Hidden Away

by Sharon Dunn

  A man burst out from where Isabel had come. The same tall thin man who had entered the house earlier—he glanced from side to side and then darted in the opposite direction of Isabel. He must not have seen where Isabel had gone. Jason caught the glint of a knife in the man’s hand. Okay, so maybe she was in danger.

  He rushed down the stairs, keeping his step light so as not to draw attention to himself. He ran across the black-and-white tile of the open entryway toward the door where Isabel had gone.

  Even before he opened the door, he smelled chlorine. The humid air of the pool room assaulted him as he stepped across the threshold. As on a game show, there were four doors to choose from. Which one had she gone through?

  He tiptoed on the tile and eased open the first door. Storage. When he opened the second door, he found a bedroom. Much more promising. He checked the closet and the bathroom first, then stood beside the bed. Before he could lean over to check underneath, a hard object slammed against his shin, sending a wave of pain through his calf muscle.

  With pain shooting up his leg, he knelt to pull the culprit out from underneath the bed.

  TWO

  Isabel knew it was predictable to hide under the bed, but she’d been in a hurry. She’d grabbed a hairbrush from the vanity before slipping under the bed frame. If she was to save herself from the man with the knife, she knew she had to attack before he found her. She was no match for him physically, but she could outsmart him.

  The man groaned in pain when she hit his shin with the brush. She crawled to the other side of the bed and rolled out. Just as she got to her feet, he grabbed her from behind.

  She angled her body to get away and lifted her foot to kick his calf.

  “Calm down, calm down. I’m not the bad guy here.”

  It was Mel’s smooth voice. So he’d come back. She had no idea what Mr. Knife had meant by the partner comment. Mel and Mr. Knife were probably robbing the place together.

  “Be quiet.” He placed a hand over her mouth. “He’ll find us.”

  Probably a trick to get her to stop resisting. She twisted her torso and dug her fingernails into his forearm.

  Still he cupped her mouth, his other arm wrapped around her waist, and held her tight against his chest. But he didn’t hurt her or pull a weapon on her. She tried to twist free. He dragged her across the floor.

  “Look, this place is not safe. I’ll take you back to town.” He guided her through the door and stepped into the pool room even as she continued to try to get away from him. He took his hand off her mouth.

  “I have my own car.” Like she wanted to go anywhere with this thief. She’d had enough of falling for the bad boy to last a lifetime.

  She pulled free of him with so much force that she fell headlong into the pool. Cold water enveloped her. Strong arms grabbed the back of her collar and pulled her to the surface.

  “Now for sure he’s heard us,” said Mel.

  She gasped for air and reached for the edge of the pool. Mel let go of her and ran toward a door. He returned with a large towel, which he tossed toward her.

  “You can’t go outside like that. You’ll freeze,” he said. “Do these people have clothes here?”

  The concern for her physical well-being gave her pause. But if he wasn’t a thief, what was he doing here? She pulled herself to her feet as water dripped off her. “I can’t wear a client’s clothes.” She picked up the towel.

  He grabbed her at the elbow. “You’re going to have to.”

  She was not keen on going anywhere with this man, but it felt like she was on a runaway train trying to stop it by dragging her feet.

  Glancing around nervously, he led her through a door back out into the living room.

  Her heart sank when she saw the broken vase and the mess in the entryway. Everything in this house was probably valuable. She spotted the contents of her purse on the floor, but not her phone. It must have been kicked out of view in the struggle with Mr. Knife.

  “Where are the clothes?”

  “Can’t we just call the police?” She still didn’t know what this guy’s game was.

  “That’s a bad idea.”

  Her steps faltered. “Why?” What if this was a trap? He’d pretend to be helping her and then what? Kill her so he and Mr. Knife could finish the job they’d come to do?

  “Trust me. We don’t want the police here.”

  Isabel felt that familiar tightening in her stomach. Trust him? She didn’t even know him, and so far almost everything he did made her suspicious.

  He grabbed her elbow and led her up the stairs. “Which room?”

  Noise rose up from a side room on the main floor. She hurried toward the master suite. Glancing over the balcony as they slipped behind the door, she caught a glimpse of movement down below. Mr. Knife was still looking for her on the main floor.

  Mel searched the huge room. “That closet is the size of my apartment. Change in there. I’ll keep watch.”

  She slipped into the closet and slid the door shut. How was she going to explain wearing a client’s clothes to her boss? She grabbed the least expensive-looking shirt and pants she could find. As if that would make a difference. Even telling the truth about what had gone on would sound crazy, like she was trying to cover up her strange actions with a fantastic story. Because of her history with the law, she had a fear of not being believed.

  Though her brain ached over what might happen, she knew she needed to focus on the now. Getting away from Mr. Knife and maybe even Mel. For sure, he wasn’t some concerned official from the county. What was his game?

  She buttoned up the shirt and then grabbed a sweater to put over it. Actually, this closet was bigger than her apartment. Her boss had been kind enough to rent her the studio apartment above the Sun and Ski office. She changed quickly and grabbed a pair of boots. Victoria Wilson was half a size bigger than she, but the boots would keep out the cold. Not sure what to do with her wet clothes, she put them on a hanger to dry. Another crazy action she’d have to explain. She looked around for a coat but couldn’t find one.

