No Home for the Holidays

by Lillian Duncan

  The man slid out his cellphone and showed the picture of Pink at the Nativity scene. The one he’d deleted. “I need to know where she is.”

  “Why?” Colton managed to hide his surprise, but he was disturbed that the photo he’d deleted somehow made it into this man’s phone. Pink would be upset. What was going on here?

  “I’m looking for her.” He flashed a badge. “FBI.”

  “Is she in trouble?” Colton hadn’t really seen the badge, but he didn’t request to see it again. Intuition tingled, not in a good way.

  The man met his gaze. “I’ll ask the questions.”

  “How’d you even see the picture? It was only up for a few minutes and then I took it down.”

  “Why?”

  “I decided it wasn’t the right photo. So how did you get it?”

  John Smith sat down. “If you must know, I have software that scans the Internet for faces. And since she’s one of the faces I’m looking for…” He shrugged as if that was enough of an explanation.

  He hadn’t said the FBI had software.

  Colton decided to not tell this man he was ex-FBI.

  “So what name is she using now?” The blond giant’s eyes bored into Colton’s.

  “I don’t know her name.” Colton had no intention of helping him. Nothing about this guy seemed genuine.

  “Do you know where she lives?”

  Colton didn’t want to lie and instead used a cop tactic, answer a question with a question. “If I don’t know her name, why would I know where she lives?”

  “Does she go to your church? I need to know what you know about her.”

  “She doesn’t come to my church. She just happened by as I snapped the photo.” Colton’s cop instincts were buzzing. Pink had said having her picture on the Internet wasn’t safe. Maybe she wasn’t being overly dramatic.

  “Lucky break for me that she did. You must know something about her that you can tell me.”

  “I saw her in my church and wanted to talk, but she left. Sorry I can’t be of more help. Why don’t you give me one of your business cards, and I’ll give you a call if she comes back.”

  “Sure, sounds good.” John reached into his coat pocket. His hand came back out empty. “Well, would you look at that? All out of business cards.”

  Colton met his gaze.

  Neither one blinked.

  Then John Smith smiled. “But let me give you my phone number so you can call if she comes around again. I’d appreciate if you wouldn’t tell her I was looking for her. People like her tend to run away from the FBI.”

  People like her? What was that supposed to mean? “What do you want her for?”

  “Nothing to concern yourself with.”

  “If you say so.” Colton handed him a pen and paper.

  John scribbled a number on a paper. “Thanks for your help.” He left the office.

  The man would be easy to check out, but Colton wasn’t an FBI agent any longer. He was a preacher. It wasn’t his job to worry about what John Smith wanted with Pink. Perhaps it wasn’t his job to worry about Pink either, but he did. Though she didn’t seem to believe, she was hanging around his church, which made her lost soul seeking comfort from the Lord.

  He sighed as he walked toward the coat closet.

  4

  Chloe paced around her living room, upset with being cooped up. The restaurant had closed for Christmas so she was off work this week.

  Last night, she’d managed to get herself in trouble because having nothing better to do, she took a walk to see the Nativity scene. And then she’d gone inside to stare at the cross. The measure of peace she hoped for hadn’t materialized, but that preacher had. And he’d been just a little too curious about her.

  Maybe she’d drive to one of the area malls when she got bored. Not that she needed anything, but just to be around people, even if she couldn’t be friends with any of them. No, there was no way she could to go to a mall right now.

  Christmas decorations. Christmas music. Santa Claus and his merry elves. Christmas was everywhere and she didn’t need to be reminded. She was sick to death of Christmas.

  Her eyes filled with tears.

  No Christmas tree. No decorating or celebrating. It would only be a reminder of what she didn’t have—no home for the holidays.

  She walked upstairs to the spare bedroom—still empty even after living here for more than six months. There wasn’t a reason to add a bed or decorate. She wouldn’t be having any overnight guests.

  And she didn’t need an office. No computer—No cellphone—nothing electronic so they could trace her. Off the grid was how the FBI agent described it.

  And so that’s how she lived. Since she couldn’t use her own name or social security card, she had to stick with cash-only jobs. Mostly restaurants, usually ones that didn’t pay all that good. Right now she worked at a restaurant in Wadsworth even though she lived in Wooster.

  Better to work in one place and live in another. Less chance of being found that way. It made for a lonely life—but a safe one.

  The doorbell buzzed.

  Twice in one week. Maybe it was time to move on. Most of the time she only spent three months any place, but she’d enjoyed living in this small Ohio town the past six months even with the horrendous weather. But that preacher now knew where she lived. She really had no one to blame for this situation but herself.

  It couldn’t be a friend…and she was in hiding from her only enemy—who wanted her dead.

  The doorbell buzzed again.

  She peaked out the window.

  That preacher again.

  Definitely time to move.

  “Hey, Pink. Are you in there?” A buzz and a knock.

  After three more buzzes, he walk to his car, which sat in her drive, and left.

  She looked around her home. No, not her home. She didn’t have one and probably never would. It was only the place she’d been living for a while. And now it was time to go.

  Tears filled her eyes.

