Run to Me Read online

  Drawing a deep breath, telling herself that there was no reason to believe anyone was monitoring Millie’s home phone line, she calculated the time in the east, pulled a department store phone card from her wallet and started tapping in numbers.

  Erin was stunned to hear tears in Millie’s voice when she answered.

  “Millie what’s wrong?” she asked in alarm. At sixty-six, Millie was the most upbeat woman she’d ever known. Tears and Millie Kraft did not go together unless they were tears of happiness, and these were not.

  The older woman’s voice changed to a cautious hush. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” Erin replied, aware that Millie hadn’t used her name. “What’s happening there?”

  “Oh, honey,” she said, tears giving way again. “It’s the most terrible thing. Trisha’s dead!”

  “Oh, Millie, no!”

  “Yes. Lobstermen found her body floating in the bay early yesterday morning when they were casting off. Apparently, she’d been swimming. She was wearing a bathing suit.”

  “Dear God,” Erin breathed. “Then…it was a drowning accident?”

  “It looks that way…but honey, there was this man, this stranger she’d been seeing…”

  The hairs on the back of Erin’s neck stood on end. “What does Trisha’s seeing a man have to do with her death?”

  “Probably nothing, but the water’s still cold this time of year, and I keep thinking that someone would have had to do some fancy talking to interest her in a moonlight swim. Besides…I never liked that man’s looks. For one thing, he was too old for her, and for another…” Millie seemed to weigh the wisdom of continuing, then did. “For another, he’d asked her questions about another waitress who used to work for me. A sweet young woman who left a few weeks ago. I wanted to contact her immediately, but I didn’t know how to reach her.”

  Erin’s nerves rioted. “Th-the man,” she stammered. “Early forties, dark, reddish-brown hair, green eyes? Fine mustache and Vandyke beard?”

  Millie continued in a low tone. “No, he had medium-brown hair, but it might’ve been dyed because the color looked uneven in the sun. I only saw him from a distance, so I don’t know about his eyes. But he mostly wore sunglasses. And I think he was younger than forty. But, as I said, he asked questions about another waitress. Trisha said she’d even accused him of being more interested in the other girl, but he assured her that he was only curious because the other waitress had been so friendly and he’d thought her little girl was the cutest he’d ever seen.”

  Chills covered every inch of Erin’s skin. Yes, she’d always been friendly to her customers. And yes, she’d taken Christie to work with her on several occasions instead of leaving her at the nursery school, so the man’s statement was probably true. But she had good reason to fear this much interest. What other information had Trisha shared with the stranger? Millie and Lynn were the only two people she’d taken into her confidence, and only because Lynn had helped her escape, and Millie had carefully, lovingly drawn her out. Even then it had taken five months for Erin to open up to her.

  And now…Trisha was dead. Tears filled Erin’s eyes. Please, she begged in her mind. Please don’t let it be because of me. Please don’t let this man be connected to Charles.

  She drew a deep breath, pulled herself together. “Millie, do you know if she told him anything that…that might put the woman’s daughter at risk?”

  “I don’t know. She did learn something accidentally when she took a phone message for me, but I can’t say if she shared the information. And, honey, she wouldn’t have known it could be dangerous to mention.”

  “What information?”

  “Information about a new vehicle.”

  Blood pounded in Erin’s temples and throat. Someone might know that she’d traded in her white van for an older gray one? Was that enough to trace her?

  “Honey?”

  “I…I’m here.”

  “Remember, early reports point to accidental drowning. Keep that in mind.”

  “Yes. Yes, I will.” She had to or she would lose her mind. Suddenly it was all too much. She’d phoned Millie to hear a friendly voice, to soothe her unhappiness. And now there was grief over Trisha’s death, guilt that it could be connected to her, and a new fear that they could be found and she would lose Christie to a monster.

  You think you’ve won, Erin? he’d said smoothly after her court appearance. Don’t delude yourself. I will have what’s mine, no matter how long it takes, or how many people get hurt in the process. You included.

