“I had a feeling you might have.”
“Someone broke into her cabin and beat her up last night, Nate.”
“Man, really?” Surprise laced Nate’s voice. “That’s some scary stuff.”
He saw movement by Samantha’s house and stiffened. “Listen, I need to run. Can you have Kylie call me when she has a chance?”
“Of course.”
John hung up. He started to hurry across the sand, but then he thought better of it. What if the man had come back? He didn’t want to announce that he was there. He needed to be more subtle.
He swung around to the back of his cabin. The darkness worked in his favor right now, concealing him. He braced himself for another fight. This time, the man wouldn’t get away.
The sand padded his steps. But what he heard stopped him in his tracks.
Whispering.
Two people whispering.
He squinted as he peered around the side of the cabin and he braced himself for a confrontation.
EIGHT
There were two figures. Silhouettes, really.
And they were pulling something behind them.
He stepped closer.
Suitcases?
That’s when he realized who the intruders were.
Samantha and Connor.
And they were trying to leave.
Alarm rushed through him.
Even though he kept telling himself this was none of his business, it still felt as if it was. He barely even knew the mother and son. But somehow, he felt that he had to protect them, to help them in some way.
Was it because he remembered seeing the same look in Alyssa’s eyes that he saw in Samantha’s? The same fear?
He hadn’t been able to help Alyssa. He’d tried. He’d really tried. But her abusive ex-boyfriend had found her. In a mad rage, the man had set their house on fire. John had arrived home from his business trip early—but not early enough.
Just as he’d pulled onto their street, the whole place had gone up in flames. He’d tried to rescue her, even had a scar across his chest to prove it.
He didn’t want to scare Samantha and Connor, so he cleared his throat before stepping out from the shadows. “Hey, guys. What’s going on?”
Samantha gasped and nearly jumped out of her skin. Her shoulders relaxed some as he stepped more fully into the moonlight. “John? Is that you?”
“I was on the porch when I heard something. I wanted to make sure...” He glanced at Connor. He wasn’t sure how much the boy knew. “I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”
She tucked a hair behind her ear with one hand and her grip intensified on her suitcase with the other. The woman was wound tighter than a snake about to strike.
“It’s fine.”
He nodded toward the suitcases beside her. “You going somewhere?”
“Mom says we have to leave again,” Connor muttered with a frown.
“Connor!” Samantha cautioned.
The boy shrugged and pulled his backpack up higher.
It was time that John asked some of the hard questions he’d tried to keep inside. He kept his voice even tempered. “Samantha, could I talk with you for a minute?”
He saw the hesitation on her face. He knew she was going to say no and to keep walking, keep running. Instead, she surprised him with a nod. “Okay.”
“Connor, you want to watch cartoons in my living room?”
“You have a TV?” The boy’s eyes lit up.
“Sure do.” John smiled. “If it’s okay with your mom, you can go see what’s on.”
He looked up at his mom. “Can I?”
Samantha nodded. “Of course. Just don’t make a mess.”
“I have some donuts from Erma’s, also. She makes them homemade. Help yourself.”
As the boy took off toward his cabin John and Samantha stood there, awkwardness shifting between them.
“Do you mind if we sit on the porch?” Samantha asked. “I want to be close to Connor. Just in case—” she shrugged “—you know.”
He knew. Just in case the thug who’d broken into her cabin came back. “Sure thing.” He grabbed the suitcases and carried them to his porch. Samantha settled into a rocking chair there.
“How about some coffee?” he started.
“I’d love some, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” He already had a pot percolating. He poured two mugs, grabbed a couple of donuts and took them outside. He half expected that Samantha might take off the minute he took his eyes off her. But not without Connor, he realized. He could tell that boy was her heartbeat, her reason for living.
He let silence pass for a minute until finally he started. “Running’s not the answer.”
She raised her chin, staring into the distance stoically. “What makes you think I’m running?”
“That’s what it looks like to me.”
She continued to stare at the bay, quiet for a moment. He let her have space to sort out her thoughts, to make decisions about how much to say. He hoped that space would work in his favor, that she’d trust him.
“Say I was running...why would that be a bad idea?”
“Your problems always have a way of catching up with you.” He shifted to face her better. “Samantha, maybe I can help. I know you don’t know me that well, but I can’t stand to see a woman scared. Or a child, for that matter.”
“That’s noble and kind. I appreciate the gesture, but, if I can be frank, why should I trust you?” Her tentative gaze met his.
“Have I given you any reason not to?”
She stared at him another moment. When she opened her mouth, he fully expected her to deny anything was wrong, to feign more excuses, to shut him off.
He braced himself and tried to plan his next move.
Knowing he couldn’t help unless he was aware of the whole story.
Finding out the truth could very well put him in trouble with the law. He’d known he didn’t want to go back to his old job at the Coast Guard Training Center. But this information could very well cement that decision, leaving him nothing to fall back on if this new business venture failed.
