No Home for the Holidays (2 page)

A picture of her? Not good. She opened the door wider. “What picture?”

“Of you at the Nativity. I posted it on the church website.”

“You didn't?” Forgetting her resolve to not let him in, she removed the chain and opened the door. “You can't do that. You need to take it down. Right now.”

He smiled, clueless as to what his action might cause.

“Why are you chasing me?” Had someone found her? Was the minister stalking her? Maybe he wasn't really a minister at all. Why else would he take photos of her?

“You left your things. I thought you might need it.” He handed the stocking cap and gloves up to her. “It's too cold to be outside without them.”

“You chased me down the street to give me back my hat?”

He nodded and held out his hand. “Colton Douglas. And your name is…”

“None of your business.” She turned away. He didn't need to get a better look at her. Good thing she still had her makeup on. “Let me see that picture, please.”

He held out the phone. She stared at the picture. Would anyone recognize her?

“It's a beautiful picture, don't you think?”

“No, I don't think. You have to take that down. Right now.”

“Why?”

“It could be dang…well, you just need to take it down. I don't like people taking my picture. It's not…please take it down.”

“Sure thing. Not a problem. I'll take them down just as soon as I get home.”

“No, you have to do it right now. Before anyone…please, just do it now.”

“OK. OK. Not a problem.” He sat down and began to hit buttons on the phone. After a few moments he looked up. “What did you say your name was?”

“I didn't.”

“Then I'll call you Pink. For your hair.” He hit another button on the phone. “All deleted. Are you happy now?”

She nodded.

“Why was it so important to you?”

“I don't like my picture taken. It's not… safe.”

“Not safe? Sounds a bit melodramatic. Why don't you tell me the real reason?”

This guy did it all. Preacher. Cop. Psychic. And now a shrink. “It's time for you to go.”

“I think I deserve an answer, Pink.”

“How did you find me anyway?”

“Footprints in the snow.”

“Oh…that makes sense.”

He gave her a sincere look. “Really, I want to help you. Something's wrong or you wouldn't have been in the church tonight. Please tell me what's going on. God can always make a way.”

She turned away, not wanting him to see tears. “I suppose that's true if God loves you.”

“And you think God doesn't love you? Of course, he does. He will never forsake any of us.”

He sounded just like her…a preacher.

“I'm not having a philosophical discussion about religion. It's time—”

“I know. For me to go.” He turned to go but then held up his phone. “But you know where I am if you want to talk. Even if it's purely philosophical. So what do you really believe in, Pink?”

“None of your business. What do you believe in?”

“I'll be glad to answer that question.” He moved to the door. “Stop by any time and we can discuss it. You know where I work, Pink.”

“That's not going to happen.” She slammed the door after him. “And don't call me that.”

3

Colton sang along with the Christmas music playing on the radio. His mind turned to other matters. There was something about Pink that seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Maybe, if she hadn't been wearing all that make-up, he'd figure it out. She needed help, he was sure of it.

For him to be up and outside at the exact moment she'd gone in the church. Well, that had to be God working. After talking with her, he was even more sure she needed help.

But he couldn't force her to accept it, and he had other things to do, like get ready for Christmas. But Pink had left a definite impression.

~*~

Six hours later, Colton pressed the print button with a flourish. This week's sermon was finished and the Christmas Eve message was close to being finished.

A knock pounded on the door.

“Come in.”

“Pastor Douglas?” The stranger was huge, his shoulders filled the doorway of the church office.

“Guilty as charged.”

“I'm John Smith.”

“Really?” Colton arched a brow.

“Yeah, I get that a lot.” The blond giant grimaced. “My mother didn't have much imagination when it came to naming me.”

“What can I do for you, Mr. Smith?”

The man slid out his cellphone and showed the picture of Pink at the Nativity scene. The one he'd deleted. “I need to know where she is.”

“Why?” Colton managed to hide his surprise, but he was disturbed that the photo he'd deleted somehow made it into this man's phone. Pink would be upset. What was going on here?

“I'm looking for her.” He flashed a badge. “FBI.”

“Is she in trouble?” Colton hadn't really seen the badge, but he didn't request to see it again. Intuition tingled, not in a good way.

The man met his gaze. “I'll ask the questions.”

“How'd you even see the picture? It was only up for a few minutes and then I took it down.”

“Why?”

“I decided it wasn't the right photo. So how did you get it?”

John Smith sat down. “If you must know, I have software that scans the Internet for faces. And since she's one of the faces I'm looking for…” He shrugged as if that was enough of an explanation.

He hadn't said the FBI had software.

Colton decided to not tell this man he was ex-FBI.

“So what name is she using now?” The blond giant's eyes bored into Colton's.

“I don't know her name.” Colton had no intention of helping him. Nothing about this guy seemed genuine.

“Do you know where she lives?”

Colton didn't want to lie and instead used a cop tactic, answer a question with a question. “If I don't know her name, why would I know where she lives?”

“Does she go to your church? I need to know what you know about her.”

“She doesn't come to my church. She just happened by as I snapped the photo.” Colton's cop instincts were buzzing. Pink had said having her picture on the Internet wasn't safe. Maybe she wasn't being overly dramatic.

“Lucky break for me that she did. You must know something about her that you can tell me.”

“I saw her in my church and wanted to talk, but she left. Sorry I can't be of more help. Why don't you give me one of your business cards, and I'll give you a call if she comes back.”

“Sure, sounds good.” John reached into his coat pocket. His hand came back out empty. “Well, would you look at that? All out of business cards.”

Colton met his gaze.

Neither one blinked.

Then John Smith smiled. “But let me give you my phone number so you can call if she comes around again. I'd appreciate if you wouldn't tell her I was looking for her. People like her tend to run away from the FBI.”

