Sheltering Annie

by Lauren Giordano

  Annie gave her a final squeeze. "Thank you."

  "Now, go back upstairs and rest," she ordered.

  For once, she was grateful to comply. Heading for the stairs, Annie nearly staggered with her relief. "One step forward-" Phil was her two-steps-back. He'd always been that. Maybe always would be. But—for the first time, she acknowledged she could handle it. Would handle him. "Tomorrow is your next baton class." With Candace's help, soon, she'd be swinging that bat like a pro. "You're going to stay focused," she vowed. "Learn everything you can."

  When her brain wanted to tumble into doubt—what if Phil followed them? What if he found Henry's house? What if she had to move again? What if she had to—leave Hank? Annie shut it down, using the skills she'd learned at compartmentalizing her problems. "One thing at a time."

  She would spend the weekend with Henry—and she would enjoy every moment with him, she promised. "But, there are no guarantees." Despite what Sharon believed. Annie couldn't allow herself to get too head-over-heels about him. Hank Freeman couldn't be their savior. "You have to rescue yourself," she whispered, pausing on the landing. "For the boys—and for me." For the first time in months, Annie realized she believed it. She could do it.

  HANK CHECKED HIS WATCH, hustling for the door. He'd spent too much time with the engineers monitoring the concrete pour. Now, he'd be late for the weekly meeting with New Beginnings staff. He'd have to haul ass to get there before it started. Nodding to Big Pete as he opened the door for him, he paused. "Hey, bud—I need to talk with you later. You available?"

  Pete Shea nodded, his gaze, as always, on the street beyond the shelter parking lot. "I think I can squeeze in a quick lunch." He scanned the site. "I can get Lefty to watch the door for me."

  Hank smiled. The poor guy didn't even technically work there. He should take his damned lunch whenever he wanted. "I thought you had a beef goin' with Lefty?"

  Pete's face split with a rare smile. "We worked that out. He finally stopped parkin' where I'd asked him not to."

  When his phone beeped, Hank sighed. "Damn it, Traynor, I'm comin'." He nodded to his friend. "I'm late for a meeting. How does eleven-thirty work for you?"

  "What's this about?"

  He scanned Pete's height—all six feet, six inches of him. "I want your help with a plan to better protect this place."

  "Hooyah." He shot him a disgruntled look. "Finally."

  Hank had to admit, the giant marine had a point. They'd taken him for granted—him especially. But, Shea's idiosyncrasies were a damned bonus in this place. He noticed everything. He documented everything—in the spiral notebook he carried with him. He was a veteran of some of the most ferocious—and devious combat Hank had ever been party to. It was about time they all started treating Pete as the treasure trove of skills and knowledge he was. He smiled. "It's . . . personal, too. I need your advice on something."

  "No sweat." Pete straightened up. Taller. His gaze returned to the street. "You're late," he reminded. "I'll see you later."

  By the time Hank made it into the crowded conference room, the meeting had already started. Traynor glanced up from his notes. "How's the pour going?"

  "The guys started around three this morning-"

  "We had a few complaints about that," Sharon interrupted. "Why are y'all startin' in the middle of the damn night?"

  Hank grinned over her cranky tone. "Because we need time for the concrete to cure. It's a large pour—the whole slab for the new wing," he reminded. "We need literally every hour of the day to get that done."

  "We'll only have to do that another . . ." Traynor checked his notes. "Three times." He glanced up. "If you recall, during the pre-con meetings, my father mentioned this as a concern when we suggested you close down the shelter for a couple weeks-"

  "An' I told Linc then—that was absolutely not possible." Sharon's eyes narrowed. "Where the hell do you expect all these women to go?"

  "I understand, Sharon. So, now we have to make the best of it." Jeff stopped taking notes. "We can try to angle the temporary lights down, so they're not shining in someone's window."

  "There's not much we can do to muffle the generators. It's a noisy process." Hank jumped in, sensing an underlying tension that normally wasn't present. Sharon was upset about something.

  "Let's move on to the next item," Miss Ortega urged, catching his attention. "We'll remind all the tenants about the noise." She hesitated. "Maybe if you could—give us a heads-up on the dates of the concrete pours. That way, we can let all the women know in advance."

