“Good morning, Mrs. Brubaker.”
As she spoke, Laurel Roberts immediately crossed the room to the window. She whisked open the floor-length curtains to bathe the room in sunlight. The almost pitch-black room of one of her favorite residents might be good for sleeping, but it was time to rise and shine. Laurel had an unexplained soft spot for the silver-haired occupant in room number seven at Resting Acres, despite Hattie Brubaker’s onery side. In fact, Laurel probably liked the centenarian because of it.
As Laurel glanced out at the yard, a habit she’d picked up nine months ago after fleeing Chicago, she could have sworn a male figure darted behind a tree trunk. Panic squeezed her chest as she stared out the window, studying the tree, watching for any sign she could trust her eyes, and that her imagination hadn’t just gone wild.
Heart racing, gaze focused, she gasped when a gust of wind knocked a few leaves loose. Hand over her mouth, she suppressed a scream. It was fine. This wasn’t Chicago. She’d gone to great lengths to ensure there was no trail. He couldn’t possibly have found her.
“Are you an angel?” Hattie asked in dramatic fashion after clearing her throat. Laurel gave the tree a last once-over before turning in time to see Hattie make a show of rubbing her eyes like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
“Nope. Just me. Laurel,” she responded, adding quietly, “no one special.”
“Come closer, heavenly child. My eyesight isn’t what it used to be,” the elder resident continued, seemingly unfazed by reality. The woman played the age card better than a World Championship Poker player played Texas Hold ’em.
“I’m right here,” Laurel said with a forced smile. The sun was rising on what would be another warm day in early fall. The temperatures in her former hometown had already dipped below freezing. Not here. Texas was just as she remembered, warm and sunny. She would take flip-flops over snow boots this time of year, any day of the week. A change of seasons wasn’t due for another week or so in Gunner, Texas, and the short-lived leaf show had yet to begin.
“It’s bright out there,” Mrs. Brubaker said, pushing up to sitting position.
“Another warm one for the books,” Laurel confirmed with a smile. “Can I make you a cup of coffee before I head out?”
Mrs. Brubaker patted the bed. “How much longer until your shift is over?”
Laurel checked her watch. “Technically, I’m done, but there’s no way I would walk out of here without saying good morning,” she said.
“Sit with an old lady for a few minutes before you go?” Mrs. Brubaker was turning on the puppy dog eyes, making it impossible to say no.
“Of course,” Laurel relented, feeling every minute of her ten-hour shift in her aching feet. Mentally, she’d clocked out half an hour ago. But how could she refuse?
“Are you sure you don’t want coffee? I don’t mind running out for some. The staff lounge is practically right outside your door,” Laurel said.
“Well, if it’s no trouble,” Mrs. Brubaker conceded with a twinkle in her eyes. She loved breaking the rules and this was a huge no-no. Residents had their own kitchenettes, bathroom, and living/bedroom combination. They were supposed to stock their own minifridges and cabinets.
“I’ll be back faster than you can put your teeth in,” Laurel teased.
“Challenge accepted.” The older woman immediately reached for the glass on the nightstand where those pearly whites were soaking.
Laurel continued playing along, hurrying out of the room. It was technically shift change, so the other attendants would be making rounds. As long as the head nurse, a.k.a. Nurse Ratched, didn’t catch Laurel, they would be fine. That reminded her. She probably should have grabbed a cup from Mrs. Brubaker’s room. Laurel bit back a curse.
She rushed into the lounge, praying Ratched wouldn’t be waiting in the hallway. The woman had a sixth sense about these kinds of incidents. She seemed to know exactly when to swoop in and bust attendants for the slightest infraction, and the term ‘playful’ meant nothing. She excelled at medical care for the residents though, so at least she had that working for her.
This time, Laurel made it back to the room with the contraband coffee without bumping into a soul. This day was starting to look up, if she ignored the creepy-crawly feeling that still lingered after that moment at the window. After a quick visit with Mrs. Brubaker, Laurel would head home to the lake where her kayak would be waiting. Getting out on the water in early November wasn’t something she could do without freezing her backside off back home. This was the reason she’d chosen Texas as a place to hide. Plus, she’d never spoken about her time here with anyone up north. The Lone Star State might not be the last place on earth anyone would search for her, but it was close.
“Here you go,” she said to a waiting Mrs. Brubaker. “I managed to sneak it out.”
The toothy smile staring at her from the bed made Laurel laugh as she handed over the drink.
“Don’t get yourself in trouble over me,” Mrs. Brubaker said, but the hint of mischief in her eyes said she loved these little games and that she also knew she’d won. This incredible woman had been the first from Texas to swim the English Channel; she’d survived losing two of her three children to Vietnam, and a husband to ‘the big C word’ as she’d put it; plus, she’d written a physics paper in the nineties that was still being used for core teaching at the University of Texas at Austin. She’d been a spitfire, a real force to be reckoned with, who now spent most of her days sitting at the window reading or looking at pictures of days gone by. Her daughter and granddaughter visited Sundays. They seemed to love her. Laurel had even overheard Ruthie, the daughter, beg her mother to come live with them. Mrs. Brubaker laughed off the request, saying she’d be in the way.
