Home for Christmas: New Adult Holiday Dark Suspense Romance (4 page)

“I’m fine, Mags.” Ginny unslung her backpack and dropped it onto an ice patch. Her shoulders ached from carrying it everywhere, although she was starting to finally get used to it.

“Did you get a chance to go to the bank?” Maggie asked, shading her eyes against the sun—it was bright, but the day was too cold to allow for much melt—to see what the boys were up to when Michael let out a war whoop and took off after his brother.

“I...” Ginny swallowed, the memory of the bank visit and her near-miss with Brody still fresh in her mind. Thank God for Mr. Spencer and his lonely longing for someone to talk to for a while, or she would likely be in Brody’s dangerous and unpredictable company as they spoke.

“Damnit, Ginny!” Maggie sighed and shook her head. “I need that money! I’ve got to get a place for the boys before Christmas. Will you please try to be a grown-up for five minutes and take some responsibility for once? You’re not always going to be able to draw pretty rainbow ponies and pretend the real world doesn’t exist!”

Ginny didn’t say anything as she watched the boys tumble into a snowbank, laughing and tussling, shrieking in that high-pitched tone only kids seemed to be able to hit when they were young. She remembered doing that with Maggie, when they were little kids. Her older sister liked to grab the back of Ginny’s head and rub her face in it. They called it a “face-wash.” They weren’t mean to each other, but they were siblings, after all.

Once Brody came along, though, they found themselves banding together in ways they never had before. And after their mom was gone, Maggie became the little mother out of necessity. She was always telling Ginny to grow up, be responsible, practical. Art school wasn’t practical, of course. Art school was a pipe dream that was never going to get her out from under Brody’s thumb.

“I’m sorry, Mags.” Ginny swallowed again, the words coming out slowly. She didn’t want to have to tell her sister that her addict husband had emptied not only their bank account, but their safe deposit box too. She didn’t want to tell her a lot of things. It was better that Maggie kept thinking she was living at home, untouched by Brody, untouched by the rest of the world and its very cold shoulder.

“You always say you’re sorry.” Maggie scowled, crossing her arms over her chest. It reminded Ginny of the lectures she used to get in high school for her grades. Brody didn’t seem to care about school, as long as they weren’t truant or in trouble. C’s were find for Brody. But not for Maggie. She constantly pushed Ginny to get A’s. Even a B+ was cause for alarm.

Of course, Ginny was glad now. She’d made it through high school with a 3.8 average. Geometry had been her nemesis. Algebra she understood. Trig was easy. But geometry? Nope. The good news was that her transcripts were amazing. She could apply at any college in the country and have a good shot at getting in. That just created another point of contention between the sisters—Maggie wanted Ginny to go to a good school and choose a smart, profitable profession.

You could be a lawyer, a doctor, anything, Ginny! Just don’t be a goddamned artist.

But Ginny knew her sister was speaking from the land of lost opportunities. Maggie was looking back at her own high school career of skipping classes and going out with boys and generally goofing off until she found herself just a little bit pregnant. Not that Ginny could blame her. Maggie had kept her secret from her younger sister as long as she could. She probably never would have confessed it, if Ginny hadn’t actually seen it for herself one afternoon when she’d come home from school sick with the flu and found her sister bent over the kitchen table, Brody rutting behind her like an animal.

“Boys!” Maggie called, giving that helpless cross-armed wave Ginny always associated with people trying to flag down planes from deserted islands. “Come on in now!”

“I thought I’d go out back and see if I could find a box for them to make into a sled,” Ginny said with a frown as the boys looked back at their mother, both wearing identical frowns.

“Don’t come back until you’ve gone to the bank, Ginny.” Maggie took a little hand in each of hers as the boys trudged back and stopped beside her. “I’ll see you later.”

Ginny watched her sister and her nephews head back into the shelter, feeling the weight of her own secrets weighing heavily on her chest. It constricted her throat, making it impossible to speak, to call after them. She couldn’t tell her, didn’t want to see the look of disappointment on Maggie’s face. It was better Maggie thought she was just an irresponsible kid.

