Christy Barritt - Desperate Measures

Her paranoia reared its head at the worst times. But Samantha could have been certain that the man in the grocery store had been watching her. His bulging muscles, heavy jowls, and rocklike hands only made him appear to be dangerous. That’s what she tried to tell herself, at least.

For that matter, the man was probably shopping for the same household staples she was. She’d stopped by on her way home from a late night at work to grab the usual—milk, eggs, bread and some fresh produce. A lot of people stopped to get those things. That’s most likely why the man’s movements inside the store had paralleled hers.

He was just someone on his way home. His wife could have called him and reminded him they were out of milk. That was it.

She may have mentally convinced herself that her theory was true, but her body still remained on alert.

Samantha’s SUV came into view. It was only four parking spaces away. The heavy downpour earlier had flooded the front of the lot, so she’d had to park in the back. Now she wished she’d battled the ankle-high water closer to the store instead.

With her free hand, she fumbled inside her purse until she found her keys. She grasped them like a lifeline.

Almost there.

Almost safe.

She’d pick up Connor from his karate class, go home and lock her doors.

Then she’d laugh at herself for being so silly. She’d make jokes about her paranoia. She’d tell herself she had an overactive imagination.

Though she tried to brush off her anxiety, it didn’t work. How much longer could she live in this fear? It wasn’t fair to Connor. Every eight year old should have a stable, predictable life. Connor deserved to live in the same place for more than a few months at a time. He needed a safe place to call home.

This wasn’t how she’d imagined her life turning out.

Always looking over her shoulder. Tense. Afraid.

She reached her SUV and rounded it to the driver’s side. Relief filled her. That footfall had been her imagination.

As she hit the button to unlock her door, a man rushed from the shadows.

She dropped her bag and tried to scream. Before she could, the man’s fist collided with her jaw. The force of the hit propelled her backward, into her vehicle. Her head snapped back, cracking against the SUV.

It was the man from the store. The one with arms that looked like tree trunks. With a neck as thick as his head. Who towered above her by a foot, at least.

She hadn’t been paranoid.

“Did you think we wouldn’t find you?” he mumbled. Spittle showered her, followed by a blast of the man’s hot breath. “We always find who we’re looking for.”

Her knees went weak, and she began sinking to the ground. She didn’t stand a chance against this man. Her one hundred and twenty pounds weren’t enough. Her cell phone was out of her reach. Her keys jangled as her feet hit them on the asphalt.

This man was going to kill her, and she could do nothing about it.

No, she had to think about Connor. She had to fight for him. She couldn’t let this man win.

Her gaze quickly scanned her surroundings for something—anything—she could use as a weapon. All she saw were a dozen broken eggs, a busted milk carton and a loaf of bread.

Tears threatened to squeeze out as the man grabbed her blouse and jerked her back to her feet. His fist struck her stomach.

Deep, jarring pain made stars swim before her eyes. Her ribs ached. Air squeezed from her lungs.

“You have some very powerful people looking for you.” He pressed her against the SUV. “One in particular said you need to pay for what you’ve done.”

Wasn’t there anyone else out here? Anyone to call for help? The SUV formed a barrier, making it impossible for anyone coming from the store to see them.

“Leave me alone,” she mumbled, her head spinning. “Someone already killed my husband.”

“Someone killed him?” He grunted. “You killed him. An eye for an eye.”

“Of course I didn’t.” Her voice cracked.

“That’s not what I heard.”

“Please. I have a son. He needs me.” Maybe she could reason with this man. It was doubtful. But maybe. She didn’t have many options right now.

She quickly soaked in the man’s features. Gold tooth. Snake tattoo stretching up his neck. She’d never seen him before. He had to have been contracted by someone—one of her husband’s former friends.

“I wasn’t hired to be compassionate. I was hired to bring you in—dead or alive. Dead would be less of a hassle.”

The man punched her in the gut again. The air rushed from her lungs. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out something shiny.

A knife, Samantha realized.

Any hope she had for surviving disappeared faster than her last paycheck.

Dear Lord. Help me!

Just then, a siren screeched in the distance. The man startled at the sound.

Adrenaline surged in Samantha. She had to fight for her life. To fight for her son.

Finally, the scream that had been lodged in her throat escaped. She pushed the man away with a strength that surprised even her. Then she sprinted toward the store.

She ran, not looking back until she reached the inside. There, she sagged against the wall.

She glanced outside, just in time to see the man scowl at her. He climbed into his car and squealed off. She was safe. But for how long?

She had to get Connor and run. Where? She didn’t know. What would she do once she got there? She had no idea.

But staying here was not an option.

* * *

“I know people think I’m crazy, but I’ve got to do this.” John Wagner leaned back in his chair, not liking the tension across his chest. He’d felt this tension for far too long now. “I’ve got to make some life changes. I’ve been in denial about it for a long time.”

“I think it’s a good choice,” his friend Nate said. “Even if people think you’ve lost your mind.” His friend grinned as he leaned against an empty table in The Revolutionary Grill. It was Tuesday night, the one night of the week the grill didn’t open. That’s why John always stopped by, every week on the same night, to hang out. Nate and his wife owned this place.

Today would be John’s last visit for a while, though. In the morning, he’d leave for Smuggler’s Cove where he would begin a new adventure. He’d worked at the Coast Guard Training Center here in Yorktown for the past five years.

Now it was a time for a fresh challenge: restoring nine cabins on the remote island of Smuggler’s Cove, located in the middle of the Chesapeake Bay. John was looking forward to some new scenery and new faces. Mostly, he was hoping his soul might be restored right along with the old cabins.

Since Alyssa had died, nothing in his world had felt right. This life change was his last-ditch effort to find some peace, to make things right with himself. He prayed to God that would be the case. If this didn’t work, what would?

Finally, John took his last sip of coffee and stood. He raised his cup in acknowledgment of all the Tuesdays he and Nate had done this. “As always, thanks for the coffee. You guys will definitely be what I’ll miss the most about this place.”

“We’ll be out there to visit you in a week,” Nate added. “Work fast.”

“You know how to put the pressure on, but there’s no one else I’d work as hard for.” It was the truth. Nate and his wife Kylie had been loyal friends to him. He’d do anything for them.

Just then, the back door of the restaurant flew open. John’s gaze traveled through the kitchen, swerving in the direction of the sound.

A woman stood in the back entrance, her eyes wide. Blood trickled from her forehead, her lip was busted, her gaze looked frantic.