Trusting a Stranger

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  Dave frowned, but Keira swung open the door before he could argue. Then she slammed it shut and ran up the driveway. Without looking back, she retrieved the key hidden under her mom’s near-dead potted plant and let herself into the house. She counted to sixty, peeked out the curtains and finally let out a breath when she saw that Dave’s car was completely out of sight.

  * * *

  GRAHAM JERKED HIS head up from the condensation-laden window, his hands closing tensely on the jacket between his thighs. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been in the restless, close-to-sleep state, but the city lights were visible on the horizon.

  “You all right?”

  The question—asked in a voice that sounded full of genuine concern—came from the senior-aged trucker who’d agreed to bring Graham down the mountain.

  Graham cleared his throat and did his best to answer like a normal person would.

  “Fine. Just tired.”

  “Might wanna ease up on the death grip of the coat, then,” said the trucker.

  “Thanks for the tip.” Graham’s reply was dry, but he did let go and force his hands to his knees instead.

  The driver was silent for a long moment, staring out the windshield.

  Maybe you really are incapable of normal, Graham thought.

  Seconds later, the trucker confirmed his suspicions. “I don’t know what you’re running from—or to—and I don’t want to. But if you act that suspicious everywhere you go, you can bet the cops’ll be on you before you can demand to have your rights read.”

  “Trust me. I’m so far past the reading-the-right part of things that it’s not even funny.”

  The trucker laughed anyway. “Makes me glad that this is the end of the line, my friend.”

  He nodded out the front window. A brightly lit truck stop beckoned just a mile or so ahead. Graham knew the spot. It was just outside Derby Reach.

  For the first time since his flight from the cabin, he hesitated. It was there that his original escape started. Five hundred and fifty dollars slipped to another trucker—one far less friendly than the one who sat beside him now—to take him 482 miles.

  He’d worked hard to put the town behind him.

  Graham had been smart about his movements. Careful. He’d created a trail. Money here and there. Verifiable appearances at gas stations and hotels and grocery stores. One overblown fight in a bowling alley and a faked slipup of credit card use in a city on the other side of the country. Until he deliberately tapered off in his endeavors to be seen. It only took four months to create the perfect wild-goose chase. Two months after that, he was well settled at the cabin. Dave knew where he was, but no one else was looking in the right place. No one was even thinking about the right place.

  Now I know how they felt, he thought grimly. Clueless.

  Where would the other man have taken Keira?

  Not to her home. Too obviously risky.

  Even Dave would know that.

  Graham stared down at his hands, considering all the options.

  But not to his own home, either. Keira would never agree to that.

  Dave would want her to feel safe. Comfortable. Familiar.

  Family.

  Had Keira mentioned any? Graham couldn’t remember, but his gut told him Dave would’ve found out. Then what?

  “Too many damned possibilities,” Graham muttered.

  “Buddy?”

  Graham’s gaze flicked back to the trucker. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize for being scared. We all got stuff to worry us.”

  Scared?

  Graham opened his mouth to deny it, but when he met the trucker’s eyes, and the other man gave him a knowing nod, he realized it was true. He was scared. For himself, a little. For Keira, a lot.

  He held in a growl.

  Twenty years, he’d known Dave. Twenty damned years. More than two-thirds of his life. He knew—more than most—that Dave’s priorities could get a little skewed at times, but Graham would never have thought he’d do something like this.

  Whatever this is.

  It didn’t really matter anyway. Graham was responsible for what had happened to Keira. What might happen to her still. Damn, how he hated this helpless feeling.

  I have to save her.

  But first he had to find her.

  “You sure you’re all right?” the trucker asked.

  Graham managed a forced smile. “Six out of ten.”

  The big rig came to a rumbling halt then, and the diner loomed in front of them, and Graham couldn’t decide if it felt like a starting point, or the end. He just knew he needed it to be the former. Would force it that way if he had to.

  “Have they got public internet in there?” Graham asked.

  The trucker shrugged, reached into his pocket and handed over a smartphone.

  “Not in there. But I’ve got it out here,” he said. “Probably less traceable anyway. You can feel free to clear the browser history after, too.”

  Graham punched a button on the screen, then paused. One of the last things he wanted was to make this man culpable for his mistakes. The phone became a lead weight in Graham’s hand.

  “If I told you that you were aiding a fugitive, would you still hand this over?” he asked.

  The driver met his eyes evenly. “Been working the routes for forty-two years. Picked up a lot of hitchhikers. Means I’m pretty damned good at two things—navigating the roads and navigating people. If you’re one of the bad guys, I’ll hand over my license right this second.”

  “Thanks,” Graham replied gruffly.

  He fumbled with the phone for a second, but in a couple of taps, he had a home address for H. Gerald and Karen Niles.

  And it gave him another chill. Their house was just a block from the home where he’d lived with Holly and Sam.

  He shoved aside the increasing concern and, as suggested, he swiped away the browser history before handing the phone back. If nothing else, it gave the man plausible deniability.

