Kathleen Tailer - Perilous Refuge

“I think I’ll go get us some coffee,” she said softly. She met his eyes and gave him a tired smile, then patted his hand and left for the kitchen. She had worked so long and closely with him that he had become a father figure to her, and she wanted to do whatever she could to ease the pain he was undoubtedly feeling.

“Thank you, Cecilia. I don’t know what I would do without you.” His voice was rough, and she knew he was holding back the tears.

She went to the kitchen and prepared the coffee, then pulled two cups from the cabinet. The gunshot shocked her so much that she dropped one of the mugs and it shattered against the tiled floor. She rushed back to the room to see Justin standing over his father’s inert body, the blood from the older man’s head wound already seeping silently across the desk.

Justin smiled at her, but it was a sinister smile and fear swept down her spine. “Just in time, my dear. I’m afraid my father shot you and then killed himself when he found out how you had been stealing from him.” He pointed the gun at her chest. “Not even those pretty brown eyes of yours could convince him to spare your life. It’s sad, really. What a waste.” He narrowed his eyes. “Now move slowly into the room.”

Despite the fear that was coursing through her body, she somehow managed to form a vehement reply. “I never stole from him. You’re the one that has been embezzling money and padding your own personal accounts.”

Justin shrugged. “That may well be true, but I can always forge some documents to shift the blame to you if necessary. It’s a pity that you won’t be here to defend yourself.”

Cecilia didn’t think. She threw the remaining mug at Justin’s head and hit the ground, just as another gunshot rang out and the bullet hit the chair cushion beside her. A puff of feathers flew into the air as she quickly crawled on her hands and knees back toward the kitchen, her heart banging against her chest. Another bullet hit the drywall just above her head as she reached the kitchen, got to her feet and started running down the hallway. The next bullet grazed her cheek and she could feel the blood, wet and sticky, dripping down her neck. She barely noticed the pain as she darted into the library.

“There’s no place for you to go,” Justin called out loudly, his voice matter-of-fact. “My people are all over this building and the grounds, as well.” His footsteps echoed off of the tiled floor as he followed her down the hall, and with each step Cecilia shook even more. He was so confident in his words that he walked in an even gait with no hurry whatsoever. She tried to slow her breathing so the sound wouldn’t give her location away, but she was so scared she could barely control her gasps for air.

She looked desperately around the room but didn’t see any place to hide from her pursuer. Her adrenaline surged as she heard the footsteps coming closer and closer. To the left she caught sight of the exit to the balcony and she flung herself through the double doors and looked urgently around the gardens below. They were on the third story of the building and she had never been good with heights. A wave of vertigo swept over her, but she had no other options.

With a quick prayer, she quickly closed the doors behind her, then put her leg across the railing and hoisted herself over, searching for toeholds in the redbrick that would keep her from tumbling to the ground. Slowly she maneuvered her body onto a small ledge underneath the balcony and into the shadows. Her right foot slipped and she let out a soft cry, but the sound was masked by Justin throwing open the door and stepping out onto the balcony himself. Thankfully, she was able to wedge herself against the ornate marble window dressing and hold herself immobile.

She could hear Justin saunter confidently to the railing, and she tried to hold her breath as his shoes clicked on the balcony tile. With each step, she grew more certain that he would discover her hiding place and her life would be over. Her heart was beating so frantically that it was ringing in her ears and a wave of nausea caught in her throat.

Suddenly, Justin’s cell phone buzzed and broke the silence. Her body jolted with surprise and she nearly lost her hold.

“No, she’s not here,” Justin said loudly, his voice tinged with frustration. “Looks like she jumped, but I don’t see her anywhere below, so she must have made it.” He hit his hand against the railing. “I can’t believe this! You had better find her! She can’t be allowed off the property. Do you hear me? I want her dead!”

ONE

One month later

“She’s a fortune hunter, Miss Abigail. She’s going to rob you blind and you won’t even know it until she’s three states away, sipping margaritas on the beach somewhere in a designer bathing suit she bought with your money.” Alex ran his hand through his hair in frustration. Apparently nothing he said would convince his client that she had made a mistake and hired a con artist as an accountant.

He glanced over at Chelsea Rogers who was making a purchase at the nearby airport newsstand, glad that she was far enough away that she couldn’t hear the conversation. As she paged through a magazine, he saw her absently rub at her cheek, thumbing over a spot he knew held a small scar—the sort of one would get from a bullet graze. What kind of woman had a scar like that? And what trouble would her past bring to one of his law practice’s most vulnerable clients?

“Pah, I don’t believe a word of it. Chelsea is a sweetheart,” Miss Abigail replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

Alex grimaced. “I’m not sure just how she cajoled her way into your heart so quickly, but I’m not going to let her get away with it.” He knew firsthand the trouble conniving women could cause—he’d been victim to one himself. And Miss Abigail had much more to lose.

“You worry too much,” Miss Abigail said gently as she gave him a reassuring smile. “But I’m glad you’re coming along on this trip.”

Alex rolled his eyes. As soon as he had found out about Chelsea Rogers, he had a booked a ticket to accompany the two to Hawaii. Apparently nothing he said at this point was going to change Miss Abigail’s mind, so the only other thing he could do was keep an eye on Chelsea personally and prove her dishonesty before Miss Abigail executed the new will and trust that she had demanded. Miss Abigail came from old money, and her estate was worth several million dollars. Alex, and his father before him, had been her attorney for the past thirty-two years, and Alex was not about to let her go through with her plans to leave Chelsea Rogers—a woman Miss Abigail hadn’t even known a month before—as executor of the estate.

He glanced at Chelsea once again out of the corner of his eye. She was still at the newsstand standing by the cash register. He had only met her in person this morning, at the airport. So far she had been extremely accommodating and helpful, but wasn’t that the way of fortune hunters? Didn’t they do anything and everything to ingratiate themselves into the good graces of their benefactors? The lady had been constantly at Miss Abigail’s side as they had traipsed through the airport, being helpful in courteous ways that only irritated Alex more.

He ran his hands through his hair, then tried again, keeping his voice low so that only Miss Abigail could hear him. “Miss Abigail, what did Chelsea say to you to convince you that you need to provide for her?”

Miss Abigail looked at him as if horns had sprouted out of his head. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m just trying to figure out what Chelsea did or said to suggest that she should be in charge of your estate, should anything happen to you.”

“She didn’t say a word. I have been in this world eighty-three years, Alex Sullivan. I think I’ve had a chance to hone my skills at judging a person’s character. Chelsea is a sweet girl with a good head on her shoulders. She’ll make sure everything is handled correctly, and the salary I’ve factored in for her to receive while she handles it will make sure she has plenty of time to find a new job afterward.”