He wondered how Cassidy had fared as he made his way to her unit the next morning carrying two cups of coffee. He knocked lightly.
“Cassidy?”
No answer.
Dammit. He knocked harder. “Cassidy? It’s Clay Cestra.”
He saw her distorted eyeball through the peephole then heard the chain lock slide and she opened the door, dressed in The Packing Place uniform.
With one eyebrow raised, he extended a cup toward her. He stepped forward, leaving her no choice but to step back and let him in. “I didn’t know how you liked your coffee. I have sugar and cream packets in my pocket.”
She looked at him wide eyed, like a frightened puppy.
Remembering his conversation with Maggie last night when he called to inform his sister of their new guest, he blurted out, “Did you have soap?”
“Excuse me?”
He walked to the coffee table and emptied his pockets to include two stirrers. “My sister read me the riot act for not making sure you had soap.”
“Oh. It’s okay. I used shampoo.”
She selected one sugar and one powdered creamer and dumped them in the steaming cup. “Thank you.”
“Did you sleep okay?”
“Fine, thank you.”
“So how come you didn’t run?”
She gasped and stared at him. Bingo. He’d hit a homerun with that one. The coffee cup jiggled in her hand.
“If you give me an answer, I promise not to ask any more questions, at least not this morning. What made you stay?”
She glanced down at the carpet, looked out toward the balcony, lowered her eyes to her feet then leveled her gaze on him. “I didn’t know where to go.”
He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly along with the tension that had knotted his neck muscles wondering most of the night if she would bolt. “Okay. That’s a start. C’mon, I’ll drive you to work.”
“What about my stuff?”
“You can leave it here.”
“But you can get in here while I’m gone.”
“So?”
She straightened her spine. “So, I don’t want you going through my things.”
He smiled. She really was smart.
“That’s pretty good. To be honest, I hadn’t thought of that.” He slid to attention, held up his hand like he did when he was a Boy Scout, and recited, slowly, “I promise not to come in here while you’re at work. Cross my heart,” he said, making the sign on his chest. “C’mon, we gotta go.”
Cassidy didn’t move. He opened the door, turned to her expectantly then shook his head. “You have to trust somebody, Cassidy. It might as well be me. If you don’t move your feet, you’re going to be late.”
Reluctantly, she walked out the door and he locked it behind them. They drove to The Packing Place in silence. “I’ll pick you up at two.”
She turned to him after jumping out of the truck. “I can take a bus.”
Clay swore under his breath, shifted into gear, and drove off.
• • •
Rosie stood at the front counter when she entered the store. “I thought you rode the bus.”
“Um, I do.”
Rosie’s eyebrows shot up. “Wasn’t that Amber’s boyfriend’s truck you just got out of?”
Cassidy’s heart jumped. “Who?”
“Amber’s boyfriend. That city policeman. He was in last week asking for her. He called her on his way out of the store. I’ve heard Amber talk about him, and some of the girls told me she brags about being in his backseat. He’s not even man enough to take her to a motel. If I were you, I wouldn’t get mixed up with him.”
She avoided looking at Rosie. “I’m not mixed up with him. I met him at the Greenbrier store. He’s in most mornings. He was riding by the bus stop when I got off and he picked me up.” Did that sound convincing? Rosie wasn’t listening anyway.
“Well, you might just want to walk next time. You don’t know what kind of man he is.”
Those words replayed in her mind the rest of the day. Rosie was right. She didn’t know what kind of man Clay Cestra was. What kind of man took in a total stranger? Offered to haul furniture for her? Chanced his own career so she could collect her meager belongings from a crime scene to sleep some place safe?
Indeed, she had felt safe last night. For the first time in months she’d fallen asleep on the couch and not awakened in the middle of the night perspiring. What kind of a man was Clay Cestra?
“You have to trust somebody, Cassidy. It might as well be me,” he’d said. But she didn’t know him. And something her mother taught her once always stayed with her: “Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.”
She knew her demon. He was wealthy, politically connected, a suspected mob guy, a killer. She knew who she was running from. She didn’t know Clay Cestra. If she trusted him, who was she running to?
Could she afford to trust him? Did she dare let her guard down, let someone get close to her? Would he be willing to help her? Could she hope for more? Would she want more?
