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Ignoring the cacophony of arguments from the men inside the Armstrong house, Lyn waited outside in the wet snowfall. She didn’t care if she resembled Frosty the Snowman. Cold didn’t bother her anymore. Her fury kept her toasty warm.
How could they treat her so badly? Ace, she supposed, simply didn’t understand her aversion to the spotlight he so obviously adored. Despite his angry recriminations earlier about the questions he faced regarding his mom, he had never faced what she’d faced. God forbid, if someday someone snapped a photo of his dead mother lying in her casket...
No. She wouldn’t wish that hell on anyone else.
Doug, of course, only saw her as a story.
But Richie? Richie, who knew and understood the pain she’d endured when Akers printed that photo? Richie had gone behind her back to put her in the direct line of fire. And his duplicity cut past her ribs, tearing her heart to shreds.
By the time Larry’s familiar, battered blue Chevy pulled into the driveway, she’d grown numb. Numb from the frigid night air, numb from the agony of betrayal. Without waiting for Larry to get out of the car to help, she yanked open the passenger door and slid inside.
“Where we headed, sweetheart?”
Where, indeed. She had no idea. For the moment, she said, “Just drive, Larry. Please.”
“You got it.”
He pulled out of the driveway and headed back toward the center of town. For a while, the only sound in the car came from the occasional static of the dispatch service and the squeal of the windshield wipers clearing the fallen snowflakes.
“Saw what happened on the news,” he said at last.
Great. She rubbed her temples with icy fingertips. “Please, Larry. I can’t talk about it right now.”
“Whatever you want, Lynnie,” he said. “I just want you to know that you need anything, anything at all, you ask, okay?”
Staring out at the endless black highway, she murmured, “Okay. Thanks.”
She finally made him drop her off at Winterberry Café, where she begged to use the phone in the owner’s office. When April answered her cell, the dam inside her burst, and she broke down.
“Oh, thank God!” April exclaimed. “Where have you been? Are you okay?”
“No,” she said.
She wanted to tell her sister everything. About Ace. And Doug. And Richie. But any words she tried to utter wound up choked by tears or unintelligible thanks to the shudders racking her.
“Okay, okay. Breathe, sweetie,” April soothed. “Where are you?”
“Winterberry’s.”
“Not out in the open!” April stated with surprise.
“No.” But she looked around the cramped room filled with restaurant supplies and invoices anyway to be sure she was alone. “I’m in the office.”
“Okay, can you stay there?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Give me a number to reach you.”
Lyn managed to rattle off the phone number.
“Sit tight and give me five minutes. Mrs. B.’s waiting to hear from you. She’s got your packed bag and Aaron’s car gassed up and ready. Stay where you are until you hear back from me.”
Once April hung up, Lyn sank into the squeaky task chair, placed her head on the desk, and wrapped her arms around her ears. Still the recriminations screamed inside her brain.
Way to go, Lyn. Of all the men for you to fall for, you chose a sports reporter? Now what do you plan to do? Because you fell hard, kiddo. And he just shattered your heart.
How would she ever recover?
The restaurant’s office phone rang, and she hesitantly picked up. “Thank you for calling Winterberry’s. How may I direct your call?”
“Got a pen?” April asked.
Assured Lyn was ready, she gave her a series of directions and summed up with, “Aaron’s on his way to Winterberry’s with the car. Once you’re on the road, don’t stop ‘til you’re way out of town. If you have to go to the bathroom, go now or hold it for the next three hours.”
Lyn stared at the chicken scratch she’d hastily written on a blank invoice sheet. “What exactly is this place?”
“It’s the perfect hiding place. The house belongs to a client of Rainey-Day-Wife. He’s away in Brussels on business until after the New Year. Take care of his dog, his houseplants, and his python, and the place is yours ‘til he comes home.”
Lyn swallowed hard. “His python?”
“It’s in an aquarium in a locked room. You don’t have to do anything more than feed it one mouse every week or so and make sure the water dish is full. All the instructions are taped to the outside of the tank. It’s a piece of cake, really.”
A python?
She shivered. Ick.
But, then again, honestly, what was the difference between a caged python or the nest of vipers she’d just left? At least the python didn’t try to be anything but a python.
“And what kind of dog?” If April mentioned any breed with a remotely aggressive reputation, she’d have to rethink this whole get outta Dodge plan. Larry had offered his couch for her to crash on. A crazy idea that was beginning to sound like a reasonable alternative.
“Greyhound. A rescue dog. Sleek and sweet. Her name is Ginger and she’s an absolute doll. She just needs to be exercised a lot. You okay to keep up with her?”
“To have a safe place to hide, I’d run a three-minute mile right now.” Hamstring or no hamstring.
April laughed. “Good girl. Okay, the front door has a combination lock, so write the numbers down and keep all this info someplace safe. Ready?”
“Ready.” Quickly, she jotted down the combination. “Got it.”
“Don’t call me again because we don’t want to tip anyone off where you are. Once you get to the house, make yourself at home. Tomorrow morning, call Brenda at the office. Tell her you’re Mrs. Snow and you wanted to thank her for the service our company provided. That way I’ll know you’re there and safe. Good with that?”
