Christy Barritt - Desperate Measures

“I don’t think you ever answered my original question. Why are you telling me this?” John asked.

“Samantha texted Kylie last night and did an informal character check on you. She wanted to find out if you were a classy kind of guy.”

“And Kylie said?”

“She said she’d trust you with her life. I know your past. I figured you might have passed on your contact information to Samantha. I just thought I’d let you know what happened last night. Just in case. I have a hard time believing Samantha’s dangerous. But, should you see her, keep that in mind.”

John did see her. She paused at his cabin doorway, then turned around to get his approval before going inside. When he nodded, she flashed a smile and then ducked into the doorway.

A killer?

Never.

But whatever was going on in her life sure had created a tangled web. If he were smart, he’d stay away.

But the chivalrous side of him couldn’t stand to see a woman or child in danger.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking when he’d agreed to hire her. He knew what Alyssa would tell him. She would say that his heart was too big for its own good. Then she’d smile and tell him that’s why she loved him so much.

There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t miss that woman. Time had made his grief more bearable, but it hadn’t lessened his loss.

That’s why he had to help Samantha while still keeping her at a distance. His moral duty was to aid someone in need. But helping was as far as it went.

* * *

After working a seven hour day, Samantha relished the tepid shower water. She was even thankful for the lousy water pressure as she scrubbed the grime off nearly every visible surface of skin. She had to admit that the physical labor today had felt good, despite her sore ribs and the tender skin around her eye.

She’d been working a desk job for the past few months. While working this new job, she found it invigorating to submerge herself into a task at hand, even better because Connor could work alongside her. Her injuries were grim reminders that not everything was as idyllic as it seemed here, though.

She climbed out, toweled dry, and pulled on some clean clothes. Then she rubbed the steam from the mirror and stared at her reflection. She noted the lines around her eyes and on her forehead. Those hadn’t been there a year ago. The events of the past twelve months had taken a toll on every part of her—physically, emotionally and spiritually.

Her mom had once told Samantha that she was a survivor. She held on to her mom’s proclamation, hoping it was true. But she didn’t feel like one. Sure, maybe she’d managed to stay alive. But somehow, she hadn’t felt as if she was truly living in a long time. Fear and guilt could be a prison of their own.

“You ready, Mom?”

She looked over at Connor, her heart squeezing with both love and guilt. “Sure thing.” She dried her hands and then hooked an arm around her son’s neck. “Thanks for helping today. Admit it—you had fun.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know if I’d say that.”

The place had shaped up quickly. Samantha had washed everything, scrubbed the floors and peeled down wallpaper. It didn’t look that bad after all.

Meanwhile, John had patched the roof, fixed a broken stair on the porch and removed a hornet’s nest from outside. Connor had even gotten into the action. He’d helped with painting and had scrubbed the fridge.

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.