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Notifying anyone she knew would only put her in more jeopardy.
She could trust no one. Not a soul.
It wasn’t supposed to happen this way! When she agreed to . . . oh, God. Her mother was dead. Killed.
Hands shaking, she slipped her fingers into the pocket of her jacket, felt her phone and the wad of cash that she’d hidden there. Four thousand dollars. Enough to escape and disappear.
Footsteps sounded. Someone moving fast.
Hurrying through these blocks of greenery.
Her heart lurched.
She bit her lip, trained her gaze toward the sound.
Her ears and eyes straining, her senses on alert, she heard the rapid footfalls, then spied a runner cutting through the park, slim and sleek, a man in reflective running gear striding easily, his breath fogging, earbuds visible as he flew past.
She couldn’t stay here any longer.
It wasn’t safe.
She was a sitting duck.
Ivy slipped through the dense, wet foliage, easing her way to the entrance on the far side of the park and out. Flipping the rain-soaked hood of her jacket over her wet hair, she walked rapidly through the city blocks where skyscrapers knifed upward into the dark sky, patches of warm lights visible in a few apartment windows, security lights in businesses.
By instinct, she headed downhill, toward the waterfront where, she hoped, she’d find a way to leave this city and her painful past forever. A bus out of the city. That’s what she’d do. Find a bus and buy a one-way ticket.
She didn’t care where.
Just as long as it was far, far away.
Chapter 2
An impatient little cry echoed through the house.
No. Please, just go back to sleep. From her side of the bed, Regan Pescoli glanced at the clock. 2:43 AM. Middle of the night.
What do you expect with an infant?
She eyed the somewhat blurry baby monitor, but as she focused she saw that Little Tucker was indeed awake, moving his arms and definitely making baby noises. Great. Then the screen went blank for a second, only to catch the image again. The monitor was wonky at best, useless at worst. She might have to break down and buy a new one.
Someday.
But not today.
With her husband snoring softly, she slid from the bed, found her robe tossed on a nearby chair, and stuffed her arms through its sleeves as she padded barefoot to the nursery where her baby was starting to raise a serious racket.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she said in a whisper, then, in the dim illumination of the night-light, picked Tucker up and, after a quick diaper change, carried him to the nearby rocker, where she tried to nurse him. Of course that wasn’t working. Hadn’t for the past couple of months. He attempted to suckle and failed, sending up a wail loud enough to raise the dead in five counties.
“Okay, okay.” Carefully she hauled him downstairs, heated a bottle quickly, and sat in Santana’s recliner while Little Tucker ate hungrily. “There ya go,” she said with a smile in her voice, though she was unhappy that she was no longer able to breast-feed him. With both her older children, she’d nursed until they were nearly a year old, but, of course, that had been a long while back, over twenty years for her oldest. “Sorry, little one,” she whispered, placing a kiss on his downy head. “But that’s what you get for having an old . . . er, let’s make that older mother.” Once he’d fallen asleep, she took him back to his crib, then walked into the master bedroom where Santana hadn’t so much as moved.
Perfect.
Before sliding between the covers, she stepped into her slippers, then stepped onto the deck. Snow had piled across its bare planks, though now the night was clear and a million stars were flung across the wide Montana sky. Her gaze moved to the nearby lake, now iced over and serene, a calm vista where tall firs and pines, snow dusted and regal, guarded the far shore.
She loved this view of the lake and the mountains beyond. Loved her new home with her new husband and her children. The air was still, no creatures stirring, and she should have felt at peace.
And yet . . .
