Sheltering Annie

by Lauren Giordano

  "Annie. Annie-" Marisol came around the desk. "It's okay, hon. I'll take them home. Jeff's coming over. We're going to watch a movie. They'll be safe." She stroked her arm. "Look—I'm sure you'll get out there, and Hank will be fine." She lowered her voice. "So, just stay out there. Have a wonderful night together." She smiled in an attempt to placate her. "You can pick up the boys tomorrow."

  Growing more frantic by the minute, Annie nodded. "I'll . . . run and pack a bag for the boys-"

  "Don't bother. Hector has five pair of superhero pajamas. I'm sure they'll love dressing alike."

  "Thank you." She rose to her feet, her heart thudding with terror. With urgency. With knowing. "I'll go tell the boys." Forcing a smile, she endured the next twenty minutes. Got the boys zipped into jackets. Ran upstairs for a change of clothes. Grabbed her purse. At the door, she turned back. Grabbed her baton from the folding chair and shoved it in her bag. Tried his phone again. Seven o'clock.

  Henry wasn't okay.

  "SHE'S GONNA THROW THAT car in the deal." Phil exulted, watching Annie exit from the storage facility. "I knew she hid it." He'd trailed her from the shelter. Watched her cowering. Afraid of her own shadow. Glancing over her shoulder as she half-walked, half-ran the darkened streets.

  Followed her to the highway. Kept her in his sights. Hell, he was only two cars back. "So stupid." When she left the highway at the same exit Hank had used the previous Saturday, he had confirmation. "Stayin' at his place." Maybe he'd pay a little visit later. He owed the bastard a black eye. And a busted nose. Maybe while he was there—he'd stomp the shit out of him. "You want Annie so bad? How much you willin' to pay?"

  ANNIE USED HER HIGH beams once she left the main road. She'd only been on Henry's driveway once—and she hadn't been driving. The curves and dips made it seem endless . . . especially at night. Her teeth embedded in her bottom lip, her hands white-knuckled on the wheel, she just wanted to get there. Get to him. Find him there, safe. "Maybe he turned off his phone." Or fell asleep. Or was out—having dinner with friends.

  The closer she drew to his house, the faster her heart beat. She was either right . . . or crazy. "I'm not crazy." Her grim voice broke the silence thick with panic. Out on the highway, she thought she'd caught a glimpse of Phil. But, the last she'd heard—he didn't have a car. "I don't have time for him right now." She shook off the distraction as she surfaced from the winding drive into the widened parking area. "His truck-" Parked near the house. The darkened house. Why were the lights out?

  Feeling her way up the stairs, she pulled out her phone and used the flashlight. Surfacing on the deck, she could hear Bo . . . whining on the other side of the door. She tried the knob, relieved when it opened. Bo stopped for a quick, enthusiastic pat, before bolting down the steps. Why hasn't he been out to pee? Concentrating on light, Annie felt for the wall switch she knew was there . . . somewhere. "Got it." The kitchen, deck and driveway flooded with reassuring light.

  "Henry?" Moving through the house, she switched on lamps, each one calming her with the reassuring glow. The living room was empty. No air stirring. No sense of human presence. She dropped her bag on the couch. Bypassing the extra bedrooms, she headed for his room.

  The door was cracked . . . as though someone was in there. "He's sleeping." Yet, there was no sense of relief from the pressure valve in her chest. The bed . . . was empty. Henry—wasn't anywhere. "Hank?"

  She could hear her own breathing as she flicked the light on. His keys—were on the bureau. Annie crossed the room to the windows. Skimmed over the fields to the woods at the top of the rise. "Oh my God-" How would she ever find him out there?

  Hands shaking, she dialed his phone. Waited several seconds. Heard it ring. Somewhere nearby. She closed her eyes. Thank you, God. Following the sound, she entered the bathroom and turned on the light. Discovered his phone, several feet away on the floor. Found Henry . . . on the floor where he'd fallen . . . a thin trickle of blood oozing from the cut on his forehead.

  "ANNIE?" HANK OPENED his eyes—then squeezed them shut again. "Light." Too bright. His eyes . . . burned. He was so . . . "Cold."

  "I'm here, love."

  Her hands moved over him. Ran down his legs. Slowly bent his arms. When her cool, fingers touched his face, he flinched, before turning into her palm. "Feel good."

