Maybe then, she could bear the knowledge of losing Henry. Because she'd have a promising, new life to look forward to. She'd settle somewhere. Not think about what she'd lost. Not think about the poor timing. If Hank had met her when she was stable . . . If they'd been on equal footing. The life they could have shared-
Determined, she set the mop aside. "I'll walk you out so you can say goodbye to the boys."
THE LOUD CRASH WOKE her. Bolting up in bed, heart beating wildly, Annie blinked sleep from her eyes. The digital clock read 2:14 am. Another thud. Followed by loud voices. But, what made her swing her legs over the side of the bed to hustle to their door was the loud scrape of the metal door downstairs. The door to the stairwell. The last barrier. That stairway led to the residents.
She scurried to the door. Tested the lock. Breathed a sigh of relief, her pulse jumping with wariness. She felt around in the darkness for her sweats and tugged them on. Across the small room, she listened for signs the boys had awakened. But aside from the noise downstairs, she heard only the deep, even breathing of her sons. Sleeping hard. Oblivious—thankfully, to the potential threat lurking outside their door. "You, on the other hand . . ." Hand clutched to her throat, she returned to the door leading to the hallway. Tense. Waiting.
"Annie?" The low whisper sounded urgent. From experience, she knew it would hesitate, remaining there a few seconds . . . before moving to the next door.
She opened it a crack. "Candace?"
The younger woman nodded. A metal pipe in her hand, she motioned for her to come into the hallway. Annie slid through the door, hoping the light and noise wouldn't stir the boys. Once there, she acknowledged the gathering of a half dozen women, all in varying states of undress. Down the hall, a baby whimpered. Mothers, all of them, they stared at each other, waiting to see whether it would escalate to full-blown wailing. "What's happening?"
"There's a guy in the lobby," a young Hispanic woman named Gabriella confirmed. "It's not an intake."
Her heart climbed into her throat. Phil- "Do we—do we know who he is?"
"Older guy," Candace reported, thumping the metal tube in her hand. "Balding."
Phil.
"Drunk."
Her skin crawling, Annie wanted to sink to the floor in terror. Phil.
"Screamin' about his kids." Rosalie added. "I could hear him from my window. It overlooks the vestibule."
"He breached the exterior door," Candace reported. "Knocked out the guard on duty. I was downstairs-"
"Girl—at this hour?"
Another woman in curlers gave Candace a speculative look. Brenda? Was that her name? Annie tried to hang on to her disintegrating thoughts. Who cared about the rules at a time like this? All she knew about Candace was that she'd treated her kindly. She'd helped talk her down when she'd practically melted down that afternoon in the bathroom. "When will we know who it is?"
If Phil had found them again- She swallowed around her rising panic. They'd have to leave again. Where would they go this time? What about Tommy? His school- God—not again. She released several shuddering breaths.
"I'm goin' down to check it out." Candace thumped the tube against her palm for emphasis.
"W-what is that?" He'd made it as far as the locked door. Did that mean he knew the layout? Had he been inside? Eaten a meal there? Had Phil . . . watched her? Had he seen them with Hank? She'd be forced to leave Henry. Would she get the chance to say goodbye-
"It's a baton." With a flick of her wrist, Candace snapped it and the pipe doubled in size.
"Sign me up for one 'a those, girlfriend."
Their nervous laughter silenced quickly at the scrape of the metal door two half-flights down. Candace bolted for the stairs.
"Man—she's like a damned ninja."
Heart in her throat, Annie crept to the stairs. "I can't let her go alone." Glancing back over her shoulder, she nodded to Gabriella, the woman she'd known the longest in the seven weeks she'd lived at New Beginnings. "If anything happens-"
Gabby nodded. "I'll watch the boys for you. I've got your brother's number."
Her brother. Her mostly useless brother. Faraway. A loner she rarely heard from. But—in a pinch . . . would he take in her boys? When she'd spoken with him late last year, Bobby had reluctantly agreed. Not exactly reassuring, she acknowledged. But, what other choice did she have?
