Riding Shotgun

“You’ll need a photo ID and a local address.”

“No problem.” He pulled out his wallet and flashed a Louisiana driver’s license. A new wave of panic hit. She forced her hands not to shake as she pulled a printed form from the niche below the counter.

“Just fill this out, read the requirements for checking out books and sign your consent,” she said.

“How long before I get the card?”

“I can give you a number that will allow you to check out books today. The permanent card will be mailed to your local home address.”

“That’ll work.”

“What brings you to our area?” she asked.

“A job.”

He didn’t offer more. She tensed again. The small town of Mountain Edge was not a mecca for employment opportunities.

He looked over the form and then took a pen from the black plastic cup. Before making a mark, he shook his head and returned the pen to its holder. “Sorry. My phone always interrupts at the most inconvenient times.”

She hadn’t heard it ring. Either he had it on vibrate as the note on the counter requested or he was stalling.

He pulled his phone from his pocket as he stepped away from the counter and then walked back to the deserted reference section.

“This is it for today.”

Grace startled, then turned as John Everly, a local retired attorney, set a stack of books on the counter.

She glanced at the books he’d chosen, a mix of thrillers, political intrigue and history. “Nice choices.”

“Hope so. Looks like we’re going to have a few more days of arctic blasts, so figured I better stock up on reading material.”

“You’re right,” she agreed, “nothing better than getting lost in an engrossing novel while cuddled in front of a roaring fire in this type of weather.”

“And it’s only mid-December,” he said. “I hate to think what January’s going to bring.”

She checked out the books and pushed them back to him. “Stay warm.”

“You, too.”

As he walked away, she scanned the room until she spotted the suspicious stranger near the end of one of the stacks, phone in hand, but not held to his ear. He was taking her picture.

When he saw her looking back, he quickly shoved the phone in his jacket pocket.

He knew who she was. Why else would he be taking her picture?

She fought the urge to jump across the counter and bolt for the door. But panic could lead to bad decisions. Forcing herself to stay in control, she considered her options.

But there was really only one. She’d run again, blindly, like a fox fleeing a team of vicious hunting dogs. She’d have to change her appearance, might even try out that horrible wig she’d purchased online from a costume website. She looked at least forty in that. She’d swap her contact lens for some big-rimmed glasses.

She’d find a new identity, a new job, a new town. She’d start over once again, always living on the precipice of fear and ready to run on a minute’s notice.

Chapter Two (#u2d46545e-1be5-55c3-a057-ffcbd0a8f324)

The wheels hit the runway with a thump and then bumped along a few yards before steadying. Back in the United States. Home again. For the first time in over a year.

But home to what?

A divorce from a wife who’d grown so emotionally distant that they’d stopped communicating altogether except for things concerning their daughter, Jaci.

No job prospects. No plans. And no more ties to the navy SEALs and the sense of purpose and comradery that had been his life for the past eight years.

The plane pulled up to the Jetway and jerked to a stop.

“Please remain seated until the captain turns off the seat-belt sign.”

No one did, including Pierce Lawrence. He opened the overhead storage compartment and retrieved his duffel and the one of the middle-aged woman who’d had the seat next to him. They’d barely exchanged a hello on the long flight. She’d slept. He’d struggled through silent rehearsals for what he was about to face.

As wary as if he were preparing for enemy fire, he followed the crowd of passengers to baggage claim.

He spotted Leslie before she saw him. Her long blond hair fell into curls that cascaded about her narrow shoulders. Her body was as spectacular as it had been when they’d met six years ago. She wore knee-high boots, a pale blue sweater and a short fitted skirt.

He slowed and stared, half expecting a jolt of desire to take his breath away. All he felt was a foreboding sense of loss for what they’d never really had.

His gaze fell to the five-year-old girl holding tight to her hand. Jaci shifted from foot to foot expectantly, or perhaps just impatiently. Her hair was red like his mother’s had been, curly like Leslie’s.

His daughter looked his way but made no sign that she recognized him. The jolt hit him then. Hard, as if someone had sucker punched him in the gut.

His daughter. The reason he was back in Chicago. The reason he’d turned his back on the lifestyle he’d loved. Yet he didn’t really know her and she certainly didn’t know him.

It was too late to save his marriage, but he was a dad and smart enough to know that if he didn’t bond with Jaci now, he might lose her forever. She’d be swallowed up by the new life Leslie would make for the two of them.

He hurried to where Leslie and Jaci were waiting. He dropped his duffel to the floor by his feet. Leslie managed a smile and slipped into his arms. Her hug lacked warmth. When he tried to kiss her, she dodged it, offering her cheek in place of her lips.

What did he expect? Their divorce would be final tomorrow.

“How was the flight?” Leslie asked.

“Long.” He bent to pick up his daughter.

Jaci scooted away from him, trying to hide behind her mother’s shapely legs.

“Say hello to your father, Jaci. He’s come a long way to see you.”

Jaci shook her head.

“That’s okay,” he said, though it hurt like hell. “I’m not going anywhere. We’ll have plenty of time to get reacquainted.”

“Yes,” Leslie said. “If all goes well, the two of you will be spending a lot of time together.”