“I’ll keep my eyes open. We’ve had problems around here before.”
“And they landed you in the hospital,” John reminded him. “Maybe I should stick around, be an extra set of eyes....”
“You do your thing, John. Smuggler’s Cove is your dream. I’ll take care of things here or call the police if I have to.”
John hated to walk away when a storm could be brewing. Especially since Nate and Kylie had a toddler and another baby on the way. Nate would need all the help he could get.
John prided himself on always being there for friends when they need him. That’s one of the reasons why his failure with Alyssa hurt so much.
He’d let her down. He’d let their unborn baby down.
“I don’t like this,” John finally said.
Nate clamped his hand on John’s shoulder. “It’s about time you did something for yourself. The change of scenery will be good for you.”
But John didn’t know if he could do that. The image of Samantha standing in the doorway with fear in her eyes would haunt him. So would the remembrance of her busted lip and the cut on her forehead.
Could he really go on with this new chapter of his life just as he’d planned? He didn’t know.
* * *
Samantha’s thoughts raced a mile a minute as she zipped her suitcase. Her jaw and her head ached. Even her eyes hurt as tears threatened to push out.
She had to get a grip. She had to pick up Connor and keep moving. And she didn’t have much time.
Samantha didn’t know where she’d go, how she’d get there or what she’d do once she arrived. All she knew was that she had to leave.
She gave one last glance at the apartment. At one time, she’d thought the small space was perfect. She’d wondered if they might find a home here in Yorktown. And maybe one day Kylie and Nate could be her friends.
She should have known better. A stable life—feeling normal and without fear—none of those things were her reality right now. The notion of a safe, happy life was only a farce.
Stepping back onto the landing, Samantha closed the door behind her. She heard the lock click, the sound cementing her plans to run.
Here I go...again. Lord, watch over me. Show me where to go. Pour Your wisdom over me.
Hauling her suitcases behind her, she thumped down the stairs. Her heart raced, pounding in her ears. Each pulse seemed to echo the urgency of the situation.
Go. Move. Run.
All she wanted was to find a place to stay. Rest. Be.
At the landing by the back door, she looked back. Just as she expected, Nate was standing there, waiting for her. She’d known he wouldn’t accept her flimsy explanation. His friend was gone, though. John was gone.
That was probably good. The man’s eyes had seemed too intense, too curious...too compassionate. She feared her reaction to him. Whenever he’d come into the restaurant and Samantha had spotted him, her heart had raced.
The man was attractive. Really attractive. He was tall with dark, neat hair. His body looked sculpted and firm. He seemed to be a loyal friend to Nate and Kylie. He wasn’t the loud or pushy type. Instead, he seemed steady, patient and strong.
“Samantha, are you sure you have to go?” Nate asked. Concern stained his eyes, pulling her back to reality.
She nodded, her throat dry. She crept closer and closer to the door, unable to stay in one place. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t bring trouble your way.”
“Trouble?”
She licked her lips, panic fluttering through her. “I’ve said too much already.”
What was she thinking? She should have just slipped away quietly. Too bad there wasn’t a training course for how to effectively go on the run and disappear off everyone’s radar. The problem was that Nate and Kylie had a toddler, and a baby on the way. She’d never intended to put them in harm’s path.
“Maybe Kylie and I can help....”
“No one can help, but thank you.” She stared at him another moment, wishing she could offer more of an explanation. “Thank you for everything.”
He finally lowered his chin, his lips pulled into a tight line. “Be safe.”
She nodded again. “Thanks.”
She stepped outside into the warm, dark summer night. She really had liked it here. Living above the little restaurant. Enjoying the waterfront, the shops, the history.
The area had seemed so safe, so quaint and friendly.
Her desire to keep her son safe trumped her wish for a stable life, though.
She ambled across the parking lot, pulling her suitcase and heaving Connor’s backpack up higher on her shoulder. Was she really ready to start another new life? Exhaustion pulled at her at the thought.
As she rounded the corner, a figure in the shadows caught her eyes.
Oh, no! He was back. The man from the grocery store.
Samantha wasn’t sure she had enough fight left in her to survive another confrontation.
TWO
Samantha broke into a run, not bothering to look behind her. She had to move quickly. Had to think fast. Had to be smart.
“Samantha, it’s me.”
The voice sounded familiar. She slowed her steps but only for a minute. After all, Billy’s voice had been familiar. Familiar didn’t mean safe.
“It’s John, Nate’s friend. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She slowed again. Hesitated. Finally, she turned. Her entire body was tense, ready to flee if necessary.
John raised his hands and stepped toward her. Maybe he hadn’t been in the shadows, as she’d first thought. His truck door was open, as if he’d just climbed out. Maybe he’d spotted her leaving before he’d pulled out of the parking lot.
“I saw you leaving,” John confirmed. “I wasn’t trying to hide or frighten you.”