Yes, she would tell her—she would have to. Eventually. But for now, she let her sister and the boys go into the shelter, swallowing her own disappointment and sorrow before turning and walking away, her tears making her cheeks sting, another sharp punishment in the bitter cold she was willing to bear to keep her sister blissfully ignorant just a little bit longer.

She practically lived at the library. They had a “reading loft” for the kids. Some woodworking parent had built it with raised platforms covered with different colored remnants of carpet so the kids could get up there and read to their heart’s content. She could easily still pass for fourteen or fifteen, so they didn’t mind her in the kids’ section. She’d fallen asleep at the top of the reading loft quite a few times, although she was usually drawing instead of reading. The librarian was a nice old guy—not as old as Mr. Spencer, but everyone over forty seemed “old” to her—who didn’t seem to care if she came in every day. She wished she could sleep all night in the loft, but the one time she’d tried, the librarian—his name tag said,
“Ask Me For Help – Dale Knoffler”
—had woken her up and told her she had to go home.

But she couldn’t go home. Which meant, she didn’t have anywhere else to go. At least, not until after Christmas. The “underground railroad” network she’d found kind of shut down over the holidays, because so many people were busy and they were already stuffed to the gills with visiting family members. And, according to the woman she’d talked to via web chat on the library’s computer, they needed time to process her and find families to take her in. She was in the process of “being processed” and the woman—her web name was KitKat247, but Ginny just thought of her as “Kit”—checked in with her via Gmail.

She was thrilled to discover another email from Kit that evening The library was open until ten—that’s what she said when a doubtful Mr. Spencer dropped her off there the other day, telling him she was meeting a friend—which made it a great place to spend a lot of time. And people didn’t care, as long as you were quiet.

Dale wasn’t working—there was a different librarian at night, a younger woman with short, dark hair who dressed in cardigans and skirts—so Ginny went straight for the computers and avoided the front desk. She checked her email and discovered the letter from KitKat247, affirming that there was a family who in Ohio who could take her in between Christmas and New Year’s.

After that, her spirits lifted. The trip back to her home town had really shaken her. If Mr. Spencer hadn’t been there to offer her a ride home, Brody probably would have found her. That thought made her sick to her stomach. She didn’t like to imagine what would happen if Brody caught her. He wouldn’t just be content taking the SD memory card from her. He’d want to take far, far more than that, as punishment.

Ginny went into the children’s section of the library and climbed up into the loft. There was one kid there, a girl about ten or twelve, reading a manga book. The glanced at each other and smiled in acknowledgement as Ginny passed her, climbing higher into the loft, to the very top. It was warm up there—there was a vent right above her head, and she wished she could stock up on warm air the way she had stocked up on food in her belly at the coffee shop with Mr. Spencer.

The poor old guy was so lonely, he’d agreed to take a four-hour round trip just to have someone to talk to for a few hours. Ginny had apologized for not having enough money to pay him, even for gas, but he just shook his head, pulling a money clip out of his pocket. She’d watched, feeling humiliated and awful, as he unclipped it and peeled off a ten dollar bill.

“Mr. Spencer, I can’t...” she had protested, but she had. She’d taken his money, realizing she could eat on that for a few days, if she was careful. That, and the peanut butter in her pocket, was the highlight of the day. That, and Mr. Spencer’s last words to her before he pulled away.

“Take care of yourself, Virginia,” he had called, rolling down the passenger window so she could hear him as she headed toward the library. “You’re a smart girl. You have a bright future ahead of you. That’s a light at the end of the tunnel, not a train. I promise.”

She certainly hoped so.

Ginny took out her sketch pad and half-heartedly worked on her Wolverine drawing, but she couldn’t concentrate. Brody was on her mind—he was always working in the back of her mind, and fear kept her motivated—the memory of his hand at her throat, the snarl of his words in her ear.

I’m everywhere.