  "Yes, ma'am. We can certainly do that." He should have done that the previous day. But, he'd gotten sidetracked—caught up with the site tour for the kids. And Annie. "I apologize for not remembering yesterday."

  "Thank you again for the demonstration, Hank." Sharon's expression softened. "And you, too, Jeff. Please extend my thanks to the site crew for taking time out of their day to put on such a wonderful show for the kids. I can't tell you how much we appreciated it."

  Marisol cleared her throat. "Next is . . . security." Hank noticed she kept her gaze away from Jeff.

  "Is this about Sunday night?" He recalled the conversation with Pete—which seemed to have been longer than only two days ago. "About the night guard? The guy who breached the door?"

  Jeff stiffened. "What happened Sunday night?"

  "They had a break-in." Hank glanced at the women. "In the middle of the night? Pete told me one of the night guards was knocked out," he quickly summarized for Jeff. "By the time the cops arrived, the guy took off."

  Traynor stilled, his gaze lasering in on Miss Ortega. "Why didn't you tell me about this?"

  Her face colored. "Because . . . it had nothing to do with the construction." She leveled him with a stare. "We’re not worried about your subcontractors," she admitted.

  "While it's under construction, this building's security is my concern," he hotly contested.

  "They've all cleared background checks," Hank reminded, trying to break the sudden tension between them. Maybe Jeffie was in deeper than he realized. He was glaring at Marisol as though she were responsible for the breach.

  "Our concern-" Sharon jumped in, her tone suggesting they move on. "Is more about potential violence from the men in our clients' lives. These women have escaped their abuser." Her tone indicated a weary familiarity with her topic. "All too often, the abuser seeks a way to re-engage-"

  His senses stilled, honing in on her message. "He comes here—to hurt her again?" Annie's words returned to haunt him. He comes looking for us. His pulse pounding in his ears, Hank realized Annie wasn't much different from the women who lived there. She'd been forced to leave jobs—because Phil made trouble. What would stop him from entering New Beginnings? "How . . . often does that occur?"

  "Often enough." Miss Ortega glanced at Sharon. "A few times a month."

  "He knows if he can get to the kids—his threat will bring her back. Even if he doesn't want her—he wants power over her." Sharon's mocha voice held a thread of steel. "We've had attempts before—to kidnap the woman or her children. Unfortunately, it's . . . common."

  Dazed, Hank remembered what he'd read during the night. Remembered Annie's matter-of-fact explanation. I had to trade. Beatings. Phil threatened her boys . . . so he could hurt her. He swallowed around a hot burst of anger, unable to shake the sense that she might be in danger. Her boys- "Aside from Sunday—has it happened since construction began?"

  Miss Ortega paled. "Um—it happened again . . . last night."

  "LAST NIGHT?" HIS HEART beating too fast, Hank rubbed his forehead. "Hell—this is worse than I thought." In Marisol's worried eyes—he swore he could see Annie. That guarded, almost traumatized look. There was something in her life—a big something she still wasn't telling him.

  "What happened last night?" Traynor's rigid voice broke the uncomfortable silence, his drumming pencil stilled on the pad.

  Sharon's glance to Marisol was cautious, as though sensing their agitation. As though t
hey didn't want to make it worse. What did that mean? "An ex-husband slipped in—looking for . . . a—woman who lives here." She hesitated. "We believe he meant to grab one of the staffers-" She cleared her throat. "As a hostage."

  "What the hell-" Jeff jerked back in his chair.

  Hank tried to focus, but his mind was racing with a million questions. Breaking in? Kidnap?

  "But, thankfully," Sharon pressed on, ignoring the strain crackling in the room. "Pete Shea stayed for dinner. He realized what was about to happen and he . . . got the man outside before he could hurt anyone."

  The hair rose on his neck. Annie—could have been there. Should have been there. If they hadn't gone out for dinner. If she hadn't finally said yes. He released a ragged breath. Hell—he would've been there—having dinner with her and the boys. Anger shredding his stomach, he wished the hell he had been.

