Nothing to Fear

  Adopt, adapt, and improve. It was a good motto. Her old man’s favorite, ironically. She couldn’t use the kid’s voice, so she’d use his face. A picture was worth a thousand words.

  She looked down at them, her prize, feeling control return. Bryce’s arrest had changed very little, really. As long as she got him bailed out before he spilled his guts to some overzealous DA, the only thing that was impacted was her eye on the Vaughns. Hearing Bryce recount their pain and suffering firsthand would have been very nice, but ultimately unnecessary. Knowing if police cars lined the lonely road going up to the beach house would be valuable, but even if the Vaughns did go to the cops, they wouldn’t find her. She’d be far, far away by then, tucked safely and secretly away in Earl’s house. That didn’t need to change either. Especially if Earl and Lucy were headed off to Maryland to bail Bryce’s ass out of jail. Sue would have the run of the house to herself for a few days.

  Then when they got back from Maryland, she and Earl and Lucy would have the reunion Sue had planned with such enthusiasm. She took out her phone and dialed Earl’s number, noting the time. He’d be asleep, groggy. No way he’d know who he was really talking to.

  The phone was answered on the first ring. “Yes?” a deep voice drawled.

  Sue went still, every muscle tightening to its breaking point. He wasn’t sleepy or groggy. He wasn’t Earl. She said nothing, could say nothing. The voice just chuckled.

  “Is this Bryce?” James. Sue’s blood ran cold. Impossible. James was dead. She’d slit his throat herself. Obviously, not well enough.

  “Not Bryce?” he said genially. “Then this must be Sue. How the hell are you, Sue?” His voice hardened. “Free lesson. When you kill a man, you need to make damn sure he’s really dead. Now, did you want to talk to your Uncle Earl?” A moan echoed in the background. “He can’t come to the phone right now.”

  Sue gritted her teeth. “You sonofabitch. They were mine.”

  “I have to say I’m shocked, Sue. You, a dutiful niece.” He sounded it. Shocked. “Protecting an aunt and uncle you hated?”

  “Not mine to protect, you asshole,” she hissed. Mine to kill. Mine to make moan and weep and wish they were dead. Mine to make pay. She’d had plans. Damn him.

  James choked on a laugh. “You were going to kill your own aunt and uncle, just like you killed that woman in Florida. And I beat you to it. Sue, you’re priceless.”

  He knew about the Florida murder. James Lorenzano knew too damn much. She should have stayed to make sure he was dead, but someone had been coming and she’d been forced to flee. Killing him a second time would be far more difficult. She’d just need to stay out of his way. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Don’t forget I know far more about you than you know about me. I’ll find you, Sue. You know I can. And when I do, you’re dead.”

  A chill ran down her spine. He could. James knew how to find people. That’s why she’d hired him in the first place. Then she stiffened her spine in resolve. She’d come too far to give up now. “No, you won’t.”

  She hung up and seethed a moment. James was alive. That had been a bit of a shock. And he’d been to Earl and Lucy’s. This was bigger than the lost pleasure of seeing Earl and Lucy writhe in pain. This meant she needed to find another place to hide with the kid.

  Adopt, adapt, and improve. She would not change her destination. It had to be Chicago. No other city would suffice. No other place would be revenge.

  She needed to find another place to hide in Chicago. Just long enough to get her money and her revenge. The money would be her ticket out of the country, away from James.

  The revenge . . . Well, that was sustenance. Without it, there would be little reason to survive and little joy in doing so.

  She needed to find a place to hide that James would never think to look. He was right about one thing. He did know more about her than she knew about him. He would visit all her old cohorts, most of whom would sell their own mother for a buck, so she couldn’t call any of them. Not yet anyway. She had to hide the kid, because without him the whole plan fell flat. She stared down at the boy, her mind working. And as usual, the pieces fell neatly into place, a new plan forming.

  Luckily James didn’t know everything.

  She glanced at her watch in the dim glow of the trunk light. She had things to do. With both hands she grabbed Rickman’s shirt and hauled her out of the trunk with ease. Rock-hard biceps were about the only thing of value she’d gotten out of Hillsboro Women’s Penitentiary. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Without Hillsboro, she never would have met Tammy, whom James did not know.

