Run to Me Read online

  “You just got done sayin’ it’s my decision to make. I made it.” Shuffling and cane tapping to the door, he threw it open, then shoved through the screen door, banging it against the white wood siding. Mac raised his eyes to heaven, but there was no help there. Obviously, the discussion was over.

  Amos plopped himself down on the glider. “Now why don’t you help that gal take her stuff over to your place?”

  “My place?”

  “Little Christie needs some room, too. Can’t very well stuff ’em both in the guest room upstairs. Besides,” Amos groused pointedly as Mac’s exasperation grew, “you seem happy enough up there.”

  “Granddad, I’m not set up for company.”

  “They’ll only be here six ’r seven weeks.” Amos glared up at him. “Or do you have other ideas you ain’t told me about?”

  “No, but my guest room’s full of boxes, and there’s no bed in there.” The other spare room had been turned into an office. That meant, if they moved in, Terri Fletcher and her daughter would be sleeping in his room.

  In his bed.

  Something tugged low in Mac’s gut at the thought of Christie’s slender mom beneath his sheets, startling him with its intensity and shocking the hell out of him by evoking a very physical, very unexpected response.

  “All right,” he growled, needing to move, and accepting the arrangement because there’d be no changing Amos’s mind. “I’ll get it done.”

  Erin followed Corbett’s brisk strides through his spacious, beautiful home, her stomach a ball of knots. She was astonished that the discussion had ended in her favor. Initially, he’d seemed to be the man in control, yet somehow Amos had won out. Relieved, Erin sent up a prayer of thanks that they had a roof over their heads again—and on the heels of that prayer, another went up that changing her name and relocating here would be enough to ensure their safety.

  And incomprehensibly, amid so much turmoil, some part of her still found time to notice Mac Corbett as a man. Though she tried to ignore the pull, his rugged face and the smooth, loose way he walked made her feel things she hadn’t felt in a very long time. In fact, he was the most overtly male man she’d ever encountered, and incredibly, he didn’t seem aware of his appeal.

  “Obviously, this is the bedroom,” he said, carrying their bags inside and tossing them on his king-size bed. A quilted navy, white and light-blue spread in a geometric print covered it. “You should be comfortable here.” He nodded at a closed door to the left of an oak chest of drawers. “Master bath’s in there.”

  “It’s very nice,” she replied, placing the two duffels she’d carried beside her luggage. “Thank you. I…I’m sure we will be.” She’d always been good at small talk, but with this man—who didn’t seem inclined to make the effort—she was falling flat on her face.

  Before they’d begun unloading the van, she’d given Christie her coloring book, crayons and a cookie, then settled her in the great room at Mac’s distressed-pine coffee table. Occasionally, as they’d carted things past the wide archway, Christie had looked up from her tuneless humming and scribbling to peek through her fringe of black bangs and smile a little—beginning to adjust again. And though that was something to be thankful for, it still made Erin ache to see her take each new town and change of address in stride.

  Suppressing a sigh, she shifted her attention back to Mac and tried again for conversation. “Christie’s careful with her crayons, but I put a plastic play mat over your coffee table in case she gets reckless.”

  “It wasn’t expensive,” he said flatly. “She can’t hurt it.”

  “Still, I want you to know that we’ll leave your home in the same condition that we found it.”

  His polite smile thanked her, then he nodded at the bare windows. “I never got around to putting up curtains. There didn’t seem to be a big need for them, living out this far. But I guess you’ll want some privacy. I’ll see what I can scare up for you.” He nodded at the bed. “The sheets are fresh, but you’re welcome to change them. Linen closet’s in the hall next to the family bath.”

  “I’m sure the sheets on the bed will be fine.”

  “All right, then I’ll make room for your things so you can start putting them away. I’ll finish unpacking your van in a minute.” Crossing to his closet, he pulled a duffel bag from a shelf, then started filling it from the oak chest of drawers.

  “Mr. Corbett?”

  “Mac,” he said, not looking up.

