by Jax Hunter
It had been two days since the snow-play disaster. And they were into day four of this surreal rescue mission. They’d skied yesterday, getting off the bunny slopes by afternoon.
At every turn, Nic asked Julie a question. What were her hobbies? Favorite ice cream? Did she like this movie or that TV show? When she answered with more than a blank expression, he applauded and reminded her how far she’d come.
Nic considered today’s agenda as he flipped eggs in the pan. Maybe a little more skiing, maybe some sightseeing. He wasn’t sure yet.
The phone interrupted his thoughts. He moved the pan off the heat and ran to answer it.
“Nic, it’s Mickey. Is Julie in the room?” His voice was strained.
“Yes.”
“Listen up. I’m faxing some information to the hotel. It’ll be waiting for you in a little while. Don’t read it when she’s around. I sent it to Cruz, too. He wants to help if he can.”
“Okay.”
“It’s bad, Nic. I’ll see what else I can find out, and let you know.”
“Okay, thanks.” By the time he hung up, he had a knot in his gut.
Julie was puttering around in the kitchen. “I’m pouring us coffee. How do you like it?”
Nic walked to the kitchen doorway. “You don’t drink coffee.”
“I thought I might start.”
The eggs were ruined. So was his mood. But he had to act like nothing was up. So he cracked more eggs and started over. How could he get to the lobby? What excuse could he give Julie?
Ten minutes later, Nic jabbed his remaining egg, watching the yolk seep toward his toast.
“Something wrong?” Julie asked, snapping him from his thoughts.
“No.” Nic tried to smile.
“O-kay.” She shrugged and went back to eating.
He knew she didn’t believe him, but he couldn’t tell her what he was thinking. He couldn’t tell her that he was concerned that she might be in danger. He couldn’t tell her that he wasn’t completely sure she wasn’t dangerous. He couldn’t tell her that what she’d been through might be better off not remembered.
Nor could he think of anything else to say.
So, when Julie insisted on doing the dishes and the front desk called saying he had a fax, he just shrugged and told her he’d be back in a few minutes.
Nic wasn’t prepared for what the two pages held. One was a copy of a newspaper article from the Susanville Record, the other a note from Mickey.
What they told him sucked the breath from his lungs and he lowered himself onto the couch in the lobby, head in hands.
Julie Galloway. Her name was Julie Galloway.
The article said that, on the twenty-third, Julie’s father murdered her mother and sister. Then committed suicide. There was no mention of Julie being there at the time.
Mickey had jotted notes on the second sheet. Scrawled across the bottom, “Watch your back, Boyo. There’s something hinky here.”
Nic’s heart lurched for her. Now what?
What he wouldn’t give to go back in time and never leave that bar, never pass her car, never go back to help. What a schmuck. He deserved this mess. But, what was his next move?
Nic spent the next few hours inching back into a decent mood. It was easier to just ignore the whole thing than to face her questions about his silence. He knew damn well that if he told her what he knew, he’d be out of time. So, he spent the rest of the morning skiing beside her and very deliberately sticking his head in the sand.
“Look, Nic,” Julie smiled a bit uncertainly, “you’re paying for everything. The least I can do is cook. Right?”
“Can you cook?”
“I think so.” Julie had that puzzled look on her face again. But it vanished, replaced by a big grin. She winked at him. It was rather unsettling when she did that. “Well, I know I make a mean lasagna.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. My grandmother made the best lasagna in all of Boston.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, I make the best lasagna in all of...”
It was like she’d get to a point in a sentence and almost say something, off the top of her head. Something she remembered. Then she’d stop.
Their eyes locked. He had to admit the girl was convincing. If she was faking...
“...in all of wherever I live.” Julie turned around quickly ending the discussion. She opened cupboards, inspecting the contents. “I’ll make a list. You shop. I’ll cook.”
Nic shrugged his grudging approval. “Fine.”
“It would’a been cheaper to order takeout.” Nic grumbled to himself as he shifted the paper bags he carried through the lobby. “And a whole lot lighter.”
Why the hell hadn’t he said “plastic?”
His thoughts were interrupted by someone saying Julie’s name. He followed the voice. A sheriff’s deputy talking to the desk clerk, photograph in hand.
Hell.
Something hinky here. Trust your gut. Watch your back.
Suddenly, he felt Julie’s panic at the thought of police.
Nic kept walking toward the elevators, trying hard to not sprint. Slow and easy.
Hell.
The long, convoluted layout of the hotel had never been a problem. Challenge, yes. Julie and Nic had, more than once, laughed about having to take one elevator, walk down a long hallway to another elevator, only to go back down another hallway to their room. Kindergarten kids designed the building. They were sure of it. But now, carrying these damn groceries that would get left behind, and wondering where they could go, what they could do—it seemed an interminable distance to get to her.
He swiped his key card, pushing the door open with his hip. “Julie?”
“In here.” Her voice came from the kitchen. Well, at least she wasn’t on the phone with the front desk.
“Anyone call?” He tried to sound nonchalant as he came into the kitchen, dropping the bags on the counter, picking out the cold stuff and shoving it in the fridge. For what that was worth.
“Why would...” The smile vanished from her face when she turned to look at him.
He should have tried to hide it better.
