past. She’d explained how she’d met Richard when she was a struggling waitress. He’d taken her from a life of poverty to a life she never could have imagined.
That first six months, Carol had explained, had been pure bliss. They’d been happy, until their first fight. It was over something silly, something she couldn’t even remember now. It wasn’t the argument that stuck in her mind. It was Richard’s reaction to the argument. He’d been absolutely livid that she disagreed with him. His eyes had darkened to almost black. His face had turned a bright red. And then, so quickly she didn’t have time to even comprehend what he was going to do, he’d slammed his fist into her jaw.
He’d seemed just as horrified as she was after he hit her, but everything changed that day. At first she’d been too shocked, and too busy nursing her bruised jaw, to even contemplate leaving him. And then he’d spent the next two weeks doing everything he could to make it up to her. He’d apologized over and over, waited on her every need and sworn he would never, ever hurt her again. She’d believed him, even if she was a bit wary.
But the honeymoon was officially over, and the magic of their loversʼ hideaway was destroyed. Both of them knew it, even if they didn’t admit it. Richard purchased the mansion in town and they moved. They’d never returned to their hideaway. But he hadn’t sold the house. He had a service come in once a week to clean it, and stock it, just in case they ever wanted to go there on vacation or for the weekend. But they never had. Which was why Carol was certain no one would ever think to look for her there.
Luke parked his car under a tree a short distance from the house, where it wouldn’t be easily noticed from the road. He hadn’t been keen on the idea of going to one of Richard’s holdings, but the place did look deserted and they hadn’t passed anyone on the two-lane road for the last half hour. They certainly couldn’t have gone to his house since he was in the phone book. And it wasn’t exactly a secret that he was her bodyguard. Maybe this would work out.
He went around to the other side of the car to open the door, but Carol didn’t wait. She opened it herself and met him at the trunk. He popped the trunk open and grabbed their bags, which only had a few daysʼ worth of clothes. He’d had her ditch her larger bag back at the mansion and pack a smaller one with a shoulder strap like his to keep his hands free.
He kept an eye on the road as they hurried up the walkway to the two-story house that, although nowhere near as big as the mansion in Savannah, was still considerably larger than average.
Carol punched a code into the electronic keypad to unlock the door.
“That’s unusual,” Luke said.
“Maybe for most people, but not for Richard. He insisted on keypads instead of physical keys for properties he rarely visited. It made it easier for him to be spontaneous without having to worry about finding the property manager to get the keys.”
“From what I’ve read of him in the papers, he didn’t strike me as the spontaneous type.”
She hesitated. “He wasn’t always the man you read about in the papers. But you’re right. At least for the bulk of our marriage, he wasn’t spontaneous. He was much more...controlled.”
Luke immediately regretted saying anything about her husband. Yes, she’d brought him up first, but it was Luke’s comment that put that spark of hurt, that flash of fear, back in her eyes. He sensed there were many more layers of pain inside her, and every once in a while one of those layers would reveal itself. He just hoped she’d be able to talk it all out someday, and then maybe she’d start feeling whole again. Richard had hurt her so much in life. Luke hated that the man had the power to continue to hurt her in death.
She led the way inside the foyer to the two-story family room in the middle of the house. It was surprisingly dust free, but then again, if a property-management company was coming in once a week to clean the place, it made sense. Especially with no one living there to make any messes.
“Let’s check the kitchen,” Carol said. “If the manager keeps it stocked with fresh groceries like he’s supposed to, I might be able to whip us up something for breakfast. That is, if I can remember what I used to know about cooking.”
She started forward, but he stepped in front of her.
“I need to search the house first, make sure there aren’t any unwelcome visitors hanging around.”
Her mouth tightened at the reminder that they might not be safe, but she didn’t argue.
“This place is too big for a quick search. You’ll need to come with me so I’m not worried leaving you down here by yourself, okay?”
“I wasn’t looking forward to being left alone, so that’s fine with me.”
He gave her the keys to his car and pulled out his gun. “If anything happens to me, I want you to promise you’ll run. Get out of here. Don’t try to help me and don’t stop for anyone until you’re in a public area surrounded by other people. Promise?”
Her back stiffened. “I’m not going to be a coward and run away. I can help. If nothing else, I can knock someone over the head with a lamp or something.”
“No way. I don’t want to risk your getting hurt.” From the mutinous look that flashed across her face, he knew she wasn’t going to do as he said. He decided to go for her main weakness—her soft heart. “Let me put that another way. If you’re in the way, or if I have to worry about you while I’m trying to fight for my life, the distraction could get me hurt or killed.”
