Desperate Measures
They’d all worked together—in silence. Samantha was thankful. Talking led to questions, and she didn’t want the questions to lead to lies.
“We’re going to be okay, Connor,” she assured him.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“I changed my mind. Can we stay here for a while? Please? I’m so tired of moving.”
Her heart squeezed. “I think we can stay awhile.”
“You think? That means you’re not promising anything.” Not much got past her son, and she wouldn’t lie to him.
“It’s complicated, Connor.”
He frowned.
Samantha leaned down in front of him until they were eye to eye. “I’m doing the best I can. I hope we can stay here for a while, Connor. I really do.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise that I’ll do my best to stay here. I know it’s not exactly what you want to hear. But it’s the most I can give you.”
“Okay.” He frowned again and reluctantly began walking with Samantha toward John’s house. She should have refused John’s invitation to dinner. But she had no groceries and no time to buy anything. Besides, having dinner with someone wasn’t a promise of anything—not a promise of friendship or trust or anything other than a professional relationship.
Despite that, Samantha should have probably said no. Her jaw ached. She was tired. And she was scared.
The fewer people who saw her face here, the better. It was bad enough that the sheriff had already seen her. The last thing she needed was for him to run some kind of background check on her.
If he did, then she’d be out of a job, behind bars and Connor would have no one. The cops back in Texas still thought she was involved in the scheme her husband and his friends had devised. When Billy—the ringleader—had heard she was going to turn them in, he’d put money into her personal bank account—large sums of money. Money that made her look guilty. He’d planted emails that made it look as though she was the mastermind behind his scheme to scam people out of their investments. He’d lined everything up just right so that, if he fell, then she’d fall with him.
That’s why it was so important that she remained low-key and not arouse anyone’s suspicions.
The problem was that she could already see in her boss’s eyes that he was perceptive and intelligent. How long would it take for John to put it together that she was running from both the bad guys and from the law?
If he discovered that information, would he turn her in?
The smell of a charcoal grill billowed in the air as they approached. John looked up from an old, park-style grill—one that was cemented into the ground—and grinned.
“How’s the cabin coming?” he asked.
“I think it will be fine. I really appreciate your letting us stay here.”
“I appreciate the help. I was sincere when I said I needed a hand.”
Samantha paused by the grill, second-guessing herself for a moment. Maybe she should have refused his offer. She’d done such a good job keeping to herself. She couldn’t let herself feel too safe here on the island. “Is there anything I can do to help get dinner ready?”
“It’s nothing fancy. I’m fine. You can just relax.”
Relax? She almost wanted to snort. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d relaxed. No, she was always on guard, always alert.
Despite that, she sat in an old deck chair on the porch of John’s cabin. Connor plopped on the steps and began running a stick over the sand, drawing pictures.
She looked out in the distance.
The Chesapeake Bay was blue and pristine. The sun was setting across the water, smearing pink and purple lights together. Wisps of dune grass sprinkled the area. Pelicans flew overhead, and the smell of seawater brought an unusual sense of comfort.
A false sense of comfort and security, for that matter.
“So, tell us about Smuggler’s Cove,” Samantha urged.
“It’s a national treasure, if you ask me.” John flipped the fish and a scrumptious scent filled the air.
Samantha took a moment to soak him in.
The man was gorgeous with his broad frame, his head full of dark hair, and his warm brown eyes. No one could deny that.
But that didn’t matter to Samantha. It was the single life for her, from now until eternity. Every man she’d ever trusted had ultimately let her down. She didn’t see that changing...well, ever. Men were all the same, as far as she was concerned.
At five, her father had left. Her boyfriend in college had cheated on her. Her husband had swindled people out of thousands of dollars, choosing money over his family.
She’d never met a man she could trust.
Which was why she needed to concentrate on something else at the moment.
“I think the neighborhood where I grew up is bigger than this place,” she said, careful to not reveal too much about herself.
But her words were true. The whole island could only be maybe fifty acres. It was small enough that Samantha, as she’d traveled from the wharf to John’s yesterday, had seen tombstones in people’s front yards.
