Home for Christmas: New Adult Holiday Dark Suspense Romance (2 page)

“Oh, Gin, it’s so perfect!” Maggie clutched Ginny’s arm in excitement. “A bedroom a piece for the boys! But the landlord wants the first month’s rent and a security deposit—that’s a thousand dollars! Do you know how long it’s going to be before I can save that kind of money?”

Maggie’s eyes, shining just moments ago, now welled up with tears. “I thought we’d be out of here by Christmas. I don’t want them to have to spend Christmas in a shelter.”

“I know.” Ginny’s jaw tightened. She looked back out toward the swings where Sean had generously gotten down to give his brother a start-push.

“How are things at home now?” Maggie attempted a change of subject, wiping guiltily at her eyes. “Brody isn’t bothering you, is he?”

“It’s fine,” Ginny lied. “He was never like that with me, Maggie. It was bad for a couple of days after I went back, and of course he wanted to know where I was for those two days, and I wouldn’t tell him I was at your place, or where you were.”

“I’m so sorry, Gin. If I’d known...” Maggie apologized for the three hundredth time. “Tim took everything, just everything. I didn’t have a choice but to come here.”

“Listen, it’s just my luck, right?” Ginny waved it away. “I try to run away from home, then my sister’s crackhead husband sells everything she owns and she gets evicted and I have nowhere else to go. What else is new? How is this any different than anything in my life?”

Ginny’s laugh was grim, and Maggie placed her hand on her sister’s arm.

“I know, I pick real winners, don’t I?” Maggie snorted. “And you know, we had such a great role model growing up...”

That particular irony forced Ginny’s wry smile. Brody was the only father either of them had known.

“When I get a place, you can come live with me, okay?” Maggie assured her.

“I think I’m going to head out to somewhere warm—California or Florida.” Ginny’s eyes turned to the horizon. “Find some surfer guy and be a beach bunny. What do you think?”

“I think it would be a waste.”

Ginny had spent many of her days tucked away in a warm corner of the library. During her Internet searches, she had found a support network, a sort of Underground Railroad for victims of domestic violence that would help her escape Brody’s long reach. It was an entire network that could hide her, even provide her with a new identity, if she wanted one. California was as far away as she could imagine. It meant a cross-country trip, but she would finally be free.

She just wished Maggie and the boys would come with her. But she knew better. Her sister was hardly the adventurous type, and although Maggie denied it, Ginny knew she wasn’t over Tim. Some part of Maggie was still hoping they’d get back together, as sick as that horrible idea was. Ginny knew it even before her sister pressed the safe deposit key into her hand and asked her to empty the contents—if there was anything left.

“I put you on my account, remember?” Maggie reminded her, with such hope in her eyes. “I don’t think Tim would have remembered the safety deposit box. Do you?”

Ginny thought Tim would have remembered to check the sofa cushions for change to feed his habit, but she didn’t say that. Instead, she took the key and said she’d check the box for her sister. Except the box was at a bank in their little home two, two hours away. Maggie thought Ginny was still there, living with Brody, not sleeping on the streets, too afraid to go home.

Ginny knew she could lie and tell Maggie there was nothing left in the box, and the odds were, she’d be right. But what if the thousand dollars Maggie had socked away was really still in there? That would pay for the little apartment her sister wanted to rent. And it would serve Tim right, if he really had forgotten about it. Heck, even Maggie had forgotten about it, until she was cleaning out her purse and found the key.

There was so much hope in her sister’s eyes, she just couldn’t say no. Besides, she had to reason to, at least as far as Maggie knew. And she couldn’t tell Maggie the truth. Not now, not ever. The problem was, Ginny didn’t have the money for a bus ticket, so would have to hitchhike her way back to their little hometown.

It was a bad idea, she knew. A very, very bad idea. Not necessarily the hitchhiking—although that probably wasn’t smart either—but the place she grew up was even smaller than the town Maggie and the boys were sheltered in now. It was a place she might be noticed, and it was a very great risk.

“Come on, let’s go play on the swings.” Ginny stood, relenting to the demanding calls coming their way as she pocketed the key.

