Desperate Measures. Christy Barritt
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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