It was a chance he was willing to take, though.
* * *
“Look, you risked your life for me, John,” Samantha started. She hated the uncertainty in her voice. But it was real. There were so few times she let any genuine emotion show. “You didn’t have to do that. You don’t have to do any of this. In fact, it’s better if you didn’t, probably. I don’t want to pull you into anything.”
Now, why had she said that? She hadn’t spoken of what had happened with anyone since she’d fled. Why was she opening up to this virtual stranger? Was it because there was something in his eyes that beckoned her trust?
“I can handle myself, Samantha. Don’t worry about my safety. It’s you that I’m worried about. You and Connor. You think if you keep running that whoever is after you won’t catch up eventually. I’ve learned sometimes it’s better to stand your ground and prepare yourself for battle rather than to run.”
“It’s really complicated, John.” She had no hope he would understand. Not many people had been in her shoes.
She wasn’t even sure why she was here. Why she hadn’t run. Was it Connor’s pleading? John’s sincerity? Ignorant hope?
“Maybe I can help make it uncomplicated.” He put his coffee on the porch railing and leaned forward.
“I don’t think anyone can help with that.”
“Listen, when I was young, my father was abusive toward my mother. She always moved me from place to place. Probably every six months, we went somewhere new. My mom was afraid my dad would find us, I guess. I didn’t realize that until I was older. When I was younger, I couldn’t stand how much we h
ad to move. I couldn’t stand the lack of stability in my life. I resented my mother for it. At the time, I didn’t understand. Now I do. Now I know that she was doing what she thought was best.”
“What happened with your mother?” Samantha asked.
“Eventually, my real dad got cancer and died a few years later. My mom, in the meantime, met a great man. They married when I was nine. I still think of Walter as my dad.”
Samantha smiled, the action bringing with it bittersweet emotions. She hoped that Connor would have a father figure in his life one day. He was fine at this age. For the most part, at least. But once he hit the teen years, he was going to need someone to help him navigate life. She could help to an extent, but not like a father could.
“Connor’s dad is dead,” she finally offered. After John had opened up as he had, maybe she could trust him with a few details from her past. “He was in a car accident.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
She nodded and gripped her coffee mug. The warmth filled her with an odd comfort. “But, before he died, he got in with the wrong crowd. He and three of his friends started a business together. They were flipping houses. They got investors to help front money and promised huge returns. Instead of paying the investors back, they cooked the books and took the profit for themselves.”
“Wow.”
She nodded. “Anthony and I had separated. He’d started letting the money get to him. Plus, he got mixed up in drugs and drinking. I kicked him out, and he was happy to go. But I found some of his company’s books hidden in the false bottom of his desk drawer. I took one look at the numbers there and realized that something illegal was going on.”
“What happened?”
“I confronted Anthony about it. He panicked, begged me not to tell anyone. He said he would make things right. Luckily, I caught him when he was sober. It was the first time I’d seen any sincere emotion from him in months. He was scared.” The night flashed vividly in her mind. “He asked me for the books. I told him no. He made me promise not to do anything. He begged me to give him a few days.”
“And did you?”
The memories came stronger now, making nausea roil in her gut. “I told him he had forty-eight hours. I let him know I didn’t want to have any part of any of it, and that I especially didn’t want Connor to be in danger because of Anthony’s actions.”
“Then what happened?” John’s voice was soft, inquisitive.
Her throat ached at the memories. How much should she share? Not all of it. He couldn’t handle all of it. Most people couldn’t, even though she’d never tried anyone before. “Then I got a call from my husband’s best friend. Anthony was in a car accident and died.”
John said nothing, just waited for her to continue.
“At first they thought it was truly an accident. Then investigators realized his brake lines had been cut.” She left out the part about the police thinking she was behind the tampering.
He squinted in thought. “So, let me make sure I’m putting this together correctly. His friends cut his brake lines. Maybe he told them he was going to turn himself in?”
She nodded. “That’s my theory, as well. When his friends realized they were in jeopardy—and their money was in jeopardy—they took things into their own hands. They couldn’t let Anthony go forward with the information.”
“What happened next?”
She rubbed her hands against her jeans, trying to push back the memories. They came anyway, stronger and stronger. She licked her lips, trying to find the words. “One of his friends—one of his business partners—was a police officer named Billy Walsh. He told me that if I didn’t turn over the books, Connor and I would suffer the same fate as Anthony.”
“Wow.”
“Wow is right. I told him I’d never give him those books, that I was going to his superior and telling him everything I knew. There was another officer at my house at the time. He didn’t hear our conversation, but I wasn’t alone with Billy at the time. If I had been, he would have probably killed me then and there.”
