Nor did he volunteer much. Of course, she wasn’t volunteering anything, either.
“I guess, if you think it’s worth it,” she finally said. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Ma’am, it’s worth it to have a place to lay my head.”
She needed the money, and she trusted Gage. Battering down the fear that never entirely left her, not even in her dreams, she said, “Go take a look at the room. It’s upstairs. There’s a bath up there, too, and it’ll be all yours because I have one down here.”
The man rose and without another word headed up the stairs at the rear of the living room. Cory glanced at Gage, feeling her heart flutter a little. Panic? Fear? She couldn’t tell anymore, since the only feelings she had left were bad ones.
“It’ll be all right, Cory,” Gage said kindly as they listened to the heavy footsteps overhead. “Sometimes we all need a bolt-hole. That’s all he wants.”
She could understand that. She was living her entire life in a bolt-hole now.
She stiffened as she heard boots start down the stairway. She didn’t want to turn and look, afraid of the impact this huge stranger had on her. But she couldn’t evade looking at him for long, because he came to stand in front of her.
“It’s just what I need,” he said. He pulled out his wallet and handed her six hundred-dollar bills, crisp from the bank. “I’ll go get my stuff.”
Then he walked out and Cory sat staring at the money in her hand. She was used to seeing money at work, but not holding so much and knowing it was her own. Her hand shook a little.
“That’s too much,” she almost whispered. It was as much as she made in a month.
Gage shook his head. “He offered it, Cory. It’s what he thinks the room is worth.”
A minute later, Wade returned carrying a large heavy duffel bag. And that was it. In a matter of less than half an hour, she had gained a roomer, a roomer who carried his entire life, it seemed, in a bag.
How apt was that?
* * *
After gage had left, she had to deal with the uneasiness of hearing someone above her head for the first time since she had lived here. She could tell what he was doing by the sounds the rumbled through the floor: unpacking and putting things in the battered dresser.
She needed to give him a key, she realized, and felt her heart lurch at the thought. Her safety not only lay behind a new identity, but also behind locks that were always fastened, and an alarm system the feds had installed. The idea of giving a stranger both a key and the alarm code very nearly caused her a panic attack.
But then she remembered how easily those men had gotten to her and her husband, and knew that no lock or alarm in the world would protect her if she opened her door at the wrong time.
God, she thought, stop this, Cory! The whole reason she was here in out-of-the-way Conard County, Wyoming, the whole reason she was working as a grocery clerk instead of a teacher, with all the public documents that would require, was so that she didn’t have to look over her shoulder for the rest of her life.
Nothing about her life now in any way resembled her life before. Not even her work. Not even her face. That was where her safety lay, not in locks and alarm systems.
She heard Wade come down the stairs. This time she made herself look at him. He hadn’t changed, but she felt a shiver of fear anyway. This was still the man Gage had felt safe bringing into her life, and he might be big and appear ready to kill with his bare hands, but Gage trusted him. And she trusted Gage.
“I need to give you a key and show you the alarm code, Mr. Kendrick,” she said. Her voice sounded weak, but at least it was steady.
He stood at the foot of the stairs, looking at her. “You comfortable with that?” he asked.
How had he guessed? Was her terror written all over her face? “I...you live here now. You need to be able to come and go when I work.”
“No.”
“No?” What kind of answer was that?
“I can manage.”
She felt a bit stunned by his response. He could manage? He was paying what she considered to be an exorbitant rent to use that lousy bed and bath upstairs for a month, but he was willing to be locked out when she was gone? Had he read her fear so clearly? Or did she stink of it?
Probably the latter, she thought miserably. How would she know? She’d been afraid for so long.
“I’m going out to get sheets, towels, a few other things,” he said after a moment. “Which direction should I head?”
Another thought struck her. “Do you have a car?”
“I can walk.”
“I could walk, too,” she said, feeling a smidgen of her old self spring to life. The resurrection was almost as painful as the death, but at least it was only a small thing, and thus a small pain she could endure. “But if you need a bunch of things, then you might need an extra arm.”
“I’ll manage.”
“Yeah. You’ll manage.” Sighing, she stood up. “I’ll drive you. I need some food anyway.” And because of him she now had the money to buy it. Guilt, if nothing else, goaded her.
She went to get her purse. Before they stepped out, however, she insisted on giving him her spare key, and showing him the code for the alarm. If he thought it was odd there was such an advanced alarm system in such a ramshackle house, he didn’t indicate it by word or look.
Instead he asked just one question. “Motion detectors?”
“Down here at night. I turn them on separately. Same code. Did you see the keypads upstairs in your bedroom?”
“Yes.”
“Well, if you need to come down here at night, you can turn off the entire system from up there, too. To turn off the motion detectors, use the small keypad beside the big one. The rest of the system is on the big pad.” She made herself look at him then. Another shiver passed through her as she realized this man could probably snap her in two if he wanted to. Once she had never had those kinds of thoughts. Now she had them all the time. “If you leave, for any reason, and I’m not here or awake, please turn on the entire system.”
He nodded. Nothing in his face said he thought that was strange.
She explained the panic buttons, which would direct a call instantly to police, fire or ambulance. Their mere existence reminded her of all that had happened.
And none of it would have done her a damn bit of good fifteen months ago.
Then she set the alarm. It gave them only forty-five seconds to get out the front door and close it. It was long enough.
The U.S. Marshals had also given her a car along with the house. It wasn’t a standout that might draw attention. In fact, it was practically a tank, four years old already, guzzling gas in a way that pained her conscience, but her protectors had insisted. The engine was new, as of a year ago, and was a full V-8 with more power than she would ever need.
Because if they came after her, they wouldn’t give her a chance to get in a car and get away. She was sure of that. Someday soon, she promised herself, as soon as she could find a way, she would try to trade it in for a smaller but reliable car. She didn’t need this steel cocoon.
If she could say nothing else for the Suburban, it gave Wade Kendrick plenty of room. She doubted he could even squeeze into the subcompact she hoped to have someday.
He didn’t say another word until she dropped him off in front of the department store. Then it was just, “Thanks.”
“When should I pick you up?”
He