Maggie grabbed her hand as they walked, squeezing gently. Ginny fought hot, bitter tears and lost, letting the wind dry them as she ran under Michael’s swing again and again and again.

Barnes and Noble was the perfect place to spend a quiet afternoon sketching. Normally, she would be drawing figures—people browsing books or sitting and drinking coffee in the café. But she was working on something for the boys she needed to finish before Christmas. The clerk, Robbie, set another tea down for her and she smiled at him gratefully. She wasn’t paying for the treats he left on her table and he was risking a great deal doing it. In the past, he’d even slipped sketch pads and pencils into her bag for her to find later.

“How’s it coming?” He slid into the chair beside her. She turned her pad to show him a fair likeness of Wolverine.

“Wow,” he breathed, sounding truly impressed. “Are you sure you want to waste that as a coloring book for a four year old?”

She just smiled, continuing to sketch, looking now and then at the book in front of her,
X-Men Legends Volume III
, which she’d pulled earlier from the shelves. She would put it back before she left.

“Break?” She glanced at the counter where a few people drank lattes, reading a newspaper or paperback.

“Yep, only five more hours and I’m off for the day,” he groaned. “Want to come home with me for a Hungry Man dinner?”

She lifted her eyes to him, seriously tempted. A TV dinner sounded fantastic. The two almond cookies he’d slipped her were just enough to make her stomach remember food. It came down to not knowing him well enough to trust walking into a man’s place alone, even if he was nice to her. Besides, she knew what he was ultimately interested in, and she intended to keep him firmly in the “friend-zone.”

“Hey, that’s the guy who was in here the other day watching you,” Robbie said, in a low voice, giving her a reprieve from answering his question.

Ginny’s breath caught and she looked up, locating the man over by the philosophy section. Her worries about trusting Robbie suddenly paled in comparison as she stared at the man the clerk pointed out. He was half-turned away from them now, and she recognized him immediately—his bulk, the way his broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his dark blue winter jacket, the sureness of his chin.

She’d seen him yesterday outside the Shell station, and the day before that, he was at the library where she was looking up comic book characters. Her nagging suspicion that he was a private detective, someone sent by Brody to follow her, was growing. She started gathering up her things, shoving her sketchbook into her bag.

“Hey, where are you going?” Robbie questioned. “It’s only one o’clock.”

“I know. Can you put this back for me?” She slid the X-Men book across the table toward him. He nodded, watching her pull on her coat and backpack. “I’ll probably see you tomorrow.”

“Probably?”

She shrugged, jerking her head toward the man who had moved down the aisle toward them, into what she assumed was closer listening distance. She edged her way around the café, walking the furthest perimeter she could, and slipped down a darkened corridor and into the women’s bathroom, relieved to find it empty.

She went into a stall and struggled to pull all her layers down so she could pee. Her hands shook as she washed them at the sink and she took a few deep breaths, trying to slow her racing heart. She took her ponytail out, smoothed her hair with her hands, peering at her face, noting the beginnings of dark circles under her eyes. Five hours of sleep a night was beginning to take its toll.

Ginny rubbed her hands together under the dryer, telling herself she was trembling because of the temperature in the restroom. She struggled to keep her mind off the man on the other side of the wall—and off the man she was sure had hired him to find her.

Brody had probably just called in a favor. Private detectives were almost always ex-cops and she could see Brody calling some buddy who used to be on the force, faking concern about his missing stepdaughter.
“She’s wild. I’m worried what she could be into. I just want her home safe.”
In reality, for Brody, it would be a simple business transaction, just a matter of retrieving his property. Maggie he considered damaged goods, but Ginny was still valuable to him.

Her nails dug into her palms and she’d bitten her lip so hard it was bleeding. She was safer sleeping on the streets and living out of garbage cans, but no one would believe that. No one ever believed that.

The door opened and she gasped, whirling around, wide-eyed. A mother with a baby in her arms swept into the bathroom, looking almost as tired as Ginny felt. The woman smiled an apology, taking the baby to the foldout counter to change its diaper.