  Mel knocked on the door. “Hurry.”

  She slid the closet door open. Mel peered through the slightly ajar bedroom door out into the hallway.

  He glanced in her direction, his expression tense. “He’s upstairs. Is there another way out of here besides down the stairs and through the front door?”

  She still didn’t know what to think of this man. Friend or foe? “I suppose we could leave by way of the balcony.” She pointed. Through the sliding glass doors, she saw that the snowfall had increased. The lazy flakes that had fallen out of the sky when she drove up here had turned into slashing swords.

  Mel shut and locked the bedroom door. He stepped across the room and slid the balcony door open, signaling for her to follow. She hesitated.

  The doorknob wiggled and then there was a thump against it.

  Her heart seized up as she looked from Mel to the door.

  “Come on, Isabel.”

  She had told him her name when she answered the door. But when he spoke it, something sparked inside her. Warm feelings aside, she still didn’t know what Mel was up to. Why didn’t he want to call the police?

  A body thudded against the door again. And then she heard clicking noises. Mr. Knife was picking the lock.

  Mel was the one without the knife. Maybe her odds were better with him. She darted through the open sliding glass door. Snow stung her skin. The cold hit her with full force, but the heavy wool sweater cut out much of it. Her wet hair seemed to freeze instantly, turning into hard straw-like strands.

  “I’ll lower you down. Hurry,” he said.

  She darted to the edge of the balcony and slipped through the wide railing. He grabbed her hands. His grip was like iron. He held on and eased her down.

  The ground below her loomed closer. She l
ooked up into Mel’s blue eyes.

  His expression was strained, face tight, teeth showing from the exertion. His body hung off the edge of the balcony at a dangerous angle. He strained. “I’m going to have to let you go.”

  She nodded. She fell through space, landing hard, her knees buckling. Mel slipped off the balcony and dropped to the ground with the grace of an Olympic gymnast. He grabbed her hand. They ran, feet pounding the fresh fallen snow.

  She glanced over her shoulder just as she rounded the corner. Mr. Knife had come to the edge of the outdoor balcony. If he chose not to follow them and went back down the stairs and out the front door, it would buy them time.

  As Mel pulled her around the house toward the driveway where his van was parked, she had the gut-wrenching sensation that her life was about to switch into a retread of seven years ago. Here she was again, blindly following a man who might be a criminal.

  Oh Lord, please protect me.

  She’d been barely seventeen when Nick Solomon decided to rob a convenience store at gunpoint. He’d kissed her in the car and told her he was going inside for a bag of chips. When he slid into the passenger seat clearly agitated and commanded her to drive, she’d done what he asked. All because she’d loved and trusted him.

  They hurried toward the van. Mel kicked the front tires. “Slashed.” His forehead furled. “When did he find time to do that?”

  She studied him for just a moment. Maybe Mel was telling the truth. Maybe he was the good guy. She wanted to believe that. She had a feeling she was staking her life on it.

  “My car looks okay.” She spoke between breaths and took off running toward her car. She jumped into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition. Because she’d thought she would be alone at the Wilsons’, she had no reason to take her keys with her.

  Mel got into the passenger seat.

  She clicked into Reverse and hit the gas, then spun around and pointed the car toward the snowy road.

  Mel gripped the armrest. “NASCAR, here we come. Who taught you to drive like that?”

  A heaviness descended on her like a shroud, and she felt that stab to her heart. Nick had taught her to drive like that. Little had she realized he was grooming her to be his getaway driver.

  She stared at the road ahead. Her car slipped to one side. She checked her rearview mirror. Mr. Knife stood in the driveway, arms crossed over his chest.

  The car made a serpentine pattern and slid on the snow-covered road.

  “Something is wrong here.” She struggled to keep the car on the road. Even with the slick roads, steering was taking way more muscle power than usual. The car began to shake and vibrate.

  “I think your tires are losing air.” Mel’s voice remained calm. “No way would he have time to do both cars.” He studied the road and the surrounding trees as if he was trying to piece something together.

  So her tires had been slashed too. Mr. Knife must have been in a hurry and not cut deep enough for the air to leak out fast.

  She gripped the steering wheel as a tree loomed in front of her. The entire car seemed to be vibrating to pieces as the metallic clang of driving on her rims filled the front seat.

  She scraped past the tree, but the car rammed into a smaller tree and came to an abrupt stop. Their bodies lurched forward then slammed back against the seat.

  Mel craned his neck to stare out the back window.

  Fear cut her to the bone. “Is he coming for us?”

  “I can’t see him.”

  Isabel tensed as she glanced over her shoulder. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t come after them.

  “This car is not going to get us off this mountain. We’re going to have to call...somebody.” He pulled his phone out.

  Somebody? What did that mean? Why not the police? Mr. Knife seemed to think they both were out to steal the fortune he’d come for. Whatever it was he was looking for in that house, it must be worth a great deal because Mr. Knife seemed determined that they not leave the house.