She crossed her arms. “You’re just saying that to make me feel guilty.”
“Is it working?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes. Fine, I won’t get in the way. I’ll go for help.”
“Thank you.” He waited, trying not to laugh, knowing her impeccable manners wouldn’t allow that comment to stand on its own.
“You’re welcome,” she said between clenched teeth.
He waited until he turned around to smile. “Let’s check upstairs first.”
Had he really thought this house was smaller than the one in town? From the front, it appeared smaller. But there seemed to be just as many doors upstairs as at the other house, with just as many places to hide. The only good thing wa
s that there wasn’t an open banister across the upstairs hallway where someone could be thrown over. He forced the unpleasant reminder of Carol’s near miss out of his mind and continued the search through the bedrooms and bathrooms.
Carol followed along, her fingers occasionally tracing some small object, as if reliving a memory. A good memory, from the dreamy, faraway look in her eyes. That should have made Luke happy, to know that she had some good memories from the early part of her marriage—heaven knew, she deserved and needed some good memories—but he wasn’t nearly as selfless as she was. And he was okay admitting, to himself at least, that he was jealous of those early memories.
When he was satisfied no one was lying in wait for them upstairs, they headed down the second staircase, at the end of the hall, that led directly into the kitchen downstairs. They made a complete circuit of the first floor and ended up back in the foyer.
“Satisfied?” She set the keys he’d given her on the half wall by the door.
“Satisfied.”
“Then let’s eat. I’m starving.” She led the way through the family room to the adjoining kitchen and went straight for the refrigerator.
“Remind me to send a thank-you note to the property manager once this is all over,” she said. “He’s definitely keeping the place clean and stocked with groceries. We have fresh milk and eggs and everything I need to make omelets. Do you like omelets?”
“Sure. I could just eat cereal, though. No one has to go to the trouble of cooking. And you sure don’t need to wait on me.” He located what appeared to be the pantry, next to the refrigerator, and opened the door to look for some cereal.
Carol’s soft hand on his stopped him.
“I know I don’t have to cook for you. That’s why I want to. Okay?”
He saw the truth in her eyes, so he closed the pantry door. “How can I help?”
“Just sit down at the island and stay out of my way.”
He laughed. “I’m starting to like this new Carol, Commander Carol,” he teased.
“Commander Carol. Hmm. I could get used to that.”
She hummed a low tune as she cut up some peppers and ham then whisked the ingredients together in a pan over the gas stove top.
As she cooked their breakfast, Luke set a pot of coffee brewing and poured them some orange juice. He was used to eating his meals off paper plates and using disposable forks and cups, but he figured she was used to an entirely different style of living, so he rummaged through the cabinets and drawers and set the table the way his mother had taught him years ago.
Carol slid a perfect-looking omelet onto his plate and a smaller version onto hers. “I probably would have used paper plates and plastic forks, myself. Less to clean later.”
He laughed. “Me, too. I just figured...”
She straightened, her smile disappearing. “That I was a snob?”
“No, not at all. I figured you were used to...better. That’s all.”
She put the pan in the sink and sat on the barstool across from him. “Sorry. I’m being overly sensitive. It’s just that...I played a role for so long, pretending to be someone I wasn’t. I’m only just now beginning to remember the real me again.”
They ate in silence, but it was a comfortable silence. When they were done, they both cleaned the kitchen. Luke wiped his hands on a paper towel and tossed it in the garbage.
“That was the best omelet I’ve had in ages,” he said.
She grinned. “I’m surprised they came out so well. It’s been ages since I last cooked.”
“When?”
“At a diner, a few hours west of here, in a tiny town called Chester. That’s where I lived...before, with my parents.”
He shook his head. “Don’t think I’ve heard of Chester.”
“Not many people have. It’s basically a blip on State Road 126, in Dodge County. Most of the few hundred people who live there commute to work in bigger towns or they work on farms.”
“What did you and your parents do?”
“They were short-order cooks at a diner. I was a waitress most of the time, but my father taught me to cook when things were slow.”
“You met Richard there,” he said, urging her to continue.
“Yes. He was traveling on business, back when he used to drive himself places, before his businesses exploded into the stratosphere and he went from well-off to rich beyond imagination. I was nineteen. He was twenty-nine, handsome, funny. The first time he came into the diner, he was lost. I gave him directions. The next time he came in specifically to see me. Less than a year later we were married. And for a little while, he really was my white knight.” Her lips twisted. “Who am I kidding? He was never a white knight. He didn’t change after he married me. He was already the man he would always be. He just hid it well and I was too blinded by his money and his handsome face to see past the facade.”