  She dragged Rickman off the road and into the trees, thinking about her old cellmate. Twenty-five to life had been Tammy’s sentence for killing her wife-beating husband, and hadn’t Sue had to listen to her cry about it every damn night for the five fucking years they’d shared an eight by ten? But to be fair, without Tammy, Sue never would have heard of the place that would be sanctuary for the next few weeks. A secret place in Chicago that opened its doors to women in need. I’m a woman, Sue thought with a smile. And she sure as hell was in need.

  Adopt, adapt, and improve. It was a good motto. A plan was only as strong as it was flexible. Sue pulled her gun from her back waistband and quickly pumped a bullet into the back of Rickman’s head. Instantly the woman went limp. A few quick steps brought Sue back to the trunk where the kid stared up at her, terror in his eyes. She laid the barrel of the gun against his cheek for a split second, nodding when she heard his muffled scream. He could scream then. It was good to know. A red welt rose on his cheek, a burn from the hot steel. “C’mon, kid,” she said, pulling him out of the trunk, dragging him over to where Rickman lay, her blood now soaking the ground. Tears rolled down the boy’s face and she knew he understood the concept of death. At twelve, he’d better. She sure as hell had.

  Chicago, Thursday, July 29, 4:30 A.M.

  It was late. Or early, Dana Dupinsky thought as she slipped into Hanover House’s kitchen through the back door. In any case, there didn’t seem to be much point to going back to bed. Residents would be waking in two hours and the sounds of their morning routines combined with the aroma of brewing coffee would make it impossible to sleep.

  She fastened the three deadbolts that provided some measure of safety—partially from the neighborhood but mostly from those who might be seeking the residents of Hanover House, the women whose lives she’d dedicated her own life to protecting. Dana winced as the third bolt screeched. It needed to be oiled. She’d get to it when she could.

  “So where are they?”

  Stifling a screech of her own, Dana spun, her hand over her heart. Her shock quickly became a glare at the young woman who sat at the kitchen table, her face bathed in the eerie blue light of a laptop computer screen. “Don’t do that,” Dana hissed.

  Evie Wilson looked only mildly repentant. “I’m sorry. I thought you saw me. Sshh,” she murmured, dropping her eyes to her lap. “He’s asleep.”

  Dana walked around the table, not surprised to see Evie holding the infant, the son of Ruby, one of their younger residents. Barely eighteen years old and unwed, Ruby was terrified of both the baby’s father and her own. The bruises Ruby had worn when she arrived had more than substantiated her claim. But after a few weeks in the safe haven of Hanover House, Ruby was determined to get a new start. That’s what women did here. They got new starts. Some, Dana thought, got newer starts than others.

  “He woke up and Ruby was so tired, I told her to get some sleep. It’s all right,” Evie added, gesturing to her computer screen. “I had some work to do for my online classes.”

  Dana bit back a frown. Evie’s online college classes were a source of disagreement between them. “I thought you were going to register up at Carrington for summer term.”

  Evie glanced up, then back at her screen. “I was, but . . . I changed my mind.”

  Dana’s shoulders sagged. “Evie.”

  Evie shook her head. “
Don’t, Dana. Just . . . don’t. I went up there, I really did. I even got out of the car and walked up to the registrar’s office, but . . .” She let the thought trail.

  Dana’s heart squeezed even as she forced herself to say what she knew needed to be said. What she’d said so many times before. “You can’t hide here forever, honey.”

  Half of Evie’s face grimaced while the other half remained still as stone, legacy of a madman’s attack two years before. “I know.” She looked up, her dark eyes flashing. “Are you going to throw me out?” she asked, challenge lacing her tone.

  “You know I’m not.” Dana sank into one of the kitchen chairs, so exhausted. “For God’s sake, Evie.” That she’d even ask. Hell.

  There was silence between them for a long moment before Evie finally spoke again. “So back to my original question, where are they?”