  Her heart raced. “Millie, I have to go.”

  “Are you well?”

  “Yes.”

  “Be careful, honey.”

  “I will.”

  Erin clattered the receiver onto the cradle and ran to the bedroom, pulled her suitcase from the closet and yanked open a drawer. She’d emptied them all by the time she realized she couldn’t leave.

  Sinking to the bed, she dropped her head onto her lap and wept. She had obligations here! She couldn’t just leave Amos without a caregiver, not after telling him she would stay as long as he needed her! And Mac… Her heart ached so much more than it should at the thought of leaving him. But if Trisha’s death wasn’t an accident, and Charles was somehow responsible, she could be putting Amos and Mac at risk for simply knowing her.

  Stop it! You’re letting fear take over. All you really know is, a stranger Millie didn’t like was asking questions about you, and he might have received information about your new van from Trisha.

  Which reinforced again how dangerous it was to share anything of a personal nature—with anyone. All it took was one slip of the tongue to someone who repeated it to someone else, and she and Christie could be found.

  Erin bolted from the bed, rushing to every room in the house to check the locks on the doors and windows. Then, chilled to the bone, she crawled into Christie’s narrow bed, tugged the granny afghan up from the bottom and snuggled her daughter into the curve of her body.

  The sweet smells of baby shampoo and talc nearly made her cry again. Erin fought for control. It would be a long time until sleep came, but that was all right. She had to gather her thoughts. She had to make plans.

  Erin never heard the short, staccato beeping of the alarm clock from across the hall until Christie crawled on top of her, brought her sweet face close, and tried to pry open her eyes.

  “Oh, honey, don’t do that,” she groaned, then smiled sleepily and wrapped her daughter in her arms. “Good morning special girl,” Erin whispered.

  “G’mornin’, special Mommy,” Christie whispered back. “The cwock is beeping.”

  “Then we’d better shut it off,” Erin returned, kissing Christie’s upturned nose.

  But she was scarcely out of bed when last night’s conversation with Millie came back with a vengeance, and her nerves caught fire again. She managed to hide her fear from Christie and Amos as she fixed, then joined them for breakfast. She wasn’t as successful with Mac.

  Chills erupted on her arms when he came into the narrow pantry off the kitchen where she was putting away the oatmeal and syrup.

  His voice was low and deep. “What’s wrong with you this morning?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Bull. You’ve been dropping things and racing around like a roadrunner on speed. You haven’t drawn a calm breath since you walked in this morning. Something happened.”

  “You’re imagining things.” She tried to brush past him, but he caught her around the waist and kept her inside the claustrophobic confines, away from Amos’s eyes and ears.

  Erin met his grave expression, feeling the warmth of his hands through her cotton blouse. Her gaze flicked over his chiseled features and sensual mouth…and her pulse increased. She didn’t need the added confusion of chemistry today. “Let me go.”

  “Not until you tell me why you’re acting this way. Are you still angry because I went off on you the other day?”

  Unable to look at him
and deliver yet another lie, she looked past him to the canned goods stocked on the opposite shelf. “No, I…I didn’t sleep well last night and I have a headache. Now, please…I just want to finish straightening up the kitchen and get some meds from my purse before it gets any worse.”

  “Where’s your purse?”

  “At the—at your house.”

  “I’ll get you some ibuprofen from Amos’s medicine cabinet.”

  “No!” Seeing how startled he was by her reaction, she calmed herself. She couldn’t be swallowing unneeded painkillers. “Thank you, but I have something that works better. I’ll just run down and get it before you leave to open the store.”

  “You have a headache. I’ll get it.”

  She couldn’t let him. Her open suitcase was still in his room. She hadn’t had time to unpack and put it away this morning, just left it on the floor on the far side of his bed. It was out of the way, but if he saw it, he would know she’d considered running again. “Mac, no, I’ll—”

  The kitchen phone shrilled over her objections. With one last curiously assessing look at her, Mac went to answer it.