He was right, of course. She was terrified he was going to find her. She was even more terrified he was going to find Maggie and the boys. She knew being anywhere near them put them all in jeopardy, but she didn’t know where else to go. At least he thinks I’m still in town, she realized, remembering the surprised look in his eyes when he’d seen her sitting in the coffee shop. Now he’d be looking around town still, at least, instead of casting his net wider. That made her feel a little safer.

And she’d survived. She’d faced him down, and she’d survived. She’d even gotten away!

Ginny’s belly was overly full, the loft was blessedly warm, and her eyes were too heavy to keep open. She closed them in relief, sure she’d dream about the constant threat of Brody, but it wasn’t him she was thinking about as she drifted off. It was the stranger, the one she kept seeing around town, the one she didn’t know but who looked oddly familiar. Was he really a private detective? Was he reporting to Brody?

He’d talked to her today for the first time. She remembered that encounter, squirming at the memory of her own awkwardness. She couldn’t trust him, that much she knew. She didn’t dare let herself trust anyone.

It wasn’t the librarian who woke her, it was the little girl. She stuck her head up like a gopher and said, “Hey, the library’s closing.” Ginny sighed, packing her sketch book back into her bag and slowly climbing down from the warm, comfortable loft. It would be a cold, fifteen minute trek back to the strip mall. She couldn’t go into the video store vestibule until after midnight, so she had two hours to kill. Usually she sat behind the store, drawing in the light of the street lamp.

At least Maggie and the boys are safe and warm, Ginny thought as she used the library’s bathroom—it would be her last opportunity before morning. She retied her hair up with the Scrunchie, glad to have it. It would make walking in the cold so much better. And she had ten dollars in her pocket, she remembered. That thought made her feel a little warmer as she put her backpack on and headed out.

“Goodnight!”

Ginny turned to see the little girl leaving and waved at her. The girl’s mother was leading the way to their car—the only one left in the lot, besides what Ginny assumed was the librarian’s. They were going home, of course, and some part of her wished she was too. Maybe not home to Brody—that had never felt like home, at least, not since Maggie left—but some home, somewhere. What would it be like to have a real home?

It was silly, but she’d even fantasized on the drive back into town about telling Mr. Spencer her plight, asking him to take her in. But she was too old to be adopted, too old to be looking for a mother, a father, a home. She was going to have to make those things for herself, some day. And she was working on it, as hard as she could. At least, she thought, turning her back to the mother and daughter pair, I’m not living with Brody anymore.

Ginny consoled herself with that thought and started her walk toward the only home she had—a six by six square that was much less of a cage than anything she’d ever lived in before.

* * * *

“Where did all these people come from?” Ginny asked Robbie as she put her backpack down on the only empty café table she could find.

“Book signing!” was all he said as he practically ran by, heading for the food counter. They had two other people working there and the line was still all the way to the door.

She took a seat, realizing she wasn’t likely to get any food from Robbie—he was too busy, and there were far too many people. Her ten dollars was burning a hole in her pocket, and her stomach growled. It amazed her how quickly the human body decided it needed fuel again. Maybe someone will leave something, she thought, glancing around at the tables filled with packages and plates. There wasn’t an empty chair in the place, except for the one across from her.

“Do you mind?” the voice startled her and Ginny looked up to meet those smiling brown eyes, the same ones she’d met yesterday coming out of the Barnes and Noble bathroom. “This place is packed and I’m pretty sure this is the only empty seat.”

“Um...” Ginny stumbled over her words, trying to find some. Instead, she just shook her head, but when the man took a seat, she realized he’d interpreted the shake of her head to mean that she didn’t mind if he sat. Because he did sit, turning the chair backwards and straddling it. He was wearing khakis and a navy blue jacket and his eyes were bright as he looked at her over the surface of the table. Ginny hugged her backpack to her, glancing toward the counter, where Robbie was taking someone’s order.

“Hungry?” the man pulled a banana and two chocolate chip cookies wrapped in plastic out of one pocket, and a Diet Coke out of the other. “I’ll share.”