  "Henry, you're burning up with fever."

  Somehow he knew she'd left his side. Her presence . . . gone. "Annie?"

  "Easy, love." She placed a cold washcloth on his forehead. "We need to get you to bed."

  Hank smiled—remembering the last time. "Sounds good." Her smothered laughter trickled over him. "Love you. Your laugh."

  Her cool lips pressed briefly to his cheek. "I love yours, too." Her fingers moved to his forehead, gently probing the bump.

  "Ow."

  "You've got quite a bump there. But . . . now that it's cleaned up, I think it'll be okay with some ice." She tugged him into a sitting position.

  Hank winced. "The room is spinning."

  "I'm going to see what you've got in your medicine cabinet. We need fever reducer. Maybe some flu stuff."

  Content to wait, he forced one eye open. Saw her shadow return. She pressed two pills into his hand.

  "Take these." A moment later, she raised a glass to his lips. "Sip this. And swallow." He did as he was told and drained the glass.

  He was shivering now. "Thirsty. Can I-"

  She refilled the glass and returned, dropping to the floor beside him. As he drank it, he realized his eyes had adjusted. He could open both. She handed him a tiny cup of blue medicine. Too tired to ask, he downed it.

  "Our next move is to get you on your feet and I'll help you get in bed."

  What seemed like several days later, Hank collapsed on his bed, turning his face into the coolness of his pillow. He felt Annie's hands at his throat, unbuttoning his shirt. She tugged it from his shoulders. When the cool air hit his skin, he shivered. Then she went to work on his jeans. "Baby—we may need to wait 'til tomorrow. I'm so . . . tired."

  Her hands paused as she smothered her laughter. "I don't know, Hank. You're incredibly sexy like this . . . flat on your back. Defenseless."

  Hank mustered a smile, despite the pounding in his head. The aches in his legs that suggested maybe he'd been hit by a truck earlier in the day. "I'll do my best, sweet."

  She paused on the second leg. "Bo's at the door."

  Hank frowned, trying to remember. "Didn't feed Bo."

  His legs felt cold, so she musta got his pants off. Annie tugged the blankets over him. "Sleep, Henry. I'll be back in a little while."

  ANNIE LET BO BACK INSIDE. Remembering the possible Phil sighting, she glanced out at the deck. At the quiet driveway beyond it. Then closed the door and locked it. Flipped the deadbolt Henry probably never used. She couldn't shake off a strum of expectancy.

  "Come here, buddy." She scooped kibble into the empty bowl. Refilled his water dish while Bo ate as though he hadn't seen food in weeks. Knowing that Henry was safe, she should've been able to relax. Heat a can of soup once he awakened. Turn on the TV and enjoy a quiet evening—in a real living room. But, instead-

  She paced. Wandered the quiet halls. Checked on Henry. Reassured by his quiet breathing, she returned to the kitchen. Stared out the window at a thick blanket of stars. Texted Marisol with an update—and mention the possible Phil sighting. "Make sure the boys are safe." Mostly, she waited. Curled up on his couch, she tugged a blanket over her shoulders. Checking her baton was on his coffee table, she snuggled into the corner and closed her eyes.

  BLINKING SLEEP FROM her eyes, Annie checked her watch. Somehow, she'd allowed three hours to drift away. Stretching her neck, she winced at the soreness in her arm. Candace's training. Smiling down at Bo, who'd plopped at her feet, she rose. Slid the baton into her pocket. Entering Henry's room, she shook two more pills from the bottle. Poured another cup of flu medicine. It wouldn't hurt to get another round in before she hunkered down for bed.

>   Disoriented, but cooperative, Hank woke up enough to take the medicine before flopping back against his pillow.

  By the time she returned to the living room, Bo was gone. She heard him slurping water from his bowl in the kitchen. "I need a pillow." She eyed the couch again. It would be closer to Henry than the spare bedrooms. Wandering down the hall, she smiled as she entered the boys' room. Her boys—had a room. He'd opened his heart to them. Made them so welcome. She tugged a pillow from the bed. Back out in the living room, she heard Bo's low growl. Near the door. She froze, a frisson of warning strafing her neck.

  Phil. Shaking it off, she crossed the room, tiptoeing as she edged closer to the door. "Easy, Bo."

