Reclaim My Life (40 page)

They opened up their huddle to reveal another of her loved ones. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight, and she cried out, “Wilson Drake!”

She rushed them at once, hugging each one multiple times. “Oh, God, I can’t get enough of you all.”

“We cheated,” Grandma said. “We weren’t supposed to know about the trial, but we have insider information.”

Tears streamed down Fia’s face when she stepped into Wilson’s arms. “But how—”

“I’m the insider,” he said. “Let’s get out of this wind, and we’ll fill you in, darlin’.”

She turned to wave goodbye to Cory, who smiled and held up his hand. “Let’s go someplace warm so we can talk.”

“I’m starved.” Grandma blinked back tears, struggling to maintain her tough gal image. She seldom let anyone see her cry. “Take me to the nearest restaurant.”

Joe pointed toward the river. “There’s a café one block over. They have blue plate specials and great coffee.”

Nina spun her wheelchair around. “Hot coffee? Let’s go.”

“Aren’t ya gonna kiss your young man first?” Grandma asked.

Wilson chuckled. “I’m supposed to tell you I passed Grandma’s litmus test. I hope that’s a good thing.”

“It’s a very good thing.” Fia pulled his face to hers and gave him a quick kiss, murmuring against his mouth, “It’s wonderful to see you.”

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, hugging her again. “But you’ve lost weight.”

“Not a lot.” Since she’d returned to normal, more healthful eating habits, she’d dropped almost fifteen pounds.

“She needed some meat on her bones,” Grandma said, but her grandmother hadn’t seen Fia at her chubbiest.

She turned to face her grandmother. “So Wilson meets with your approval, Grandma?”

Grandma indicated they should follow Fia’s mother, who walked behind Joe and Sally. “Lucinda thinks now that I’m eighty-five, I should give up driving and sell my PT Cruiser. Wil told her lots of folks in their eighties and even nineties drive in Florida. He invited me to live down there with you two.”

When Fia cast a questioning look at Wilson, he shrugged. “She turned me down, but the offer still stands.”

“This one’s a keeper, Fia. You’re going to be very happy living in Florida—”

“Wait a sec. I’ve been in hiding for more than two years. Don’t be in such a hurry to get rid of me.”

“Rid of you? Honey, we’ll be spending every winter at Drake Oaks. Wil said so.”

Again, Wilson shrugged at her raised eyebrows. “All of you?” Fia asked her grandmother.

“No, silly. Just me and Lucinda. Wil and I are going to fix up Lucinda with his dad. What do you think?”

Fia’s mother turned around and glared at her grandma. “I think you should mind your own business. Walk up here with me and give them a little privacy, Mother.”

“What do you say, Fia?” Wilson asked. “Will you come home with me?”

“Sounds as if you and Grandma have my future all mapped out for me.”

He stopped and gazed at her, a mixture of hope and uncertainty in his face. “Only if it’s what you want.”

Fia wanted to live life on her own terms. And Wilson was the man who’d let her. He’d not lost his temper when she’d lied to him or disobeyed his instructions, even though in so doing she’d jeopardized her safety. He’d kept her identity secret when it might have compromised his homicide investigation. He’d met her family on his own and traveled seven hundred miles to be with her at the end of the trial, but not out of any need to control her or make her decisions.

Grandma was right. He was definitely a keeper.

“What about Sullivan? There’s no guarantee he won’t hire another hit on me out of vengeance. That possibility will be hanging over my head.”

Wilson smiled. “I’ve thought of that. I think we should change your identity again.”

“Again? I’ve had to learn to be Elizabeth Stevens and then Brenda Martin—”

“Just one last name change, darlin’. Could you live with the name Fia Drake?”

“Live with it?” She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him to her for a long, tender kiss. “For the rest of my life,
darlin’.”

a special presentation of:

“This is an exciting, explosive suspense thriller … Cheryl Norman keeps fans off balance as other possibilities crop up. Mindful of Linda Howard’s novels, Running Scared is a terrific thriller.”

–Harriet Klausner, Midwest Book Review

ISBN# 978-193383641-6
Mass Market / Romantic Suspense
US $7.95 / CDN $8.95
Available Now

Her running shoes striking the pavement in sync with her breathing, Ashley Adams navigated the predawn mist with nothing but the overhead streetlamps to guide her. She and Marvin Jones, her self-appointed coach, hoped to get a jump on the Florida heat by starting out before sunrise. A hint of a breeze brought little relief from the warm October air, unseasonable even for Jacksonville. Serenaded by crickets and bullfrogs along the banks of the nearby St. Johns River, she was reluctant to interrupt the peacefulness by speaking.

Marv broke the silence. “So how do you feel now that it’s finally over?”

Although conversation passed the time during their morning run and helped them to gauge their pace, his question was more than idle chatter. She knew he’d been worried about her and with good reason. How did she feel now that the divorce was final? She wanted to reassure him, but she’d need more than court papers to feel safe again.

“I just hope it’s really over.”

“You’re free now, Ashley.”

“Free.” She pumped her arms to pick up the pace. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be free of Peter Adams.”

“The restraining order—”

“—doesn’t faze him.”