“Um...” she swallowed, feeling her heart racing. Was he playing with her? Toying, like a cat with a mouse? The more she looked at him, the more she was sure he was some kind of cop. “I don’t...”

“Cookie or banana?”

She couldn’t remember the last time she had fresh fruit. But she couldn’t take anything from him. She definitely couldn’t talk to him. Anything she said could and would be used against her, she was sure of it.

He put a cookie and the banana on the table, closer to her than to him. Then he opened the tab on the can of soda and gulped some down. But his gaze never left her. She watched him unwrap the other chocolate chip cookie and break off a piece. He chewed it, looking thoughtfully at her, and she wondered what he was thinking.

“Are you here for the book signing?”

Ginny shook her head. The less she talked to him the better, as far as she was concerned. She was going to have to abandon the idea of spending the afternoon in Barnes and Noble for the day and head over to the library.

“They hired me to do security,” he said, making small talk. It was just a distraction, she realized. He looked at her like he was sizing her up. Trying to make sense of her.

“Shouldn’t you be working?” Maybe reminding him would give her the opportunity to slip out, she thought. The fact that he was working security detail just served to prove her right, she realized. She just knew he was some kind of P.I. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been hired by Brody to gather intel on her.

“Lunch break,” he replied, leaning back in his chair and looking at her. He reminded her of someone but she couldn’t quite identify who. His sandy brown hair and dark, brown eyes were nondescript, but he was a good-looking guy. He had that going for him. And the biceps showing under his tight-fitting black t-shirt told her he worked out. A lot. Which would jive with her feeling that he was a cop. “Not your usual quiet day at the book store, huh?”

She startled at his words. My God, he’d practically just admitted he was following and watching her!

“I have to go,” she murmured, shouldering her backpack. Just being in his presence threw everything off. She didn’t know why—maybe just her suspicions. But he made her feel hot and cold at the same time.

“Do you want to meet the author?” He raised his eyebrows at her in question as she stood. It was a nice offer, maybe even a real one, but she wanted to get as far away from this place as fast as she possibly good.

“No.” She gave him a wan smile. “I... I have to go.”

“Not a Chloe Clay fan?”

She was already starting to walk away when his words stopped her.

“Who?” she breathed, not quite believing her own ears, glancing over her shoulder at him. “Who did you say?”

“I would have thought, the way you draw...” He nodded toward her backpack where her sketch books were tucked away. She didn’t like the way he knew things about her.

“Chloe Clay is... here?” Ginny blinked at him in disbelief. It couldn’t be. Could it?

“The book signing,” he reminded her. “Want to meet her?”

What could she say to that? It was a once in a lifetime opportunity. She felt like someone had just stepped up and offered her a million dollars. She looked around like Ed McMahon had just knocked on her door with a giant check.

“I... yes.” She couldn’t say no. Even if this guy was someone Brody had hired, she couldn’t say no. She knew she’d been distracted, but how had she missed that Chloe Clay was coming to Barnes and Noble? She was here practically every day! Why hadn’t Robbie mentioned it?

“So you are a fan?”

“I... yes.” She looked at the brown-haired stranger with slanted eyes, reaching down to put the banana and cookie into her coat pocket. Was he putting her on? “Is Chloe Clay really here?”

“Where have you been?” He laughed, pulling something out of his pocket and putting it on the table. Ginny glanced at the flyer, seeing her favorite author and artist’s smiling photo. “Come on, I’ll sneak you in.”

Well, he was telling the truth about the book signing, anyway. Ginny followed him toward the back of the store. They had to weave their way through a crowd of people. When she looked up, she noticed it—a banner with Chloe Clay’s face on it with that day’s date. She had seen the banner before, but hadn’t really paid attention to the date, or that it advertised a book signing. She knew Chloe’s new graphic novel was out this month, and maybe subconsciously she’d been ignoring it, because she knew she couldn’t afford the damned thing, and it would be six months before she could check it out of the library, even though she’d put her name on the waiting list two months ago.