  "So, what we need-" Sharon glanced from him to Jeff. "Is a way to tighten up security during the construction. Maybe—a schedule, so we know when we might have exposures. And where they'll be."

  Forcing his scattered thoughts to the sidelines, Hank nodded. "Trouble is—the doors that are usually locked during the day—some of them will have to remain open. I know there's at least four times in the schedule where there might be an exposure."

  All the benevolent thoughts he'd had about New Beginnings and the volunteers who worked there—had to be rearranged. Annie worked that line every single day. She faced drunks, homeless people . . . addicts. He shuddered. People off their meds. What would it take? To lunge over the counter. Looking for cash. Jewelry? Anything they could sell. How hard would it be to hide a knife. Jesus- To hurt her?

  Suddenly, the women who lived there—who’d run there to hide—became painfully real. Hank acknowledged he'd been deluding himself. Each and every change they would discuss held new meaning. This wasn't a simple review of the specs. A quick change to the schedule. A damned work-around. This was about safety for the women who lived here. Protection—for women like Annie who worked there. Every lock—every bolt was significant. Because some crazy bastard could show up at the shelter and-

  "We may be able to value-engineer—find cost savings on items that were already budgeted." His brain beginning to function, he focused on the specs. "The new security features may not be entirely add-on cost." Hell—the daycare center. The kids- If someone gained access to that hallway, the kids were protected by an elderly woman. How the hell could you guard a building that was open to the public each day?

  "You mean like . . . finding substitutes?" Sharon brightened considerably.

  Distracted, he nodded. "Yeah—we can find other materials. Locks that are the same strength—that are nearly the same feature-wise, but cost less than the brand originally specified."

  Thankfully, Traynor jumped in, talking about the door and hardware schedule. Because Hank was having trouble focusing. New Beginnings needed more. More everything. Yet, they had no money. Sharon and Marisol had poured over their budget for damn near two years before they'd been able to start construction. Immediate needs trumped everything else.

  "We can maybe reconfigure some of the doorways, too." Traynor caught his eye, his expression suggesting we need to do something. "Possibly save some money there. Any wasted space . . ." His voice trailed off. Hell, Jeff was as blown away by the news as he was. His boss' gaze was riveted on Marisol. Hell, he was worried about her. About her son, Hector.

  "I knew I could count on you gentlemen," Sharon praised. "Lunch is on me today."

  Her warmth, the spontaneous zeal for life that Sharon Clark demonstrated each day—began to rub off on him, easing Hank's worry. In all her years at New Beginnings, she had to have seen just about everything. They'd work through this problem, too. Come hell or high water, they'd make it safer—for all the women there. He'd make damn sure of it. Hank found his first smile. "Ma'am, I'll look forward to that."

  HE'D CALLED IN SICK. It was his first time in—what? "Three weeks?" Phil took a slug from the cold one he'd just cracked open. Then checked his watch. "Screw that place." He could run circles around all of 'em. "You're too good for it, anyway." He'd taken heat the previous day—when the damned child support garnishment had arrived at his new job. "Way to make me look bad," he muttered. It was part of the reason he'd gone looking for Annie the previous night. To get her to back down on the damned money for the kids. "Like they need that much every week? What the hell is she buying them?"

  He shotgunned the beer. His third. Forcing himself to fight the urge to pop another can, he crushed the one in his hand and belched. Counting the empties on the floor, he corrected himself. "Okay—your fifth." It was . . . almost noon. "You can have a few later," he promised. "After its done." He glanced to the passed-out woman lying on the stained couch. Patted his pants pocket, making sure the tiny, round pills were still there. "Two Vikos she'll never miss."

  Tonight, he'd talk to Annie . . . and then go celebrate at The Banjo. "You hear that Betsy?" His laughter broke the claustrophobic stillness as he flexed his fist. "Yeah—we're gonna talk."