  The trucker gave him one more long stare. “You sure you don’t want to walk away from whatever this is? As soon as I’m done my pie, I’m turning left and going straight for a hundred more miles.”

  An image of Keira—worried eyes, fiery eyes, soft, caring eyes—flashed through Graham’s mind, and any doubt fled once again.

  “Thanks,” he said. “But some things are more than worth the risk.”

  The trucker smiled smugly, as if he was expecting the answer and knew just what Graham was talking about. “She must be one hell of a girl.”

  “Damn right,” Graham agreed and hopped from the truck.

  A hell of a girl in a hell of a situation. And only another five miles away.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Keira paced the length of her parents’ living room, wishing she could shake the restless feeling that kept her moving.

  Everything she normally found comforting about the house was putting her on edge.

  The food she’d taken from the freezer, heated according to the note taped to the lid, then eaten, sat heavily in her stomach. It was shepherd’s pie. One of her favorites and it had never given her such bad heartburn.

  She’d bathed. But the light lavender-scented body wash she’d used reminded her of her mother and made Keira lonely for her. Why had she promised Dave Stark that she wouldn’t call anyone? Just hearing her mom’s voice, listening to her complain about the heat or the way the humidity made her hair puff out, would’ve helped. Even if she didn’t tell her mom anything, even if she just sat quietly while her mom spoke...it would’ve gone a long way to ease her mind. But she didn’t want to endanger her parents. She didn’t even want to risk it.

  And now that she was clean and fed, Keira didn’t know what to do with herself. />
  The quiet—so different from the perpetual noise of her thin-walled, one-bedroom apartment—was stifling. And each time an unexpected sound cut into the silence, whether it was the rumble of the furnace or the bark of a neighbor’s job, Keira jumped.

  Even the twelve snow globes—one for each Christmas they’d spent in Disneyland when she was a kid—that lined the fireplace mantel offered little comfort.

  And the policeman’s actions and decision had done nothing to ease her worry. He’d created even more questions for her than she’d had before.

  Keira sighed, overwhelmed by frustration. For a second, she considered whether or not she should go against her word and sneak over to her apartment. Even if it was just to grab some of her own clothes.

  She plucked at the pajamas borrowed from her mom’s drawer, wondering if they were part of what kept her from feeling comfortable. From feeling like herself.

  She picked up the first snow globe from the mantel and shook the little white flakes over Mickey’s head. It was a mistake. The snowy display sent her mind immediately to Calloway.

  Was he okay?

  Keira set the snow globe down, and her gaze found her parents’ antiquated computer in the corner of the living room.

  Dave had asked her not to contact anyone. But he hadn’t asked her not to research anything on her own.

  A little guiltily, she slid out her dad’s office chair from its dusty spot under the mahogany desk, sat her still-aching rear end in the cool leather and booted up the old machine. It took several minutes for the thing to chug to life—just enough time to chew one pink nail to a ridiculously short length and to assess whether or not she was being a little crazy.

  A police officer had just all but warned her outright how dangerous Calloway was. And really, just the fact that Calloway had a hideout should’ve been enough to set off a hundred warning bells. Or at least make her question her attraction to him. Instead, every self-preserving instinct she had reared its head when she thought of David Stark. And every bit of intuition she had encouraged her to seek answers.

  At last, the computer beeped, announcing its somewhat reluctant readiness to oblige Keira’s amateur sleuthing.

  Calloway, crime, she plugged in.

  And right away, a series of news articles popped up. Keira scrolled through the list. Some were the same as the ones she’d found in Calloway’s scrapbook. Some were different.

  Home Invasion Gone Wrong? Or Cover-Up Done Right?

  Police Seek Husband for Questioning in Gruesome Double Homicide.

  Graham Calloway. Doctor. Husband. Stepfather. Killer?

  Keira’s hand pressed into the stitched-up wound on her leg. A doctor. Well, that explained that.

  She sighed, clicked on the last article and began to read.

  For Holly Henderson, a fairy-tale romance has ended in tragedy. The twenty-five-year-old (heiress to the Henderson fortune) and her young son were killed in their home nearly one year ago today. It was Dr. Graham Calloway, her estranged husband and the primary beneficiary of the young woman’s will, who discovered the murder. Now the police have issued a countrywide manhunt in search of Calloway, who will officially be charged with his wife’s and stepson’s murders.

  Keira read through article after article, piecing together both the murdered woman’s life and her death.

  From her teenage years on, Holly was a favorite of the local media. Her late mother was old money, her father on the rise politically. Holly herself lived wildly, partying hard and often, until a surprise pregnancy brought her craziness to a grinding halt. While quite a bit of scandal accompanied the announcement, by all reports, it was the best thing to happen to the young heiress. After the birth of her son, Holly’s name faded to obscurity, with the only notable events in the papers being her mother’s passing and her father’s election to city councilman. She met and married her son’s pediatrician, Graham Calloway.

  Then came the murder.

  Keira’s heart hammered as she read the details.