Laurel wanted to ask why, but gathered the subject was touchy.
“Tell me about Chicago this time of year,” Mrs. Brubaker said, patting a spot next to her.
“Well, it’s cold for one thing,” Laurel stated with a visible tremor, before perching on the side of the bed. She’d answered the older woman’s question honestly about where she’d come from, praying it wasn’t a mistake. The words had slipped out a little too easily, and Laurel had had to remind herself not to be so chatty with people. Impossible with present company, she thought. Lying was hard. Laurel had never developed a gift for deception. “But that’s just a preamble for what’s to come when the real cold strikes.”
“I bet the snow is beautiful, though.” There was a wistful quality to Mrs. Brubaker’s eyes as she sipped the warm coffee, no doubt wishing she could be on another adventure instead of this bed.
“You won’t get any argument from me there,” Laurel said. “There is something magical about those tiny white flakes drifting down from the heavens.”
Mrs. Brubaker’s smile widened at the image.
“My husband couldn’t take the cold,” she said on a sigh. “Of course, I’ve always believed anything in the seventies is sweater and coat weather.” She laughed and some of the spark returned to her eyes.
A knock at the door interrupted their easy conversation.
“How are you doing today, Ms. B?” Tad Durant asked, stepping inside the room before being given permission to enter. The intern always seemed to pop in whatever room Laurel was in at the end of her ten-hour shift. She bit back a yawn and forced a smile. Technically, Tad had seniority over her. Upsetting him or making him an enemy wouldn’t be in her best interest, but she still wished he’d give her some space.
“I’m finer than a frog hair split four ways,” Mrs. Brubaker announced proudly as she threw the covers off and swung her feet off the bed. Her flannel nightgown fell well past her knees and Laurel noticed how the older woman had slipped the coffee onto the dresser without Tad batting an eye.
“Good to hear,” Tad said. He’d insisted Laurel call him by his first name. She thought it sounded a little too chummy.
“Besides, Laurel is right here if I need anything,” the older woman stated.
Tad was just shy of six feet tall with a runner’s build. He had dark hair, cobalt blue eyes that seemed to work wonders on the other attendants. His charms didn’t have the same effect on Laurel, and she feared it had caused him to double down on his efforts to convince her.
“Speaking of which,” he started, turning toward Laurel. “How about we grab a cup of coffee when your shift is over?”
He’d barely delivered his line before firing off a wink. Seriously? All she could think was how badly she wanted to take a shower to scrub off the used car salesman yuck after this conversation with him. Not only was Tad not her typical type, but he gave her the creeps. And, sure, her radar was up despite moving to a town where no one knew her name or background. Laurel had gone to great lengths to ensure no one found her, especially not…
She shivered.
“No, thanks,” she said, refocusing on Tad’s question. “I’m expected at home.”
It wasn’t a complete lie. More like stretching the truth to let him down easy. This was the fourth day in a row he’d asked, and this was the fourth time she’d turned him down. Thankfully, she was off the next three days. Maybe by then he would move on to another attendant.
And her kayak was expecting her. Sort of. As much as an inanimate object could wait for someone.
It might have been nine months since she’d left the small suburb on the outskirts of Chicago, but her ordeal had started almost two years prior. The death. The accusation. The harassment. No one wanted to believe she was innocent, or that she’d acted in self-defense. Least of all her ex’s family—a family who had money, power, and ties. Soon after the investigation closed and she was deemed a victim rather than a suspect, local cops started harassing her. One in particular made her skin crawl thinking about him and the way he’d backed her up against the wall in her kitchen and threatened to do things to her she’d since blocked from her mind. Ricky Harris. Thinking about him now caused an involuntary shiver to rock her body.
Breathe.
Laurel was confident in the place she’d chosen to hide. Originally from the outskirts of Chicago, she’d headed south the minute she feared her and the lives of the people she loved were in danger after being harassed for a crime she didn’t commit.
The small ranching community of Gunner had been a safe haven for the past three months. There was a dozen or so founding ranching families still in the cattle business and then, of course, there was the Quinn family. They were beyond rich. She’d heard good things about their character and had heard there’d been some kind of reckoning with the patriarch. She’d also noticed all attention was on them when one or more of them was in the room. Flying under the radar meant staying as far away from the noteworthy and wealthy Quinn family as much as possible.
