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Hank's head was spinning—with anger. Despair. Sadness. And wonder for the beautiful woman beside him. She could still smile. She could still . . . hope for the future. Be enthusiastic and loving to her children. That she could still love. That she might one day . . . love him. When her ex had taken so much. The bastard who still breathed. Polluting their air.
"Annie, you're one of the strongest women I've ever met." He released a steadying breath to dispel the fury churning within him, unwilling for even a drop of it to spill over on her. She'd been through enough. He wouldn't risk her being collateral damage to the battle raging inside him. "You telling me what he's done-" He swallowed hard. "Only confirms what I believe about you. You're unbelievably smart—to have escaped him. And you're tough to have survived it."
"Henry-" Her beautiful eyes leaked tears.
"And you're the best damned mom I've ever met." Swearing under his breath, Hank tugged her gently into his arms. And held her. His head resting on hers, he released several cleansing breaths. Brushing his lips against her forehead, he felt himself calm. Something about having Annie in his arms settled him. Made everything feel right. As though she, alone, was meant to be there. And he was meant to be in her life. To comfort her. To make it a little easier. To help her repair the damage done to two, loving, guarded boys.
Unable to resist, he trailed his mouth along her hairline. Heard her shudder and was thankful for it. He wanted her. He wanted them.
She lifted her mouth to his. "Henry-" She opened for him. Unable to resist, he swallowed her sigh, sliding his tongue into her warm, welcoming sweetness. She met him eagerly, her soft moan muffled as he ravaged her mouth, tasting, exploring, giving and taking from her. From her overwhelmingly eager response. Sweet Jesus, she was the most beautiful, responsive woman he'd ever-
Too soon, his blood heating to an inferno, heart bouncing off his ribcage, he gently pulled back. Her whimper of protest had him dropping kisses along the corner of her mouth. "I want you, Annie," he whispered, his mouth drifting to her ear, where he nipped the delicate flesh with his teeth. "I'm half-crazy wanting you."
Her luscious breasts pressed to his chest, Hank could barely think straight. But, when she lifted her gaze to his, he found only honesty shimmering there. "I want you, too."
"Maybe . . . y'all could spend the day out at the farm . . . soon."
She kissed a path up his throat. "How about Saturday?" Her gaze turned mischievous, as though she could read his disjointed thoughts. "I want to see goats."
"Saturday?" He gulped in a ragged breath of much needed air as her mouth continued its trek along the underside of his jaw. How could that feel so unbelievably good? "Would—would be great. We could hike with the boys. Have a picnic in the orchard-"
"And see goats?"
"Nelson and Mildred would love to-" He swallowed a groan when her mouth traced a path up his bristled cheek. "Meet you," he rasped.
"Maybe . . . we could spend the night, too?"
He stilled. Glanced down at her. Read the answer in her eyes. Hooyah. Hell, yes, they could spend the night. "That would be amazing, but—only if you're sure. When you're sure." His pulse soared, before tattooing a warning. Glancing up, he located her sons before she asked. "They're comin' this way, sweet. We should probably head back to the shelter so you can pick up your car and get these little guys home to bed."
She startled against him. Gazing down at her, he absorbed her suddenly troubled expression—as though she felt guilty for the actions of her bastard ex-husband. "Darlin', let me reassure you of one thing. He is never—ever going to touch you again."
"I should've told you sooner." Annie stared up at him, her eyes shadowed as she chewed the perfect bottom lip he wanted to taste all over again. "But, I was afraid it would scare you off. And I wanted it to last a little longer."
"Being with me?" He stroked her back, loving how she relaxed against him, how she seemed to crave his touch as much as he did hers.
She stared up at him, her beautiful, golden eyes heating with emotion. "Henry, you don't know what you've done for me. You . . . make my day. Just seeing you each day has been wonderful."
"I feel the same about you." Her delicate, flushed cheekbones warmed under his thumbs, her skin like satin to his touch. How could anyone . . . strike her? Her stunning, perfect face? The fragile, fine-boned beauty. Her delicate, tapered nose. The honest, loving eyes staring back at him. How could anyone use his fists-
"It's o' dark hundreds." Tommy announced his arrival.