  The Lab was on red alert. Hair standing up. Body rigid. At the moment she heard the soft rattle of the door knob, Bo erupted in a series of barks. Snarling, he attacked the door, his claws scraping the wood, desperate to get outside. Nearly jumping out of her skin, Annie slipped into the pantry to peek out the window. Saw him—three feet away on the deck. Heart pounding, she watched. Waited.

  He's afraid of Bo. She read the indecision in his face. Read his body language. Stay and finish? Or skulk away. Only to try again. And again. And again.

  By the time she reached the door; carefully snicked back the deadbolt; slowly turned the knob . . . she heard glass breaking at the window around the corner. The boys' room. Fury surged through her. The bastard would not—would never frighten her boys again.

  Slipping through the door, she removed the baton from her back pocket. Thwacked it open, the slicing sound reassuring. Bo still by her side, she was surprised he hadn't bolted to round the corner and attack.

  Strangely calm, she crept to the corner of the house. Saw her ex . . . trying to lift the sash, shattered glass at his feet. "Hey-" Her voice, loud. Angry. "You looking for me?"

  Chapter 19

  Phil whipped around, startled. As though . . . he hadn't expected people at home? With two cars in the driveway? "Annie-"

  "What do you want?" Her voice guttural. Vibrating with rage and a pulsing adrenaline. Frustration. But—not fear. It was no longer fear. When Bo would've lunged, she touched his head. "Stay." Unsure whether he would obey, she held her weapon behind her.

  "Money. I need money. Give it to me," he ordered. "And I'll leave."

  For now. The words he neglected to add. He would never leave. She eased a step closer. "You owe me money."

  "Are you forgetting your place? I haven't reminded you in a while." He turned from the window, glass crunching under his feet. Edging closer, his sneer suggested she should cower.

  But his eyes . . . were glassy. One of them blackened. He had several strips of tape over his nose. His voice was slurred. Even from the ten feet of clearance she maintained, he seemed unsteady on his feet. Her heart lodged in her parched throat, Annie forced a grim smile. "My place is far from you." A weak, pathetic bully.

  When he took a step closer, Bo stiffened, his growl low and menacing. "I hear you been looking for me," she taunted. "What do you want to talk about?"

  "You ruined my life. It's my right to ruin yours."

  Drunk. Whining. Belligerent. A broken record she'd heard for seven years. Always. Blaming. Her. For everything. "Get some help, Phil. Would you want your sons to grow up like you?" She spit the words at him, knowing they would incite him. "I'm grateful every single day that you're gone."

  Eyes wide, he took a step back. "What the hell has gotten into you?"

  "You'd rather stalk me than speak your mind? What's so important that you're willing to go to jail? What possible insult could you have forgotten? What beating did you not get out of your system the first time?"

  Her throat raw, Annie realized she was screaming at him. Phil appeared terrified—as though she were the crazy one. "I'm not afraid of you anymore," she announced, the truth of it surging through her like hot, seething lava. Afraid her loathing might detonate—explode from her. Rain down all around them.

  "I'm disgusted by you. You're weak. And pathetic. And I am strong," she shouted. "I'm stronger than you."

  "Shut up, bitch." He lunged at her—likely expecting her to flinch. Instead, Annie planted her feet. Raised her aching arm. Attack, Candace's voice urged. The whistling slice. Followed by a resounding crack.

  A scene flashed before her eyes. A highchair. Jason's high pitched scream. A bowl of rice cereal exploding from her hand when he struck her. The scent of ripe bananas . . . spattering her blouse. The wall. Smearing her uniform when he knocked her to the floor. Tiny bits of rice. Everywhere. Her clothes. In her hair. She'd be late for work again . . .

  When Phil bellowed, Annie snapped back. The memory receded, leaving her shivering. She glanced around, realized he was stooped over, clutching his shoulder. She'd hit him! Connected with his disgusting flesh. His shoulder. She raised the baton again. No thinking. Slice. Crack. Struck him again—as he hunched over in pain. This time—his forearm. And again. Slice. Crack. Forcing him to drop whatever he'd been holding, it clattered to the deck.

  When he went down, Bo lunged. Sinking his teeth into the other arm. Phil screamed in pain. Growling around the arm in his mouth, Bo continued to tug . . . as though if he kept at it, the old dog could drag him from the deck.