  “Mac. First of all, you don’t have to unpack my van. I can do that.” Heaven knew she’d managed to do it enough times in the past year. “Secondly,” she said, unable to keep the uneasiness from her voice, “I know you weren’t expecting us to commandeer your home. So before we go much further—”

  “You want to know if I have reservations.”

  “Yes.”

  His candid gaze met hers. “I do. Yes. But not about the two of you staying here.” He resumed packing. “It’s probably better that I sleep at Amos’s anyway. Most of my clothes are there. I moved in right after he was released from rehab—” his mouth twisted in annoyance “—came back here after the first housekeeper was hired, then hauled butt back to Amos’s when she left.”

  Mac emptied the next drawer, stuffing T-shirts into his bag. “Besides, sometimes he needs help getting to the bathroom in the middle of the night.” He turned sharply to reassure her. “Once he’s up and moving in the morning, he’s fine, though, so your duties won’t be more than we advertised in the paper.”

  “I don’t have a problem helping your grandfather to the bathroom.”

  His expression softened slightly, then he looked away again and zipped his bag, his tone brisk again. “Thank you, but I was thinking of Amos. He has a lot of pride.”

  “I noticed. And I’d never do anything to hurt it.”

  “Good, because he’s all I have, and that makes him my number-one priority. I don’t like thinking he might be at risk—in any way.” He met her eyes again. “You do understand, don’t you?”

  Erin nodded. He didn’t have to gush or expand on his statement. It was abundantly clear that he loved his granddad, and if Amos wasn’t treated with care and respect, that Housekeeper Wanted sign would go right back up again.

  Mac slung the duffel’s long straps over his shoulder. “I didn’t see a crib or anything like it in your van. Christie sleeps with you?”

  “Not always. Sometimes we find a furnished apartment with a twin bed. I have a portable safety railing that slides between the mattress and box spring. That works pretty well.”

  “Sometimes you find a furnished apartment?” he repeated in a tone that was cuttingly judgmental. “Do you move around a lot?”

  She knew she shouldn’t feel defensive—he had a perfect right to question her—but she did. She also knew that antagonizing him could prompt another discussion between Mac and his grandfather, and this time the younger man might win.

  “Is that a problem for you? This job is temporary, isn’t it? Your grandfather said two months at the most, probably less.”

  The thoughts moving through his dark eyes weren’t complimentary, and his face was carved granite. “Yes, it’s temporary. I still find myself wondering why you’re so mobile.” His gaze delved more deeply into hers. “Maybe if I ask a few questions—get a few answers—I won’t wonder so much.”

  He barely paused a moment before he said coolly, “Ms. Fletcher, are you running away from something?”

  Chapter 2

  She didn’t know how she managed, but Erin spoke in a calm voice. “No. Are you afraid I’ll take off in the middle of the night with the good silver?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know you.”

  Feeling a nervous flush creep into her cheeks, Erin turned away from him and began unpacking Christie’s clothes. “Then let’s remedy that right now. What do you want to know?” She was ready with her stock replies.

  “All right. But keep in mind that this isn’t a personal attack. I just need to
feel comfortable with the people who take care of Amos.”

  “I understand. Go ahead.”

  “Your van has Maine plates. You don’t have a Maine accent.”

  She shook the wrinkles out of Christie’s pajamas and set them aside. “We were only there a short time.”

  “You were employed there?”

  “Yes, I’ve already told your grandfa—”

  “Doing what? And why did you leave?”

  Erin put down the tiny bib overalls she’d just plucked from the suitcase, then turned around, realizing that her answers might be better accepted if she were facing him. She hid a shiver of apprehension. The penetrating eyes beneath the shading brim of his Stetson seemed to see straight through her. But as she gazed deeper into those eyes, past the concern, past the strength and confidence there, she saw something else. Something that mirrors had reflected in her own eyes. This man had baggage, too.

  She drew a breath. “My last job was waitressing at a small restaurant. It was fun. I enjoy working with people.” She got herself ready for the next lie. “I left because it took me away from Christie too many hours in the day.”