Still staring into her eyes, Hank shook free of the disturbing image. A madman. A bully. A weak, manipulative- He released a cleansing breath, forcing a smile for the boys. "That means we should probably be getting back, guys."
"Why's you kissin' my mommy?" Jason wedged between them, raising his arms for Hank to lift him up.
"Your mommy is incredibly nice," he answered, pleased the little boy wanted him to carry him. He hoisted him to his shoulder. "And look how beautiful she is," he pointed out, smiling when she blushed.
Jason nodded. "I needs to kiss her, too." He glanced at Hank. "Swing me over so I can reach," he ordered.
Hank smothered his laughter as he complied, relieved to set aside the disturbing conversation. There would be plenty of time later to address his jumbled thoughts. Plenty of time to think about the bastard who'd nearly broken her. To learn more . . . about Phil McKenna.
After a smacking kiss, Jason clutched his neck. "I's tired from playin'"
"How about you, Sport?" His gaze shifted to Tommy. "You tired?"
The little guy's nod was interrupted with a yawn. "Uh-huh." He leaned against his mother's leg. When Annie went to lift him, she stilled, suddenly glancing over her shoulder.
"Everything okay?" Hank liked the feel of Jason's soft, little arms around his neck. When she shivered, he noticed her sudden paleness. "Need my jacket, sweet?"
She scrubbed her arms, her gaze still searching the baseball field beyond them. Distracted, she finally nodded. "Thank you—no. I'm f-fine. We should—get going."
As subtly as possible, Hank turned with Jason, pointing out the stars over the darkening field. His antenna raised, he scanned the far side of the field, looking for what . . . he wasn't certain. But, something had made Annie go quiet. In deepening shadows, he noticed a man resting against the base of a tree. A dark hoodie. Black or navy. Hood up, covering his head. His neck prickled. On a perfect spring night—why was the hood up?
For a fleeting moment, he wished he was alone. That he could cross the field- As the man was absorbed in the deepening shadows under the thick grove of trees, he reluctantly turned back. Get them safe. He wanted Annie and the boys in his truck. "Who wants to help fold the blanket?"
He was met with a duet of 'I do's. The task took twice as long as it should as each boy battled for control over the corners. But, he was warmed by Annie's laughter as she finally stepped in to re-establish order. After catching her glance, he whispered his question. "Can I tell them about Saturday?"
"Not all of it, I hope." Her smile suddenly shy, she blushed furiously as though second-guessing her teasing remark. But, luminous, golden eyes told an entirely different story. Annie was eager about Saturday, too. Maybe more than her boys would be. And he—was damned near ecstatic.
He waited until the boys were safely strapped into their car seats—a purchase he'd debated for nearly twenty minutes the previous night when he'd run by the store after work to pick up toothpaste and shaving cream. The display had caught his eye . . . the baby aisle of all places. He'd wandered past, intent on finding the items on his list and gettin' the hell out. When he'd seen them. Car seats. A whole row of 'em. For people with babies. Families with children. People vastly unlike him. He'd seen tiny clothes in bright patterns. A cute, little, pink dress with the word Handful emblazoned across the front. Toys. Cribs. Blankets.
"You boys have any interest in coming out to the farm on Saturday?" Hank winced when the boys started shrieking in the back seat, before peppering him with a million questions. Glancing at Annie, he grinned. "Guess they're not so sleepy anymore."
Her eyes glinting in the street lights as he retraced their steps to New Beginnings, she cracked up. "Thanks for that."
"No problem," he teased. "I'm super helpful like that." Her strong, capable fingers nestled in his, his thoughts drifted back to the previous night. The store. The aisle where, feeling distinctly uncomfortable, he'd started to sweat. Out of his element. As though he'd meandered over the border—into a foreign country where he could no longer read the signs. Yet, his feet had refused to move. He'd hesitated. He'd stared. He'd debated. Until he'd finally flagged down a girl in a red shirt . . . and proceeded to pester her with a dozen questions about car seats. Which one was the best? Safest. The easiest to use. Then, he'd bought two of them. But, when he'd left the store, rolling the overloaded cart out to his truck, his brain had still been preoccupied. He'd strapped each seat in place, exactly as the girl had instructed him, still puzzling through it. He'd tightened straps. Triple-checked them for looseness. As he'd crawled out of the backseat, he'd finally realized his confusion hadn't stemmed from his completely random purchase of two, relatively expensive car seats.