  HANK DRUMMED HIS FINGERS on the conference room table, not seeing the plans spread out before him. "Where the hell is Jeff?" He glanced at his watch. Running late again. He'd be playing catch-up all day. Once the New Beginnings staff had finally cleared out of the conference room after their meeting, he'd wanted to map out a new plan for building security with Traynor before his meeting with Big Pete. He wanted a solid game plan before opening the floor for debate with the giant, paranoid marine. Pete was still bending their ear about installing a gun turret on the south corner of the building. He'd waylaid Traynor with his ideas about a minefield—(just a little one) near the meditation garden. Yeah—that should go over swell with the ladies. He shook his head. Trickling fountains, yoga—and shrapnel.

  Five minutes later, he heard footsteps in the hallway. His boss rounded the corner, an unusual expression on his face. Disbelief—and . . . frustration? Maybe Miss Ortega had shot him down again. "You look like you just got served with jury duty."

  Traynor tossed his keys on the table. "I wish."

  Hank studied him, guessing he'd hightailed it back to Miss Ortega's office after their meeting. "What's up?"

  "Marisol just told me it was her last night-"

  "What do you mean—her?" His pulse quickened. "Here? With the ex-husband?"

  Jeff nodded, his expression grim. "She and Hector were on their way out—they were meeting me for dinner after the tour."

  "She's okay?" He didn't like the expression on Traynor's face. "He didn't get to her, right?"

  His eyes flashed with frustration. "Yeah—only because it was meatloaf night." He jerked the chair back. "Thankfully, Big Pete likes meatloaf." He dragged a hand through his hair. "It was sheer luck Mari and Hector weren't hurt." Guilt flitted across his features. "I should've driven them-"

  "How the hell could you know it was gonna happen?" Hank swallowed his own anger, understanding the kid's frustration. Hell, Marisol could've been hurt. Any of them could've been hurt. But, anger wouldn't help. "I shoulda been here, too," he acknowledged. "I've been staying late to have dinner with Annie and the boys . . . but she finally agreed to go out with me." He leveled his gaze at Traynor. "It's the only reason we weren't here."

  His boss stared at him, wheels turning behind his eyes. "We have to do something. We need a better plan than what any of us thought about originally." He tossed the spec book aside. "There's nothing in here that will address this problem."

  He nodded. "I was thinking the same thing during the meeting. Right now, we've got nothing close to what these women need."

  Jeff pulled out his chair. "And there's zero money in the budget." He glanced up. "I may do an end run around Jake and talk to my father about it."

  Hank stared at him. "You sure you wanna go there?" Jeff's older brother was the controlling partner at Specialty. Going to Linc might cause strife in the Traynor family. "Why don't you meet both of them? Take them to lunch
. Lay it out—what you've discovered here. The situation these ladies are facing. What we never imagined needing."

  The kid thought it over. "Could you sketch something out so I have a ballpark on cost? I'm not saying Jake will be against the idea—but it would be a whole lot easier if I can give him a range of options that we've already priced."

  Hank nodded, wondering where he'd wedge in the time. If he didn't get to it that afternoon, he could work on it later that night. "Yeah—once we rough out what we want to do, I can run some numbers with the subs. Maybe work a few deals."

  "That way—I'm basically informing Linc exactly how his favorite charity is in desperate straits." He drummed a pencil on the table. "Heck—that could get Linc on our side right out of the chute."

  "What about your mother," Hank suggested. Mona Traynor had visited the site several times already. He'd seen her in Sharon's office. Seen her dropping off piles of clothes for the women who arrived with nothing. A couple times a month, she worked the lines, too. New Beginnings was a project dear to her heart, too.

  "Not a bad idea." Jeff's distant gaze suggested he was plotting strategy. "Jake would have to go along with it . . . not that he wouldn't anyway," he amended. "But, it would sure be easier."

  "And faster." He checked his watch. "I gotta run. I'm havin' lunch with Big Pete."

  Traynor's gaze was skeptical. "What's that about?"

  "I'm bringing him in the loop on the security issue," he admitted. And the Phil issue. He wanted to know more about Pete's contacts. What could the former marine find out about Annie's bastard ex-husband? Hell, with a little recon, Pete could be a wealth of information. "He knows this place better than anyone. He knows all the weak spots when it comes to security." He shrugged. "It's time to put some of that military experience to use around here."