  “They didn’t show up. I waited for three hours and nobody that matched their descriptions got off any of the buses.” Dana massaged the back of her neck wearily. She never questioned how women came to hear of Hanover House. She knew there were pockets of information out there. Nurses, cops, other victims. Sometimes women from outside Chicago would call and Dana would meet them at the bus station, but more than half of the women didn’t show up. Like tonight. “But it wasn’t all a total loss,” she added. “I did get propositioned.” One corner of her mouth lifted. “Guy offered me fifty bucks.”

  “Would’ve paid the telephone bill this month,” Evie said lightly and rose to her feet. “Hold Dylan and I’ll make you some coffee. You look like you could use it.”

  “Thanks.” Settling the baby comfortably against her shoulder, Dana watched Evie fumble with the coffee filters with one hand. The nerves in Evie’s right hand were damaged, legacy of the same vicious attack that left her face scarred and her mouth unable to smile. Three surgeries later, the scars were less noticeable, but her hand would never be the same. Yet Evie never asked for help. Wouldn’t accept it were it offered.

  Evie scooped coffee from the can. “I thought Caroline had bus duty tonight.”

  Caroline was Dana’s very best friend. Her very pregnant best friend. A Hanover House success story, Caroline had made a wonderful life for herself and her son, Tom. Married for two years now, she was just six weeks away from having the baby she and her husband Max had conceived in love. There were few things more successful than that.

  “Nope, not anymore. She is officially off duty for the duration.”

  “And what did she say about that?” Evie asked wryly.

  “The usual. That pregnancy was a natural state and how she was healthy as a horse. I told her to give it up. Max just threatened to tie her to the bed.”

  “Which is how she got that way,” Evie quipped and Dana grinned.

  “True. So, like it or not, I have bus duty for the next six months or so.” Evie doing bus station pickup duty was not a possibility. She’d tried once, but the experience hadn’t been a pleasant one for anyone involved, least of all for Evie. The client’s child, terrified and exhausted, had taken one look at Evie’s scarred face and burst into tears. The client refused to go with Evie and Dana ended up going to the station herself. After that, Evie never left the house without a protective layer of thick makeup that Dana thought looked worse than the scars. But it made Evie secure, so Dana never said a word about it. Dana could tell by the way Evie stared at the dripping coffee that she was remembering, too.

  Changing the subject, Dana looked at Evie’s laptop screen. “What are you taking?”

  “Child psychology and statistics. The statistics course is required for a psych degree.”

  Dana’s eyes widened. “You’re majoring in psychology?” The thought of Evie following in her footsteps left her with a disturbing mix of pride and apprehension.

  “I’d considered it. I was thinking of working with kids. And yes,” she added crossly, “I know I can’t hide here forever. I know the kids won’t come to me.” Evie jerked the partially dripped carafe from the machine, poured Dana the first cup. “I’m working on it.”

  Dana traded the baby for the full coffee cup with a sigh. “I know, honey.” She could tell Evie that her scars were not that bad and even believe it herself, but Evie didn’t and that was the issue. It was normal, but so very wrong. So wrong for a woman to be twenty years old and hiding in a women’s shelter because she was afraid to face the world.

  Evie didn’t sit down, just stood rocking the sleeping baby. It was no secret that the babies were Evie’s favorite, nor was it any great mystery. Babies didn’t stare, didn’t judge. Didn’t cringe. They just cuddled and gave you unconditional love. What a deal.

  It really was. Evie kissed the baby’s forehead. “You’ll leave soon,” she murmured.

  Dana regarded Evie over the rim of her cup. “You’ve become attached to him.”

  Evie looked up, her expression suddenly unreadable. “If you’re thinking I want to keep him here, you’re wrong. This is no place for a child to grow up.”

  Her voice was so adamant, Dana wondered if she was talking about the baby or herself. Evie had been brought to the shelter by one of Dana’s policewoman friends when she was only fifteen, a terrified runaway with a quick mind and a sassy mouth who’d quickly wormed her way into Dana’s heart. Dana had become Evie’s legal guardian although Evie had always been more like a younger sister. “No, honey, it’s not.”

  Evie rocked another moment or two. “He’ll leave and we’ll never know if he’s safe. If Ruby stayed away from the baby’s father or if she goes back to him.” A pause. “It keeps me up at night, Dana. Does it keep you up at night, too?”

