Читать книгу Desperate Measures - Christy Barritt - Страница 11

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 decided 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.”

“Well, it will be nice to have you around here. I might be able to use some of your expertise from your coast guard days, especially if these vandalisms continue.”

“Anytime. But only if you show me some of those fishing holes you’ve been telling me about.”

Samantha tuned out their conversation for a moment. The sheriff’s words caused Samantha to shudder. Vandalisms? Here on Smuggler’s Cove? There wasn’t anywhere one could get away from the bad in the world, was there? She wasn’t naive enough to think there might be; she’d only hoped this place might be different. Might be safer.

At a lull in the conversation, the sheriff turned toward her. “You here visiting from out of town? I don’t think we’ve met yet.”

Her throat burned as she nodded. “I’m Samantha. I’m going to be helping to restore the cabins here.”

“These places might need a bit of a woman’s touch.” He grinned personably. “Where you from?”

Familiar tension began pulling at her. Why did people always have to ask for details? “Everywhere actually. But I was raised in Georgia.”

He tipped his head. “Well, nice to meet you, Samantha. Hope you enjoy your stay here. Make sure that John shares some of his fish with you. Nothing better than grilling out with the fresh catch of the day on the menu.”

Tempting, but there would be no enjoying her stay. No, the only part of life she’d taken delight in over the past year had been Connor. He was her happiness. The rest of life...it scared the breath out of her.

As the sheriff walked away, John turned toward her. “How about if I show you to a cabin?”

Samantha nodded and called Connor over. Putting some space between herself and the rest of this town sounded perfect at the moment. Even if that meant hiding out in a shabby, drafty cabin that hadn’t been used in years.

She knew the better end of a bargain when she saw one.

* * *

John unlocked the door to the cabin next to his. Of all the cabins, this one’s structure was the most stable. It had electricity and plumbing. The furniture was decent.

The whole place still needed to be spruced up and aired out, but he figured it was the most sufficient for Samantha and Connor.

He pushed the door open and squirmed at what he saw inside. The whole place felt musty and dark. There were rust stains on the kitchen sink. A door hung slightly askew. The wallpaper peeled in the corners.

Maybe this wasn’t suitable for Samantha. For anyone.

She seemed to read his thoughts. “This will be fine.”

“It’s not much.” John looked down at Connor and saw the boy frown. He also saw Samantha squeezing her son’s shoulder, probably a nonverbal message for him to stay quiet. Honestly, John wouldn’t blame the boy if he had reservations about staying here.

“It just needs to be cleaned up a little,” Samantha said as she examined the room with her gaze. “Needs a little paint, everything needs to be wiped down, maybe add some curtains and get rid of those dusty ones. It will be great.”

The cabins weren’t large—only eight hundred square feet or so. The front was a great room with a living room on the left, a dining room and kitchen on the right. The two spaces were separated by a breakfast bar.

A short hallway stretched beyond that. There were two bedrooms and one bathroom.

At least the refrigerator and stove worked in this cabin.

He’d offer them his own cabin, one that was larger. Except it wasn’t in any better shape than this one. In fact, one of the bedrooms had a hole in the floor that he needed to patch. Way too dangerous for Connor.

“I’m thinking we should start here today,” John said.

“Good idea.” A smile tugged at her lips.

“I’ll bring the supplies over, if you don’t mind painting and getting a little dirty. You can start now. We’ll get this place in shape for you.”

“Not at all.”

He stomped across the rickety porch and walked toward his cabin, where he kept his supplies. He couldn’t believe that Samantha had actually come. If he’d even had an inkling, he would have started preparing this place earlier.

He’d followed his gut when he’d invited her here. Now his brain had to kick into action so he could figure out his next step. He needed to make a list of things she could do around here. Having her here was the right thing; he felt sure of it. But there were details that needed to be considered.

He grabbed what he needed and started back toward Samantha. As he approached the cabin, the sand soft—and silent—beneath his feet, he paused. A conversation drifted out from the open window.

“This isn’t a discussion, Connor,” Samantha said, her voice firm.

“I’m tired of moving, Mom. Why couldn’t we just stay where we were? I liked my school. I liked my friends.”

“It’s not an option, Connor.”

“But, Mom...”

“There’s nothing to discuss.”

“There’s nothing to do here. This place is boring. There aren’t even any cars. Probably no TVs. Not in here, at least. I bet you there aren’t any kids my age, either.”

“You might be surprised. And getting away from those video games will be good for you. Besides, you can help me work. Then you won’t be bored.” Her voice lilted near the end.

“This stinks.”

“We’re going to make the best of it. That’s what we do. It’s a good life lesson. A hard one. But a good one. We don’t choose our circumstances, but we choose our attitude.”

John had heard enough—enough that he felt as though he was intruding. He knocked on the door, more curious than ever as to what their story was. He knew he couldn’t ask.

Samantha pulled the door open and stared up at him with eyes as wide as full moons. “Mr. Wagner.”

“Please, call me John.” He held up his supplies, quickly observing that Samantha had already changed into some old shorts, a T-shirt, and had tied a purple bandana around her hair. “Let’s get this place into shape. There’s a washer and dryer at my place. You should probably wash the sheets and comforter. I bought them used from someone in town.”

“I can definitely handle today’s assignment. Especially since Connor will be helping me. Right, Connor?” She looked back at her son.

The boy frowned as he looked up from a handheld video game, his expression like most eight-year-old boys probably would have in this situation. Just then, John’s phone rang. He saw Nate’s number.

“Excuse me a moment.” He stepped outside and hit Talk. “What’s going on, man? You miss me already?”

“Ha. Yeah, I wish my reasons for calling were that simple.”

That didn’t sound good. “What’s going on?” John focused on some seagulls fighting over something on the shoreline.

“I just thought you should know that someone broke into the restaurant last night.”

“What?” Was this related to Samantha? It had to be. He didn’t like the sound of this already.

“Yeah, someone went through our former tenant’s apartment.”

“Trying to find Samantha,” John filled in the blank.

“Exactly. I think she’s in trouble. Big trouble.”

He remembered her sweet face, battered and bruised. He thought about her little boy. “I hate to hear that. Any reason you wanted to call and tell me, though?” He hadn’t mentioned his offer to Nate.

“We had to call in a police report. We gave the cops a copy of the rental agreement we had with Samantha, and they did a routine check on her driver’s license number. It turns out there’s no record of any Samantha Rogers, not one with her license number or at her previous address. She doesn’t exist.”

“What?” Was Samantha using an alias? Why? Just what was her story?

“The plot thickens, bro. There’s more. After the local police came by, an FBI agent paid us a visit.”

John’s mind raced. What in the world was going on?

“He claims that Samantha isn’t in trouble. He says that Samantha is trouble.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Samantha was obviously scared, but nothing about the woman screamed devious.

“That’s what he said. He said something about her being a suspect in the murder of her estranged husband back in Texas.”