He glanced at Annie, smiling in the seat beside him and gave her hand a squeeze. His mind drifted back. Remembering that little, pink dress.
***
FURY STRUMMED THROUGH him. Sadness—that her actions tonight would force him to teach her a lesson. Phil set his binoculars in the grass, casually lowering the hoodie to scan the area. To make sure he wasn't attracting any attention. He'd driven to the damned shelter tonight. He'd taken a risk, walking into that hellhole . . . acting as though he were one of them. One of the pathetic, weak creatures who couldn't even manage to feed themselves without begging for assistance. Always whining about what they didn't have. As though hard-working people like him should be bailing them out.
Only to discover—the bitch was out? She'd actually left the shelter. On a date? Two hundred yards away, she sat on a blanket in the park. With some older guy—who was sittin' too close to his wife. He raised the binoculars again, his grip tightening when the bastard kissed her. "Those are my kids, bro. Unless you're gonna pay for 'em . . ." Hell—wouldn't that be nice? Get the ex out of his wallet? To be free and clear of them. Finally.
Today, he'd finally received confirmation on what he'd suspected for two weeks. They'd been outside . . . for some stupid dog and pony show. All the site guys, drivin' equipment around for the kids. Her blond hair had stood out like a taunting, neon beacon. Phil smiled. He'd wanted to yank her head back. Bring back any memories, hon? He wanted to twist it in his hands until she dropped to her knees, crying. But—he had the new one for that now. Betsy. A pill addict with steady money from her ex. He could pretty much do anything to her—as long as he controlled her stash of Vikes. Occasionally, he'd steal a couple for himself. To relax. De-stress. Living with Betsy was nearly as bad as his ex. She was always whining. But, hell if he'd end up like her. Weak-willed. Pathetic. Crying for the drug she craved.
"But, that don't mean Annie gets a free pass." So, after leaving the shelter, he'd performed a simple radius check. Eight restaurants later with no success, he'd finally remembered the park. No matter where they'd ever gone for dinner . . . Annie had always wanted to run the boys around. A quick internet search revealed all the parks in a five mile radius of the shelter. Simple. She was pathetically simpleminded. "One 'a the reasons you got rid of her."
Get 'em tired for bed. She'd always complained about him doin' more. Him takin' the drooling, little pains in the ass to the park. "Go have fun with them," he mimicked. How was that possibly in the realm of fun? Clumsy, useless kids he'd never wanted. Always stumbling. Always whining. Spilling stuff. Wanting to be picked up. Crying. Jesus—it never ended. Always the damned park. "Like—that's my job?"
Phil lowered the binoculars. It was starting to get dark, his location too shadowed to see clearly. Should he move in closer? Return to the shelter? Watch the geezer bring his kids back? If he hadn't lost his temper and gone after the Hispanic woman . . . he woulda been able to return the next day to surprise Annie. But—he'd been furious . . . she'd made him lose his temper. Now that he thought of it, he shoulda popped a Viko himself. They always took the edge off. Made it easier to tolerate the idiots surrounding him.
It was Annie's fault he'd made a move on the woman who worked there. Then, her stupid kid had been right behind her. Bad luck. The big, hulking guard had been working late, too. Seriously bad luck. He was a friggin' giant.
He'd had to back off. Pretend he hadn't been about to yank that chick's arm off until she told him where he could find Annie. Phil bit back the urge to shout. At night—in a park full 'a kids, that sort of move could get him arrested.
He froze when Annie looked over her shoulder—staring in his direction. "Yeah, bitch," he muttered. "It's me. You'd better get ready."
