Heather squinted and lifted her hand to block the beam of light.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“Slip your ID between the crack. Hurry up.” She spoke with an authority he hadn’t anticipated.
Zach passed his ID through the narrow opening between the door and frame. She slammed the door shut. The dead bolt snapped back into place. After a long minute, he heard the slide of the chain and she opened the door.
Heather Miller planted a fist on her hip and a dark shadow crossed her face. “Marshal Walker. This can’t be good.”
“No. I’m sorry to have to tell you this. Brian Fox escaped and we fear he’s coming for you.”
Heather glared at the U.S. Marshal standing on her back porch in the middle of the night, his familiar face reminding her of how far she had come. His mere presence making her feel like everything she had worked so hard to build these past nine months was about to slip away.
No, no, Brian Fox was locked up in Peters Correctional Facility.
“May I come inside?” The deputy U.S. Marshal had a valid request. The small porch provided little protection from the weather. And the wind and rain pelting against the metal roof of the overhang was scraping across her every last nerve.
“Yes, of course.” She would not allow herself to melt into a puddle of panic. She was not the woman she used to be. Despite her best efforts, her gaze drifted to the darkened yard beyond her porch and a chill crept up her spine. “Come in, Deputy U.S. Marshal.” She opened the door wider for him.
“Thanks, and please call me Zach.” He slipped in past her, the rain from his coat dripping on the floor. He turned slowly to face her. In the yellow glow of the kitchen, she noticed the handsome angles of his face. The same intensity in his eyes from when she’d first met him at Brian’s trial was still evident. Her ex-husband had murdered his little sister.
“How did Brian get out? I don’t understand. He’s in a maximum-security prison. You must be mistaken.” Her mouth suddenly went dry and her knees threatened to give out from under her. She sensed she was standing on the edge, feeling like the unstable cliff she had built her new life upon was about to crumble beneath her.
“I understand he had help from the inside.”
“No... How? I don’t understand...” She shook her head slowly. The man who was standing in her kitchen grew blurry.
The marshal took a step toward her. “I know it’s hard to comprehend, but we have reason to believe he’s coming for you.”
The man’s words became jumbled and sounded like they were coming from the other end of a long, narrow empty tunnel. She blinked slowly, feeling as if she was floating above her body. Maybe if she pinched herself, she’d wake up from this nightmare.
Brian escaped. Brian escaped. Brian escaped.
Unable to wrap her mind around that simple concept. No, not a simple concept. A completely impossible concept. How did someone escape from a maximum-security facility? Even with help? She turned and placed the flat of her hand on the cool countertop, trying to ground herself. “Explain what’s going on. Now.” Her fear came out as anger.
“Would you like to sit down?” He pulled out a chair at the small kitchen table, the one she’d sat at earlier planning the future of the bed-and-breakfast. Her future...
It took Heather a moment to hear his words, process their meaning. She looked up at him, trying to keep her lips from trembling. When had he moved to stand so close to her? Her anxiety spiked and she slid closer to the door. Away from him. Toward her escape.
Always have an escape.
That had been her mistake with Brian. She had been swept off her feet as a young girl. Married him. Then when things turned violent, she had no job. No place to run. No escape.
Until not escaping would have meant certain death.
It had for his second wife.
A shudder coursed through her and she wrapped her hands around the edge of the sink, ignoring the man’s offer to sit down. Lifting her gaze to the window, she saw her hollow eyes reflecting back at her.
Was Brian out there watching her?
She spun around and squared off with the U.S. Marshal who had come to share this horrible news.
“What happens now? I’m renovating this bed-and-breakfast. I have plans...”
She looked up and tuned into the narrow wood shelf lining the top of her grandmother’s plain pine cabinets. Her grandmother had a collection of hand-cut wood blocks that Heather recognized as buildings located in the center of Quail Hollow. She wondered if the Amish would have allowed such frivolous decorations, but Heather assumed her grandmother may have bent a few of the rules after losing so much. What punishment could the Amish elders have dished out to her mammy for a few wooden decorations when she had already suffered the worst fate: her daughter had been murdered and her son-in-law left Quail Hollow with her three young granddaughters never to return?
What would her mammy think if she knew her granddaughter had almost suffered the same fate as her daughter? However, her mother had died at the hands of a stranger. Heather had been threatened by the man she had once loved. Were some families prone to violence?
Heather shook her head at the ridiculousness of that thought. Her mind had a tendency to race when she was stressed. To think the most random thoughts.
Focus.
Heather grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with tap water. Then she turned to face the man in her kitchen. “Why do you think he’s coming for me?”
But she knew, didn’t she?
Her hand began to shake and she set the glass down. “I haven’t had contact with him since...the trial.” That was when she had finally faced the man who had abused her for years. When she finally stood up to him.
An emotion she couldn’t name flitted in the depths of his eyes. “We have reason to believe he’s obsessed with you and may be headed your way.”
Thick emotion clogged her throat. “How is that possible?” But deep down she knew. Brian Fox was an egotistical psychopath and she had escaped his clutches. He’d also vowed that he would kill her if she ever left him. Her ex-husband didn’t like to fail. Now he was taking his one shot at freedom to right his one failure.
Her.
* * *
Heather’s entire body shook. The yellow light in the kitchen of the old farmhouse made her pallor more pronounced. She pulled out the chair and slumped into it, placing her elbows on the table and digging her fingers into her hair.
“Do you have someplace you can go?” Zach hovered over her, then realized he might get a better response if he sat down across from her. Less threatening.
After a moment, she glanced up. A silent tear slid down her cheek. Law enforcement officers learned to separate their feelings from the job, but this case was too personal not to feel heartache for this woman.
“No, I don’t have someplace to go. I spent every dime I had on renovations. I moved out of my apartment today. Today! It’s like he knew how to mess with me.” She held up her palms, disbelief threading her tone. “I’m opening a bed-and-breakfast. I’ve decided to name it Quail Hollow Bed & Breakfast. Simple, but appropriate.