“Uh-huh.”
“If you need anything at all, call Brenda as Mrs. Snow. She’ll get the message to me. Okay?”
“Okay.” She gripped the receiver tighter and whispered, “April? Thanks. I owe you.”
“No, you don’t. It’s my fault you’re being hounded right now. You warned me this might happen. I didn’t listen, and I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Really. It’ll all be okay.”
But only if her heart could repair itself. Again.
♥
THE SANCTUARY APRIL had arranged sat in a gated community, completely secure and miles from anyone she knew. Apparently, April had taken care of all the details because when Lyn pulled up outside the guard’s house in Aaron Bascomb’s car, ready to stutter out some lame excuse about visiting a friend, the man simply tipped his cap and held out a cardboard tag.
“Good evening, Mrs. Snow. This is your parking permit. Please make sure it’s hanging from your rearview mirror at all times as our security patrol does random checks throughout the neighborhood day and night. The house you’re looking for is 23 Clay Court. Follow this road to the first stop sign, make a left, then a quick right. The house will be directly facing you in the center of the circle. Red door with a big white sparkly Christmas wreath.”
She took the parking permit, offered him a tired smile. “Thank you...?” She paused. Despite the halogen lights from the guard house behind him, she couldn’t read the name printed on his badge in the darkness of night.
“George,” he supplied. “I wish you a pleasant stay with us, Mrs. Snow. If we can be of service to you while you’re here, please let us know. You can reach us twenty-four hours a day by dialing nine-zero on your house phone.”
“Thank you, George.” Rolling up the window, she drove through the raised gate and followed the road to the first stop sign as directed. Hours after midnight, the neighborhood of cookie-cutter townhouses on the fringe of an eighteen-hole golf course slumbered under cloudy skies. She spotted the door with its glittery wreath easily and pulled into the short driveway, then put the car in park and turned off the engine. With her purse in hand, she grabbed her emergency suitcase from the back seat and hurried to the front door.
When she punched in the door code, the locks clicked, and she slipped inside. On the left wall beside the door, as promised, she found the light switch and flipped it up. Instantly the house burst to illuminated life, but exhaustion finally claimed Lyn, leaving her too drained to check out her surroundings. She dropped her bags to the floor, then slumped against the wall. Sliding to a squatted position, she covered her face with her hands.
The click-click of toenails on terracotta tile caused her to look up. A giant dog raced toward her, whip-like tail wagging furiously. Thank God, April had warned her Ginger was friendly and eager to please. She hadn’t mentioned how adorable the dog was with her long nose, bright eyes, and mouth almost shaped like she smiled in welcome.
“So, you’re my new roommate,” she said on a sigh.
The brown and white dog swiped a cold, wet nose over her cheek, which, to her surprise, was just the cure for her moment of self-pity. Renewed, she stood, threw her shoulders back, and inhaled deeply to give her spirits a lift.
“How about you give me Le Grande Tour?” she said as she scratched her new best friend’s head.
After double-checking that she’d locked the front door, she strode through the house, Ginger as her escort. First stop, the kitchen where she found glass cabinetry, marble countertops, and stainless-steel appliances. On the center butcher block sat a frosted glass vase filled with red and white roses and evergreen branches. Instantly, her mind kicked back to the flowers Doug had sent her after their first date.
How long had he planned to string her along with dinners and flowers? And once he’d reeled her in enough to get the story he wanted, how quickly would he have skipped town? Certainly, before any other reporters learned what he knew.
Joke’s on you, Doug. Ace’s foolish interest in Becky totally screwed up your plan to be the one who revealed my true identity in the public arena.
When exactly had he known who she really was? Had Ace confided her secret, and Doug had purposely maneuvered his injury to get accepted into Ski-Hab in the hopes of getting close to her? Maybe the fake arm was a fake. Could he have pretended to be an amputee, all the while hiding a fully functioning arm inside his clothes?
She snorted. Get a grip, babe. No man would chop off a limb just to find out about you.
God, she was so tired. Her brain couldn’t play these games any longer.
Averting her eyes from the roses and all they represented, she picked up the notepad beside the vase.
“Welcome to The Links” was written in precise script. “I stocked the kitchen for you. You’ll find basic staples, prepared meals, and cleaning supplies. If you need anything else, there’s a pre-paid cell phone on the dining room table. My name and number are already programmed in.
“Think of yourself as part of a witness protection program. Use nothing that can identify you. No bank cards or checks. Pay any expenses with cash only. If you run low on funds, call me. April’s taking care of all your finances until this is over. And she said to tell you, ‘You bet your curvy butt you’ll pay me back.’”
That comment, so perfectly April, drew a smile from Lyn when she needed it most.
The letter continued, detailing names and directions to stores in the area, delivery services for everything from dry cleaning to pizza, and emergency contact information. As she read through the pages and finally reached Brenda’s signature, her eyelids grew heavier, and she began to yawn.
“Well, Ginger, my girl,” she told the greyhound. “I think it’s time for us to call it a night. We’ll have plenty of time to get acquainted tomorrow. How about you show me to my room?”