Gunner had a small downtown area, complete with an idyllic Main Street. Quaint shops with local flair and eateries lined the streets leading to the town hall. A feed store was at the edge of town; its parking lot was almost always full. Gunner and the surrounding area had many lakes, and that was a very large part of the reason Laurel had chosen this place for her next stop. Harmony Lake had lived up to the promise of its name. Here, time seemed to slow down and Laurel felt like she could breathe again after holding her breath for what felt like an eternity.
The job at Restful Acres had offered a lifeline. The opening had provided the other thing Laurel had needed most, an opportunity to work while most people slept. Then there was Mrs. Brubaker. She had the same hopeful powder blue eyes of Laurel’s grandmother.
The incident at Mrs. Brubaker’s window still had Laurel’s nerves on edge. Just when she was finally starting to relax and believe she might not have to look over her shoulder for the rest of her life, something like that always happened and threw her off-kilter all over again.
Refocusing on the conversation going on between Tad and Mrs. Brubaker, Laurel saw an opportunity to duck out of the room when Tad moved closer to the bed.
She made a show of glancing at her watch as they met at the midpoint of the room. He sidestepped in time to block her view of the door, causing all of her internal alarm bells to sound.
“Look at the time,” she said with a shrug, doing her level best to calm her racing pulse and quiet her fight, freeze, or flight instinct.
This time, she wouldn’t allow anyone else to have control over her. She squared her shoulders and forced herself to look Tad dead in the eyes.
“Excuse me,” she said with a calm she didn’t feel. “And if you don’t step out of the way soon, I’ll move you myself.”
Tad’s gaze widened in what looked like surprise before he took a dramatic step to the side and swept his hand, as though giving her permission to exit.
It took pretty much all of Laurel’s self-control not to comment. Instead, she took a slow breath as she walked past and muttered, jerk, just loud enough for him to hear, but studiously ignored his reaction.
“Behave yourself while I’m gone, Mrs. Brubaker,” Laurel said with a breezy confidence she didn’t own.
“Well, that doesn’t sound like any fun,” the older woman quipped.
“Then, at least don’t get caught,” Laurel said. She paused long enough at the door to glance at the bed where Mrs. Brubaker sat. The woman winked and gave a thumbs-up as Tad moved to the foot of the bed. Laurel realized instantly her friend had probably heard the remark. The encouragement gave Laurel another boost of confidence as she headed out the door and toward home.
Laurel admired the way the light reflected off the waves of the lake. The water shimmered underneath the morning sunshine. There was no place that felt as much like home as this cabin despite its small size. The whole place was basically two rooms with a bathroom off to one side, and a laundry nook that was tucked away in a closet hallway. The kitchenette wasn’t exactly big family Thanksgiving material, but the space fit her perfectly. She could hear noises from any part of the cabin, so no one would be able to quietly break in the living room while she was sleeping in the bedroom. She’d figured out the first evening that she could leave the door open during a shower and still hear noises in the next room, like if glass broke. She’d asked her landlord to install an alarm, lost the argument. He had agreed to install a deadbolt with a signed year-long lease.
It was a shame that she might have to move again. And it was a crying shame that her time here in Gunner might be coming to an end. Laurel reminded herself not to get too ahead of the game. It was only a possible sighting, she thought as she turned the car engine off after pulling up next to the cabin, unable to shake the neck-hairs-standing-on-end feeling that someone might be watching her. She paused long enough to glance around and saw nothing but inlet, trees, and the cabin directly across the water from hers. When she really thought about it, anyone could be hiding behind one of those trees.
The inlet opened up at the end of her lane into a massive lake that boaters frequented. She’d used the kayak a couple of times that came with the rental and had made it habit after a ten-hour workday, since it helped her unwind. There was a time when she would have had a glass of wine instead. Not any longer. She needed a clear mind at all times.
Laurel needed to get inside, throw her stuff down, and change clothes. She’d been looking forward to her usual after work kayak ride for the entire ride home. There was no better way to relax after a ten-hour shift than to get out onto the water. But then, she’d always been a water baby. In Chicago, that had meant hot baths. Here, she could get outside much of the year based on the weather patterns.
As she rounded the front of her vehicle, a noise startled her. Her hand immediately came up to her chest as the trash can tipped over, clanking against the brick wall before bouncing off and then landing against the hard soil.
Laurel screamed before her brain could process the fact that it was a cat slinking out, shaking each paw one at a time.
“Henry, I told you not to scare me like that,” Laurel fussed at the feral cat that seemed completely non-plussed by her presence. Henry had been her only visitor in the three months since she’d moved into Casa Amarillo, named for its bright yellow decorations.
Taking a moment to will her stress levels down, she breathed in a couple of deep breaths. Then, she started to clean up the mess the little tabby had made.
“What were you after?” she asked, clutching at her heart.
