Northern Escape (9 page)

He started up and glanced back over his shoulder, “You just wanted me to go first so you could check out my butt.”

Her smile was pure sass. “You wish. Maybe I didn't want you checking out my tush.”

“Too late, honey. I'm a guy.”

He loved her laugh. She gave him a small push in his back. “Just keep moving.”

He moved. “You sure are bossy.”

“It comes from being in charge.”

He stopped at the door at the top of the stairs.

“It's unlocked,” she said. “You can go ahead.”

He stepped in and although he shouldn't have been surprised based on what he'd seen and knew about her, he still was.

“Wow.” He could've just walked into any loft in the city.

She stepped into the room behind him. “You like it?” She sounded pleased by his astounded reaction.

“It's fantastic. You'd never guess something like this was here in Good Riddance.” The place was an open design with the kitchen, dining and living area all together. Where the rest of the room was white, a warm red accented the far wall in the kitchen. Gus had outfitted the kitchen with stainless steel appliances and a pot rack hung over the work island in the center.

A long, large rustic table was lined with chairs. It reminded him of the table at his parents. It was obviously the sign of someone who liked to prepare food for others. Sadly, he wondered if she'd ever entertained anyone up here other than perhaps Merrilee and Bull. He suspected she hadn't. He just hadn't sensed that kind of connection between her and the rest of the twentysomething, thirtysomething crowd in Good Riddance.

He walked over to the table for a closer look, trailing his hand over the surface. “Cool table.”

“It was a barn door. Bull was delivering some lumber and they were tearing this down so he salvaged it for me. I love it.” She lightly ran her hand over the table and, as if she'd read his mind, said, “I keep saying I'm going to start having Sunday night dinners up here.” She
shrugged, a hint of melancholy in her smile. “Maybe when the new year comes.”

“That's as good a time as any,” he said.

He pivoted, checking out the living room. Sleek, contemporary furniture and artwork gave the room a cosmopolitan feel. He liked the mix of modern and rustic.

“There are two bedrooms over there and a bathroom.” Gus pointed to an open doorway that opened to a small hall. In one corner a silver tinsel Christmas tree sparkled with tiny white lights.

“Very, very nice,” Nick said, walking over to a framed black-and-white photo which had obviously been enlarged. He looked back over his shoulder at Gus, who stood watching him, as if gauging his reaction. “Paris?”

“Yes. I went to school there.”

He moved to a collection of framed photographs, two in black-and-white, two in color, of Gus and a woman who was obviously her mother, the resemblance was so striking. They shared the same almond-shaped eyes, striking dark hair, although her mother's was threaded with gray, and that same bow of a mouth. “This has to be your mother.”

She moved to stand beside him, looking at the photos. Her smile was wistful and loving. “Yes. I'd just graduated and come back from Paris. We spent a week at the beach together to celebrate before I moved to New York. It was wonderful.”

She looked so young and carefree and happy it tore
at his heart because it merely accentuated her wariness now and the shadows that seemed to haunt her eyes.

“I like your house. A lot. You'd never believe you were in the Alaskan wilderness.”

She smiled, obviously pleased by his response. “I know. It's my retreat. Have a seat if you'd like.”

He settled on the red leather sofa with chrome legs. This was not the home of a woman embracing Alaska. This was the home of a woman trying to replicate an urban lifestyle in the middle of nowhere.

She sat in a chair upholstered in zebra print. She looked very elegant, very sanguine reclining in her black and white chair with her black and white hair, sipping a glass of wine.

“Augustina?”

She regarded him across the top of her wineglass with her almond-shaped eyes. “Why do you call me that?”

“It's your name, isn't it? Does it offend you?”

“No, it doesn't offend me. I'm just curious as to why you'd call me that rather than Gus.”

“Because it's sophisticated and complicated and something about it implies layers. It suits you. Gus suits Good Riddance, but I'm not so sure it suits you.”