Shoving aside the depressing thought, she headed down the stairs, trailing the noiseless Candace. Ninja was a pretty apt description. At the bottom, they pressed their ear to the door. Raised voices. Belligerence. A tussle . . . maybe near the dining room. A chair tipping over. Annie strained to determine whether it was Phil. But, one muffled, drunken curse sounded surprisingly like another in the middle of the night. For five tense minutes, she stared at Candace, who stared back at her.
At last, they heard sirens. A single cruiser. A good sign. If a weapon had been reported, there would have been a caravan. The strobe lights would be bathing the building in blinding red and blue light. She thought again about her boys upstairs. Hopefully still sleeping through the racket.
Ten minutes later . . . the unholy noise ceased. As a set of footsteps approached the locked metal door, Candace motioned her back. Her gaze remained glued to the door. "Get up to the landing," she ordered.
"I'll stay with you."
Candace raised her baton. "You'll only get in my way. I want to be able to swing hard. I can't worry about hitting you."
Swallowing around her amazement, Annie nodded, backing slowly up the stairs to the landing. She held her breath when the door scraped open. Watched as fearless Candace, with her unruly, corkscrew curls standing at attention, planted her feet, arm raised to do maximum damage.
The guard poked his head around the door, then took a step back. "Easy, Miz Avery. The situation is . . . back to normal. He's gone."
Avery. Candace Avery. If that was her real name. Annie knew several of the women had changed their names . . . in the hope of finding a new life on the outside. Sagging against the banister, she rested her cheek against the cool metal. "Back to normal," she whispered to the woman she knew hovered a few more steps up. Normal. How she hated that word. Normal—to be awakened in the middle of the night. By a raging, alcoholic maniac—trying to harm her. She squeezed her eyes shut against the hot moisture lurking there. Trying to harm her boys.
Behind her, she heard Brenda climb the last few stairs to notify the others. Below her, Candace spoke a few words to the night guard, Leon, before the door scraped shut, the lock clicking into place. The hollow, metal echo indicated safety. And futility.
On shaky legs, she trudged back up the stairs. The small crowd that had assembled dispersed quickly. Dawn would arrive too soon. When Candace appeared at the top of the stairs, she nodded her thanks. "Maybe . . . would you consider teaching us some of that?" Annie nodded to the baton in her hand.
Candace stared at her for a moment before nodding. "Yeah—I'd be happy to."
"I'll . . . talk with Miss Sharon. Maybe we could . . . hold a class a few times a week . . . until we get good enough to-" She swallowed hard. Beat her psychotic ex-husband senseless?
"Defend ourselves?" Candace smiled, as though she could read her thoughts. "Let's try for after group therapy. We're all there, anyway."
Safely behind her closed, locked door, she listened again for the boys' breathing. Sorting through the sounds, she smiled. Tommy—heavy and deep. Jase—soft and fluttery. Glancing to the clock, she read the digits, knowing she likely wouldn't fall asleep again for a while. "2:48." Only thirty-one minutes had passed. Yet, Annie knew what the last half-hour signified.
A violation. To the sanctity New Beginnings represented. Sinking to the floor, she leaned back against the door to the hallway. To her personal safety . . . and the nine other women who were behind their own closed doors. Likely feeling the same way. Shaking. Reliving their terror. Relieved that nothing bad had happened. Yet fearful—all over again. The third floor residents had likely slept throug
h the whole thing. In just thirty-one minutes in the dead of night, Annie had been reminded. She was on borrowed time.
Knees to her chest, head in her hands, she let the tears fall.
MONDAY DAWNED BRIGHT and early. Hank enjoyed his second cup of coffee while watching the sun rise, filtering through the trees on the hill. He'd greeted Gayle, as he did every morning, before whistling for Bo to tear back down the hill so he could make the thirty minute drive into the city.
Despite spending nearly the entire day with Annie and the boys on Saturday, he'd missed them on Sunday. Though he'd had a mountain of chores to tend to, he'd performed them on automatic pilot. Mending the fence where Nelson the goat had head-butted it until it was sagging.