Shake it off, she said to herself. She was seeing shadows where there were none and freaking out over a cat in the trash can. This wasn’t the first time Henry had gone foraging for food. It wouldn’t be the last. The trash can had banged against the wall in the past while she’d been inside the cabin and it had scared her half to death then too. Every noise still caused her to jump, even if she no longer shrank. Now, when adrenaline surged, she bucked up for a fight.
This also signaled she had probably stayed in the same place for too long and that was truly regrettable.
On a sigh, she picked up the can and scooped up the debris using a flattened cereal box. More critters would get into it, as well as creepy-crawlies, if she didn’t get this cleaned up as soon as possible.
“I hope you got something good to eat out of this, sir,” she said to Henry. He seemed to have survived the initial shock of the experience as he was sitting on his hindquarters, casually licking his paws. Laurel shook her head. If she was smart, she would stop feeding him. But he needed her, and she had no plans to stop even if the little guy did cause trouble.
The mess was tidied up in a matter of minutes and yet her nerves were probably going to be fried for the rest of the day. All she could think of was getting the kayak on the water and paddling through her tension.
Inside, the cabin had a sofa and two chairs circled around a small fireplace. Having a fireplace at all caused her to scratch her head. It seemed wholly unnecessary in Texas, but, hey, she intended to use it if the temperature dipped below freezing. Cold temperatures happened in Texas. They just didn’t stick around. A small round table with a flap down was pushed up against the back of the couch. Three wooden chairs were tucked underneath. Yellow accents brightened up the place and there were the softest, checkered-patterned curtains hanging on the window above the sink.
The duvet on the bed was eggshell white, and there was a bright yellow afghan folded across the bottom. It reminded her of something her beloved grandmother would have made. To Laurel, the owner had missed the mark on the name of the place. He should have named it Casa del Sol, home of the sun.
In a hurry to change into her swimsuit and cover so she could get out onto the lake before the sun scorched, it barely registered when Laurel had grabbed the handle that she realized she’d forgotten to lock the door. Shock seized her. She was getting too comfortable here. Panic gripped her, causing her chest to squeeze and her pulse to skyrocket.
This seemed like a good time to remind herself to breathe. She was already on high alert after the ‘incident’ with the tree, if she could call it that, and then moments ago with Henry. Then there was Tad, who’d made leaving work stressful. Next shift, she would figure out a way to say hello to Mrs. Brubaker without crossing over with him. She was too easy to figure out. She’d set a pattern, which was exactly against the advice of the private security consultant who’d taken pity on her and given her advice before leaving Chicago. The two of them had gone over her options over an hour lunch, which was all she could afford without knowing where she would be going or how long she would be out of work.
Laurel changed as fast as humanly possible, still trying to shake the ‘dark cloud over her head’ feeling. Since coming to Gunner, she’d come so close to shedding it like a coat that had grown too small. In the kitchen, she made a quick protein shake and polished it off as quickly as possible. There was something about the routine of coming home, changing, and then having a protein shake before heading out for a morning row after work that was comforting. Anticipation mounted as she thought about the pale blue sky with white puffy clouds that waited outside the door. The freedom of being on the lake, gliding across the water. The stillness of the lake when there were little to no other people or boats around. Here, she’d been flying under the radar. She’d even managed to avoid the county’s sheriff, Griffin Quinn. After being stalked and threatened by a dirty cop, she had no use for either.
Those thoughts were almost enough to start easing the tension that had built up between her shoulder blades and seemed to take up permanent residence since this whole ordeal began. But she didn’t want to think about it while the lake called to her. Setting those thoughts aside, she moved outside.
Laurel stretched out her arms as she stepped onto the creaky wooden porch of the rental. She closed and locked the door behind her, double-checking the lock before sliding the key inside the small slit in the waistband of her swim shorts. She pulled her bright yellow kayak behind her as she moved toward the water’s edge.
On the shoreline, she didn’t even make it to the water when a snake hissed at her. Its head poked out of the grass lining the water, and it came at her. For a split second, Laurel froze. Then, she inched backward a step. She’d been warned about this type of snake from her landlord, but hadn’t seen one in the three months since she’d moved in. There’d been spiders and other creepy crawlers, but nothing like this.
It hissed again.
A scream escaped before she could suppress it. A jolt of adrenaline coursed through her veins and she fought against the urge to freeze.
All she could think to do was let out another scream that seemed to carry across the lake and, quite probably, could be heard all the way in Seattle. There had to be some way to scare the snake, that only hissed even more.
Laurel bent down and grabbed an oar while keeping one eye on the snake. All she could think to do in the moment was slap the oar against the hard soil. She must have gotten a whole lot stronger in the past nine months because the oar cracked in half. Her attempt to scare the snake backfired as it launched toward her.
She jumped up and down, smacking what was left of the oar against the earth while screaming bloody murder. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a fishing boat speeding toward her, no doubt, to the rescue.
The man inside was unmistakable. Sheriff Griffin Quinn.