  “Only all the time,” Dana answered dryly and watched one side of Evie’s mouth quirk up. “I wish I could take them all in, but I can’t. So I do my best and pray it’s enough.”

  “If Ruby left Chicago she’d be safer.”

  Dana nodded. “That’s likely true. But Ruby rejected the idea. You know that.”

  “She might have said yes if she’d known she could have new papers.”

  New papers. Indeed, some of their residents left Hanover House with newer starts than others. A precious few left with a new identity. New birth certificate, social security card, and driver’s license. Courtesy of Dana Dupinsky, full-time therapist and part-time forger. And she was damn good at both. Her documents had been withstanding scrutiny for more than ten years.

  Dana knew exactly where this conversation was going. Still she kept her voice mild. “You know the policy, Evie. A client has to request help in leaving their old home city before we even bring up the possibility of papers.”

  Evie’s jaw tightened. On one side. “Your policy.”

  Dana sipped more coffee, annoyed and determined not to show it. “My risk. My policy.” What she did was illegal. She provided forged documents. Forged federal documents. Her reasons were pure, but she doubted any judge would take her side. It was critically important that the women she chose to help in this way were discreet, because once they started down the path of a new identity, the secret was out. If any one woman talked . . . It would be my ass in jail. Not Evie’s. Mine.

  Evie bristled. “Your policy could be putting our clients in danger,” she said angrily. The baby whimpered and Evie went back to rocking him where she stood. “What about all the women right here in Chicago who have no idea that we could change their lives?” she whispered harshly. “How could you live with yourself if something happened to them?”

  Dana drew in a breath. It wasn’t a thought she didn’t have herself. Every damn day. “Evie, I’ll say this only once. You will not breach policy. You will not provide any resident of Hanover House with the possibility of papers. Are we clear?”

  Evie’s glare could cut through stone. “Yes, ma’am. We’re very clear.” Evie abruptly turned on her heel, waking Dylan who began to wail loudly. Dana glanced at the clock on the wall as shouts began to flow from the upstairs bedrooms. No, there was absolutely no sense in going back to bed. Th
e day had officially begun.

  Chapter Two

  Wight’s Landing, Maryland, Friday, July 30,

  7:00 P.M.

  Ethan Buchanan sat down at the table in the Vaughns’ beach house kitchen and pulled his palms down his face in helpless frustration. He fought back the panic clawing at his gut. Little Alec was gone, as was his live-in interpreter and speech therapist, Cheryl Rickman. Gone. Little Alec who wasn’t so little anymore. He was twelve. Old enough to know what was happening to him, to be terrified. Still too young to fight back.

  And physically unable to call for help.

  Ethan searched the stunned faces of his oldest friends, wishing he knew what to do next. He’d known Stan Vaughn for twenty-five years, Stan’s wife Randi for ten. Yet the two of them seemed like strangers. Their son was gone, yet Stan and Randi had not called the police or the FBI. Randi sat clutching the phone to her chest and Stan looked as if he’d tackle Ethan when he’d reached for his cell phone.

  Only after he’d promised not to call the police did Randi restore the phone to its place on the counter. Stan had taken up residence at the window, looking out at the bay. Ethan looked from Randi’s pale face to Stan’s rigid back. And sighed. “Let’s take this from the beginning. When exactly did you realize Alec was gone?”

  Silence. Ethan began to lose his patience. Time was ticking. “Stan?”

  Stan leaned his forehead against the windowpane wearily. “Three-thirty this afternoon.”

  “Three thirty-five,” Randi whispered.

  Stan shot an angry glare over his shoulder and Randi returned it defiantly.

  Ethan drew an uneasy breath. So this was how it would be. “Where had you been?”

  “Annapolis,” Randi murmured. “Wednesday was our tenth wedding anniversary.”

  A picture flashed in Ethan’s mind, happier days. Stan in his tux; Stan’s brother Richard in his dress blues as the best man; Randi, so beautiful in white lace. He himself had been holding wriggling toddler Alec, just hoping to keep his own dress blues free of slobbery Cheerio crumbs until they’d said their “I do’s.” Ten years. Gone by so fast.