People like her? What was that supposed to mean? “What do you want her for?”

“Nothing to concern yourself with.”

“If you say so.” Colton handed him a pen and paper.

John scribbled a number on a paper. “Thanks for your help.” He left the office.

The man would be easy to check out, but Colton wasn't an FBI agent any longer. He was a preacher. It wasn't his job to worry about what John Smith wanted with Pink. Perhaps it wasn't his job to worry about Pink either, but he did. Though she didn't seem to believe, she was hanging around his church, which made her lost soul seeking comfort from the Lord.

He sighed as he walked toward the coat closet.

4

Chloe paced around her living room, upset with being cooped up. The restaurant had closed for Christmas so she was off work this week.

Last night, she'd managed to get herself in trouble because having nothing better to do, she took a walk to see the Nativity scene. And then she'd gone inside to stare at the cross. The measure of peace she hoped for hadn't materialized, but that preacher had. And he'd been just a little too curious about her.

Maybe she'd drive to one of the area malls when she got bored. Not that she needed anything, but just to be around people, even if she couldn't be friends with any of them. No, there was no way she could to go to a mall right now.

Christmas decorations. Christmas music. Santa Claus and his merry elves. Christmas was everywhere and she didn't need to be reminded. She was sick to death of Christmas.

Her eyes filled with tears.

No Christmas tree. No decorating or celebrating. It would only be a reminder of what she didn't have—no home for the holidays.

She walked upstairs to the spare bedroom—still empty even after living here for more than six months. There wasn't a reason to add a bed or decorate. She wouldn't be having any overnight guests.

And she didn't need an office. No computer—No cellphone—nothing electronic so they could trace her. Off the grid was how the FBI agent described it.

And so that's how she lived. Since she couldn't use her own name or social security card, she had to stick with cash-only jobs. Mostly restaurants, usually ones that didn't pay all that good. Right now she worked at a restaurant in Wadsworth even though she lived in Wooster.

Better to work in one place and live in another. Less chance of being found that way. It made for a lonely life—but a safe one.

The doorbell buzzed.

Twice in one week. Maybe it was time to move on. Most of the time she only spent three months any place, but she'd enjoyed living in this small Ohio town the past six months even with the horrendous weather. But that preacher now knew where she lived. She really had no one to blame for this situation but herself.

It couldn't be a friend…and she was in hiding from her only enemy—who wanted her dead.

The doorbell buzzed again.

She peaked out the window.

That preacher again.

Definitely time to move.

“Hey, Pink. Are you in there?” A buzz and a knock.

After three more buzzes, he walk to his car, which sat in her drive, and left.

She looked around her home. No, not her home. She didn't have one and probably never would. It was only the place she'd been living for a while. And now it was time to go.

Tears filled her eyes.

It was something she'd have to get used to. Even if she hadn't in the past three years.

Not wasting any time, she ran upstairs to collect her things—only the essentials, a couple of outfits, a few toiletries, and her money. She stuffed them in her satchel. She grabbed the wigs and put them in too. They were too expensive to leave behind. She'd call her landlady later and explain she'd had an emergency.

Another car pulled up.

She looked out the window.

The door opened on a black SUV. A giant man stepped out. Just the kind of man who would come looking for her.
He's not here for me. He's not here for me.
But even as she thought those words, he walked toward her house.

The pit in her stomach opened and swallowed her heart.

Definitely time to go.

Chloe was at the bottom of the steps when the buzzer stopped her footsteps. Her heart raced. She stared at the curtains and blinds she'd put up kept people from seeing inside her home—her sanctuary. Should she leave out the back?

The guy pounded on her door again—louder.

Better leave now.

He might break in, and then she'd be in a world of trouble. Even with the martial arts training she'd been taking, she was no match for him. She mustered all her courage and forced her feet to move out to the kitchen. Picking up her purse, she blinked back the tears and opened the kitchen door.

She squealed and jumped back.

5

“What are you doing here?” The woman's eyes widened with panic. Her gaze scoped the yard as if looking for something. Or someone. She appeared to be terrified.

Colton hadn't even knocked yet.

She grabbed his arm, pulled him inside then slammed the door shut. She stared at him for a second before bolting the door. Then she whirled around and hissed, “I can't believe it. What are you doing here? You just left fifteen minutes ago.”

Pink? It sounded like her, but this person looked completely different. All the make-up was gone. Instead of pink-and-blonde hair, she had chestnut brown hair in a simple cut.

“Going somewhere, Pink?” He looked down at the satchel.

Still holding his arm, she dragged him away from the door then bolted two more locks. “Stop calling me that ridiculous name and get down. Get down before he comes back here.”

She slid down to the floor holding the satchel in front as if it might protect her.

“Why are we hiding?”

“Because I don't know who's at the front door.” Her tone made it clear that she was afraid.

“If you answered, you'd know.”

She gave him a look that said clearly he was an idiot.

“I still don't see what the problem is.”

“Because whoever's knocking on the front door might come back here. And I…I…just forget it.”

“And…why would that be bad?”

“Because I don't know who it is.”

“If you answered the door, then you would know.”

“Don't be ridic—” She put a finger to her mouth.

A moment later, footsteps crunched outside, and then someone pounded on the kitchen door.

She looked around as if hunting for a place to hide. An abusive ex-husband or boyfriend? Three deadbolts on the kitchen door made him think it was more than possible. That would explain about the picture.

“I know you're in there.”

That was John Smith's voice. How had he found her? Maybe he really was FBI. Colton glanced over at the huddled woman—a very pretty one in spite of her obvious terror. That sense of familiarity was still there.