  “You had to travel 2500 miles to find a position that kept your daughter with you 24/7?”

  “No, Maine was beautiful, but cold. I decided we’d be happier in a warmer climate.”

  “So you chose the Flagstaff area? Winters here can be—”

  “This isn’t our last stop. I’ve never seen California.”

  It was several seconds before he slowly nodded. Again the judgment and doubt in his dark gaze was a near palpable thing. “I assume you included the name and address of your previous employer in your list of references?”

  “Yes.” She’d only offered two names—Millie’s and Lynn’s—and thank heaven, they were both confidantes and prepared for phone calls. It still stunned her that Amos hadn’t contacted either of them, saying that he was from the old school and judged people by the look in their eyes—and she looked all right to him. “Until last week I worked for Millie Kraft at Krafty Millie’s Café in Spindrift, Maine, just up the coast from Boothbay Harbor. Your grandfather has her number. Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

  Again, that long, slow gaze assessed her. But apparently the inquisition was over because he thanked her and walked out of the room. “There’s a twin bed in storage at Granddad’s house,” he called over his shoulder. “I think I can squeeze it in here.”

  Erin trailed him through the hall toward the front door. “You don’t have to do that. Christie will be fine, sleeping with me.”

  “She should have her own bed,” he said firmly.

  Suddenly Christie barreled out of the great room, a page from her coloring book flapping in her hand. Her tiny face was all smiles, her voice a high-pitched squeak. “Wook, Mommy!”

  Smiling, Erin scooped Christie into her arms, then held the paper out in front of her. She gasped dramatically at the wild purple and yellow swirls and swishes. “Oh, my! Did you do this all by yourself?”

  Christie nodded excitedly.

  “It’s beautiful. We’ll have to dig out our magnets and put it on the refrigerator.”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks as Mac ambled back from the door. His deep voice gentled as he surveyed Christie’s handiwork, the way most adults’ voices did when speaking to a child. “Mommy’s right. This is a very nice picture. Can you tell me what it is?”

  “Me!”

  “I can see that now,” he replied chuckling. The skin beside his dark eyes crinkled. “Do you think you could make one for my grandpa’s refrigerator? I’ll bet he’d like that. I know I would.”

  Beaming, Christie wriggled out of Erin’s arms and raced back to her crayons.

  Mac’s gaze followed her. “How old is she?”

  “Three. Well, she will be in three months. September.”

  “She’s a cutie.”

  “Thank you. I think so.”

  His next words landed like a punch. “Her father must miss her very much.”

  It was hard to breathe, hard to remain calm, hard to hide the jolt of fear that now accompanied any thought or mention of Charles. But she made it through the moment without betraying any of those things and stated simply, “He’s not with us anymore.”

  “He passed away?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  When she didn’t offer more, new questions rose in Corbett’s eyes—curious questions—but apparently respecting her privacy, he didn’t ask them. Instead, the look in his eyes slowly began to change.

  The difference was subtle, almost unnoticeable…but for the shortest of seconds, his gaze passed over her hair and the slope of her face—lingered for a heartbeat on her mouth. And Erin’s pulse quickened as awareness came tiptoeing back, all the more potent because they were alone, behind closed doors, and she now realized the attraction was mutual.

  Time stretched out on tenterhooks.

  The air between them quivered with a tension running just below the surface.

  Then Mac abruptly jerked his gaze from hers and retraced his steps to the door. “I’ll see about that bed,” he said brusquely, exiting and closing the screen door behind him.

  “Th-thank you again for your trouble,” Erin called.

  “It’s no trouble. As I said,” he repeated, his growling baritone trailing, “she needs her own bed.”

  Erin sank back against a polished pine wall. Their search for a safe haven was over. In a month or two they might have to look again, but they were all right for now. She stared through the screen at Mac’s broad shoulders and tapering back as he cut through the weeds bordering the pond on his way back to Amos’s…took in his trim hips and long muscular legs.

