From Scratch (25 page)

“So, I kept running. I'd become a great waitress, but when he kept showing up for dinner, I thought it would be safer, easier to run, if I worked in the back of the house. And that's how it started.”

“How what started?”

“How I fell in love with cooking.” She smiled and for the first time a twinkle sparkled in her eyes. “I was a sponge. I traipsed after every sous chef and line cook I could find. I asked smart and really stupid questions. It was all so amazing, how this tiny space behind the scene at a restaurant was filled with all of these different worlds. It was like being part of twenty great plays every night. I was hooked.”

“After a year of kitchens, I talked my Uncle Jack into letting me apply to cooking school. At school, I was able to see how those backroom one act plays were developed and transported to a plate. As much as I loved cooking, I decided to specialize in pastry. Pastry is art in a bite—how could I resist? It was a wonderful time, the Napa Valley is so beautiful and the food is so special there. I was happy. For the first time in six years, I was happy. I accepted an apprenticeship under the executive pastry chef at a five star restaurant. Everything was perfect. Until June twenty-third three years ago.”

“June twenty-third…” he whispered.

Scooting to the opposite side of the sofa, she drew her legs to her chest, enfolding them in her arms. “I was working early. Setting dough to proof. I was alone in the restaurant but I wasn't afraid. It had been over a year since he'd found me. Uncle Jack heard that The Mission had run into some trouble with the IRS, and we both assumed those legal issues put me on the backburner. I started to think that maybe he'd moved on, found a wife, started a new life. I thought Napa was my Promised Land.

“I remember I had this classic jazz album—one of my favorites—blaring in the back room. I used to love that CD.” She gave her head a little shake. “Anyway, I was on my seventh batch of dough when I heard a click at the back door. I thought maybe one of the line cooks was coming in early to prep his station. I really didn't think much of it. And then crack, everything was black. The next thing I remember I was waking up in the trunk of a car. I was nauseous and dirty. My hands were bound and so were my feet. I was bumping and banging. My head was swimming. I kept praying. I don't even think I was saying words, just praying, you know?”

He couldn't imagine.

“When the car stopped, I didn't know what to do. I thought we were still in California. But when the trunk popped open, I saw the University of Maryland football field in the distance. Somehow, he brought me back to Maryland. We were on campus. I was still bound as he dragged me into one of the dance studios. There were mirrors everywhere and I caught my first look at my face. It was awful. I had blood caked on my cheek from cuts on my forehead and my eye was swollen and purple. I thought I was going to die.”

Sean's gut clenched, the anger from earlier pushing to explode. This man had laid a hand on his woman. No one had a right to do that. No one. Sean prayed to get past his anger.

“Most of that day is a blur. Mitchell kept spouting about God's will. How we were meant to be together. Shaking me. Calling me a sinner. A Jezebel. He hit me and I crashed into one of the dance mirrors, smashing it in hundreds of pieces.” She pointed to a tiny scar at her hairline. “That's how I got this thing. I'm truly blessed that I wasn't more seriously injured, but that hit knocked me unconscious. When I woke up, my head was pounding and my face felt like it'd been ripped at the seams. “I was dressed in my costume from the play. White lilies were on the table beside me. We were in the theater. He'd set the stage with the sets from the play. It was eerie. Everything was exactly as it had been in the production six years earlier.” She wiped at her tears and tugged her legs tighter to her chest. “He was sitting front row center staring at me. I was so afraid. I knew I was going to die.” Shudders wracked her body.

Sean wanted to hold her close and never let her go. To infuse his strength into her. To protect her from a past she was forced to relive.

She continued describing the twisted wants and needs of her captor. Mitchell brought her back to the place where he felt he'd lost her, where Sam won. Where he was convinced she'd turned her back on God's will. He called her despicable names. He kept her trussed up on the stage for hours forcing her to relive the former part over and over again.

“It was a nightmare I desperately wanted to wake from. I kept trying to figure out how we'd gotten to Maryland. What day it was. Had anyone seen Mitchell bring me into the studio or to the theater? Would anyone find us? Why now? How could I get away? Would he hit me again? Would that hit kill me?