  A chill ran up her spine. In fact, Mr. Knife seemed pretty bent on eliminating his perceived competition altogether. Why give him a chance at that?

  Mel clicked open the door. “I can’t get a signal. We can’t stay out in this storm long. Maybe we can get a signal back at the house.”

  “Are you nuts?” she said.

  “What other choice do we have here? It’s five miles to the main road and another five into town. Who knows if any neighbors are home. Do you want to walk in a storm without a coat? You’ll freeze to death.”

  She took in a breath. And it would be dark soon. He had a point. “Okay.”

  “You know the layout of the house, right? There must be someplace where we could make the call and hide out.”

  She clicked open her door, inviting the intense wind and cold in. “Mrs. Wilson has an art studio at the back of the property.”

  He hurried around the car and tugged on her elbow. “Let’s get into the trees. More shelter and we won’t be spotted off the bat if he does come after us. Maybe I’ll be able to pick up a signal before we get to the house.”

  She doubted that, not with the storm brewing. She crossed her arms over her chest and put her head down. She had no choice but to go with Mel’s plan. Even the short walk back to the house was going to leave her chilled to the bone at the very least.

  The trees cut the wind and the snow by a little bit. They’d tromped only a short distance before the cold settled into her bones. Mel slipped out of his coat and placed it on her shoulders. She could still feel the warmth of his body heat as she put her arms in the sleeves.

  The gesture warmed her heart too. The front-zip sweatshirt he had over his uniform shirt couldn’t provide much more warmth than her borrowed sweater.

  “I’ll be all right. I got my thermals on.” He offered her a smile that brought a sparkle into his eyes. Beautiful blue eyes.

  Don’t be taken in, Izzy.

  One small act of kindness did not reveal a man’s whole character. “So you’re not really with the county, are you?”

  “No.” He pressed his lips together and stared straight ahead, making it clear he wasn’t going to tell her anything else. “The less you know, the better.”

  More secrecy.

  As they forged through the quiet forest, Isabel felt a heaviness descend on her. What was God doing here? It felt like she was losing everything she’d fought for from the moment she’d given Him her heart in that jail cell. Her job was in jeopardy, her car had been sabotaged and she may be hooked up with another criminal.

  Mel brushed the snow out of his hair. “We’ll get this straightened out. Trust me.”

  She didn’t fail to notice the flatness in his voice as if he was trying to convince himself that everything was going to be okay.

  Trust me. Those were some famous last words. Wind gusted and swirled through the trees. Isabel zipped the borrowed coat up to her neck and prayed that Mel was right.

  * * *

  As he trudged through the snow, Jason’s thoughts raced faster than a horse a mile from the barn. He glanced over at Isabel. Soft honey-colored curls covered her face as she bent forward to shield herself from the falling, blowing snow. She was pretty. He’d at least admit that.

  She seemed innocent enough, but something about her just didn’t ring true.

  The thief hadn’t found the bookmark yet or he would have left. Maybe the thief thought he or Isabel had it and that was why he was bent on taking them out. The guy was a fool to come after them. He wouldn’t be utilized again by the mastermind. Whoever was orchestrating the smuggling had kept it very under the radar. These low-level guys were sometimes more brawn than brains.

  The one thing he knew for certain was that he couldn’t let this investigation fall apart. The agents at the Bureau had put in hundreds of labor hours to gather profiles of all the peo
ple involved. His job was just one small part of a bigger picture.

  Once he got a signal, he’d call his contact at the Bureau to come and get them. He’d tell Isabel the guy was a friend. The less she knew, the safer she was.

  A chill had settled on his skin and was making its way to his bones. He didn’t regret giving his coat to Isabel, though. His father had taught him to be a gentleman. A lot of good it had done his dad. The man had endured a difficult marriage only to have his mom leave for another man. After the end of his own bad relationship, Jason had concluded that if women weren’t cheaters, they were liars. Isabel might not be a thief, but she was still hiding something. He just wasn’t sure what.

  While they were working their way back to the house, he might as well try to figure out why she seemed to be acting a part.

  “So how long have you worked for this property management place?” The trees thinned and he caught a glimpse of the obnoxiously big house with its central dome.

  “What are you doing up here, anyway?” She turned, her expression filled with challenge.

  If they were going to get out of this mess, he needed her to trust him. “I’m with the law. That’s all you need to know.”

  She bent forward with arms folded over her chest. “He thinks we’re partners.”

  “What?”

  She stopped and stared at the sky. “When he held that knife to my throat—” She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, but her quivering mouth revealed she was upset.

  His emotions whiplashed from rage that a man would be so violent toward a woman to compassion for Isabel. “It’s not right that happened to you.”

  As quickly as she had lost it, she regained her composure. “Anyway, he accused us of working together to steal his fortune.”

  Maybe he could still salvage this investigation. As long as the thief didn’t think he was connected to law enforcement. “I’m sorry about the knife.”

  She shrugged. “It wasn’t you that did it.” She did a double take as though she were trying to ferret out some hidden motive in him or see beneath his skin.