When his eyes had opened this morning, he'd felt only eagerness. To get there. To see them again. Grinning as he pulled into his parking space, his mood hadn't even been soured by the ten minute delay caused by an idiot double-parking during the beginning of rush hour.
Big Pete stood near the door, his usual, surly expression in place. "How's it goin', big guy? Did you at least take yesterday off?"
Pete nodded, his gaze always moving. "Watched a couple games."
"You got a sit-rep for me this morning?" Big Pete's situation report. No matter how quiet the site appeared to be when they left each night, Pete would produce a list of 'issues' that somehow accumulated overnight. Last week, it had been his insistence that the blue Ford parked down the street shouldn't be there. This morning, it was his belief that New Beginnings was quite possibly under siege. Their commando-in-chief was adamant they were being 'staked out' by a man in a big, red truck. His eyes held a faraway look Hank had learned to respect, if only because he knew Pete would eventually get around to making his point. He operated on his own timetable.
"I'm glad you're being so observant." It was hard to remain sluggish around Pete. The vet was nearly always on high alert. "Remember," Hank reminded, "tomorrow's the big day—we're holding the site tour for the kids in the daycare center," he reminded.
"We still doin' that?" Pete raised an eyebrow. "Even with what happened here last night?"
Hank stilled. "What do you mean? What happened?"
"A break-in. Some drunken ex got past the guard." Pete shook his head, his eyes registering disgust. "Those damn guys need more training. Amateurs."
"Does that happen a lot?" His stomach tightening, he glanced up at the concrete fortress. Despite its appearance, no building was impenetrable. Not if someone wanted in bad enough. "Damn, we need to review the plans again. There are gonna be times in the next couple months when-"
"This place'll be wide open," Pete completed his thought. "They got any money in the budget for real guards?" Eyes suddenly grimmer than usual, he frowned.
Hank shook his head. "They've barely got enough money to complete the construction. We're only a couple steps behind their fundraising."
"That's what I was afraid of."
Suddenly reminded about the reality of their work at New Beginnings, Hank sighed. Another problem to wrestle with once Traynor arrived. He glanced at his watch. "Okay. Keep a good eye out today." He wondered now whether the site tour was the safest idea. Having no experience at all with domestic violence—he'd been left shaken by the news. "I'm gonna . . . line up a few more subcontractors for tomorrow afternoon . . . to act as guards."
"Hooyah." His somber friend nodded. "More bodies can't hurt. More eyes. These tangos ain't like what we're used to."
Hank stared at him, his good mood slowly dissolving with the troubling new problems. Serious problems that had nothing to do with construction. "Copy that." As he pushed through the door, he paused in the shadowed entry. The daycare kids would be devastated if he cancelled the tour. He thought about Tommy—the disappointment in his eyes. They spent so much time at the shelter. His pulse quickened. What if they'd been there the previous night? What if- He released an unsteady breath. Annie. Jesus—what if she'd been hurt? "Thank God they don't live here."
Chapter 7
That night after dinner, Annie couldn't shake her nervousness. Perched on a tiny chair at the craft table, she smiled over her exuberant boys as they sanded the closet walls under Hank's watchful eyes. Tomorrow was the site tour. Two days after-
She released a shuddering breath. Maybe it wasn't Phil, she reminded herself. During group therapy that morning, Sharon had informed them the guy had gotten away. At the sound of sirens, he'd taken off. So—it could've been someone else- Annie wished with all her might for it to be true. Especially with the site tour less than twenty-four hours away. Her boys would be outside. Exposed. Vulnerable.
"You okay, darlin'"
Her thoughts scattered at the sexy drawl of the man who'd crossed the room. "Thank you for being so patient with them." She sighed, releasing her worry for the moment. "Tommy hasn't stopped talking about Saturday."
His handsome eyes crinkled when he smiled. "I'm glad they enjoyed it."
"He wants to be just like you." Her gaze on her son, she turned to face him. Hank had squatted down to her eye level, his arm resting on the child-sized craft table. "If no one has ever told you—you're a great role model."
