Hope White - Safe Harbor

No, he wouldn’t let it happen again. He’d stay one step ahead of the killer and make sure an innocent woman didn’t become a victim.

He slid the pocket doors open.

“We decided I should take you—” he said to an empty room. “Miss Harris? Nicole?”

He rushed to the sofa hoping to find her stretched out in exhaustion.

She was gone. So was her messenger bag.

He spotted a closet and raced across the room to whip open the door. Switched on the light.

Empty.

How was that possible? He bolted to the sliding door and whipped it open. “Nicole!”

TWO

She had to run.

There was no other choice.

The killer was after her. He wanted her dead. The FBI agent had said as much. And the only way to survive was to either hide...

Or run.

Because given Nic’s experience, the police couldn’t or wouldn’t protect her. She was the only one who could save herself.

She’d hesitated before taking off, remembering the false sense of security she’d felt when leaning against the muscled arm of Detective Donovan. When he spoke in his rich, deep voice, she could almost believe the words coming out of his mouth, and she was sure she read truth in his striking blue eyes.

But then something had slammed against the wall, snapping her out of her momentary distraction, yanking her back to reality and the violence that surrounded her.

No one can help you but yourself. A lesson learned years ago as a child.

Jogging across the property toward the lake, she figured the next house was about four city blocks away. She’d make her way there and...and...what?

Didn’t matter, she couldn’t think about what came next. She had to stay focused on getting away from the murder scene, the cops...the threat to her life.

She had to feel safe.

A sob-gasp caught in her throat. Safe? Since when?

In the recesses of her mind, her intellect argued that this was a bad move. She couldn’t elude authorities for long and it could even make her look guilty, as if she’d done something wrong. Yet all she’d done was her job.

If she couldn’t be safe in this quiet little town that meant...

He was right.

You can’t run fast enough or hide well enough. You’ll never be safe.

“No,” she gasped, picking up speed as she eyed the lights of a house in the distance.

She was a survivor, a fighter. A killer had stood on the other side of a closet door, weapon in hand, yet she was still alive. The cops said they wanted to protect her but she knew the truth: they wanted something from her.

No one genuinely cared about Nicole, not even the polite and handsome Detective Donovan with the calming voice. She knew how it worked. She’d grown up the victim of a failed system, heard all the excuses about keeping children with their father, the one remaining parent. “A little discipline is no cause for putting the kids in foster care and splitting up a family,” the caseworker had said.

In reality, “a little discipline” equated to extreme emotional abuse in the Harris household. Those scars weren’t obvious, and her little sister and brother were so frightened of their dad that they wouldn’t let on about the abuse to teachers, doctors or even friends. The kids feared his retaliation.

He’d earned that fear.

He’d leave newspaper articles on the kitchen counter about parents disciplining their children by locking them in a nonworking freezer in the backyard for two days, or locking them in a dog cage in the basement.

And being found dead.

Beau and Addy didn’t want to be afraid all the time, but they didn’t want to be dead, either, so Nicole taught them how to survive.

Tonight she needed those very survival tactics to escape the threat of a killer.

She must have run a quarter mile, her arms pumping, her brain spinning. Disappearing, then starting fresh in a new state with a new name was her best option. She’d planned for this day just in case the monster named Timothy Harris came looking for her.

She never thought she’d need the escape bag to flee a random killer.

Aiming for the cedar trees bordering the property, she thought she heard something behind her. Her name. Detective Donovan was calling her name.

She charged into the thick mass of trees for camouflage. If the police found her they’d take her into custody “for her own protection,” while in fact they’d make her an easy target for a killer she hadn’t even seen. Would she be able to identify his voice if she heard it again? She shoved the thought back. It didn’t matter. She had no intention of putting herself in the line of fire.

Guilt snagged her conscience. What about Edward Lange? Didn’t he deserve justice? Of course, but she hadn’t seen anything and wasn’t sure she’d recognize the voice if she heard it again.

Besides, this was about survival. It was always about survival.

She darted behind a towering cedar to catch her breath.

“Nicole Harris!” Detective Donovan shouted. He sounded frantic. The beam of a flashlight arced across the property, then skipped across the lake.

She slowly backed up, turned and—

Came face first with a chain-link security fence. She was locked in, with nowhere to go.

“No,” she gasped.

“What’s the matter?” a man said.

Startled, she spun around and eyed the surrounding trees but didn’t see anyone.

“Who’s there?”

Silence echoed back at her. Goose bumps shot down her arms. She scanned the area, looking for escape, but saw only darkness.

Suddenly a man stepped out from behind a tree, the brim of his baseball cap pulled low, shielding his face.

“I said, what’s the matter?”

“Who are you?”

“Who are you?”

There was something about his voice, the way he lurked in the shadows and wouldn’t identify himself, that set off a gazillion red flags in her brain.

Then he took a step toward her.

She took off, sprinting in the direction of the lake. Maybe not her smartest move but this had been a day of irrational decisions borne of fear.

If she could get out to the dock and wave her arms, cry out like a crazy person, Detective Donovan would see her, right? At this point she’d take the cops over a strange man with a creepy demeanor.

“Hey,” the man called after her.

She kept running.

Aimed for the dock.

She wanted to scream, call out for help, but she needed every ounce of energy to breathe.

Was he close?

She glanced over her shoulder...and tripped on a tree root poking up from the ground. Her messenger bag slipped off her shoulder as she tumbled over the edge of the embankment into the water.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain of rocks digging into her back and legs. Her head slammed against something hard and she plunged into the water, her breath catching in her throat.

“Help!” she cried, although it sounded more like one of her cat’s high-pitched squeaks. She treaded water, shaking her head to clear it of a buzzing sound.

The weight of her clothes pulled her down.

Her mind spun with panic.

Stupid, worthless moron.

They were her monster father’s words, words that taunted her as she struggled to stay above the water’s surface. Arms flailing, she fought for breath, for life.

She tried to call out.

Her vision blurred and the buzzing intensified.

Help, somebody help me.

Instead, the water swallowed her, pulling her into its chilling embrace.

* * *

Alex knew he heard a woman call out for help. “Nicole! Nicole Harris!”

Complete and utter silence answered him.

His heart pounded against his chest as he listened intently for the sound of distress.

Then he heard a splash.

He sprinted toward the lake and aimed his flashlight at the water, desperate to see a break in the calm surface.