“Julie,” he said, as calmly as he could muster, taking her hand and pulling her toward the bedroom, “we need to pack and book it out of here.”
Julie stopped, tugging her hand free. “Why? What’s happened?”
There wasn’t time for this discussion now. And how did he explain why he hadn’t told her what he knew? It could get ugly. But for now, he needed to get her out of here.
“I’ll explain on the way.”
He walked past her, again taking her hand. “For now, please just come pack your things.” He tried to keep his voice even, keep the anxiety down to a controllable level. It seemed to work. Julie followed him into the bedroom and started stuffing her clothes into the store bags.
Nic yanked his suitcase down from the closet shelf, opened it on the bed, and tossed his clothes in the general direction. He looked over when Julie stopped moving and stared at him.
“What?”
“Where are we going, Nic?”
“Please, baby, just pack.” His use of the word baby and the intensity of it surprised him.
It must have surprised her as well. Her look softened before she turned toward the bathroom to scoop up their things.
“What about the food?” Julie asked as they gathered their coats.
“Leave the food.” He hadn’t meant to sound so caustic. He tugged his stocking cap out of the pocket of his parka. “Here, put this on. Stick all your hair up inside.”
Julie stepped back, her quizzical look changing to one of alarm. When he reached out for her, she pulled away. “You’re scaring me, Nic.”
“Good. Put this on.”
She didn’t step forward to take the hat, looked like she was digging in for a battle. Damn she was exasperating. What did she think? That he was going to take her into the woods and kill her?
Nic sighed. “Julie, if I was going to hurt you, I’d ha
ve done it by now. And, if I’m going to keep you safe, you have to come with me.”
Julie reached for the hat, not looking up, then put it on, pulling it down over her ears.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Sure.” Her eyes glinted with challenge. As he pulled the door closed behind them, she spoke again. “Where are we going?”
“Just keep moving.”
She turned abruptly. He almost mowed her down. Now she stood, her face inches from his, looking up at him with a stony glare. “I’m not moving ‘til you tell me where we’re going.”
“We’re going to Redding,” he said, his jaw clenched.
“Really? Why Redding?”
“Damn it, Julie—”
She wasn’t budging. Her eyes flared. Her body stiffened. She even stomped her little foot. “Why Redding?”
For an insane moment, Nic had the urge to kiss her and never stop. Instead, he inched toward the elevator, leaning, anxious. He was trapped by this conversation. The deputy could be on his way up here right now. The desk clerk could have recognized Julie from the picture. Or he could have talked to the clerk in the shop where Julie’d bought the clothes. She had the room number.
And her highness was being difficult.
Crap! Crap! Crap! Crap!
“Because that’s where you live.”
Nic clenched his jaw around the words, but it was too late. They were already out there. The cat was out of the bag. The look on Julie’s face, confusion transformed to revelation, spoke volumes. For an instant, her hand moved to the wall, as if steadying her world. Then, as she realized that he knew a lot more than he’d told her, anger and mistrust surfaced.
“There isn’t time now to either argue or explain. We’ll talk in the car. Now move, Cinderella.”
They made it out of the parking lot and to the highway running through downtown Tahoe before Julie spoke.
“How long have you known?” It came out almost in a whisper. She wouldn’t look at him.
Nic scanned the rear-view mirror, looking for... what? “A few hours.”
“Please pull the car over, Nic.” Julie snatched the hat from her head and finger combed her hair.
“Not yet. And put the hat back on.”
“Don’t...” She stopped and pulled the hat back on. “Find an inconspicuous place and pull over, or I’m getting out at the next stoplight.”
“God, you’re a pain in the ass.”
She shot him a seething glance and reached for the door handle.
“Okay. Fine. Whatever.” Nic took the next left turn and pulled into the shopping center parking lot, slammed the car into park and turned to face Julie.
“Julie Galloway.” He paused, waiting to allow the information sink in, watching her face.
She still didn’t look at him.
“You live in Redding and work for the TV station there.”
Still no reaction.
“The car you drove belonged to your parents, Patrick and Ellen Galloway, who live in Susanville, California.”
So far it was fairly ordinary information. What he had to tell her next wasn’t. He reached for her hand, but she snatched it away.
“And?”
“Julie, the next part is... well... hard.”
Julie took a deep breath. “Go on.”
“On the night I found you, your parents and your sister were involved in a murder suicide. They’re all dead.”
The color left her face. She sat stock still for a moment, then pulled the door open and ran. By the time he caught up to her, she was leaning over an empty planter, clutching the sides, white knuckled, retching miserably.
Nic, his heart in his throat, scooped a bit of snow from the back of the planter, gently placed his hand on her forehead, making whispered shushing sounds at her ear, his other arm around her waist.
“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay.”
When she finished, he turned her around and pulled her to him. She wasn’t crying, just breathing hard. As he soothed her, she settled.
Julie pulled her head back, looking at him, her face a mask of despair. “My family is dead and it’s as if you told me about strangers. That’s awful.”
“C’mon, let’s get back to the car.” Nic looked around, hoping to see no uniforms.
For the first time in his life, the cops were, at least at this point, something to be avoided. And he didn’t even know if that were true. The only thing he knew for sure; protecting Julie felt right. How to best do that? He didn’t have a clue.
Chapter Six