  It was something she’d have to get used to. Even if she hadn’t in the past three years.

  Not wasting any time, she ran upstairs to collect her things—only the essentials, a couple of outfits, a few toiletries, and her money. She stuffed them in her satchel. She grabbed the wigs and put them in too. They were too expensive to leave behind. She’d call her landlady later and explain she’d had an emergency.

  Another car pulled up.

  She looked out the window.

  The door opened on a black SUV. A giant man stepped out. Just the kind of man who would come looking for her. He’s not here for me. He’s not here for me. But even as she thought those words, he walked toward her house.

  The pit in her stomach opened and swallowed her heart.

  Definitely time to go.

  Chloe was at the bottom of the steps when the buzzer stopped her footsteps. Her heart raced. She stared at the curtains and blinds she’d put up kept people from seeing inside her home—her sanctuary. Should she leave out the back?

  The guy pounded on her door again—louder.

  Better leave now.

  He might break in, and then she’d be in a world of trouble. Even with the martial arts training she’d been taking, she was no match for him. She mustered all her courage and forced her feet to move out to the kitchen. Picking up her purse, she blinked back the tears and opened the kitchen door.

  She squealed and jumped back.

  5

  “What are you doing here?” The woman’s eyes widened with panic. Her gaze scoped the yard as if looking for something. Or someone. She appeared to be terrified.

  Colton hadn’t even knocked yet.

  She grabbed his arm, pulled him inside then slammed the door shut. She stared at him for a second before bolting the door. Then she whirled around and hissed, “I can’t believe it. What are you doing here? You just left fifteen minutes ago.”

  Pink? It sounded like her, but this person looked completely different. All t
he make-up was gone. Instead of pink-and-blonde hair, she had chestnut brown hair in a simple cut.

  “Going somewhere, Pink?” He looked down at the satchel.

  Still holding his arm, she dragged him away from the door then bolted two more locks. “Stop calling me that ridiculous name and get down. Get down before he comes back here.”

  She slid down to the floor holding the satchel in front as if it might protect her.

  “Why are we hiding?”

  “Because I don’t know who’s at the front door.” Her tone made it clear that she was afraid.

  “If you answered, you’d know.”

  She gave him a look that said clearly he was an idiot.

  “I still don’t see what the problem is.”

  “Because whoever’s knocking on the front door might come back here. And I…I…just forget it.”

  “And…why would that be bad?”

  “Because I don’t know who it is.”

  “If you answered the door, then you would know.”

  “Don’t be ridic—” She put a finger to her mouth.

  A moment later, footsteps crunched outside, and then someone pounded on the kitchen door.

  She looked around as if hunting for a place to hide. An abusive ex-husband or boyfriend? Three deadbolts on the kitchen door made him think it was more than possible. That would explain about the picture.

  “I know you’re in there.”

  That was John Smith’s voice. How had he found her? Maybe he really was FBI. Colton glanced over at the huddled woman—a very pretty one in spite of her obvious terror. That sense of familiarity was still there.

  Why did he think he knew her?

  The pounding stopped.

  “What’s going on, Pink?” Colton whispered into her ear.

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “You won’t tell me your name. So what am I supposed to call you?”

  “You don’t need to call me anything. You shouldn’t even be here. Why are you here?”

  “When you didn’t answer the front door, I left. Then I got worried so I walked through the back yards to come check on you.”

  She glared, stood up, and stalked out of the kitchen. He followed as she moved to the living room and stared between the slats of the shutter.

  Colton did the same.

  John was sitting in a black SUV, staring at the house.

  Finally, she straightened up and stared at Colton. “He’s back in his car for now, but he doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. Thanks a lot. You almost got me killed.”

  The locks. The way she’d fixed up the house so no one could see in. She seemed truly frightened.

  “Who’s that guy?”

  “I don’t know.” She headed to the kitchen.

  “Then why do you think he’s going to kill you?”

  She picked up her satchel. “No time to explain. I’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Because of that guy?”

  “Well, sort of.” She held up her satchel. “I’m a firm believer in my instincts. My instincts are telling me it’s time to go. So, I’m going.”

  So the woman was on the run. But was she on the run to keep safe or because she was a criminal?

  She stopped at the kitchen door and looked back. “I’m out of here, preacher. Lock up when you leave.”

  “But he’s still out there.”

  “I know, but I can’t risk him trying to break in. Did you see the size of that guy? I can’t stay here. The door won’t stop him for long.”

  “Let me help.”

  Frustration oozed from her voice. “I can’t take my car right now. He’ll see me pull out, and then he’ll follow me. Even if I manage to lose him, he’ll be able to get the license number.” She shook her head. “This is all your fault.”

  “I didn’t tell the guy where you lived. You’re not being fair.”

  “There’s nothing fair about this world.” Her eyes glittered with tears.

  That simple sentence contained a lifetime of pain and disappointment.

  A twinge of empathy coursed through him, criminal or not. “I guess you’ll have to come with me then, Pink. We can figure something out at the church.”

  “I don’t need your help.”