***
ANNIE WAS RELIEVED to finally leave the park. It had gotten too dark, too fast. The creepy sensation of being watched had slithered over her. The boys had dawdled, playing with Hank as they folded the picnic blanket—the happy noise of kids slowly fading away. As one car after the next turned on headlights and winded their way out of the park grounds, her senses had been screaming. The playground had gone unnaturally quiet. The deeply shadowed trees. Empty swings gently rocking in the breeze. Warning had strafed the hair on her neck. Run. Pick up the boys—and run.
Now, in the seat beside Hank, safely locked inside his truck, she released a calming breath. Maybe she'd imagined it? Her life was on the cusp of getting better. She glanced at him, sensing his smile. Had she forgotten how to be happy? Schooled for too long on bad news—had she lost the ability to experience joy? To acknowledge she was already half in love with the kindest man she'd ever met?
No. She'd been through this too often. Don't get careless. Her senses had prickled. One minute she'd been kissing Henry. Smiling over the boys exuberance. And the next—her pulse had strummed a warning. The metallic bitterness of fear had prickled her tongue. She'd sensed his presence. Phil—was nearby. Which meant—he knew where they lived. He'd seen them. Unless her senses were wildly out of whack . . . he'd found them. She bit her lip, her gaze darting to the rearview mirror. Today, when they'd been outside? Or had he known even longer?
"You okay, sweet? You're awfully quiet."
She forced a smile, unwilling to blindside Hank with her laundry list of worries. She'd weighted him down with enough baggage for one night. "Just tired," she admitted, acknowledging it was true. Apparently, happiness could be as exhausting as fear. "We've had a busy few days."
"I agree." His gaze on the road, he shot her a glance. "Maybe tomorrow night we can knock out a little work in the daycare center—since Saturday . . . we won't be working."
Her thoughts scattered, her worries on hold for the moment. Annie caught her breath. A whole day with Henry. Laughing with him. Stolen kisses. Her boys running free. And later—tucked safely in a bedroom down the hall. A whole night. Twelve glorious, giddy, crazy hours with the hottest man she'd met in years. All to herself. "I—think that's a great idea." She swallowed around the sudden dryness in her throat. Three years. Three long years without . . . anyone. "I'd rather work hard the next few nights, because I definitely want to take Saturday off with you. It's been a really long time since I've . . . dated."
"We'd better rest up, darlin'." His sexy smile rocketed through her chest, making her heart skitter erratically. "It's been a long time for me, too." His magnetic eyes locked on hers. "And with a woman as beautiful as you, we might find ourselves staying up pretty late."
She released a ragged breath, her cheeks burning. Her rusted, underused nursing training returned, reminding her to keep breathing. In and out. To not faint with anticipation. "Sleeping is highly overrated."
"I don't like sleepin' either," Tommy piped up from the backseat. "But, Mommy makes me go to bed."
Hank cracked up, his raspy chuckle crawling over her skin like a caress. "Well, you should always listen to your mom." He raised their joined hands to his mouth, smiling when she shivered. Three more days. Three endlessly long days. Until it would finally be Saturday.
Five minutes later, Annie was back to being worried. As they pulled into the parking lot at New Beginnings, her gaze swept the building. New Beginnings looked—ominous in the dark. Could Phil be there? Hiding in the shadows? Had he beaten them there? Was he parked on a side street? Binoculars to his eyes. Skulking around. Or had he gone home? To whatever low-rent dump he was living in now.
"I'll help you get the boys inside, sweet." Hank's eyes gleamed in the shadowed truck. "I'm guessin' you don't want me to stick around to walk you to your car, right?"
"Am I that predictable?" She released a steadying breath, conscious of keeping her fear at bay. She didn't want to burden Henry. Not after everything she'd dumped on him tonight. She wanted a few more days with him. She wanted Saturday. She wanted to see admiration in his eyes—instead of concern for her. She wanted to see passion. Desire, instead of anger over Phil. Another day. Soon—she would confess the rest of their story.
"You're an independent woman. I can respect that." He glanced around the dimly lit neighborhood. "I just worry about you gettin' home safe."
She leaned in to kiss him, taking comfort in his warmth. The broad chest that projected strength. Safety. Security. "Don't you worry about us, Mr. Hank." When he tugged her closer, she buried her nose in his open shirt collar. Dropping a kiss there, she breathed in the intoxicating scent she'd grown addicted to. "You smell so good."