“You’d be surprised. He’s a bully. Most bullies are cowards.”

“Except with women.” The few times she’d stood up to Peter taught her that lesson only too well.

They crossed the road and headed into the upscale residential development on Pointe Landing Circle. “Is he stalking you again?”

Was he? No longer could she distinguish between genuine fear and paranoia. “I can’t prove it. Sometimes, though, I feel as if I’m being watched. He still calls me.”

“Don’t let him spook you, kiddo. Call the cops.”

Ashley snorted. “As if! We both know the cops washed their hands of me—”

“Call them, dammit.”

Biting back a protest, she steadied her breathing. Easy, girl. It wouldn’t do to fatigue herself this early in the run. True, they used conversation to pace themselves. Marv often reminded her that if she was too winded to talk, she should ease up on her pace. Nevertheless, she needed to stick with mundane chitchat, not emotional discussions.

“If Peter shows up, I’ll call the police.” Both Marv and his wife were her closest friends, but both could be overly protective. She decided to redirect the conversation. “So how are you adjusting to retirement?”

“Ask Gina. She says I’m making her nuts, just like when I retired last time. After the marathon, I’m thinking I’ll start on career number three.”

“I will ask Gina. I doubt she minds having you at home.”

They rounded the curve toward the riverfront residences in Pointe Landing. She started to ask Marv what he had in mind for his next career, but just as they jogged even with the driveway of one of the houses, a bathrobed middle-aged man stooped to pick up his newspaper. From out of the darkness, an automobile roared to life. Headlights sliced through the fog. The vehicle shot toward them.

“Look out!” Marv yanked her arm, pulling her from the path of the speeding sedan.

She stumbled and landed in the wet pampas grass that edged the driveway. Blinking against the glare of the overhead streetlamp, she caught a glimpse of a figure leaning out the opened car window.

A loud crack shattered the morning tranquility when the car backfired. Marv gasped as the driver sped away with squealing tires.

“What’s wrong?” Ashley’s gaze followed Marv’s to where the bathrobed man lay collapsed at the edge of the street. She squeezed her eyes shut. “What happened?”

“Don’t look.” Marv’s voice shook. And not much unnerved him after his career in the U.S. Navy.

“Just tell me, okay? Did the car hit him?”

He hesitated. “Not the car. The driver shot him. It’s bad.”

“Shot? You mean, with a gun?” She realized that sounded stupid, but outside of the firing range where she practiced with her new pistol, she’d never heard a gunshot. Averting her gaze, she scrambled to her feet.

“Yes. Didn’t you hear the report?”

Dear God, the car hadn’t backfired. She grabbed Marvin’s tattooed arm. “Oh, no, it’s Peter!”

“Driving the car?”

“No, but—but he’s behind this. You know he is. That guy was aiming for me.” She struggled to breathe, gulping in air. Her body trembled, from fear or rage. Or both.

“You don’t know that—”

“If Peter has followed me, he knows our running route.” Her voice quivered along with the rest of her.

“Followed you? He doesn’t even know where you live.”

“He knows where you live. He could’ve followed you.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions.”

“He won’t ever let me go.” Her bravado collapsed.

How many times had Peter threatened her, warned her what would happen if she tried to leave him? Emotional blackmail, her therapist called it. But what if he wasn’t bluffing?

“Hey.” Marvin grabbed her shoulders. “Chill, kiddo. We have to get help.”

He led her past the driveway, past the poor man’s body. The odor of blood—so much blood—penetrated her senses and triggered a memory she’d tried to bury, another scene of blood. So much blood.

a special presentation of:

“With a deft hand, Cheryl Norman creates an emotionally gripping and heartwarming tale in Restore My Heart, proving love isn’t perfect but persistent and enduring and we never know those we think we know best.”

–Vicki Hinze

ISBN# 978-193281586-3
Mass Market / Romantic Suspense
US $6.99 / CDN $8.99
Available Now

Light from the computer screen spilled over the darkened office, glowing through a spreadsheet’s grids. A mosquito buzzed the monitor. Where had it come from? The insects rarely swarmed in April, at least not in Kentucky. Batting away the mosquito, Leo Desalvo released his pent-up breath in a loud groan. He lowered his head and dug his thumbs into his temples to massage a growing headache.

Condensation slid down the can of his forgotten soda, forming a wet circle on his month-at-a-glance calendar. Earlier, to stretch his tired muscles, he’d made the short trip to the customer waiting area, where the vending machines offered the room’s only light. The dealership’s new commercial carpet silenced his footsteps. Thinking the cold caffeine of a Coke would ease his fatigue, he’d taken one long drink before returning to his office. But there was no cure for what plagued him tonight.

His gaze returned to the monitor. Scowling, he reread the entries, entries that shouldn’t be, in a hidden file that shouldn’t exist. The data confirmed his worst fears.

Rage at the betrayal engulfed him. He studied the accounting record again, searching for a mistake. An explanation. But the same damning numbers glared back at him, and dread settled over his slumping shoulders. As much as he hated it, he knew what had to be done. All his life, he’d tried to do the right thing. He wouldn’t stop now.