“What do you want?” She didn’t care if he was Nate’s friend. She didn’t know who she could trust right now.
He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on. I didn’t even plan on doing this. But I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t say something. I have a feeling there’s really not a family emergency.”
“It depends on how you define family emergency.” Her family—she and Connor—were definitely in the middle of an emergency situation. The thugs hired by Billy had found her. And if they caught her, they’d kill her. They wouldn’t bat an eyelash before taking her life. She wouldn’t be so lucky to get away again the second time around.
He pulled out a piece of paper. “If you’re looking for a place to get away—and a job—here’s an idea for you. It’s not much, but you’d have a place to stay. A safe place.”
She glanced down at the card, tempted by the offer. She didn’t have any other plans. No ideas even. “Smuggler’s Cove? I’ve heard of the island before. One of my friends in high school lived there for a while.”
“It’s one of the safest places I’ve ever been. Everyone knows everybody. The biggest crime is littering. I’m fixing up some cabins there. I could use a hand painting, restoring some furniture, making the structures livable.”
She stared at him. His words sounded sincere. But she couldn’t shake her general distrust of people. “Why do you want to help me?” After all, didn’t everybody want something? Nothing was free or sacred. Not even marriage, apparently. She’d learned that the hard way.
John shifted. A new heaviness seemed to press down on his shoulders. “I’ve been in some tough spots before. I get what that’s like, and I hate to see people struggle.”
She held her head up higher, struck by the sincerity of his words. But she couldn’t let herself soften. Being weak would get her killed. “Thanks for your kindness, but I’ve got to go.”
He looked away and shoved a
hand in his pocket. “Right. Family emergency.”
She nodded, unsure why she felt the urge to pour everything out to him. What would it be like to let someone else help carry her burden? It was an idea she couldn’t let herself consider because the crushing reality was that she was all alone. Now and forever. “That’s right. Thanks again.”
Before he could say anything else, she climbed into her car and took off to pick up Connor.
* * *
The next morning, John stared at the beachfront cabins in front of him. His thoughts should be on the task before him—the major, he’d-bitten-off-more-than-he-could-chew task. The task that could easily turn into a money pit.
Instead, he was still thinking about Samantha Rogers. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was okay. Or try to figure out where she’d gone and why she was so scared.
He wanted to help. But they didn’t have that kind of relationship. They didn’t have any kind of relationship, for that matter. To even say they were acquaintances would be stretching it.
The woman was an adult, he reminded himself. She could ask for help if she needed it. He couldn’t make Samantha trust him. She had no reason to.
Which was why he simply needed to dig into his work and concentrate on his own issues. The good Lord knew John had enough problems of his own that he shouldn’t try to take on anyone else’s, as well.
But something about the look in her eyes reminded him so much of Alyssa. Helping Samantha would in no way atone for the failings of his past, he reminded himself. But something still drew him toward the situation. Something brought out a protectiveness in him and made him want to intercede.
He put those thoughts aside and continued making a list of everything that needed to be done. Before John had arrived, he’d had a plumber and electrician come out. With those tasks done, he could work on the rest of the restoration process.
There were eight smaller cabins surrounding one larger one in the center. They’d been fishing cabins twenty years ago until the owner had died. The owner’s son had no interest in staying on the island, so the structures had been abandoned until two months ago when the son had finally put them on the market.
Smuggler’s Cove was one of John’s favorite haunts when he was out boating and fishing. The island had great seafood and a quiet pace of life that fascinated him. He’d known he needed a life change. When he saw the cabins, he knew what that change should be.
His plan was to fix them up and rent them out to fishermen, vacationers and people who just needed some time away. He certainly knew what it was like to yearn for a place where time had slowed. He knew the healing powers of being on the water. John realized that sometimes only time and reflection could heal broken, grief-stricken hearts.
He circled one of the cabins, compiling a list of all the supplies he needed. The bulleted list had already filled one page. Now he was starting on his second. At this rate his savings wouldn’t last long.
At least he’d still have the comfort of the summer breeze. The scent of the bay seemed to soothe him, along with the squawking of seagulls, the sound of crashing waves, the heavy, salty air.
As he rounded the corner of one of the cabins he spotted a woman and child approaching in a golf cart. Alvin—the town’s “chauffeur,” as he called himself—was at the wheel. John stopped and watched as Alvin unloaded two suitcases, waved hello, and then sped off to his next job. No doubt there were other tourists waiting to sightsee on the island. This was prime tourist season; the time when businesses counted on making enough money to sustain them all year.
The woman and boy grabbed their luggage and started across the sandy path toward him.
His heart quickened as he recognized the woman. “Samantha.”
She’d tried to cover up the cuts and bruises with makeup but it hadn’t worked. Still, the woman was striking.
She raised her chin. “I hope that job offer is still available. I’ve reconsidered and I’d like to work for you.”