As though by magic, her panic began receding. Henry was comforting. His very presence—seemed to have a calming effect on her. Lifting her gaze, she discovered a curious expression in his eyes.
"You need someone worrying over you." His voice low and husky, he brushed his mouth over hers. When she lifted on tiptoes to pull him closer, she heard his ragged sigh.
"Are you gonna let us out?" Tommy paused a beat. "I really gots to pee."
His voice startled them apart—before making them laugh. Hank quickly moved to unbuckle him while she rounded the car to rouse a sleepy Jason.
Tommy made a beeline for the building before turning back. Henry watched him, eyes curious. "Did you forget something, TomTom?"
When her son retraced his steps, he threw himself in Hank's arms, who sent her a questioning glance.
"I love you, Hank." Tommy kissed his cheek. "I can't wait to see your farm."
"Me, too, buddy." A suspiciously unsteady hand brushed Tommy's hair from his eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow, though," he promised. "We have work to do in the daycare center after supper."
Tommy grinned. "At eighteen o'clock," he reminded as Henry set him to the ground. "You need me to help you."
"I can't do it without you, bud."
Annie stilled, hot emotion flooding her chest as she watched him scamper to the door, to the guard she knew awaited them. Her son—was worlds better after spending time with Hank. And she was, too. Glancing at the man who'd strolled into their life and utterly changed it for the better, she smiled. "Good night, Henry."
"Good night, sweet." His gaze seemed to telepath a hidden message. Did he already know? That she lived there? "I'll see you tomorrow."
***
SAFELY ON THE OTHER side of the locked door, Annie paused in the hallway for Tommy to run to the bathroom on the first floor, unwilling to risk delaying another five minutes until they reached their own. A sleepy Jason on her shoulder, she checked the bathroom for occupants before allowing Tommy to enter.
Waiting in the shadowed hallway near the locked door that led to the tiny apartments upstairs, she heard steps approaching. The heels told her it was a woman. Annie waited, relieved when Katie Douglas—the night-time version of her friend Sharon, rounded the corner. "Annie-"
One look Katie's face—her serious expression, set her pulse pounding. Phil. Annie stared at the younger woman, before nodding to Jason. "It happened?"
Katie stared at her—through her, before her gaze drifted to her son. "Earlier this evening, we—had an incident."
Jason's head lifted from her shoulder. "Mama, what's a' incident?"
"It means something happened." Her gaze never leaving Katie's, Annie kept her voice level. "Someone . . . dropped a dish of cookies at dinner tonight.
His head bobbed. "Are there any left?"
"You already had a popsicle tonight," she reminded. Despite her jack-hammering heartbeat, she managed a smile. His head flopped back to her shoulder. "There will be more tomorrow, Jase."
Both women glanced up when the bathroom door opened. "Maybe you could text me? I can respond in about thirty minutes. Once—the boys are in bed. Okay?"
Katie nodded. "Did you remember to wash your hands, Tommy?"
"Uh-huh." Tommy headed for the locked door. "I'm tired, Mommy."
Pressing her lips to Jason's damp forehead, Annie briefly closed her eyes, willing back the wave of panic that wanted to crash over her. But—she'd known. She'd known Phil was there tonight. At the park. It wasn't a surprise, she reminded. Only a sad confirmation. "Let's get washed up so we can get to bed."
Maybe this time would be different, she reasoned as she trudged up the stairs with her boys. New Beginnings had been different from the start. The therapy sessions. The safety of their tiny apartment. This time, they had Henry. At least for now. Until he realized how crazy and dangerous Phil could be. Until he decided it was too much effort. She was too much effort. She paused at the landing, willing away the sadness that wanted to take hold. Please let this time be different.