She crossed her arms and leaned back against the sink. “Maybe coming here was a mistake. I’m surrounded by memories, wallowing in the past. Did my husband and I have some good times? Yes. We did. Most of them in this house. But that ended a long time ago. I’ll never understand why he treated me the way he did, or why I took it for so long, but the only way I’m ever going to move forward is to truly put my past behind me. And I can’t do that until my husband’s killer, until Mitch’s killer, is caught, and I can begin a new life—not a life of hiding out in the country, either.”
He winced at the reference to Mitch. He hadn’t allowed himself to grieve for his friend, not yet. He needed to keep his emotions locked away so he could focus on his primary duty: keeping Carol safe.
He pushed himself away from the sink and faced her. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’d like to leave. Let’s go somewhere else, somewhere without my husband’s ghost hanging over us. And once we’re there, I want to call Detective Cornell and Alex Buchanan and find out what’s going on with the investigation. I’m a wealthy woman, Luke. I can hire any number of private investigators. I’ve been sleepwalking and cowering through this entire ordeal instead of thinking for myself. Not anymore. I’m going to throw all my resources into catching this killer so I don’t have to hide and cower ever again.”
“Sounds good to me. We’ll figure out another place to stay once we’re on the highway.”
They headed through the family room again and into the foyer. Luke picked up their bags and settled the straps over his shoulders. He was about to open the front door, when he glanced at the half wall where she’d left the keys earlier.
The keys weren’t there.
“Carol, run!” He let the bags drop to the floor and whirled around.
Something hard slammed against the side of his head. White-hot agony spiked through his skull. Carol’s screams echoed through the room as Luke dropped to his knees.
Chapter Nine
“Run, run, run!” Luke yelled as he wrestled with the man who’d walloped him with the baseball bat in the foyer.
Carol took off as fast as she could through the family room. Leaving Luke behind was one of the hardest things she’d ever done, but she remembered what he’d told her about being a distraction. He’d made her promise that if something like this happened, she wouldn’t try to help him—she’d try to escape instead.
She zipped into the kitchen and raced up the back staircase to the second floor. The sounds of fighting continued behind her, which gave her hope that Luke might be okay if he was able to continue to wrestle with the man who’d attacked him—the man with a ski mask on, the same man who’d been in the house in Savannah last night, and most likely the man who’d killed Richard and Mitch. But how had he known she would come to this house? And why did he want to kill her, too?
She prayed that she and Luke would survive long enough to get the answers to those questions.
Bam! A gunshot echoed through the house. Carol froze in the middle of the upstairs hallway. Where had the shot come from? Behind her in the kitchen? Or ahead of her down the main staircase? She waited, being as still and quiet as she could while she listened for another sound to tell her who had fired that shot and where they were. But no more sounds came from belowstairs.
She inched her way down the dark hallway. With all the doors closed upstairs, the only sunlight that filtered in was from the staircases, leaving the long hall almost pitch-black. She could turn on the lights but she didn’t dare. Instead, she tiptoed down the wooden floors toward the front of the house to peek down into the foyer.
When she reached the stairs, she flattened herself against the wall and carefully leaned around the corner.
A hand clamped over her mouth. Another hand yanked her backward against a hard, warm body. She bit down on the finger pressed against her lips.
Her attacker jerked against her but didn’t remove his hand. Instead, he cupped it so she couldn’t bite him again. He pulled her back, away from the stairs in spite of her struggles and into one of the bedrooms. He eased the door shut behind them.
He spun her around, moving his hand to keep it over her mouth as his other hand now cupped the back of her head so she couldn’t get away. She looked up into a pair of chocolate-brown eyes and slumped in relief. Luke.
She pulled his hand away from her mouth, wincing when she saw the clear impression of her teeth on his skin. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, but he was already crossing to the window.
He pulled the heavy draperies back and looked down.
Carol rushed to him. “There aren’t any balconies on this house,” she said, keeping her voice low. “And a brick porch extends the entire length of the back. There’s no way out through these windows.”
He dropped the curtain back into place. “What about the front windows?”
She shook her head. “Pretty much the same. If we’re lucky, we might drop onto one of the shrubs, but they’re not exactly soft, either.” She frowned and feathered her hand across the side of his head, where his dark hair was matted with blood.