It was a tiny little baby and Ginny could remember when Maggie had Sean, how small and delicate he had felt in her arms when she first held him. All throughout Maggie’s pregnancy, after she began to show and Brody had kicked her out, Ginny still hadn’t understood Maggie’s insistence on having and keeping a baby fathered by a man they both despised and feared. She didn’t understand it all the way up until she had held Sean in her arms, looked into those guileless eyes, and understood it wasn’t the baby’s fault.

The image of Brody in her head obliterated all rational thought. Ginny washed her hands again, stalling for time. The young mother cooed and clucked at her baby as she worked, folding over tabs and refastening snaps. Ginny turned on the dryer, standing there as long as she dared, until her hands were so warm they were turning red. She shouldered her backpack and glanced behind her.

The mother lifted the baby now, kissing her. It was a girl, if the pink giraffe on the sleeper was any indication. Ginny wondered for a moment if anyone had ever held and kissed her that way. She doubted it. Maybe Maggie, three years older than her, had loved her that way once, but it was no substitute for a mother.

Ginny pulled open the door, steeling herself to find him just outside, but the corridor was empty. She edged around the corner, watchful, but didn’t see him. Robbie was behind the counter at the café, back to doling out cappuccinos and biscotti.

She walked toward the exit and she was almost to the door when she realized she’d left her Scrunchie on the bathroom counter. She stopped, vacillating, not wanting to leave it there but desperate for escape. Watching the wind whip the bare branches of trees outside and imagining the hour-long trek back toward the video store, she made her decision.

She turned and hurried back toward the women’s bathroom. The young mother was gone, but the black Scrunchie was still there. She snatched at it and started putting her hair back up as she headed out of the bathroom.

Both hands were busy behind her head as she came out of the door, and if she hadn’t stopped to tighten the band, she never would have seen him standing in a slanted shadow in the corner. It was the white Barnes and Noble bag in his hand that caught her eye. There was a moment of déjà-vu and a flicker of a memory stirred before he spoke.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice was low and kind, and it startled her on many levels. Her heartbeat quickened when she met his eyes, and found them strangely kind as well.

She mumbled, “That’s okay,” tearing her gaze away and edging toward the exit.

He stepped further into the light and she saw his face, sure now he was the same man she’d seen yesterday and the day before too. There was something about him that was familiar but she couldn’t quite identify it. He didn’t move to touch her or speak again, he just watched her, smiling. She felt like a cornered mouse, sitting between cat’s paws.

“Is that yours?” He nodded behind her.

She turned and was horrified to discover her sketchbook lying in front of the bathroom door. She scooped it up, hugging it to her chest.

“Thanks.” She moved to sail past him and he touched her arm. It was like a jolt and she couldn’t help her gasp.

“Are you an artist?”

As he pried into her life, she felt her fear changing into something else. Her eyes narrowed, her mouth drawing into a small, thin line as she stood and assessed him. He was three times her size at least, but then again, they were in the middle of a bookstore. He wouldn’t dare try anything here, would he?

“Why don’t you ask your buddy the cop about me? He thinks he knows everything!” Ignoring the feigned, puzzled look on his face, she fled toward the exit, still clinging to her sketchbook.

She had walked fifteen blocks before she remembered it. She stopped to put it away and, this time, she zipped her backpack.

* * * *

She actually thought about asking Robbie for a ride. She knew he would give her one, but then she’d feel like she owed him something, and that wasn’t a good idea. Not that riding next to a portly fifty-year-old hunter wearing camouflage and an orange hat, the kind with the flaps, was a much better one. He kept forgetting her fake name—Sarah—but at least he didn’t try to put his hands anywhere on her person. He just talked about his own daughter—about your age—and her courses at the local community college.

He chatted the whole way, and that was fine with Ginny. She didn’t want to make conversation anyway. She’d been lucky to get picked up soon after sticking out her thumb, only to discover the woman was only going ten miles down the road. This guy—Brad—had picked her up outside a little hole-in-the-wall bar, and she’d been a little afraid to get into his big pick-up at first, but his talk about his daughter had assuaged her fears. A little, anyway.