He chuckled. “You could be right. I think there’s only around a thousand residents here. It’s unlike any place I’ve ever been. At high tide, the waters rise and small wooden bridges connect various parts of the island. Only about sixty percent is inhabitable. The rest is marshland.”
“I hate to see what that means during hurricane season.”
“They say the island was formed from a hurricane and another one could easily erase it. In fact, there’s an island north of here—locals call it the Uppards—that was once inhabited. Residents abandoned it about forty years ago because of flooding. The entire island became submerged during storms.”
“It was probably a good idea that they ditched the place then.” She crossed her legs, soaking in the sun for a moment. “What about the accent I heard on some of the locals. I wasn’t imagining that, was I?”
John closed the grill and leaned against a picnic table. “Not at all. When the island was first settled by the British back in the 1880s—yes, we’re talking nearly as far back as John Smith and Pocahontas—they were isolated. Really isolated. More so than they are now. Their way of life was preserved for a long time, even the accent stuck around. In recent years, it’s become not as prominent with television and visitors and so.”
“Fascinating. I didn’t get a good look at what’s here. I take it there’s not a Macy’s.”
He chuckled. “No, no Macy’s. But there is a general store, three restaurants, a bed and breakfast, the docks and the homes of the residents living here.”
“Why’s it called Smuggler’s Cove?” Connor asked.
“Many years ago, pirates were said to have buried their loot on the island, thus the name Smuggler’s Cove.”
“So, if I look hard enough, I could find treasure? Awesome! Can I start now?”
Samantha shrugged. “Go for it. Just don’t wander too far away.”
As Connor scurried off, John turned toward her. “So, you said you had experience in construction?”
She nodded. “I worked for a construction company, doing their books. I also helped Connor’s father with flipping houses. My uncle was a handyman, so he taught me a lot.” Even her uncle had ended up leaving his wife for another woman. He’d totally lost contact with the rest of the family when that happened.
She leaned back into the chair, imaging herself living a different life. A life where she could sit back and relax and enjoy the world around her. But there was no need to dwell on what wasn’t. She had to concentrate on survival. “How about you? Is this what you do for a living? Restoring cabins?”
“Nah, I quit my regular job at the Coast Guard Training Center. Decided I needed a change of pace.”
Why would someone do that? Samantha wondered. But the question wasn’t hers to ask. Not now. Besides, too many personal questions could be dangerous. She needed to stay on neutral ground.
She nodded. “Where are you from?”
“Texas originally. Gloucester for the past several years. Smuggler’s Cove now.”
Tension crept up her spine at the mention of Texas. “Really? What part of Texas?”
“The Houston area.”
Just a coincidence, she told herself. He probably hadn’t heard of Billy. Probably hadn’t heard about what happened to her husband. But what if somehow he made the connection that her former husband was a part of the gang that had cheated the city’s richest out of their money? What if he put two and two together?
She stared out to sea. The island seemed so secluded, so far off the beaten path.
But that seclusion would either keep her safe or keep her trapped.
“I just remembered a phone call I need to make,” Samantha blurted. She had to excuse herself before her face gave way any more of her thoughts.
“Go right ahead. I’ll finish cooking these fish. Dinner will be ready in no time.”
She stood and plodded through the sand, going far enough away that John wouldn’t be able to hear any of her conversation.
She walked toward the shoreline, noting how Connor dug holes in the sand not far away. Still searching for buried treasure. She smiled sadly as she looked over at him.
Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a cheap track phone she’d bought from the gas station beside the hotel last night. She’d needed to call a few people, but she didn’t want to be traced. She’d thrown her old phone into a river, trying to take every precaution possible not to be tracked.
She wished she could simply walk away from her life in Yorktown and disappear. But her boss was counting on her. He might call the police if she simply left without a word. And Connor’s summer school teacher would worry if he just stopped going to classes. It was best she covered her tracks and made everyone think this was a last-minute trip. That way no one would call the police. The last thing she needed was a missing-persons report.