“He started to relax. I don't know what clicked in him, but he leaned back in his chair and started to rub his finger slowly across his lips. I'll never forget that…how he just sat there staring at me as if he were assessing the value of a piece of art. And I realized, he'd won. I wasn't resisting anymore. It had been hours and no one was coming to find us. I felt hollow. Empty. I didn't have any more tears or fight. I prayed for God to forgive me for quitting. And I prayed that Jesus would just take me home.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Mitchell stood and walked toward me. He was slow, like a panther hunting his prey. I remember closing my eyes and waiting…I think I was waiting for him to give me the final blow, to kill me.”

Sean reached for her.

“No, I'm OK. I'm OK. Mitchell was nearly to me, and then everything seemed to happen at the same time. Every entrance to the theater burst open simultaneously and dozens of police stormed into the room. Mitchell lunged toward me, but this cop grabbed him by the waist and threw him to the ground. A tiny female cop unbound my hands and feet and wrapped me in a blanket. She looked at my face and started screaming for the EMT's.

“Uncle Jack came running to me, tears streaming down his cheeks. I'd never seen him cry before. He crushed me to him as they dragged Mitchell from the theater. He was kicking and screaming, yelling over and over, ‘I'll never let you go. Never. You are mine.'

“All these years later, I can still smell the scent of fabric softener on my uncle's shirt and hear the muffled echo of screams and shouted orders. But I can't tell you what the cuts or bruises felt like. Or describe the face of the officer who was so kind to me. I can hear her voice as clear as a bell and feel the scratchy warmth of the blanket she gave me. The whole thing was surreal.

“From the moment I heard the click in the restaurant to the feel of my uncle's arms, I felt as if I were living someone else's life. The whole thing was like a movie. I didn't feel as if I was quite there, but rather watching the whole thing in slow motion. Sometimes, when I remember or have a dream, it feels as if all of it happened to someone else. And, really, I guess it did.” Maggie fell quiet; her eyes shuttered against Sean's gaze.

Sean wouldn't be satisfied unless the story had a clean, tight ending. He needed to know the rest of the story because without it, he wouldn't be able to protect her.

She stood as if every bone in her body ached and moved to the kitchen. Leaning against the counter, she looked at ease and casual, but the skin over her knuckles was pulled taut-white.

He closed the distance to the kitchen in three steps and laced his arms across her middle, pulling her back to his chest in a soft embrace. He kissed her temple and she leaned her head against his shoulder. “Maggie, I love you. And I wish I could change everything that has happened to you. But there's still a missing piece, isn't there? There's more to the story. What did you mean, ‘it happened to someone else'?”

She turned to him, folding her arms around his waist, burying her face into his chest. “Because it did.” Her words were muffled against his shirt and a new wave of tears dampened the heavy cotton fabric.

“What does that mean? Maggie, who did it happen to?”

“Mary Margaret Sloan. That's my real name, or at least it was my real name.”

“I'm going to need a little more help.”

Sucking in a deep breath, she unlinked her arms and leaned against the counter. “My name was Mary Margaret Sloan. Mary Margaret, the girl who loved Sam, lost her parents too young, and lived in a constant state of panic for over six years. Mary Margaret, who fell in love with Jesus, with the help of a loony cult and a crazed stalker. I was Mary Margaret throughout the trial and my testimony against Mitchell. Through all of the running and the terror. Through the loss of a dream and the birth of a new one. I was her through it all. First, I was just fighting to survive, and then fighting to win. And we won, Mary Margaret and I, we won the day Mitchell was sentenced for kidnapping and attempted murder. The day he was dragged out of the courtroom, screaming and in hand-cuffs, I walked out and left Mary Margaret behind.

“He was right. Mary Margaret would never be free of Mitchell O'Donnell. So I walked out of that courtroom and down the hall to the county registrar. Uncle Jack helped me start a new life, new social security number, the whole nine yards, and I became Maggie McKitrick. Just like that. One new driver's license, a box of hair color, a one way ticket to Columbus, and Maggie McKitrick was born. Old life gone. New life started.”