  Phil jerked free, scrambling backward on the deck. Stumbling. Unable to stand. She followed him, arm raised. Bend it, Annie. Candace's voice in her head. Preserve your strength.

  "What happened to you?"

  "You happened to me." She took another step, adrenaline rushing through her. Exhilaration. "I'm taking shooting lessons, too," she lied as he made a move for the deck stairs. "Get back here. I'm not done with you, yet."

  "You're crazy."

  "You come after me again—I'll be waiting."Her voice raw. Angry. Yet, inside—Annie was- Removed. As though she were watching herself from a window. Bo snarling by her side, she took a step to follow him, surprised when she felt a jerk on her arm.

  "H-henry?"

  HANK WAS THERE. HOLDING himself up through sheer will, she realized. Perspiration glistened on his brow. Yet, he stood there. Rigid. Tall. Not shivering. A gun in his hand

  "Get off my property. Now." His cell clutched in the other hand. "I'm givin' you one chance—and one chance only," he warned, his voice deadly quiet after her shrieking tirade. "I can shoot you right now," he said. His voice—conversational. She stared at him. His clenched jaw. Fury vibrating from him in waves. "Or you can leave . . . and never come back. You're trespassing. You've made threats—in front of witnesses."

  The expression on Henry's face made her shiver. He stared at Phil. Through him. His face carved from granite. Eyes blazing with intent.

  "You've violated your restraining order," he continued. "I can call the cops right now—tell them I've got an intruder here . . . threatening us." Taking two steps, he jerked her arm, tugging her behind him. "That way . . . when I shoot you, it's gonna be self-defense."

  "You can't-"

  "Try me." Hank's voice reverberated with his impatience. "We've got you on record for dozens of visits to the shelter. Dates. Times. Vehicle plate numbers. We've got you on film, attacking a staffer." He flicked the safety on his gun, the echo reverberating in the still, quiet night. "I've got you on film right now." He glanced to the eaves. Annie startled against him. Did he? "What's it gonna be, Phil? You can leave her alone—or you can go to prison. Or—I can shoot you. Save all of us a lot of time."

  Phil inched his way to his car, never turning his back on Hank. "I'll think about it."

  Bo stood rigid by Hank's side, straining to get loose and attack. "Think about it tonight," he ordered. "I'll give you two days," he called after him. "You'll sign the papers revoking your parental rights. If you do—I'll take care of the back child support you owe her-"

  "And what do I get?"

  "You get to live." His menacing tone sent a quiver of fear through her. He took a forceful step. "Or we can keep doing this—until you're arrested again. Or I shoot you. Take your pick," he o
rdered.

  Annie startled behind him. He'd tracked Phil down. For her. He'd had papers drawn up? To finally get Phil out of her life. So, they would never have to do this . . . again. She bit her lip, blinking back tears.

  Phil froze. "Try an' find me," he blustered.

  "Already done that," Hank drawled, his tone belying his rigid stance. "I know where you work. I know where you live."

  What had Henry been up to?

  "I know what you bought at the grocery store Tuesday night."

  Phil startled. "How do-"

  "How does it feel, Phil? To be stalked. Hunted," he suggested, his voice deadly with intent. Leveling his pistol at his chest, he cocked it. Annie's breath seized in her throat.

  "Don't." Phil raised his hands, fear flaring in his eyes.

  "You try to avoid me . . . and I'm comin' for you."

  Shoulders slumping, Phil released a defeated sigh. "Fine. I'll sign the papers."

  "Just so we're entirely clear—I'm through playing games with you." Hank took a step toward the deck stairs, smiling when he flinched. "You touch a hair on her head . . . you make one move toward those boys—and I'll be all over you."

  Five minutes later, they stood together, watching him leave. The stillness broken by gravel crunching under Phil's tires as he headed down the drive. The roar of his tires on pavement once he hit the main road, before fading away. When Hank finally turned to face her, he faltered. "Annie-" His voice a miserable croak, he staggered against her.

  "Let's get you inside." She slipped her arm around his waist, taking some of his weight as they hobbled back into his house. She was cold. Frightened. Exhilarated. Emotions tumbled through her, crashing like waves as her brain fought to synthesize her feelings. Leaving a wake of sheer exhaustion. She'd finally, finally stood up for herself. And Hank—had defended her. He'd protected her.