She cleared her throat and dialed her boss’s number. A moment later, Hank came on the line. “Samantha, where are you?”
“I’m sorry, Hank. Something’s come up. A family emergency.”
“Man, Samantha, I’m sorry to hear that. Talk about awful timing, all the way around.”
She bristled. “What do you mean?”
“You heard about Lisa, right?”
Samantha’s muscles constricted. Lisa had promised not to say a word about their meeting. And Samantha hadn’t even told Lisa where she was going. The fewer people who knew, the better. She’d only asked Lisa for a ride because she couldn’t risk keeping her car. The thug who’d attacked her had seen the vehicle. He knew her license plate.
“No, I didn’t hear.” Her throat burned with the words.
“She died last night. She ran off the side of the road, apparently. No one really knows what happened. Rumor has it that she had some drugs in her system.”
“Lisa didn’t do drugs,” Samantha said. “You know that.”
And Lisa hadn’t been high when she’d helped Samantha. An inkling of the truth began to creep into her mind. Someone had killed her and covered their tracks. Just like someone had killed Anthony and made Samantha look guilty.
“She’s gone. I can’t believe it. And now you’re not here. I don’t know what I’ll do without you two ladies.”
“I’m sorry, Hank. I really am.”
“Come back as soon as you can, you hear?”
“You got it.”
As she hung up, cold, stark fear swept over her.
Lisa... Not Lisa. This was Samantha’s fault. She’d put her friend in danger. She should have been more careful, tried to be more independent.
Now her friend was dead.
Guilt pounded at her conscience. If she could only go back, she’d do things differently. She’d keep her friend out of this.
But it was too late to change anything of that.
She’d managed to escape these thugs before. Why did she feel as if her time had run out? All of the running in the world wouldn’t make her feel safe right now.
FOUR
John noticed the change in Samantha when she returned from her phone call. He wondered what kind of conversation she’d had. He hadn’t missed the pallor that had come over her at the mention of Texas, either.
He kept reminding himself to mind his own business. But minding his own business wouldn’t help keep anyone safe.
Just then, Lulu appeared down the sandy walkway leading to the cabins, a large dog pulling her along.
His dog.
Rusty was a rowdy Australian Shepherd he’d found wandering outside his house three months ago. The dog hadn’t gone away, so eventually John had adopted him. Now it followed him everywhere, perhaps as his eternal way of saying thanks.
John liked to grumble about the dog, but he had to admit that Rusty had become a faithful companion. Lulu was the island’s local groomer, and John had dropped Rusty off with her this morning after she’d promised a free first visit.
“Hello, there!” Lulu called. Lulu was a heavyset woman with orange hair and too much makeup. But she was a friendly soul.
Rusty broke free from the leash and stampeded over to jump on John. The dog’s tail wagged and he continued to jump, sixty-five pounds of hyper joy. John grabbed the leash before the dog greeted Samantha and Connor with an equal amount of enthusiasm.
“A dog!” Connor exclaimed.
Connor giggled in delight when Rusty began licking his face. A moment later, Connor and Rusty took off running down the shoreline together. John thanked Lulu, who looked exhausted, and then turned back to Samantha.
“You’ve just made a friend,” Samantha mumbled. “Connor has wanted a dog forever.”
“Rusty’s been wanting a little boy to call his person for a long time, too, so they should get along just fine.”
John finished cooking, and when Connor came to join them, something nearly impossible happened. Rusty followed him and stayed at Connor’s feet. The canine didn’t run off or even look longingly down the shoreline in search of seagulls or other critters.
Traitor.
They all sat down at a weathered picnic table in front of John’s cabin. He’d thrown an old sheet over the benches, hoping no one would get a splinter. Funny how he hadn’t given that a second thought up until a few hours ago.
“What’s there to do around here?” Connor asked, taking a bite of his burger. John had cooked a couple, just in case Connor didn’t like flounder.
John looked at the water. “Go to the beach, fish, crab.”
