Wise Moves. Mary Burton
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his hand. “No problemo.”
Sheridan hitched her head toward the door. “Get your cup. Walk with me.”
Kristen wasn’t sure what to say but picked up her cup, hoisted her backpack on her shoulder and followed Sheridan down the tree-lined street.
They walked several blocks north of the historical district into a neighborhood that hadn’t been renovated yet. In the center of the aging buildings was a tall house made of gray stone. It had a red front door flanked by large pots filled with purple and yellow winter pansies. A sign painted in a breezy style hung above the door. It read: Yoga Studio. The building had a warm, calming quality.
“This is your place?”
“Yes.” Pride was evident.
“It’s lovely.”
“I’ve worked hard to fix her up. She was a mess and marked for demolition when I bought her three years ago. But I could see there was still a good bit of life here. There’s more work to be done, but I’m making progress.”
“You like to rescue things,” Kristen said as she stared at ivy trailing out of the window boxes.
A smile tugged at Sheridan’s full mouth. “And you are good at sizing people up.”
A necessary skill. “Yes.”
Sheridan studied her. “There’s sadness in your soul, Kristen Rodale.”
Kristen felt the blood drain from her face. “Sadness isn’t a crime is it?”
Sheridan sipped her coffee. “No, it’s not. But someone as young as you shouldn’t be so sad.”
“No one ever said life was supposed to be happy.”
A cloud passed in front of Sheridan’s eyes. Kristen had hit a nerve. But just as soon as the sorrow appeared, it vanished. “Like I said, I pay seven dollars an hour and I also have a room above the studio, which you can use. I lived in the apartment until a couple of months ago. Now I live down the street in the youth shelter.”
“Why the shelter?”
“The old director quit unexpectedly and they needed someone to run the place. I like the kids so for now it’s my home.”
“More people to save?”
“I suppose.” Sheridan broke Kristen’s gaze and let it travel over her building. “The apartment is yours if you want it, though I’ll expect you to open the shop each morning by eight. That’ll save me from having to arrive much before the 9:00 a.m. class. The shelter has a 10:00 p.m. curfew, but I never seem to get to bed before midnight.”
Life had made Kristen cautious, skeptical of lucky breaks. Sheridan just seemed too good to be true. “Why me?”
She lifted a brow. “Why hire you? Can’t say. A gut feeling. Sometimes you have to be willing to take a chance on the unknown.”
Sheridan was offering a job and a place to stay—a rare and wonderful combination. Kristen had purchased a social security number in Atlanta two months ago, so the paperwork wouldn’t be an issue. It would be nice to call one place home for a while. And Lancaster Springs seemed like the last place Antonio would ever look for her.
Sheridan seemed to sense she’d not quite convinced Kristen. “Oh, did I mention the apartment has a microwave and small fridge?”
Here she could save more money. If she were careful she could save up enough for a car in a matter of months. “Sounds like heaven.”
“It’s nothing fancy, but it is clean and safe.”
Safe.
There was a time when Kristen had believed she’d never be truly safe again, which was why she’d crisscrossed the country and still kept a thousand miles between herself and Florida. Hiding had become her specialty.
Yes, to stop moving was risky, but she’d covered her tracks well.
She was safe.
Kristen held out a hand to Sheridan. “I’ll take your job.”
The woman’s grip was firm. “Good.”
Chapter 2
Tuesday, April 24, 2:33 p.m.
Dane Cambia checked his watch. He itched to get this meeting going.
A week ago, he’d contacted Lucian Moss, a UCLA dropout who ran a company that specialized in computer security systems. Other corporations hired Moss to test the integrity of their networks. So far, there hadn’t been a system he couldn’t hack into.
The front door of the pub opened and Cambia recognized Lucian Moss from the last day of the Antonio Benito trial. He remembered Lucian’s anguished outcry when the “Innocent” verdict had been read. Moss’s uncle had been among the Churchmen murdered in Miami last year.
The computer expert wore a Grateful Dead shirt, an old black leather jacket, faded jeans and scuffed leather boots. Thick black hair brushed broad muscled shoulders, making him look more like a Hell’s Angel than a computer geek.
Cambia rose, waved him over. The men shook hands and sat down.
A waitress came and took Lucian’s coffee order. If she thought Moss looked out of place in the tony Washington pub, she showed no sign of it.
Cambia waited until she’d delivered Lucian’s coffee and topped off his mug. “Thanks for coming.”
“Sure.” He pushed his coffee aside.
Dane lowered his voice. “We share a common enemy.”
Moss twisted an onyx ring on his pinky finger. “Really?”
“Antonio Benito.”
Hatred darkened Moss’s eyes. “What’s Benito done to you?”
“My sister was Nancy Rogers, a Miami cop assigned to guard Elena Benito. The safe house was hit by gunmen. My sister was killed.”
Lucian’s dark eyes softened. “I’m sorry.”
Sadness tightened around Dane’s heart. He’d listened to the tape of Nancy’s last conversation with her commanding officer twenty times. Her voice had been tense, tight and her shock clear when she’d realized her partner had betrayed them. Nancy had ordered Elena to run before firing her gun. It sliced at his gut every time.
“I need your help,” Dane said.
“How so?”
“I’ve had people on the street looking for Elena Benito for six months. No one can find her. But I’ve heard you can find anybody.”
“I can.” The softly spoken words radiated confidence.
“I want to use Elena as bait,” Dane said. “She’s the only one Antonio Benito truly cares about, the only one that can flush him out.”
Moss studied him. “The police failed to protect her before.”
“I won’t.”
Lucian tapped a long finger on the table. “I did a little checking on you. Special Forces. A month ago you resigned from the FBI.”
“That’s right.”
“Why’d you leave?”
“The law had their chance with Benito. Now it’s my turn.”
“You are going to kill him?”
“Yep.”
For a moment Lucian said nothing and Dane feared he wasn’t up for such hands-on work. “I want in on the kill.”
Surprised, he sat back in his seat. “No.”
“I’ve spent the last year going after Benito’s finances. Most of his business is