Another unanswered question plagued her — was he involved with Amber?
Two months of solitude were taking their toll. She’d relied solely on herself for so long, she was confused by Clay extending a helping hand. Should she reach out and take it? Would she be putting him and Amber in danger, too?
Whatever his relationship with Amber, it didn’t seem wise for him to pick her up in front of the store for Rosie’s spying eyes to see. As soon as she found the chance, Cassidy dialed the Greenbrier store.
“Amber, I have a favor to ask, but I don’t have time now to explain why.”
Amber laughed. “If you want me to kill Rosie, I already know why.”
“Do you know how to reach Clay Cestra?”
Her question was met with silence.
“I can’t tell you why, but he planned to pick me up when my shift is over. Except, I don’t want him to and I especially don’t want Rosie to see. I need to get a message to him. I’ll take the bus. I don’t want him to come here this afternoon.”
“Well, chickie. I can probably get a message to him, but it’s going to cost you.”
“Please, Amber. It’s important.”
“If you didn’t sound so serious, I’d make you tell me now. You work at Greenbrier next week and you are going to spill the beans about this. Deal?”
“I’m at Greenbrier next week with you?” At last, a bit of good news.
“Yeah. Didn’t you see the new schedule? You’re here all month. I gotta hang up, we’ve got customers lined up to the door. I’ll try to get a message to C.C.”
Maybe Rosie was right. If Amber knew how to reach Clay, conceivably they could be involved. That didn’t matter right now. She couldn’t believe her good fortune. She’d be working the whole month with Amber and not Rosie. Perhaps that explained Rosie’s acerbic mood.
With Rosie watching, she clocked out at two o’clock and headed toward the bus stop. Just one block from the store a horn blew and she spotted Clay’s emerald green truck parked at the curb. He leaned across the seat and pushed open the door.
“What are you doing here?” She hesitated then climbed into the truck.
“Your message said not to pick you up in front of the store. Did the old biddy give you grief this morning?”
“I didn’t … yes, she made some sour remarks.”
“I’ll bet. What’d you tell her?”
“I said I rode the bus and you picked me up from the stop. I don’t think she likes you.”
“She’s not the first. Did you eat lunch?”
Cassidy turned to him. She had ignored her growling stomach for the last two hours. A stale pack of peanut butter crackers she’d discovered on the shelf by the mini-fridge had not taken the edge off her lack of real food since yesterday. That is if you considered peanut butter and jelly an entrée that counted as real food.
“Um, I had something, yes.”
“That’s what I thought.” He flipped the turn signal on, cruised about fifty feet, and turned into a fast food parking lot. “Are you going to tell me what you’d like for lunch or shall I order for you?”
“Really, I … ” The glare he leveled at her halted her objection. “I’d like a cheeseburger, small fries, and a diet pop. Thank you.”
He stretched his right leg while keeping his foot on the brake and slid his hand inside his front pants pocket. Bulging thigh muscles pulled the denim material taut around his leg and held her gaze like magnets to steel. Reluctantly redirecting her eyes, she leaned forward toward her purse.
“Don’t worry. I got it. I’ll put it on your tab.”
“When are you going to present me with this phantom tab?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
He ordered food for both of them, then maneuvered to a vacant parking spot in proximity of several picnic tables. He keyed off the ignition and climbed out of the driver’s seat, balancing their take-out order and moving toward the nearest empty table.
Clay turned when Cassidy remained inside the truck and stared at her, finally forcing her to join him. Silently, he pushed her food order to her side of the table and took a bite from his burger.
The aroma from the fries fueled her hunger pangs. She surveyed her surroundings, scrutinizing the cars going through the takeout window, stared across the street at the car dealer’s lot, and studied the passing traffic. Throwing one leg over the bench, she sat and unwrapped her meal. She took the first glorious bite and shoved three fries into her mouth. She didn’t regularly eat fast food, but this was heaven.
Glancing around a second time, she squared her shoulders and enjoyed a second delicious bite, mindful of Clay’s eyes on her.
“Are you married?”
The question surprised her. “No.”
