Desperate Measures. Christy Barritt
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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.”
“A murder suspect? I don’t believe it.” John glanced across the sandy yard just as Samantha stepped onto the porch with an armful of sheets. Connor ran ahead of her, and she began racing after him. Connor giggled as his lead widened. That was not an image of a killer. Samantha, if anything, was a victim. “What did you tell him?”
“I told him I couldn’t believe Samantha could ever hurt another person and that I had no idea where she went. It’s the truth. I don’t want to know. My guess is that this agent is trying to track her down, though. I don’t know how long it’s going to take.”
“I don’t think you ever answered my original question. Why are you telling me this?” John asked.
“Samantha texted Kylie last night and did an informal character check on you. She wanted to find out if you were a classy kind of guy.”
“And Kylie said?”
“She said she’d trust you with her life. I know your past. I figured you might have passed on your contact information to Samantha. I just thought I’d let you know what happened last night. Just in case. I have a hard time believing Samantha’s dangerous. But, should you see her, keep that in mind.”
John did see her. She paused at his cabin doorway, then turned around to get his approval before going inside. When he nodded, she flashed a smile and then ducked into the doorway.
A killer?
Never.
But whatever was going on in her life sure had created a tangled web. If he were smart, he’d stay away.
But the chivalrous side of him couldn’t stand to see a woman or child in danger.
He wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking when he’d agreed to hire her. He knew what Alyssa would tell him. She would say that his heart was too big for its own good. Then she’d smile and tell him that’s why she loved him so much.
There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t miss that woman. Time had made his grief more bearable, but it hadn’t lessened his loss.
That’s why he had to help Samantha while still keeping her at a distance. His moral duty was to aid someone in need. But helping was as far as it went.
* * *
After working a seven hour day, Samantha relished the tepid shower water. She was even thankful for the lousy water pressure as she scrubbed the grime off nearly every visible surface of skin. She had to admit that the physical labor today had felt good, despite her sore ribs and the tender skin around her eye.
She’d been working a desk job for the past few months. While working this new job, she found it invigorating to submerge herself into a task at hand, even better because Connor could work alongside her. Her injuries were grim reminders that not everything was as idyllic as it seemed here, though.
She climbed out, toweled dry, and pulled on some clean clothes. Then she rubbed the steam from the mirror and stared at her reflection. She noted the lines around her eyes and on her forehead. Those hadn’t been there a year ago. The events of the past twelve months had taken a toll on every part of her—physically, emotionally and spiritually.
Her mom had once told Samantha that she was a survivor. She held on to her mom’s proclamation, hoping it was true. But she didn’t feel like one. Sure, maybe she’d managed to stay alive. But somehow, she hadn’t felt as if she was truly living in a long time. Fear and guilt could be a prison of their own.
“You ready, Mom?”
She looked over at Connor, her heart squeezing with both love and guilt. “Sure thing.” She dried her hands and then hooked an arm around her son’s neck. “Thanks for helping today. Admit it—you had fun.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know if I’d say that.”
The place had shaped up quickly. Samantha had washed everything, scrubbed the floors and peeled down wallpaper. It didn’t look that bad after all.
Meanwhile, John had patched the roof, fixed a broken stair on the porch and removed a hornet’s nest from outside. Connor had even gotten into the action. He’d helped with painting and had scrubbed the fridge.
They’d all worked together—in silence. Samantha was thankful. Talking led to questions, and she didn’t want the questions to lead to lies.
“We’re going to be okay, Connor,” she assured him.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“I changed my mind. Can we stay here for a while? Please? I’m so tired of moving.”
Her heart squeezed. “I think we can stay awhile.”
“You think? That means you’re not promising anything.” Not much got past her son, and she wouldn’t lie to him.
“It’s complicated, Connor.”
He frowned.
Samantha leaned down in front of him until they were eye to eye. “I’m doing the best I can. I hope we can stay here for a while, Connor. I really do.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise that I’ll do my best to stay here. I know it’s not exactly what you want to hear. But it’s the most I can give you.”
“Okay.”