  “Corbett,” he said. When the caller identified herself and Mac heard the tension in Betty Moran’s voice, he grew instantly concerned. “Yeah, it’s me, Betty. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m so glad you answered. I didn’t want to bother Amos with this. Chip’s had some trouble,” she blurted. “But first I should tell you that he’s going to be all right. His leg’s broken and he has a few bruised ribs.”

  “Oh, damn. What happened?”

  “He was riding last night and his horse got spooked by something—Chip’s not sure what. It was getting dark. Anyway, Dakota threw him, and I’m afraid he won’t be coming to work for a while. We know you’re busy, and you’re short-handed with your granddad being laid up and all, but— Mac, Chip’s just sick about this.”

  “Tell him we’ll be fine. What he needs to do right now is concentrate on getting better. Is he at home or in the hospital?”

  “He’s at home. It was a clean break, thank heaven.”

  “Does he need anything?”

  Betty hesitated for a moment. “We have everything under control, I think, except…well, it would help him to know that he still has a job when he’s healed. College won’t come cheap.”

  “He’s got a job,” Mac assured her. “Tell him I’ll stop in to see him later this afternoon—bring him something to read.”

  He could hear the relief in her voice. “He’ll like that, Mac. He’ll be glad to see you.”

  “I’ll be glad to see him, too. He’s a good kid. You take care, Betty.”

  “You, too. And thanks so much.”

  When he’d hung up, Mac frowned and brought his hands to his hips. Maybe Jeff could work again today. Though he’d brushed off Betty’s concerns, with people coming in for starter plants, ranchers and farmers constantly needing something, and regulars who hated the drive to Flagstaff shopping for dry goods and groceries, they honestly had been rushed lately. If he hadn’t talked Amos out of offering movie rentals, too, they’d really be swamped. He looked up to see Terri watching him, a question in her eyes.

  “One of the kids who works for us had a riding accident. His horse threw him.”

  Her pretty brow furrowed. “Is he all right?”

  “His mother said he’ll be fine. He has a broken leg, though, so he won’t be in to work for a while.” Releasing a burdened breath, he walked to the screen door. “I’m going down to the house and grab a few books from my bookcase. I’ll get your purse while I’m there. In the meantime, would you phone Jeff Delaney and see if he can work again today? His number’s in the back of the phone book.”

  Amos’s annoyed voice carried to him from the living room as he prepared to leave. “I’ll call Jeff! You know, it’s a goldarn shame when a man’s family thinks he’s too old and feeble t’ even make a phone call! ’Specially when it concerns his own store, and the man has a phone right beside his goldarn chair!”

  “Fine Granddad,” Mac called back wearily. “Terri can get you the goldarn number.” He glanced at her again and decided from the strained look around her eyes that her headache was getting worse by the moment. “Where’s your purse?”

  “On the dresser in your bedroom.”

  “Okay. I’ll be right back.” He nodded toward the living room where Amos was still muttering. “Better give the phone book to Chuckles before you tackle the dishes, or he’ll go on like this all day.”

  Minutes later Mac was striding through his home and feeling slightly like an intruder. It smelled of her now, fresh and sweet without being cloying. Womanly. By the time he entered his room and saw her purse and an assortment of pretty bottles on top of his bureau, thoughts he shouldn’t be thinking were two-stepping through his mind.

  Then he saw the suitcase sticking out from behind his bed.

  “What the hell?” he muttered. Crossing to it, he reached down, plucked through the mishmash of clothing stuffed inside, then straightened to stare incredulously through the window at Amos’s house. Was this why she was acting so strangely? Was she planning to leave without telling them? Sneak out like the proverbial thief in the night?

  Anger knotted his gut as Mac grabbed her purse, then went to his living room, snatched several volumes from his bookcase, and started up the tree-lined, grass-and-dirt road to Amos’s place, a litany of accusations banging around in his mind.

  But by the time he’d tossed the books in the back seat of his Cherokee and walked into the kitchen, his plan of action had changed.