  The call came in to the 9-1-1 center at two in the afternoon, and in minutes the police were on the scene. When the officers got there, they found Calloway holding his wife’s body tightly in one arm, a gun in the other hand.

  In spite of the circumstances, Calloway was initially taken at his word. They accepted that he’d found the house and his wife and hadn’t called 9-1-1 immediately, but instead tried to revive her. Property damage, missing items, forced entry—all of it pointed to a home invasion gone wrong. But as quickly as the theory was accepted, it began to be discredited. A grieving husband became an angry husband.

  And that’s when things grew scandalous again.

  Calloway became a target, his squeaky-clean reputation dragged through the mud. Troubled, precollege years surfaced. Several articles noted an assault charge at eighteen, and a weapons charge at seventeen. Although the former was pardoned and the latter sealed, somehow each became public knowledge.

  The whole marriage was called into question. Calloway reportedly accused Holly of having an affair. A restraining order was said to be in the works. Domestic disturbance calls from the neighbors were rumored. And there were hints at a custody battle over the young boy.

  A neighbor came forward, stating she’d heard a noisy argument just minutes before the gunshots. Finally, it was leaked to the press that Holly, who had long ago made Calloway the beneficiary in trust to her massive family fortune, had been about to divert the funds away from her soon-to-be ex-husband.

  More and more rumors abounded.

  Formal charges were pending.

  And then Dr. Graham Calloway disappeared, making every reporter scream about the surety of his guilt.

  Keira paused in her reading, wondering why the revelations from the online news sources didn’t fill her full of doubt. All she felt was sadness for Calloway. It hurt her heart that he’d lost his family to that kind of violence.

  And she was sure that it was something done to him, not something done by him.

  Maybe she could chalk up her conviction to an inability to accept the truth rather than a gut feeling, but she didn’t think so.

  Keira looked back to the computer, flipping through the last few articles about the investigation.

  The police chased down dozens of leads, followed every rumor. Nothing. They’d chased him countrywide. Assets were frozen, the property and her mother’s family’s fortune tied up in red tape. Even her politician father couldn’t get ahold of a cent.

  Eventually, the case was put aside for newer, fresher, solvable ones.

  Henry Henderson, Holly’s father, catapulted to political stardom.

  And Calloway remained at large.

  Except he’s not at large at all, Keira thought as she leaned away from the computer.

  A perfectly capable policeman knew exactly where he was hiding. Where he’d been hiding for years. So why hadn’t Officer David Stark turned him in? Somehow, friendship didn’t seem to cut it.

  Puzzled, Keira punched in Dave’s name to the search screen. Unlike Calloway, he had very little digital presence. The usual social media, security settings on high, a mention of community service in the local newspaper and nothing more.

  But there had to be something more. Some really good reason for not just handing Calloway over to the higher-ups and being done with it.

  Keira stared at the screen for a long time, willing herself to see something she’d missed.

  Nothing.

  She blinked at the computer screen, the words blurring in front of her, and she wondered if it was time to give up, at least for now.

  Her finger hovered over the Close Window button.

  Keira immediately felt guilty. This wasn’t some internet search for cute cat videos. It was a man’s innocence. Or guilt. It was his life.

 
And then an article at the bottom of the screen caught her eye. It didn’t have Dave’s name in the highlighted link, but the fact that it had popped up in her search struck her as odd.

  Paternity Suit Dropped.

  Keira brought the pointer down to the article and clicked.

  Link not found.

  She tried again.

  Link not found.

  Keira sighed. She rested her chin on her palm, trying to decide if the dead link was even relevant. Irritably, she typed in its title, added a plus sign, then typed Dave’s name.

  The moment she hit Enter, the computer chose to stall, an evil little circle spinning around on the screen as it took its sweet time thinking about what she’d asked it to look for. It held Keira’s sleepy gaze for a good three minutes before her eyes drooped again. Her lids got heavier and heavier, and her shoulders slumped tiredly, and she had to force herself to keep from putting her head down on the keyboard. She could barely make her eyes focus on the information anymore.

  She rested her head on the crook of her elbow.

  Just for a second, she thought. While I wait.

  But minutes later, she was sound asleep.

  Chapter Twenty

  The neighborhood was eerily the same as it had been four years earlier. Though Graham didn’t know why he’d expected it to change at all. A lifetime might’ve passed for him, but it was little more than a blip in the lives of people who lived in these houses with the well-manicured lawns, and the carefully pruned trees and the six-foot-on-the-nose fences. Graham knew, because he’d been one of them not that long ago.

  It had seemed ideal. The perfect, ready-made life. So much better than his overpriced bachelor pad in the heart of downtown.

  It was Holly—fun, and sassy and a little bit wild—who had brought the neighborhood into Graham’s life. She’d thrown a first birthday party for her son at her inherited house, and even though he didn’t usually make social visits to his patients’ homes, Graham had felt compelled to go.

  In retrospect, it was Holly’s cherubic son who drew him in.