***
SWITCHING ON THE LAMP at his bedside, Hank gave up on sleep. Scrubbing his fingers through his hair, he glanced at the clock. "Only midnight." With a sigh, he rose from his bed, drifting to the window. Unsettled, his gaze wandered the slumbering fields, replaying the evening with Annie. The terror he'd witnessed in Tommy's eyes. That he could possibly hurt them. The knowledge that his father had. His brain refusing to erase the image, all he could do was wonder. How long had it gone on? How old had Tommy been . . . when his father struck him? Hank thought of his own father, tracing his memory for any incident of fear. Of cowering before the man he'd loved.
He'd never feared his father—certainly not in the way Tommy did. Sure, he and his brother, Will had gotten into a few scrapes growing up. Broken a vase or two. Hank smirked in the dark. Hell, they'd feared their mother at times like that. Of her chasing them through the house with a broom. Whacking them with it, the rare times they couldn't outrun her. Even when he'd dented the fender on his daddy's old Jeep, he hadn't been afraid of his father's wrath. Only his disappointment—that he'd been careless.
Clenching his fist, Hank glanced down at it. Conscious, maybe for the first time—of it's power. It's strength. The damage he could inflict—with the weapons he carried with him each day. He flexed his fingers, fisting them again. "How the hell could he do it?" How could a grown man strike a toddler? A baby? Or a beautiful woman?
"Over spilled milk." Clearing the hoarseness from his throat, he glanced back at his empty bed. Remembering Gayle. Remembering nights like this, of simmering anger. Fear. Futility—each time she drew a rasping breath. The endless days when he couldn't help her. When he couldn't lessen her suffering. He released a gusting breath, unaware he'd been holding it. "I couldn't help you, babe." He swallowed around the painful lump in his throat. "Lord knows, I wanted to." Four years earlier it had been his only wish. Trade with her. Take the pain from her. Draw it into himself—all of it. If it could've meant her experiencing even a single day without pain.
"I couldn't help you." Strangely enervated, Hank slumped against the windowsill. Why did it still hurt? Four years after her death—he was still frustrated. Annie's story . . . Annie's life had brought back the sense of powerlessness. Staring out at the vast night, a million stars winking back at him, it was hard to feel good. A woman he cared about. A woman he quite possibly was falling in love with was suffering. Afraid.
Crossing the room, he opened the bedroom door and crept into the hall. Bo would hear him, but wouldn't get up unless Hank called him. Over the years, his dog had become accustomed to his late night wanderings. Snapping on the living room light, he sat down with his laptop. "You haven't heard all of it," he reminded himself. Annie hadn't told him everything. Her sorrow-drenched eyes had suggested there was more to her story. But, what the hell was it? Did Phil have visitation? Hell—did they share custody? Could he still hurt them? A legal pad by his side, he began scribbling notes. "I need to know more."
An hour later, he finally closed the laptop, a shiver tracing over his skin. After a dozen articles on domestic violence, Hank realized he'd witnessed several of the signs. Annie's distraction. Her skittishness. The wariness that preceded a smile. The rare glimpses of her true personality. Her unguarded self was kept under lock and key most of the time.
"At the restaurant-" Her need to watch the door—to make sure Phil didn't walk through it. Had he done it before? Followed them? Her resistance to going out. Annie didn't like leaving the shelter. Did she work herself to death—before scuttling home under cover of darkness? He remembered her words. He hasn't found me yet. The protectiveness her little family displayed. A six-year-old—defending his younger brother. Maybe because he'd had to before. Nausea roiled his stomach. "Sweet Jesus-"
Annie's sense that she'd failed—instead of her being the victim of a monster. A bully. He massaged his jaw where he'd been clenching it for the last hour. Annie was in a constant state of readiness. Of being under siege. Of waiting—to go into battle. At the park—she'd frozen. Staring across the field . . . maybe too afraid to tell him what she'd seen. "They're being hunted."
Finally—something he could relate to. For an army lifer, battle plans were something he'd become expert at. He made a few more notes on his pad, determined to talk with Big Pete in the morning. In this situation—two combat veterans would be better than one. A plan beginning to formulate, Hank knew he'd finally be able to sleep.
Rubbing his eyes, he snapped off the light. Before he retraced his steps to the bedroom, he moved through the kitchen, to the small, mostly unused den. He had a desk in there—to pay bills. But, it could be so much more. Studying the far wall, he tried to rein in the surge of eagerness. To fill the room with light. Beyond that wall- "You could plant flowers in the side yard."