John was silent, so she continued. She left out the part about Billy setting it up so it looked as though she’d cut the brake lines. Billy had worked cyber crimes before being promoted to detective of major crimes. That’s how he knew how to set up internet searches on her computer. He’d even paid Samantha’s mechanic to say that she’d been asking what kind of tool she would need to use to remove the brake lines the last time she’d taken her car in for a tune up. Billy had told the detective on the case that Anthony was trying to get full custody of Connor. That was Samantha’s motive, he’d said.
All the evidence was stacked against her.
“A couple of things happened,” she continued, skirting around all of those details. “And I knew he was telling the truth about his threat toward me. That’s when I ran. I knew I had to if I wanted to keep Connor safe.”
“How long ago was that?”
“A year.”
“How many places?”
“This is my third.”
His jaw hardened. “Did you ever think about reporting all of this to the authorities?”
“Of course I did. But I can’t. Billy is a police officer.”
“The FBI then?”
She rubbed her hands—now sweaty—on her jeans. “He set me up to take the fall, John. If I go to the police, the first thing they’re going to do is lock me up. Then I might lose Connor. I can’t risk that.”
“So you’re going to live in fear instead?”
“What other choice do I have?” Nausea roiled in her stomach at the thought of continually living with paranoia.
“Stay here, Samantha. I can help.” His eyes looked sincere, compassionate and loyal. But every man she’d ever trusted had let her down.
She locked gazes with him, desperate to see the truth in his eyes. “Why would you do that? You hardly know me.”
“My gut says I can trust you, that you’re telling the truth.”
Her heart softened, but only for a moment.
Then John continued. “I’ve learned that you never win a war by running from the enemy. You win by standing your ground and fighting for what’s right.”
His words made sense. Unfortunately. Still, doubt lingered in her mind.
“I also have to say that I believe in the justice system. I think you should let the police in on this.”
She stood, fire rushing through her blood. “Well, I don’t.” At one time, she had. Then she’d met Billy. She’d learned just how quickly justice could become perverted.
John reached for her arm and pulled her back. “Where are you going to go? How are you going to support yourself?”
She sat back down but refused to put her hands over her face, like she wanted to. Instead, she kept her head raised. If she just dug a little deeper, she could find the strength to do this. “I’ll figure out something. I always do.”
“This is no way to live, Samantha.”
He couldn’t possibly understand. He just couldn’t. “So instead I should get you killed? I should get myself killed? I’m no good to Connor if I’m dead. You saw how this guy operates. He sneaks in. Only that wasn’t Billy. He sends men to do his dirty work. He’s still living off the money he swindled from those men. He can pay people so he’s never caught.”
“Why didn’t those men who were swindled ever come forward?”
“Because my husband and his friends were smart. They only accepted money from people they knew had something to hide. They threatened if these men reported them, they’d announce their indiscretions. So the men kept quiet. I’m pretty sure some of them are probably still making payment on that blackmail.”
Silence stretched. John stared into the distance. His jaw hardened and then relaxed only to harden again. “If you continue to
run, this guy will continue to track you until he finds you. You might as well let him find you, and be prepared with a plan of attack when he does.”
“I’m trying to picture that playing out.” None of the scenarios were pretty.
“Picture this guy walking into a cabin where he thinks you’re staying. Only, to his surprise, it won’t be you inside. It will be me.”
The thought both thrilled and horrified her. But another stark reality remained: the risks that that would involve. “I couldn’t live with myself if I did that. I can’t put your life on the line.”
“You’re not. I am.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. That’s why it’s best if I just go.”
She stood again and took a step toward the inside of the house to get Connor. They’d wasted enough time talking about crazy plans and ideas. Now reality set in. They needed to get moving.
John grabbed her hand. “Please, don’t go.”
Something in his gaze made Samantha’s heart squeeze. “Why are you so intent on helping me? You barely know me.”
She’d asked before but his answer had never settled in her mind. She couldn’t fathom a near stranger being willing to take this risk for her, not when people she’d loved dearly had been unwilling to do so.
“I know enough. I know running isn’t the answer. I know what it’s like to be in Connor’s shoes.” He shrugged, never breaking his gaze. “Isn’t that enough?”
She stood there a moment, John’s fingers intertwined with hers. “You really think that plan would work? That it’s a good idea?”
“It’s worth a shot.” He looked in the distance for a minute. “If you’re up for it, I have an old coast guard buddy, the one I told you offered to come here and help me out. He’s as trustworthy as you can get. I’ve put my life in his hands more than once.”
Her problem was that at one time, she’d trusted Anthony and his friends with her life, as well. And look how that’d worked out.
“Admit it. Your plan is no better than mine.”
She stared at John a moment. He still held her hand as the sun started to rise and smeared hues of orange and red and yellow across the sky. John’s face came into view. She soaked in his unshaven cheeks and chin, his sincere gaze and his unfaltering features. Could John be an answer to her prayers? Or was she just making a bad situation worse?
Desperate Measures Page 8