“That sounds boring. Well, maybe not the beach. Not if I have a boogie board. Do you have a boogie board I could borrow?”
“I might be able to scrounge one up for you. But have you ever tried fishing?” John took a sip of his soda, amused by the boy’s expressive face.
He shook his head.
“Well, I’ll show you sometime.” Great, he was making promises. That was something he’d vowed not to do. He didn’t want anyone depending on him, especially not Samantha.
“Can I put the worm on the hook?” The boy’s eyes were wide with excitement.
John glanced at Samantha. A halfway amused expression feathered across her face.
“Do you want to put the worm on the hook?” John asked.
Connor nodded, mustard from his burger slathered across his top lip. He didn’t seem to notice—or care. “I do.”
“Then definitely.”
“What else is there to do?”
John looked off in the distance again. Those weren’t questions he’d thought about. He’d only been focused on his cabins. “Some boys in town like to play kickball. You ever played?”
“No, I just do karate.”
“Well, maybe you can teach them some karate, and they’ll invite you to their kickball games. How does that sound?”
He shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”
John looked over at Samantha to see how she was taking their conversation. At the moment, she appeared distracted. Her gaze constantly scanned the area around them. Any of the earlier amusement was gone.
He stared at that bruise on her jaw. John had a feeling it wasn’t from an accident—a fall or car crash or walking into a wall. He also noticed her hand reaching for the side of her rib cage when she thought no one was looking. The woman had been beaten up. The thought caused anger to surge in him.
Samantha must have noticed him staring because her hand went to her jaw.
Connor jumped in. “She fell in the grocery store parking lot.”
A rigid, quick smile fluttered over her face. “I’m kind of clumsy.”
“Why do I have a feeling there’s more to the story?” he asked.
Her face tensed. “Nothing more, and nothing that you should concern yourself about.”
He didn’t question her, even though curiosity burned inside. Everything about the woman was mysterious...and slightly suspicious.
The rest of the conversation revolved around what needed to be done on the cabins, where to get groceries, and what to expect during tourist season.
When everyone finished eating, Samantha started to help him clean up, but the sound of a boat puttering in the distance interrupted them. He looked up to see a Bayrunner creeping up to his pier, a man waving from the bow.
He approached the man, noting how Samantha stayed back. Still, he could feel her wide eyes on him, watching everything that happened.
“You the owner of this place?” the man on the boat asked. The man appeared to be in his mid-forties and had the look of someone who spent a lot of time in the sun. His skin was so tanned that the wrinkles around his eyes remained paler than the rest of his face. He had longish blond hair, that was swept away from his face.
John nodded. “I am.”
“I’m Kent Adams, a real estate agent from Richmond. I’ve been trying to find you for the past month.” The sunset blurred behind him.
“Why would you want to find me?” John placed his hands to his hips, his guard going up.
“I have a buyer who’s interested in your land. He’s willing to pay handsomely for this piece of property. He said it’s perfect for his retirement home.”
“But this land isn’t for sale.”
“We were hoping we could change your mind. We’re talking an amount where you wouldn’t ever have to worry about money again. You could quit your day job, find another nice little plot of land, and enjoy yourself.”
“I’m not interested. Thanks for the offer.” He started to walk away when the man called him back. John paused.
“Take my card in case you change your mind.” The man extended his hand, a piece of cardstock at the end. “Maybe talk to your pretty wife about it first.” He nodded behind him at Samantha.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“At least hold on to this, just in case.”
Against his better instincts, John backtracked and took the man’s business card. He didn’t plan on using it. No, the cabins were his. He had plans for them—plans that didn’t include becoming rich, but becoming whole and healed.
Samantha’s gaze looked fragile when he returned. Her arms were crossed, her eyes focused on the boat puttering away in the distance. Meanwhile, Connor was talking to Rusty who had nothing but attention for the boy.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
John shoved the card in his pocket. “Someone inquiring about the land.”
“Is that odd?”