  He wouldn’t confront her. The last time they’d talked about a suitcase, she’d gotten so angry and defensive they’d barely spoken for days. Some of that awkwardness was still evident in the way they related to each other. He searched his mind. Maybe there was a reason for those clothes being in the suitcase. Storage, possibly. Or maybe they were old clothes she was getting rid of; he hadn’t really checked that closely. No, he wouldn’t mention the suitcase, but he’d sure as hell keep his eyes peeled and stay watchful.

  That worked for ten minutes, then the knot in his gut twisted tighter at the thought of her leaving. For Amos’s sake—only Amos’s, he told himself—he had to know if she’d still be here when he returned tonight.

  “Any plans today?” he asked, trying to keep the suspicion and mistrust from his voice.

  “Just your grandfather’s PT this afternoon,” she replied in a low tone. “It’s an early session. One o’clock.”

  “Then you’ll probably be here when I get back?”

  She took a moment to answer. From the look on her face, it was almost as though she knew what he’d seen, how he’d interpreted it, and needed time to form the correct reply.

  “Yes,” she finally said in that same subdued voice. “I’ll be here.”

  Mac nodded, his stomach relaxing somewhat. But dammit, he doubted her again now, and he knew he’d be finding excuses to call home a few times today—and later, another excuse to check out that suitcase in his bedroom.

  Chapter 8

  That night Erin was staring in despair at yesterday’s headline from the Spindrift Gazette when she heard a sharp knock at the door. Blinking back tears, she shut down the computer, pushed away from the desk and hurried into the foyer. With a quick peek through the door’s side lights, she unlocked both the inside and outside doors and stepped back.

  Mac assessed her suspiciously as he came inside, obviously noting her increased security. Taking off his black Stetson, he laid it on the table in the entryway, then combed his fingers through his hair. “Expecting Jack the Ripper?”

  Erin hid a shudder. He didn’t know how close he was to the truth. She dredged up a smile. “No, I wasn’t expecting anyone so I locked up.” Not exactly true, but close. “During our travels, I got used to being cautious.”

  His dark eyes cooled at the mention of her wanderings. “I hope it’s not an imposition.”

  “Of course not.” So was this a
visit? “I…put a pot of decaf on a while ago. Would you like some?”

  “No, I’ll only be here long enough to get a few things from my closet, and ask a favor.”

  A favor? “What?”

  “In a minute,” he said, flicking on the light as he entered his room.

  Erin watched him open the closet door and remove a sports jacket, dark slacks, two dress shirts and coordinating ties. Every garment he hooked on his finger looked expensive. It had been clear to her from the start, with the money he’d sunk into this home, that he was financially comfortable; she just hadn’t realized at the time that those funds had come from an engineering career.

  She held her breath when he glanced almost pointedly at the bedroom floor where her suitcase had once lain. Then he closed the closet door, turned out the light and carried his belongings into the hall.

  “Going someplace fancy?” she asked, more to make conversation than from a need for information. She knew he’d come to see if the suitcase was still packed and waiting to be carried out, just as she’d known his phone calls this afternoon were merely a way of checking up on her.

  “Possibly. A friend phoned to say he’d be flying in for a visit. Shane likes to party hearty, but he also likes eating at five-star restaurants.”

  “Shane,” she repeated, slightly unsettled by the “party hearty” part of the description, and recalling the conversation in Amos’s kitchen. “He’s the colleague from New Hampshire who wants you to start a new business with him. When’s he flying in?”

  “Late Saturday night. I’m picking him up in Phoenix early Sunday morning.”

  Yet Mac had come for his clothes tonight.

  His expression darkened. “As for the business…we’ll be talking about it, but it probably won’t happen. He wants to start too soon.”

  “You’re dragging your feet because of your grandfather.”

  “Someone has to keep the store going,” he replied, but his grim look told Erin he was torn between his wants and his obligations. “That brings me to my second reason for coming down here tonight.”