Christy Barritt - Mountain Hideaway

She lunged toward them and felt the metal against her fingers.

Now she just had to get out of here.

Just as she turned, she sensed someone behind her. Before she could scream, a hand covered her mouth.

And, for the first time in years, she prayed.

* * *

Trent McCabe hated to scare the woman—to scare any woman. But if he didn’t grab her now, she’d run. Then he’d never have any answers to the heavy questions hanging over his head.

He couldn’t let her get away. There were too many reasons why it would be a bad idea.

He kept one hand firmly over her mouth and his other arm locked her elbows against her body. He lifted her off her feet, and she kicked, flailing. But she wasn’t going anywhere. Trent would give her a few minutes and, once she was worn out from struggling, he’d try to talk to her. She’d left him with very few options.

She fought against him, each jerk full of fight. He had to admire her for that. But he’d fought enough battles and had enough muscles and brawn to easily overtake her. She would wear out much sooner than he would. He just had to be patient.

She paused and her chest heaved as if she was gulping in breaths. His heart lurched as he realized just how terrified the woman was. He’d never meant for things to play out like this. He’d just been so desperate to find her.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I just have a few questions,” he murmured in his most calming, apologetic voice. “Quiet down.”

His words had the opposite effect and seemed to propel her back into action. She began thrashing again, trying desperately to get out of his grip. This woman wasn’t going to give up, was she? She had more fight than he’d guessed.

Trent stood there, waiting patiently. But he gave her credit for her efforts. She was giving it all she had.

“Listen, your mom sent me,” he finally said.

She slowed for a moment. Without even seeing her face, he knew the wheels in her brain were turning, were processing the information. That was a good sign.

“I’m going to move my hand from your mouth so we can talk. Okay?” he soothed as a tremble began shaking her muscles.

She remained where she was, her breathing too shallow for her own good.

“Okay?” he repeated.

Finally, she nodded her head.

One of his hands slipped back down to his side. She remained eerily still, not saying a word but unable to run. He waited for her to speak.

They said good things came to those who waited, and the saying had proved to be true more than once in his life. Though it had also proved deadly. He hoped that wouldn’t be the case now.

“My mom’s dead,” she finally said, her voice just above a whisper.

“No, she’s not. You and I both know that.”

“Let me go. Let’s talk like two humans.” Her voice shook with emotion, yet based on the tight cadence of her words, she was trying to control her fear.

Guilt flashed through him. He hated for this to be his only means of talking to her. His mom had raised him better than this. But what else was he supposed to do? Drastic situations called for drastic actions.

He had his doubts, but he realized that acting as if she was his captive wouldn’t get him very far. Hesitantly, he released his clamp across her arms. “Fine. Let’s talk.”

As soon as she was out of his grasp, she darted to the kitchen counter and grabbed a knife from the butcher block. She held it in front of her. Even in the dark, Trent could see the desperate gleam in her gaze. “Step back.”

He raised his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You break into my home, practically take me hostage and then tell me your intentions are golden? I don’t think so.”

“Don’t forget that I also let you go,” he reminded her, willfully trying to gain her trust. He knew he could easily work that knife from her hands, but he’d scared the woman enough already. “I didn’t want you to run away. That’s the only reason I grabbed you like that.”

“Justify it however you want. You need to get out of my house. Now.” She pointed toward the door with her knife.

“I just want to talk. Besides, this isn’t your house, is it?”

She held the knife higher, her chin rising in stubborn determination. “I thought I made myself clear. Get out. Now.”

Trent took another step back, hoping the woman would realize he didn’t want to hurt her. He couldn’t blame her for doubting that. “Your mom has been searching for you.”

The dark concealed her face, but he sensed her shoulders slumping. “Like I said, my mom is dead.”

“You and I both know you’re lying, Theresa.” He watched her face as he used her name. He only wished there was more light so he could see. Any of the small hints she might offer to prove he was telling the truth were erased by the darkness.

“That’s not my name.” Her voice shook even harder. “I’m Tessa Jones.”

“Your name is Theresa Davidson.” She was thinner now. Her hair was long and light brown when it used to be shoulder length, curly and blond. But he’d been searching for six months, and he felt certain this was the woman he was looking for. “I’m Trent McCabe, by the way.”

“I’m going to call the police.” Her words didn’t sound remotely convincing.

“Go right ahead. I’ll wait here while you do it.” Their conversation felt a bit like a game. He’d made his move, she’d made hers and they continued to go back and forth. Trent knew good and well that she wouldn’t call the police. She had too much at stake. People who wanted to disappear did not call the police.

“Why are you doing this?” Her voice cracked with desperation. “I’m giving you the chance to leave. Please. Just go.”

“You have a lot of people who are concerned about you.” Seeing the worry in her loved ones’ eyes had been enough to compel him to stick with this case long after the time and funds had run out. He’d seen something in her family that he’d seen in himself all those years ago: pain and hurt. If possible, he wanted to spare them any more heartache.

“You have the wrong person.” She said each word slowly, forcefully. It was almost as if she was trying to convince herself of the truth.

But Trent heard the emotion there. The doubt. The fear. The moment of hesitation. There was no question this was the right woman.

But she wasn’t going to give this whole act up now. He didn’t know what had driven her to come here, to hide for all these months. But it must be a strong reason.

Whatever it was, she wasn’t budging. He had to think of a different approach because this one certainly wasn’t working. She wasn’t in the right emotional state to change her mind.

“Okay, okay. Look, I’m sorry to have scared you.” He took a step backward. “I’ll leave.”

He kept backing up until he reached the front door. A moment of hesitation hit him, and he started to try to persuade her again, but thought better of it. The woman was spooked. The fear that he’d seen in those big blue eyes of hers would make sure that any pleas for logic would go unheard.

He couldn’t actually see the blue, but he remembered it from the photos of Theresa. Her eyes had been one of her most striking features. He recalled the earnest, sincere look—it was one that couldn’t be faked.

He’d guess that this woman hadn’t lost that sincerity, either. The warmth in her eyes was something that was a part of her. The ability to show her character with one look, expressing deep emotions, communicating without a word.

Kind of like Laurel. His heart ached at the memory.

He gripped the doorknob, took one last look at the shadowy woman who still stood on guard and stepped outside.

Just as he did, a bullet pierced the air.