Her question was odd, but he didn’t mention that. “Maybe a little. It’s like Murphy’s Law, though, isn’t it? This property has been abandoned for years with no interest. As soon as I snatch it up, someone else decides they want it.”
“Life is funny sometimes.” She nodded back to her cabin. “I should get going. I need to get rested up for a full day of work tomorrow.”
“Anything you need from me?”
She shook her head. “No, we’ll manage with what we’ve got.”
With that, she called Connor over and started back to her cabin.
Just what was that woman’s story?
He probably shouldn’t dig too deeply, he reasoned.
She needed help, and he had agreed to give it to her.
But still, curiosity burned inside him.
* * *
Samantha couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Lisa had died. Guilt continued to pound at her, and she mourned for her friend.
How had she died? What had happened in the moments leading up to her death? Had she suffered? Her thoughts then turned to Lisa’s family, to worry about Connor, to anxiety about everything else in life.
Her only comfort was in the fact that she was here now.
This place was no Hilton. But at least it was a place to sleep. A place to feel safe, if just for a night.
There was no telling how long they’d be here. Best-case scenario: through the summer. Worst-case: mere days.
She’d be on guard. She’d keep an eye on the sheriff, on John. If anyone seemed to recognize her, if anyone asked too many questions, she’d catch the next ferry. If that didn’t work, she’d borrow John’s boat. It was docked on the pier outside the cabins. How hard could it be to operate the watercraft?
Finally, realizing the futility of sleep, she threw the covers back, stood and went over to the living room window. Against her better instincts—in spite of her fears of someone breaking in—she’d cracked it open before turning in for the evening. Without AC, the place was hot. It would be unbearable to try to sleep in the stuffy cabin with the humid, ninety-degree weather. A nice breeze floated over the bay, but the only way to appreciate it was to open a window.
As she stared outside, she wondered if she should have gone somewhere bigger, somewhere she’d blend in. But the island seemed so secluded, like such a peaceful hiding spot. She hoped she didn’t regret the decision.
Then she thought about the man on the boat who’d paid John a visit earlier. Could he have been hired by Billy? Had he come out searching for her under the ruse of trying to buy property?
She didn’t know. Maybe she was reading too much into it.
But those men had gotten to Lisa. Poor Lisa. She’d been such a sweet friend. She’d had no idea about Samantha’s past. She’d had no idea where Samantha was going. She’d been innocent.
Despite that, they’d killed her.
That just went to prove that Billy and his cronies were ruthless. They were hot on Samantha’s trail and didn’t want her to get away again.
Not just that, they wanted to kill her. And if they did, Billy and his henchmen would flaunt it to everyone they could. They would make an example of her, showing what happens to people who betray them.
Killing her estranged husband hadn’t been enough. They also wanted her blood.
Anthony had left her three months before she’d discovered the scheme he and his friends had developed. The two of them had had endless fights over his work hours, his increasingly erratic behavior and the influence of his friends. Financially, they were better off than ever. But their relationship had otherwise gone downhill.
He’d left her and filed for divorce. Then one day, Anthony had shown up at the front door, sweat across his brow, demanding to pick up something he’d left in their home office. Samantha had refused to let him come inside. She’d feared that he might fly into a rage, and she didn’t want Connor to see his father like that.
She’d finally closed the door, and Anthony had left.
Then she’d been curious.
What had he wanted so badly? His visit had motivated her to go through the items he’d left at the house. After searching the desk once more, and in a moment of dumb luck, she’d discovered a false bottom in one of the drawers. Inside were his company’s books. She’d glanced at the pages, and what she’d seen had blown her away. Her husband had been scamming people.
She crunched the numbers and compared the figures to other records left at the house. That was when she’d realized that her husband and his friends had been embezzling from some of the city’s wealthiest. They’d promised a twenty-five percent return on their investments for flipping houses. Instead, her husband and his friends had kept all the profit for themselves.
She confronted Anthony, and he denied her accusations. Then he’d gotten quiet and asked her not to pursue her theories any further. He’d warned her that asking questions could lead to trouble.