  “You need someone’s help. And since I’m the only one here, it might as well be mine.”

  6

  “What will your wife think when you drag a complete stranger into her house?”

  They were standing at the preacher’s back door after a crazy run through several icy and snow-covered backyards.

  A look of pain crossed his face. “I don’t have a wife. And if I did, she wouldn’t mind at all. Let’s go in. It’s cold out here.”

  Going into stranger’s houses could lead to trouble—even a preacher’s house.

  He smiled as if he’d read her thoughts. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise I’m one of the good guys.” He held the door open.

  If the past had taught Chloe anything, it was that she wasn’t a good judge of character. But she couldn’t stand out here. She stepped inside.

  The kitchen was a mess. There were dishes in the sink and on the counter. An open loaf of bread sat beside a jar of peanut butter. The lid was only half on.

  “Whatever happened to cleanliness being next to godliness?”

  “That’s not really in the Bible. But seriously, I had a couple counseling sessions that took more time than usual, and I didn’t have time to take care of everything. It doesn’t always look this way. The cleaning lady doesn’t come until tomorrow.” He shrugged. “It really is a mess, isn’t it?”

  She nodded.

  “The living room’s this way.”

  Chloe sat in a chair. Her feet tapped on the floor and her fingers tapped out the same rhythm on her knees. Realizing she looked as nervous as she felt, she forced herself to be still.

  Colton went to the sofa.

  The two of them sat staring at each other.

  Finally, he leaned forward. “I know who you are.”

  Chloe couldn’t breathe.

  *

  “You’re Chloe Sullivan.”

  “My name is Marcy Jones. And now that you know it, you can stop calling me Pink.” She hopped up as if ready to run away. Her gaze jumped around the room as if looking for the best escape route.

  “I don’t know about that. I sort of like it.” He smiled, hoping to calm her down.

  “How about you don’t call me anything? I really need to get out of here.”

  “You are definitely Chloe Sullivan.”

  “What did you say your name was again? I wasn’t listening the last time you told me.”

  Good tactic. Now she was the one deflecting with a question.

  “Colton Douglas.”

  She smiled. It changed her from an angry woman to a beauty.

  “I really need to go, Colton Douglas.” She moved toward the window. “Do you think he’ll show up here?”

  He wasn’t sure he wanted to tell her that John Smith had been to the church before showing up at her house. The man had probably followed Colton to her house earlier.

  “The fact that you’re not answering me means he probably will.”

  “Listen, Chloe.”

  “Don’t call me that.” A moment later she was moving toward the door—fast. “I’m not…my name is Marcy Jones. I don’t know who you’re even talking about.”

  “I’m not the enemy, Chloe.” He placed a hand against his door to keep her from opening it.

  “Stop calling me that.” She slapped at his arm. “Get out of my way. You can’t keep me here against my will.”

  He removed his hands and held them up in surrender. “I’m not trying to do that. I want to help you. Please, calm dow—”

  Loud pounding at the back door stopped his words.

  She jerked, a panicked look on her face. “It’s him. I just know it. I really gotta go.”

  “Don’t go outside. There might be more than one.”

>   The color drained from her face. “Why would you think that?”

  “I’ll explain later. For now go upstairs and hide. I’ll take care of this.”

  The pounding at the back door continued.

  “It’s OK, you can trust me.”

  “I don’t trust anyone but myself. And most of the time that’s not such a good idea.”

  “He’ll be at the front door any second. And unlike your house, people can see in my windows.” He prayed she would make the right decision.

  She grabbed her satchel and ran up the steps.

  He ruffled his hair to make it look as if he’d been sleeping. He grabbed his weapon off the top of the refrigerator and slipped it into his pocket. Lord, please don’t let Chloe be an escaping criminal. As he opened the door, he yawned. “Enough already! I heard you the first five times you pounded on my door so rudely.” He stretched for emphasis.

  “Cut the theatrics, preacher. I know you were at her house. Where is she?” He attempted to move in to the house.

  Colton walked outside and closed the door. “What are you talking about?”

  “You lied to me, preacher.” John Smith poked him in the chest.

  Colton took a step forward to show he wasn’t intimidated. “Don’t poke me, and I did no such thing.”

  “Liar.” The man shook his head. “I followed your footsteps right from her house to here. So don’t tell me you didn’t lie when you said you didn’t know where she lived.”

  Just the way he’d tracked Chloe last night. He should have realized. “I never told you I didn’t know where she lived. I asked you why I would know if I didn’t know her name. Your mistake, not mine.”

  John Smith glared at Colton. “Well, I won’t make that kind of a mistake again. Get out of my way. I’m going to find her.”

  He wasn’t acting much like the FBI agent he’d pretended to be earlier. No doubt, his name wasn’t John Smith either. “Find who?”

  “Chloe Sullivan.”

  “The woman I walked with said her name was Marcy Jones.” Another truth.

  “Good try, preacher. But I know she’s Chloe Sullivan, and I want to see her right now. She’s worth a lot of money to me. And I’m not letting some preacher take that reward money from me.”

  That didn’t sound like FBI.