His face reddened. "I think he likes that I have a dog-"
"No-" Annie cut him off, determined for him to know what he'd come to mean to them. "It's you, Henry. With his dad out of the picture-" She hesitated, wishing she could tell him . . . everything. Hank Freeman radiated kindness. His demeanor suggested she could likely confide just about anything . . . and he would be accepting. "You don't know what that means to them. To be . . . noticed. Listened to." She forced a smile. "To feel like they matter to someone."
"Annie-" He sighed. "I hope you know you can tell me. Anything you want. When—if you ever decide you'd like to talk about . . . things, I'd be honored to listen."
She stared at him, at the understanding reflected in his eyes. Drank in the steadiness he seemed to radiate. "I'd love-"
"Mama—Mr. Hank's been tellin' us about his farm," Jason interrupted, throwing himself into her arms, nearly knocking her off the little, wooden chair.
Glancing over her son's head, she nodded to Hank. Maybe later. Someday. She'd sit with him, his strong, work-hardened hand in hers, and she'd tell him. Everything. "What did Mr. Hank tell you, Jase?"
He removed the thumb from his mouth. "Nelson knocked down his fence. With his head!"
She raised an eyebrow. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Hank's face redden. "Who is Nelson?"
"His goat, mama. He has two goats. The other one's name is . . . Mildred."
He shrugged, a little embarrassed. "Her name is Millie for short."
"An' Nelson head-butted the fence." Jason nudged her chest with his head. "Like this."
"He did?"
"Uh-huh." Big, brown eyes stared up at her, his thick lashes nearly tangled. She hugged him tight, loving his enthusiasm. "Butt's not a naughty word when you say it about a goat."
Hank smothered his laughter. He'd risen from his crouch, probably because his knees were aching. Her rugged, quiet hero likely suffered from arthritis. She could only imagine the stories he could tell . . . about where he'd been. What he'd seen. Tours of duty to the most dangerous places on the planet. Shrugged off as though his service was just a part of who he was.
She smiled. "I always wanted a goat." Catching his glance, she found him studying her. "Are they a lot of work?"
"Depends on what you're used to." He pulled over an adult-sized chair. "My wife—Gayle, she loved them. She worked part-time as a vet tech, so I got used to her bringing home strays all the time." He settled in his chair. "She'd nurse them back to health and they'd eventually get adopted. But, Nelson-"
Annie smiled, enjoying the look in his eyes when he spoke of his wife. He'd loved her. Respected her, too. It was plain on his face. They'd been equals in their relationship. Partners.
"Nelson can be cranky when he doesn't get his way," he admitted. "That was part of the reason we got Mildred�
��to calm him down. Give him someone to play with."
"Are they married?" Still snuggled against her, Jason's gaze shifted to Hank. "Do they have babies?"
"I guess . . . they are married." His expression thoughtful, Hank smiled at him. "They don't have babies though. Mildred . . ." He shot Annie a look. "Wanted to be Nelson's friend . . . so they play together like you and Tommy." He nodded to her oldest, still sanding the closet wall.
"What do they eat? Where do they live?" Jason lifted his head. "In your house?"
He shook his head. "Not in the house, thank goodness. They have a shelter that's sort of like a dog house. It keeps them dry when it rains and warm in the winter," he explained. "I feed them hay and they have special food that has all the vitamins and minerals they need to stay healthy."
"Do they like hamburgers?" Jason's eyes got big. "Hamburgers are my favorite."
Henry's warm smile did strange, wonderful things to her heart. His eyes—were so patient. And kind. As though he didn't mind spending time answering a little boy's questions. "They don't eat people food—or at least they're not supposed to. It's not good for them. They eat grass and a few plants when they're wandering around."
Jason wrinkled his nose. "Like when mommy makes us eat our vegetables?"
His eyes crinkled with amusement. "Vegetables make you big and strong—just like Nelson and Millie."
"Could I pet them? Do they like kids?"
"Millie is pretty friendly," he confirmed. "Nelson is a little more cautious. But, once he knows you . . . they like to play. Sometimes, Bo goes in there and romps around with them for a few hours."
Jason jerked away from her, his eyes wide and pleading.. "Mommy—can we-"
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