Authors: Sharon Struth
Yesterday morning when he left their home in North Carolina for the resumed senate session in D.C., Rose had begun her escape. Not exactly an escape. More like running away from home. Not in her car or a cab or a plane. All were traceable.
Instead, she’d walked to a shopping center a mile from the house she and John owned. Hair tucked beneath a Baltimore Orioles baseball cap, she’d dressed in leggings with an oversized sweatshirt. Few would have recognized her. The backpack slung over her shoulders had contained a prepaid cell phone, every cent she could sneak out of their joint checking account, and treats for Bella.
Everything else needed for her to get out of Dodge had been stored in the trunk of a used car, purchased for cash the night before, and left at the shopping center. The ten-year-old Ford didn’t compare to her beloved Mazda Miata. Once she reached the used car, she’d hurried inside and sped away fast as she could.
She hadn’t exhaled until she hit Roanoke, Virginia. After a trip to the local Target, she’d settled down in a hotel that took pets. A box of Nice ’n Easy—Shimmering Sands—hair color and a pair of scissors helped her slip into her new persona. That, and a little help from an inexpensive haircut place to adjust the bad cut Rose had given herself. By the next morning at six AM, she’d left as a blonde who liked jazzy junior attire.
She yawned, tired but anxious to reach the rental. Far away from John’s manipulative wrongdoings, actions bad enough to send her to prison. Had the deceitful bastard ever loved her?
Jail. The growing pit simmering in her gut for the past week expanded. She didn’t want to go to jail. The pain inside her worsened as visions of the press learning what had been done, hounding her at every turn for answers, added a second and equally troubling layer to her stress. What if they uncovered the childhood past she’d worked so hard to hide? Stories like this were exactly the type of stuff they prayed for, talked about for days, despite other news in the world. She shuddered.
Escape had been smart. A chance to look for proof of her innocence for the authorities, before someone found out what John had done.
The car’s headlights cut a path on the dark road and brightened a white sign for the vineyard. Rose continued and finally spotted her turn. The narrow road twisted like a curious snake between the trees. Every so often she’d pass a driveway or mailbox; a sign civilization did exist.
She finally found a mailbox with the name Drake in black letters on the side. A weathered No Trespassing sign had been nailed to a thick tree trunk. She turned.
Gravel crunched beneath her tires as she slowly inched up the stone-paved driveway between walls of trees on both sides. The Ford Escort hit each bump on the trail, as if nothing rested between Rose’s rump and the ground.
At a clearing, a huge white colonial loomed before her, larger than she’d imagined. Pillars marked each side of the portico entrance and symmetrical darkened windows with black shutters lined the front facade. She parked near the walkway, flipping off the car headlights and plunging into total darkness. Rose tapped on the inside car light, opened the envelope from Meg, and found the house key.
After digging out a flashlight from the glove compartment, she turned to the dog. “We made it, Bella.”
Bella stood, flattened her stubby front legs in front of her, and arched her behind high in the air, a good yoga stretch. “I know, girl. It’s been a long drive.”
Rose got out and raised the hood to her windbreaker. She opened Bella’s door and the dog hopped out. A few minutes of sniffing, and she marked her territory. Rose went over and slipped on the leash, worried Bella might run off into the creepy surrounding woods.
By the light of the flashlight beam, she followed a slate walkway to the door. It took a minute to work the key, but the lock finally clicked and she pushed it open.
Her eyes adjusted to the pitch-blackness. Weird shadows teased her already jumpy nerves. She patted the wall, finally locating a plate and hitting the switches.
A large foyer faced a stairway and hallway leading to the back of the house. Inside seemed warm, especially considering Meg said nobody had lived here for the past two months.
She inhaled, catching a familiar scent. Coffee? Maybe Meg had stopped by earlier, turned up the heat, and carried a cup of coffee while she did.
Rose shut the door, then removed the dog’s leash, leaving it on an old olive green table with black scrolled decorative swirls stationed against the foyer wall.
Thud!
Rose stopped, tilted her head toward the upstairs.
