Susan Sleeman - Christmas Hideout

Tears pricked Nicole’s eyes. She swiped them away. No time for tears when their safety was at risk. She slipped on the backpack and slung the tote bag over her shoulder.

Perfect. Nicole set off for the front door, passing the Christmas tree with Emilie’s presents below. Only a week away, and Nicole was ready for the usual celebration with Piper. Now Emilie wouldn’t have a family Christmas.

Tears flooded Nicole’s eyes. Sobs followed, her body convulsing.

No. Stop. You have to keep it together for Emilie. Go! Now!

She breathed deeply, willed her tears away to pack food and her own personal items. She shrugged the bags over her shoulder and returned to pick Emilie up. She held her daughter close, inhaling the sweet scent of her shampoo. In the foyer, Nicole snatched her keys from the table where she’d left them when she’d come home from an extended day at work to find the knife. Home . Not home any longer. Not since she’d spotted the knife.

She fumbled through the key ring to grasp the fob for her car. She held it at the ready. The moment she got in range of her car, she would press the button and unlock the doors. She wouldn’t lock the dead bolt. No time for that. She’d have Piper take care of that, too.

At the door, Nicole pressed her ear against the cool metal and listened. She’d wait to step out until she heard people outside. Grady wouldn’t likely approach when others were around and could act as witnesses to his visit. Sure, he would still try to follow her, but if he did, she had to hope she could lose him.

The moment she heard voices, she opened the door. Took a deep breath and mentally prepared to run for her car.

She pressed the button on the key fob. Heard the resulting beeps.

“This is it, baby,” Nicole whispered to her still-sleeping child.

She took off. Moving at top speed through the freezing night air. She reached her car. Jerked open the back door and settled Emilie. Nicole hated having her back exposed, but she had no choice. She couldn’t take off without Emilie safely buckled in her car seat.

Trembling hands made Nicole clumsy with the straps. “C’mon. C’mon. C’mon. Faster.”

She clicked the last one. Ripped the tote from her shoulder. Tossed it inside the car. Did the same with the backpacks and hopped into the front seat. She locked the door and got the car started.

She looked around. Searching. Scanning. Trying to find Grady.

She didn’t spot him. His truck. It made sense that he thought she’d call the police about the knife, and he’d already taken off.

She backed the car out and headed for the exit. She merged onto the street and pointed the car toward the freeway.

Yes! They were going to make it. Going to get away.

First stop would be the ATM for cash.

Wait. Cash.

No, oh, no.

She’d left her purse behind. She’d dropped it on the floor when they’d come home, and she’d carried Emilie to her bed. Nicole had no wallet. No ID. No ATM card. No credit card. Not that she’d use one of those, as Grady could track the purchases, but she had to get cash somehow.

She would have to go back. Take Emilie from the car. Race in and grab the purse and race out again. It would be okay. She hadn’t seen Grady in the lot, and it should be safe.

She made a U-turn. Entered the parking lot again. Glanced around. Her gaze locked on a pickup truck. A gray one. Like Grady’s.

She searched the cab.

A man sat there.

He turned.

Smiled.

Locked gazes.

Grady.

No, oh, no. Why did it have to be him?

She shifted into Reverse and tore out of the lot, hoping with every fiber of her being that she could lose him before he found a way to stop them and inflict any harm.

An intruder?

Deputy Matt McKade parked his patrol car out of view of the cabin, his warning senses tingling. The cabin was located on his family’s dude ranch in the Texas Hill Country. He’d grown up at Trails End but now lived in an apartment in Lost Creek, just a few miles away, as did all of his siblings. But his parents and grandparents still lived in the main house. Matt and his three siblings also spent a lot of time there.

His parents and grandparents were out of town, and he’d promised to check in on the cabins while they were gone. Just two days, and they’d taken a break from renting cabins during the holidays and had no guests. He simply had to make a morning and evening inspection to be sure things were fine. No biggie, right?

Yeah, right. Until now. He’d just arrived for his evening inspection and found lights glowing in one of the cabins.

Could be a vagrant squatting again. They’d had problems with that in the past, hence the morning and evening checks. But it could be more than that, too. Vagrant or not, as a deputy, there was no way he would approach without taking precautions. Starting with killing his headlights and parking out of sight.

He climbed out of his vehicle and closed his door with a quiet click that seemed to reverberate through the frosty December night. He lifted his sidearm and approached the small building, the last cabin in a neat row of six. Located nearest to the main road, it was the building that vagrants seemed to favor when it was vacant.

He moved ahead, his breath whispering out in tiny white clouds. He passed the dude ranch’s large fire pit. The horseshoe pit. The tall, bald cypress with a tire swing, all items favored by their guests. One step, then another. Making sure to move slowly to keep his feet from crunching on fallen leaves and alerting the intruder inside.

He approached the side window, the light growing brighter as he walked. He glanced inside. Spotted someone sitting on the sofa, the small lamp illuminating their head tilted at an angle. He watched. They didn’t move. Not a fraction of an inch. Asleep or dead, he didn’t know.

Warning bells clanged in his brain.

If the person was asleep, his best bet was to make a surprise entry. He took out his master key and went to the door. A quick turn of the lock and knob, then a push, and he had the door open. He flipped on the overhead light.

“Police,” he shouted, using the universal name that all law enforcement used regardless of their agency affiliations when approaching a potentially dangerous person. “Don’t move.”

The person startled. Sat forward.

What in the world?

A young woman holding a child stared at him, her eyes wide, terror etched in the depths.

“I’m sorry.” She blinked against the bright light. “I know I shouldn’t be here. My car. It broke down. We were so tired and cold. I didn’t have blankets for my daughter. She’d freeze. I got the window open, and we came in. I...I’m sorry. Please don’t arrest me, Officer...”

“Deputy McKade. Matt McKade.” He blew out his adrenaline on a long wave of air, his mind trying to calm down and figure out how to handle this intruder. He’d start by identifying her. “What’s your name?”

“Nicole. Nicole Dyer.” She peered down on the child. “This’s my daughter, Emilie. We live in Austin. I’m a widow and my ex-boyfriend has been stalking me. At first, I thought he was just trying to intimidate me into getting back together with him. But he’s gotten progressively angrier and threatening. Tonight, he left a knife in my kitchen. He’s threatened to kill me. So I ran, but I left my purse at home and don’t have any money. I’d only driven an hour or so when my car broke down and I had nowhere to go.” Her words rolled over each other like tumbleweeds in a dust storm on the open Texas range.

Matt didn’t like hearing of a stalker. Didn’t like it one bit. Stalkers were often all talk and no action, but this guy, if she could be believed, sounded like the deadly type, and she was right to fear for her life.