She tilted her head in a mix of consideration and perhaps acknowledgment. “I'd prefer you call me Gus.”

“Okay. That's not a problem.” He knew, however, that his next question would be a problem. He hoped like hell it wouldn't get him kicked out. But she'd let him in her home so he figured he had a fighting chance.

“Gus, who are you hiding from?”

N
ICK'S QUESTION DIDN'T
surprise her. It was almost a relief to finally have it out on the table rather than constantly hanging in the background. She'd known it was simply a matter of time. He was a smart man and she'd seen the wheels turning since he'd arrived.

“It's been said more than once around here that everyone is either running from something or to something,” she finally said.

“You obviously fall into the ‘away from' category.”

It wasn't a question and it wasn't an indictment; it was simply a statement. Nick sat back on the couch and waited, not expectantly but patiently.

For the longest time after Troy, Gus had questioned her judgment. How could she not have spotted what he was before she got so involved with him? It had taken her four years to begin to believe in her own ability to discern people's character. Nick struck her as a genuinely good guy. And she'd noticed how Clint and Nelson both liked Nick. The two cousins were courteous to almost everyone, but it spoke to a person's character to
actually have them embrace someone. They'd embraced Nick. Her gut told her she could trust him, as much as she was willing to trust anyone.

The music playing on the jukebox downstairs drifted up the stairwell. Ah, Lena Horne singing “Stormy Weather,” one of Gus's favorites. She slid off her shoes and tucked her feet to one side of the chair.

Nick wanted her story. It no longer made sense not to tell it. She was certain he wouldn't write about her. He'd given his word and he struck her as a man of honor. However, if he wanted to write about her, he would and the truth, while not pretty, was at least preferable to speculation.

The question was, did she have the courage to pull out the monster lurking beneath the bed? She breathed in deeply through her nose, feeling the air fill her lungs, and she slowly exhaled, centering herself. Yes, yes, she did have the courage.

Where to begin?

She sipped at her wine and finally looked up. Nick sat patiently, waiting. She started with the easy stuff, the good stuff. “I knew from the time I was a kid and was running three Easy-Bake Ovens at a time and all the neighborhood kids were sitting around waiting for what I was making that I wanted to be a chef.” She pointed to the print of Paris on the opposite wall. “I trained in Paris, which I loved, and then I went to New York. I did fairly well there.” He was from New York. Nick would know that fairly well meant her career had gotten off to a stellar start.

She drew a deep breath. Now the monster would
come out in the open. “One day a customer wanted to meet me because he'd been particularly impressed by a dish I'd prepared.”

“Do you remember the dish?” Nick asked.

She smiled at the question, relieved by the mundane-ness of it. “You would think I would, but I don't. We were terribly busy that day—” she laughed when she remembered the hectic, rushed kitchen “—we were busy every day, but when a customer's impressed you take the time to chat, so I chatted.”

“And he was more struck by you than the dish and asked you out,” Nick said.

“Predictable, isn't it, but yes.” She tucked her hair behind her ear.

“He became your fiancé?”

She glanced sharply at him and he shrugged. “Pure speculation on my part.”

Her heart began to hammer against her ribs. Spooked, she pressed him. “But how did you know that? All I said was that I had been engaged and it didn't work out.”

“It was the way you said it. You were completely blank. People are only that way when they have something to hide. That was my clue.”

She'd remember that moving forward. Feeling calmer, she nodded and continued. “Yes. Eight months later we were engaged.” She traced the edge of her glass with her fingertip. “Maybe it was the new wearing off or maybe it was just that men like him can only keep the facade up for so long and then their true colors start to come through.”

“Controlling? Demanding?”

She nodded. Unfortunately, hers really wasn't a unique story. “It was just little things at first and then it seemed to escalate. My relationship with him was beginning to impact my work. I wasn't happy so I broke off the engagement…and yes, I returned the ring.” He'd refused to take it back so she'd finally couriered it to him at his office.