Thankfully, he didn’t pursue the subject. They finished their lunch in silence, tossed their trash, and walked back to the truck. The food calmed her nervous stomach, but she took one last look at the cars coming and going. Clay started the engine and shifted into reverse, locking the doors.
“Who were you watching for?”
Her head jerked around. “What?”
He smiled, creating laugh lines around his eyes. “You were all over that parking lot, checking out the cars, looking at the traffic, watching the sidewalks. Watching. Waiting. For who?”
“No one.”
He shook his head slowly, eased his foot off the brake, and the truck edged backward. Without another question asked, they drove onto the highway and toward the Cestra Chalets. He parked in front of the first building but didn’t shut off the engine, keeping the doors locked.
He twisted his hands and clasped them palm to palm, locking his fingers, and stretched his arms leisurely across the steering wheel toward the windshield.
“Cassidy Hoake. I ran your name in the police database, but I didn’t find anything.” She stopped breathing, tasting terror on her tongue, her heart beating a tune of panic in her ears.
Returning both hands to the wheel, he riveted his eyes on her. “You’re not in trouble in Ohio as near as I can tell. But I think you are in some kind of trouble. I will ask you one question and I want an honest yes or no answer because if I find out you lied to me, you’ll quickly learn what hell is.”
She gulped. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his.
“Did you commit a crime?”
Tears rimmed her eyes.
“Tell me the truth, Cassidy.” His words boomed.
She swallowed. “No sir. I did not.”
“But you are in trouble?”
She couldn’t find her stronger voice, so she whispered, “You said one question.”
He smiled again and exhaled. “You’re right. I did.” He turned the key and the truck stopped running. The automatic locks shot up.
“Okay, I guess the answer to that one will have to wait. Let’s go talk to my sister. We have a job offer for you.”
Her jaw dropped.
“Don’t get too excited. You can’t quit The Packing Place. It’s grunt work mostly. But the pay is a place to stay. C’mon.”
Once again he waited for her at the front of the truck and placed his hand on the small of her back as they walked. Compared to her five-foot frame he was at least six foot two, she guessed. Well built, like most cops.
Clay knocked and the door swung open. A tall, slender woman with long, dark hair and gray eyes that matched Clay’s stood in the doorway with a baby wearing a miniature red and gray football uniform perched on her hip. The baby squealed at the sight of Clay and extended small arms with dimpled elbows. Cassidy couldn’t help but smile when Clay reached for the baby, swung him to the ceiling then cradled him in his arms.
“Mags, this is Cassidy Hoake. This is my sister, Maggie Armstrong.” Maggie extended her hand and offered a warm smile.
“Come in, please. Excuse the mess.”
They stepped into a two-foot entry that opened into a sprawling living area peppered with baby toys and a bright, multi-colored Pack ‘n Play Playard in the center of the room.
“Come sit at the table. It’s a clean spot,” Maggie said, smiling. Despite the clutter, Cassidy noticed the home was spotless.
“May I offer you some iced tea?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“Yeah, Mags. We’ll both have some tea.” Clay pulled a chair out and motioned for Cassidy to sit. “Jesus, Cassidy, it’s not going to kill you to take a free glass of freakin’ tea.”
Stunned, Cassidy sat in the designated chair and picked at an imaginary spot on her thigh. Clay sat to her right and plopped the baby on the table, facing him. He seemed so at ease with an infant. Maggie returned with two tall, ice-filled tea glasses, walked back into the kitchen then joined them with her own glass. She slid a spill-proof cup toward Clay, but he was keeping the baby entertained with belly smooches. The women smiled at the scene.
“How long have you been in town, Cassidy?” Maggie asked, smiling. Hers was a wide, friendly smile that lit up her entire face. Cassidy had only seen Clay smile a handful of times.
“Um, I’ve worked at The Packing Place for almost a month now.”
“Oh. Do you like it?”
How many times did she nestle someone’s valuables safely between bubble wrap and packing peanuts and ship them away to a happier place wishing as she did that she could wrap herself in a protective cocoon and ship Cassidy Hoake to a safe, happy place? The thought occurred to her every day.
“I’m getting better at it.”
“Oh.” Maggie looked at Clay, who arched his eyebrows, then returned her gaze to Cassidy. “Has Clay told you what we’d like you to do?”