Now that they were almost to Millsberg, she knew he was harmless. She was heading toward the real danger. Back into town, where Brody lived and worked, where too many people knew her.

“You can let me off at the McDonalds.” Ginny pointed to the glowing, golden arches. “My friend is picking me up.”

A lie. She had no idea how she was going to get back to Lewisonville. She’d figure something out later. But the McDonalds was next to the PNC Bank, and it was the bank she wanted. It was almost four o’clock and they closed at five.

“Thanks for the ride!” she called, hopping down from the high seat, closing the door on the man’s lengthy reply.

Ginny’s stomach ached with hunger. Brad had offered her a granola bar, which she had eaten, but it had only managed to activate the grumbling in her belly. The smell of fries and grease was overpowering. It made her knees feel weak as she walked toward the well-lit storefront. Behind her, Brad turned his big truck right out of the lot, heading toward the deer camp where he was hoping to bag a big buck with his bow.

She didn’t even like venison—Brody was a hunter too, and had filled their freezer with the chewy, gamey meat—but she thought she could eat a whole deer right about now, antlers and all. Instead of torturing herself by walking into the McDonalds, she crossed the parking lot, went over the grassy embankment, and into the bank.

It was late on a Friday and the deposit line was long. Ginny glanced around, hoping she didn’t see anyone she knew. Her sister had put her on the account last year, and a tall, angular woman with a lot of dark hair and red lipstick had helped them then, but Ginny didn’t see her. Maggie and Tim had been separated at the time—one of the many times—and Maggie had dragged Ginny down to the bank to put some “important papers” into the safety deposit box and add her to the account.

Ginny didn’t know if Maggie had ever told Tim, but the lady at the bank didn’t seem too concerned at the time, since Maggie was on the account and making the request. She just hoped no one would give her a hard time about it today. As long as she didn’t run into anyone who knew her...

“Virginia?”

The sound of her full name, someone calling out from behind her, made her wince. Of course. It was probably her nosey neighbor, who would run straight back and tell Brody he’d seen her. Ginny glanced over her shoulder and blinked in surprise at her seventh grade math teacher. He’d been old back then, but now he looked like he was going on eighty.

“Oh, hi, Mr. Spencer.” Ginny smiled, waggling her fingers at him, standing back there in line, his pants pulled up practically to his nipples. At least, as far as she knew, Mr. Spencer and Brody didn’t run in the same circles.

“Can I help you?” The teller waved Ginny to the window and she told the girl—honestly, she looked no older than Ginny, maybe twenty, with curly red hair—what she wanted, pulling the safety deposit key out of her jeans pocket.

“Let me call the manager,” the little redhead said, picking up the phone.

Ginny waited, her heart beating so fast she thought it might just gallop right out of her chest. The manager happened to be the dark-haired woman with the bright red lipstick she remembered from when they opened the account, but the woman didn’t seem to remember Ginny. She just looked at Ginny’s I.D., had her write her name on a card, and then matched the signatures.

“Okay, come with me.” The tall woman’s heels—those were red too—clacked on the tile as she led Ginny away from the lobby. The bank manager used her key to unlock one of the locks on the safety deposit box. “I’ll leave you alone for a few minutes.”

“Thanks.” Ginny gave her the same smile and wave she’d given to Mr. Spencer.

Please let there be a million dollar in here.

Or at least a thousand, she thought. She could use a little of it for bus fare home. And maybe could afford a Happy Meal to take with her. That would be divine, right about now.

Ginny put the key in and turned it, closing her eyes before pulling open the box like it was Christmas. She got up the courage to open them, peeking first with one eye. Then she opened both of them with a long, deep sigh. No money. Just a bunch of papers. She rifled through them, hoping maybe to find something good—a bond she could cash in, some life insurance with cash value, maybe—but it was just the boys’ birth certificates and Maggie and Tim’s marriage license. If there had been a thousand dollars in the box at one time, it wasn’t there anymore.