He lifted his hands and smoothed his fingers over her hair, cupping her cheeks. “It's wonderful to finally meet you, Miss McKitrick.” He lowered his lips to hers, brushing them lightly. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Rising on her toes, she draped her arms around his neck and kissed him with passion. A heady mixture of peace and hard-fought freedom infused each caress of her lips.

His arms tightened around to small of her back drawing her closer.

After a moment, she lifted her mouth from his. A soft sigh slipped out. Snuggling against him, her voice was low as she spoke. “I feel as if I could float away. I didn't realize how all of the dishonesty was weighing me down. I hated lying to you. From that first day in the shop, I had this strange desire to hand you a tub of popcorn and tell you my whole life story. I've just been afraid.” She slid her hand up his chest, drawing a line of fiery heat in its wake and raked her fingers through his short hair. “I'm sorry, Sean. I want you to know just how sorry I am. I shouldn't have waited so long. ”

He lowered his lips to the base of her neck and sprinkled a few light kisses over her turtleneck. “I know. I'm just thankful for whatever clicked that made you able to tell me.”

“Today, at the Greys, all I could think was how wonderfully loud and full of love everyone was and I got scared.”

Scared?

“I know we're a lot to handle, but scared?”

“Not of you. Of what loving you, all of you, could mean. If Mitchell ever finds me…figures out where I am and who I love…” She closed her eyes. “He's been in prison a long time, Sean. Longer than he ever went before without finding me. And now that he's paroled, I'm afraid of what he's planning. He's had years to scheme. He has more money than I could ever imagine at his fingertips. It's part of the reason why he's always been able to find me. He has resources beyond all of our imaginations.

“He would use those resources to try and teach me a lesson—on behalf of God, of course. And he would start by going after anyone he thought I loved. He would relish the pain that would cause, hurting those whom I've chosen over him. He would justify it by saying that we'd sinned by not following God's will. He would use all of you as a weapon against me. If he ever finds me, I am petrified of what he will do to all of your family because I love you.”

O'Donnell had been here. Sean was sure of it. But he couldn't let Maggie know yet. He needed to have a strategy. He would tell her. Just not tonight. He kissed her forehead and squeezed her shoulders. “He can't hurt you anymore. I won't let him. I will protect you. I'm kind of good at the whole security detail thing.”

“I guess you're OK for a small town cop.”

“Hey…who are you calling small-town?”

“If the one traffic light fits…”

“We have two traffic lights.”

“Well…I don't know if the blinking one entering town really counts.”

He chuckled and hugged her. “I'll give you that.” Smoothing his hand across her hair, he smiled. “So…this beautiful dark hair is from a box? I feel completely betrayed.”

“Men.”

18

The grring sound of the fax machine filled the empty police station. The clock on the wall flashed barely six o'clock. Thousands of people would be swarming the malls in Columbus to get Black Friday deals, making Sean once again thankful for the advent of gift cards and online shopping. He scanned the first three pages in the stack as the remaining twenty the machine promised crept out of the printer. The twenty-first century brought little advancement to Gibson's Run.

At Maggie's the evening before he'd tried to keep his questions at a minimum. She'd told him about her uncle, where he lived, his contact information, but she wasn't completely certain which branch of the government employed him.

She knew very little about O'Donnell since he'd been released from prison. She'd told him a few more details about Sam's accident, and although the evidence was circumstantial, Sean was convinced that O'Donnell caused the young man's death. But through all of the questions and her lengthy story, Maggie's faith was unshakeable.

She'd lost her parents, her first love, was manipulated by a cult, and abused by a trusted spiritual mentor. How could anyone endure all of those trials, give up her identity, and still be so in love with the Lord that one could feel her passion ooze off of her within minutes of being in her presence?

He'd only known her story for a few hours and he was struggling to keep his heart open to God's will and His grace. Maggie had been running for nearly a decade and still had the dewy freshness of a new believer when she spoke of God. Her voice held little blame or hatred toward the man who stole her life. And nothing negative crossed her lips in reference to the Lord.