“But it wasn't over, was it?” Nick leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees. “Because he was in control and it was up to him to decide if and when it would end.”

Nick understood, he got it. Relieved, she nodded. “He harassed me. He'd wait for me after work. He broke into my apartment, or had it broken into, several times. He'd leave flowers along with threatening notes.” That had been the worst—the juxtaposition of beauty with malice. She didn't think she'd ever feel the same about fresh-cut flowers again. “At first I was outraged but then it escalated and became frightening. The worst was when I came in and he'd slashed my sheets and mattress with a knife and poured red paint all over it to look like blood.” There, she'd finally said it, given it voice. She shuddered but it was something of a relief to tell someone else.

Nick clenched his fists and his face grew tight. “Son of a bitch.”

“I never slept in that bed again. I'd sleep on the couch.” She could barely stand to go into her apartment anymore at that point, always uncertain of what or who she'd find there.

“You don't have to answer this if you don't want to,
but did he ever physically assault you?” Nick asked, training his eyes on the rug, giving her privacy even though he sat across from her.

Old feelings of degradation and humiliation surfaced. She'd never been hit before. She'd been so surprised the first time. “Yes.” She simply couldn't bear to say any more about that aspect of it.

This time he was the one who drew a deep breath before speaking. “The police?”

“I went several times.” That had been its own little mini-nightmare. “His family is powerful and well connected. My third time there, they were treating me as if I was the one at fault for wasting their time and slandering this man. And the more he got away with, the more it escalated. I finally quit my job, gave up my apartment, and moved out of state. I thought if I put some distance between us, out of sight out of mind, that he'd let it go, let me go.”

She could see Nick struggle to maintain a neutral expression, but the more she talked, the tighter his face became. “Where'd you move? What'd you do?”

“I bought a car and through connections in the restaurant business, I got a job in Northern Virginia, an affluent area with some very high-end restaurants. I moved into a gated community and thought it was over. I was starting over and I finally felt safe again. It's interesting how much we take safety for granted until it's compromised.”

“He found you.” There was a grimness about Nick when he spoke that showed another side of him. He was charming and easy to be around but given the right
circumstances, Nick would also be a force to be reckoned with. “Credit card? Car registration?”

“Likely both. He definitely found me.” A faint shudder ran through her. “It was my day off and I'd been down to the farmer's market and picked up fresh fish and vegetables for dinner. And a bouquet of sunflowers because they're happy—isn't it funny the details that stick with you. I was in the kitchen when he simply walked in. He was wearing a blue shirt and a terrifying smile. I remember thinking blue was supposed to represent tranquillity.”

“There is no out of sight out of mind with men like him.”

“No. I realized that. The way I saw it, I had two choices, I could go back to him or continue to let him stalk me and one of us was going to die, probably me, or I could try to outsmart and outrun him. I ran.”

 

N
ICK THOUGHT HE COULD
single-handedly rip the bastard apart when he found him. And make no mistake, he would find him. “And you eventually wound up here.”

“Eventually. I packed two large suitcases, two garbage bags, threw them in my car and left. The woman I was the night I left Northern Virginia no longer exists. Literally. Which is why you couldn't find me when you googled me.”

“You knew I did that?”

“Of course you would.” Her hint of a smile told him it was okay. “I knew you were curious. You work for a news organization.”

He'd been right, but he hadn't known just how dangerous the man she was running from was. She had been up against formidable odds if his family had enough influence and power to control the cops.

He recalled his initial conversation with Teddy and Merrilee when Teddy had told him her boss was a chef from New York, and he'd said it would make an interesting story. “You've spent the last four years looking over your shoulder and then I show up blogging for the
Times.
” He paused and looked into her gray eyes, wanting to reassure her. “I'm not going to compromise your safety, Gus. I would never, ever do anything to put you in danger.”

She regarded him solemnly. “Do you think I would have told you all of this if I thought you would? I'm very cautious.”