“I can arrange that.” His heart lifted. He still didn’t know why he felt so protective of a woman he hardly knew, but he had to believe that God had brought Samantha and her son here for a reason. Their meeting last night was no coincidence.
“Great.” She looked beyond him, wincing when her gaze reached the cabins. “Those are yours?”
He glanced behind him and frowned. The task did seem overwhelming, maybe even foolish. “These are going to be my life for the next couple of months.”
“Big job.” Her gaze still fixed on the houses in the distance.
“You up for it?” He watched her expression. When her eyes met his, John saw curiosity there.
She nodded slowly, surely. “Definitely.”
“The cabins aren’t much, but a couple are in better shape than the others. Pay is free rent, plus $100 a week. It’s not much, but it should get you groceries and cover any other expenses.”
“Sounds fine.”
John nodded behind her. “Who’s this with you?”
Her arm went around the boy’s shoulders. “This is my son, Connor.”
“Nice to meet you, Connor.” He guessed the boy to be around eight. He was the spitting image of his mother with blond hair, big eyes and milky skin.
The boy squinted against the sun and frowned. “Nice to meet you, too.” He sounded less than enthusiastic.
“I thought I should let you know that I have worked construction before,” Samantha continued. She raised her chin, stubborn determination written all over the action. “I can do any labor that’s needed.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
“Thank you. I’ll work hard. I’m not looking for a handout.”
“Understood.” He liked it when people worked for what they wanted instead of accepting everything for free. He could respect that.
Just then, someone appeared from the gravel road that led to the secluded cabins, and called out a loud, “Hey!”
Samantha jumped, reminding him that she was in some sort of trouble, the details of which were unknown to him.
* * *
Samantha turned, and stared at the uniformed man in front of her, her heart pounding so hard that it felt visible, as if her entire body was pulsating with it. When she spotted the brown law-enforcement uniform her pulse only quickened more.
Time and time again, the police had let her down. She’d thought they were there to protect and serve. Instead, she’d found they were best at judging and condemning.
That much had been obvious when she’d been framed for a crime she hadn’t committed. She should have stayed around to fight for her good name and reputation, but she’d seen the way justice wasn’t always served, and she wanted no part of it. So she’d taken things into her own hands and fled with her son.
Now she lived in fear of being discovered.
“Can I go look at the water, Mom?” Connor’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts.
Samantha looked down at her son and nodded. “Just don’t wander too far away.”
Just as Connor sprinted toward the bay, John turned toward her. “Samantha, this is Zachary Davis. He’s the sheriff here on Smuggler’s Cove.”
She felt her face go pale as she nodded hello. Great. Her new boss was chummy with the local sheriff.
That meant her time on the island may not last as long as she might like. She knew she should have gone to a big city. But somehow she’d ended up here, on this remote little island where no one had cars, a place only accessible by boat.
As she’d thought about John’s offer last night, she’d tried to talk herself out of it. But then she’d realized that Billy would expect her to run far. Staying close might throw him off her trail.
After she’d picked up Connor, she’d called a friend from work who’d agreed to meet her at a local park. Samantha had dec
ided to leave her SUV there. It was obvious that someone knew her car’s make and license plate number. She had to put distance between herself and the vehicle.
Lisa, a single woman in her mid-twenties, had taken her to a hotel. The next morning, Samantha had called a taxi.
“Where to?” the driver had asked.
Samantha had remembered the dwindling money in her purse. Using her debit card or credit card would be too risky. Billy could track her. He obviously knew her alias now. But the ferry to get to Smuggler’s Cove was pricey. What if John had changed his mind once she’d arrived?
So much was depending on this one decision to come here. Mainly, the lives of her and her son—and her son’s life was the most important thing of all.
“What’s going on, Sheriff?” John’s voice pulled Samantha out of her thoughts.
The sheriff put his hands on his hips. “We’ve had some vandalism around here lately. I’m just trying to let the townsfolk know. I have suspicions that whoever is behind these crimes might have used these cabins as a hideout at some point or another.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t think stuff like that happened out here.” John squinted against the sun, which flooded his face. He had a five o’clock shadow that made him look rugged. His white T-shirt and worn jeans seemed to fit his persona better than the uniform Samantha had seen him wear in the past.
“It usually doesn’t. But nowhere is immune to crime, not in today’s world.” The sheriff shifted.
He was youngish—probably in his late twenties, just like Samantha. He had sandy brown hair and blue eyes. Samantha noticed he didn’t have the same island accent as the people down at the docks did.
“When did you get here?” the sheriff asked John.
“Just this morning.”
“Take the ferry in?”
John nodded toward a boat bobbing in the water by the pier. “No, I came over on my boat. I figured I’d need it, especially if I had to go back to the mainland for supplies. The ferry’s schedule isn’t always mine.”
Desperate Measures Page 2