Thud!
The pitter-patter of her heart picked up speed. Slow footsteps creaked on the ceiling above. A light flashed on. Bella’s ears perked. Panic crept through Rose’s veins, but she couldn’t move, frozen in fear as her mind raced with images from vagrants to serial killers.
Run. Run!
The dog let out a guttural growl.
Footsteps continued. Rose stretched her trembling hand to get the leash and leaned over, about to snap it on Bella, then run like hell out the door.
The footsteps pounded fast and hard on the staircase.
Owooooooo!
Bella ran toward the sound.
Owooooo-woo-woo-woo-woo!
A dark-haired man reached the bottom, gripping a baseball bat in swinging position. “Don’t move!” He stood at the last step, too close for her to make a quick dash out the door.
Rose’s heartbeat threatened to burst from her chest. She raised her hands in the air. “Please. Don’t hurt me!”
The intruder blinked back at her through sleepy, toasted caramel colored eyes. Thick trusses of messy hair jutted from his head. The rugged edges of an unshaven shadow highlighted his tight angled jaw. Her gaze traveled past his wrinkled, loosely buttoned plaid shirt, his baggy sweatpants, and stopped at his bare feet.
Bella bared her teeth and inhaled sharply.
Owoooooooooooo! Owooooooooo!
The dog’s war cry got the stranger’s attention for a second, but he quickly returned his narrowed gaze to Rose. “I don’t know who you are, but you’d better have a damn good reason for breaking into my house.”
* * * *
Leo Drake’s head ached, and he couldn’t shake off his disorientation, certain he walked around in some awful dream.
“Your house?” The woman’s wide blue eyes showed her terror. “Could you please lower that bat? I didn’t break in. I have a key.” She tilted her head toward her hand, where a key ring dangled from her fingertips.
Shit. He lowered the bat and took the last step down into the foyer. Goddamn Everett must’ve rented the place again.
She lowered her arms. “Wh-who are you?”
“This is
my
house. Who are you?”
“Emma.” She hesitated a brief second, and her heart-shaped face shifted into a more confident pose as she jutted out a determined chin. “Emma McMorris. I have papers showing I’m legally renting this place.” She took a manila envelope off the table near the door. “For at least this month, possibly longer. Are you Everett?”
He clenched his jaw at the mention of his brother’s name. “No. Leo Drake. My brother and I share ownership of the house. I hate to tell you, but you’ll have to find somewhere else to stay.”
A razor sharp edge glistened in her determined blue eyes. “I’m afraid not. I signed a lease. My options are limited, so we’d better get this straightened out.”
Leo took a step closer to her, his height a good head above hers. She stood firm, her gaze unyielding. Moxie always impressed him.
He studied her from top to toe. Mickey Mouse struck his usual kicked-back pose on her chest. Patterned pants lined her legs, looking more like they belonged on a clown or someone still in high school. Not this woman, whose age he guessed at over thirty.
She pulled out her cell phone from her windbreaker pocket. “Does Meg know you’re staying here?”
“Who’s Meg?”
“The real estate agent.” She searched through the envelope and removed a business card. “I’m calling her.”
“Well, it’s pointless. Everett shouldn’t have leased this place again.”
She ignored him and dialed. He glanced down at the dog, which threatened him with bloodshot eyes and a wagging tail. Some watch dog. He resisted the urge to bend over and pet the cute guy.
Leo lifted his gaze to the uninvited guest, whose name he’d already forgotten. “There’s no way I’m leaving my own house.”
“We’ll see.” She turned her back on him. “Hello, Meg…”
A renter. The last thing he needed. Returning to the Northbridge house to get work done had been Leo’s last resort. Both his publisher and agent called him regularly, anxious to know about the book’s progress. The deadline to turn it in had passed months ago.
He needed quiet. Peace. The lake house stood amongst his favorite writing places. Back here, he expected to find his muse. Because he couldn’t find it anywhere else.
Since childhood, Everett had won every battle the brothers shared. This time, though, Leo wasn’t about to give in.