  And suddenly she wondered if she’d traded one kind of danger for another.

  Charles Fallon sat behind the antique desk in his opulent high-rise office, the glow of the setting sun coloring the Chicago skyline behind him. He adjusted the pocket silk in his Armani suit, smoothed his fine mustache and goatee, then steepled his fingers before him and called, “Come in” in answer to the soft rap at his door.

  A good-looking young man with longish, sun-streaked blond hair and a pleasant smile entered and walked to Charles’s desk, his running shoes silent on the deep-orchid carpeting. He wore jeans and a white polo shirt with a sports logo on the breast pocket, and while he was not muscular, he appeared fit. He did not offer to shake Charles’s hand, and they did not exchange pleasantries.

  They were alone on the floor. Everyone who worked for him here at Fallon Financial Consultants had gone for the day.

  With an economy of motion, Charles took a folder from his desk and handed it to John Smith. It contained photographs and every scrap of information Charles could recall or gather that might lead Smith to her. Her pathetic little hobbies and interests, her education, the foods she liked. Still on Charles’s desk were her high school yearbook and a list of friends and associates she’d made at the elementary school where she’d once taught kindergarten. There was even a list of her e-mail contacts.

  Several minutes elapsed while Smith studied the folder, the only sound in the room the hollow bubbling of the aquarium built into the cherry-paneled north wall. Presently Smith glanced up from the private detective’s report. “She was last seen near Boothbay Harbor driving a 1999 white Ford Windstar?”

  “Read on. The vehicle is current, but my private investigator frightened her into running again. He was able to pick up her trail but lost her again in Boston. He said she obviously knew she was being followed, the way she changed lanes and used the on and off ramps.” So unlike his mousy little wife, who’d rarely driven in city traffic.

  The square-cut diamond on his right hand caught the setting sun’s rays as Charles flicked a hand at the folder. “It’s all in there.”

  Charles stared at the boy-man as he continued to peruse the file. He was thirty years old, and his name was not Smith. But Charles didn’t want or need to know what it was. He only had to kn
ow that Smith was short on scruples, long on patience, and used whatever means he deemed appropriate—legal or not—to accomplish his assignments. Which would make him far more effective than the fool who’d lost her.

  Smith paged back to the photos. “Your ex-wife’s very beautiful. Little girl looks just like her.”

  Charles nodded stiffly, hiding his rage as their faces coalesced in his mind. Beautiful, duplicitous Erin, with her serious cobalt eyes and raven hair, courtesy of the black Irish father who’d never given a damn about her. And Christiana. What an insult that none of his features had been repeated in his daughter’s face. He was the strong one. His genes should have been dominant. She should have had auburn hair and green eyes.

  He thought of the divorce in which Erin had aired their private differences—differences every man and wife had—and the absurd judgment that had awarded her full custody because the judge considered him abusive, unfit.

  Her lies had made him a pariah with friends and associates. If she’d remained silent, he could’ve forgiven her her fanciful request for a divorce. Not granted it, but in time, forgiven it. Now…now she would pay.

  “You know what I want,” Charles said coldly, standing and bringing the meeting to a close. He placed the yearbook and lists inside a messenger’s pouch, then indicated with a nod that Smith should add the folder he held, as well. When he’d complied, Charles handed him an envelope containing thirty thousand dollars.

  “Half now, half when the job is done.”

  “Plus expenses.”

  “Of course.” Charles held Smith’s gaze. “Don’t do it in front of my daughter. When you’ve finished, call me.”

  “I’ll be in touch,” the young man replied, smiling cordially and accepting the pouch.

  Charles smiled back. “Danka.”

  Erin wiped the tomato sauce from Christie’s mouth and hands, then lifted her down from the booster seat. She handed her her Raggedy Ann doll and a cookie. Ten feet away, in the spare room, the rattle and clank of metal framework told her that Mac would soon be finished assembling the twin bed he’d found in Amos’s attic. And she was grateful. She wanted him gone so her popping nerve endings would give her some peace.