Never one for wishing things away—what was the point in that? Hank caught himself hoping the next few days passed quickly. Until it could be Saturday. He tried (and failed) to shake off the image of Annie. Smiling. At him. Of holding her through the night. More than sex, which he was seriously eager for, he wanted to hold her. Feel the weight of her next to him. A beautiful, healthy woman. Sturdy. Strong. He wanted to fill his mind with her. To breathe in her scent. To feel joy again.
Crossing the room, his eyes adjusted to the gloom. He walked off the measurement. "Bookcases along that wall. You could put the window seat right here." And she would read. Legs tucked underneath her, eyes dreamy as she watched her boys playing in the yard. Her beautiful, sharp mind . . . wandering. Restful. At ease—for maybe the first time in years.
"You're losin' it, Freeman." He shook his head. "It's too soon," he muttered. To fall for her. Yet, he already had. As he'd wandered his too quiet house, all he could think about was Saturday. When two eager, rambunctious boys would invade the space—and fill it. With laughter and enthusiasm. With an endless stream of curiosity. "You want them."
"Tomorrow," he vowed. It would start. Tomorrow would be the beginning of Annie's new life. One without fear. Without her needing to look over her shoulder. If he were extraordinarily lucky, her shiny, new life might include him.
***
WITH THE MORNING CAME a series of questions. After a sleepless night spent tossing and turning, Annie splashed water in her eyes in the communal bathroom. The boys would still sleep for another thirty minutes. "What happens now?"
She faced a vast array of unknowns. Phil had breached New Beginnings. According to Katie, he'd nearly grabbed Marisol. She shuddered at the thought. Thankfully—he'd been thwarted by Big Pete. Would New Beginnings want to move them? It would be logical on their part—to avoid exposing others to the danger she'd brought them. Was there anywhere else to go? New Beginnings was the biggest shelter in the DC area. Where could they go—and still be safe? A shiver of fear slithered down her back. What if—they wanted to separate them? She'd be forced to leave. Go out on her own. Drive as far as her aging car would allow. A new town. No support network.
"You don't have enough money." Avoiding the mirror, Annie blinked back tears. She thought of her meager bank account. She could scrape up enough to cover a month in an apartment . . . but not enough to pay a security deposit, too. Which meant no one would be willing to lease to her. The only option remaining—a cheap hotel. Seriously cheap. With expensive weekly rates. She shuddered at the thought of where they'd be living. One room. Noisy. Crowded. A homeless hotel. Where she'd blow the remainder of her precious savings on an inadequate shelter that would last a month at best. And then what?
"Tommy-" Another move. Another school. Annie bit down on her lip, praying the sharp pain would rein in her wildly fluctuating emotions. She needed to be strong. She needed to stay focused. Hearing footsteps in the hall, she splashed cold water in her face. Hopefully, it would be enough to hide the redness until she could get the boys on the school bus. She would need to gather herself. "Talk to Sharon." Eyes closed, she dried her face on the towel. "Apologize to Marisol." Another woman had nearly been harmed—because of her.
An hour later, eyes gritty, but thankfully dry, her boys safely on the bus, Annie trudged back to the kitchen, heart still beating too fast. Expecting the worst, she'd worried Phil might make a move on the boys as they were escorted to the bus. To attack . . . out of nowhere. Maybe grab her. The fact was—he could still do that. It just hadn't happened this morning. A wave of nausea caught her off-guard. A few steps from the kitchen, she paused to rest against the concrete block wall. Lightheaded with relief, she was tempted to drop her head between her knees. In the list of nerve-wracking tasks to complete that day, she'd survived only the first.
Next up—Sharon and Marisol. Making sure Mari hadn't been injured. Hearing from her exactly what had occurred. Offering to assist them in making plans to prevent Phil from getting by the guards again. To give them an idea of what he was truly capable of. And to learn her own fate. Pushing off the wall, Annie said a little prayer. Don't make us leave. Please. Don't make us leave.
***