He felt as if he'd been given a gift. This amazing woman who had run for her life had decided to trust him, confide in him. “I know that. It means a lot to me.” He paused and then asked another question, one he simply couldn't help but ask. “Who were you before?”

“It simply doesn't matter, Nick.” She shook her head. “That woman is dead and buried.”

“No, she's not. She's been locked away but I don't believe for a moment she's dead and buried.” No doubt about it, Nick would like some time alone with this guy in a dark alley. “Who is this bastard?”

“I'm not giving you his name.” The look in her eyes said there was no compromise, no backing down on that point. “The police couldn't do anything. You start nosing around and I'm sunk. You ask questions and he'll know.
He reads your columns and it would be easy enough to figure out from there. Even if it weren't easy, he'd figure it out, he's smart.”

Nick was no longer simply curious, he was desperate to know, to help her. “Then give me his name. I have friends that can be trusted. They can look. You know just because you're not available doesn't mean he's changed or stopped. Other women are going through what he put you through, or worse. He has to be stopped, Gus.” Otherwise he would forever hold this woman prisoner in this cell of her own making. She'd escaped him, but he continued to control her.

She rubbed at her forehead, as if she was weary beyond words, then she lifted her chin. “I've thought about that, but you don't understand—” she paused for emphasis “—the police did
nothing
.”

She'd been thwarted at every turn. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. The pictures on the wall distracted him and yet another piece of the puzzle fell into place. There wasn't the faintest resemblance between Gus's mother and the woman who was supposed to be her aunt. And whoever this piece of shit was, he would've known about her family members and the game would've been up long ago.

“Merrilee isn't really your aunt, is she? Otherwise he would've found you by now.”

“No.” She offered a faint smile acknowledging he'd figured it out. “She's not my aunt, but she's like family. She and my mother grew up together in Georgia. She's all the family I have now.”

“Your parents?”

“My father and mother divorced when I was young. He remarried and he was good about sending a check, but that was it. Diane, the new wife, didn't want me around and that was the way it was.” She shrugged but he didn't believe for a moment her father's lack of involvement didn't hurt. “My mother died the year I graduated from culinary school. I was glad she saw me graduate.”

She looked over at the photos on the wall. “I was fortunate we had that time together. It was before we knew she was sick and then she went fast, which she always maintained was a blessing. She said her one regret was that I'd be left alone—it had only been the two of us for so long.” Her voice thickened and her eyes watered. She paused, visibly pulling herself together and he was amazed by her fortitude. Did she have any idea what a strong person she was? He wanted nothing more at that moment than to gather her up and drop her into the middle of his big, boisterous family so they could love her.

Gus bit her bottom lip and then, once again in control, continued. “Merrilee came to the funeral. It was the first time I'd seen her since I was twelve or thirteen.”

Nick was trying to piece it all together in his head and she didn't seem to mind answering questions. Actually, the questions she didn't want to answer, she simply didn't. “How long was it after you lost your mother that you met this man?”

“A year and two weeks. I'd thrown myself into my work. She and I weren't just mother and daughter. We
were friends and confidantes and I missed her like crazy. I still miss her.”

“I can't imagine.” And he couldn't. His parents had always been there for him. They gave him roots.

“Tr—he didn't know about Merrilee. I'd seen her at the funeral and she'd told me to keep in touch but it was just too painful and I didn't. It's funny, the night I packed my stuff and left Northern Virginia, I didn't have a plan. I drove as far as I could and slept in a Wal-Mart parking lot with the motor home group.”

He didn't know what she was talking about. He obviously looked perplexed, because she explained.

“Wal-Mart allows motor homes to overnight in their parking lots. They can pull in there and spend the night in their campers if they want to. I just parked behind one so at first glance it'd look as if I was a car being towed behind it. Anyway, when I woke up the next morning, I thought of Merrilee. She just popped into my head. I went into the store, bought a prepaid cell phone and tracked her down that way. I stayed in a cheap motel and Bull came and got me.”