Lynette Eason - Holiday Hideout

You are my hiding place; you will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance.

— Psalms 32:7

“Ah, so you’re awake now?”

The voice to her left made her start. Abby felt a surge of fear, but in light of the yellow curtains, white walls and the very pregnant woman staring down at her, she managed to swallow that fear and ask, “What happened? Where am I?”

“You’re in my home. I’m Fiona Whitley. My mom and my brother, Cal, rescued you when you passed out at the bus station.”

Abby sat up and regretted the quick action when the room spun. “When was that?”

“Three days ago. Today’s Friday. Your fever finally broke yesterday.”

Abby remembered her self-diagnosis in the bus station. And with that memory came the vision of the man who’d been following her. “Oh, no,” she whispered.

“What’s wrong?”

Did she dare burden her? Abby looked around the cozy apartment and realized she couldn’t just blurt out she thought someone was following her. A person who had evil intentions toward her….

Lynette Eason

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To my family, I love you all.

Dr. Abigail O’Sullivan stepped off the bus and felt the hair on the back of her neck spike. It was all she could do to hold back the groan climbing up her throat as she looked around, trying to pin down the source of her uneasiness.

It’s nothing , she told herself, you were careful. There’s no way he could have followed you. You’re just sick .

The fever had started yesterday. Monday, right? She thought so. The aches and pains had followed shortly thereafter. She needed something to drink. Some water. But she’d been on a bus for the past three hours fading in and out. During a lucid moment, she wondered exactly how high her fever was.

But was it truly just illness causing her to feel so out of sorts?

Even now, exhausted and sick, she felt watched. How? her sluggish mind cried. She’d taken buses, crisscrossed states, paid cash for everything. Her dry eyes burned as they canvassed the area around her. How could he still be behind her?

He’s not, he couldn’t be.

His parting words made her shudder. “I’m going to make sure you suffer for the rest of your life.”

Cutting words. Hurtful, hateful words.

But that’s all she’d thought they were.

Just words.

Until someone tried to run her off the road and the police blamed her and chalked it up to reckless driving.

And then there was the series of incidents that frightened her terribly. Coming home to find her house had been searched was terrifying. Then her car had been broken into and her office searched.

Subtly. Very carefully. But she’d known it. And she’d reported it to the police.

Who’d done absolutely nothing.

She snorted. The police. A lot of help they were.

So was it him? Or someone else? Possibly someone he’d hired? A chill shook her, and she pulled the edges of her coat tighter. Her tongue snaked out to lick dry lips. Snagging her purse, she rummaged through it until she found a crumpled bill and some change. Surely there’d be a drink machine somewhere in this bus station.

Her mind hopped back to the person after her.

If he’d hired someone, then she’d have to keep running no matter how awful she felt. Swallowing hard, she grimaced at the pain the action brought. She felt sure gulping razors wouldn’t hurt as much. Vaguely, she wondered if she had strep in addition to the flu.

Probably. She thought about the young boy on the last bus. He’d been coughing, flushed and complaining his throat hurt. Abby had wondered if he had the flu or strep.

Now she knew.

“Are you all right, dear?”

Abby turned to look at the woman who’d posed the question in a light Irish accent and had to fight off a wave of dizziness. When her head stopped spinning, she took note of stylish salt-and-pepper hair before landing on the green eyes glistening with concern. Abby guessed the lady was in her mid-fifties.

Feeling a cough coming on, Abby turned her face into her elbow until the spasm passed. Using the tissue she’d found in the bottom of her purse, she dabbed the cough-induced tears from under her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m just sick.

The flu, I think, and maybe strep, too, so you might want to keep your distance.”

But the gentle lady smiled. “I’ve had my shot. And I’ve never had strep in my life. Guess I’ll take my chances. I’m waiting on my son to pick me up. Been visiting my sister over in Bryson City.”

Dizziness swept over Abby again and she closed her eyes to ward it off. She didn’t bother telling the woman she’d had her flu shot, too. Fat lot of good it had done her.

When she opened her eyes, her new friend placed a hand on her arm and led her to a nearby bench. “But you don’t care about all that. Here, why don’t you sit here while I get you a bottle of water?”

Before Abby could protest, another wave of dizziness attacked her and she sank onto the bench with a grateful groan.

A shiver racked her and she huddled deeper into her thick down winter coat. The middle of December in North Carolina was cold . Of course the fever didn’t help. Squinting, she fought sleep even though she wanted nothing more than to curl up and sink into oblivion.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t do that. She had to stay awake, keep her eyes peeled. Stay alert. He would be waiting for her to show weakness, catch her off guard.

But she’d been so careful .

She reached down and patted the small bulge in the lower part of her jeans. The reassuring feel of the wad of cash soothed some of her anxiety.

She looked around again and another tremor shook her as the faces blended, merged, then separated. Abby blinked fast to clear her vision.

Yes, she’d been careful.

At least she thought she had. But what if she hadn’t been? What if her paranoia wasn’t fever-induced? After all, what did she know about running from someone who caught criminals for a living? Not that she was a criminal, but the process was the same wasn’t it?

Visions of her brother-in-law’s stony glare as Abby clutched her dead sister’s hand stumbled to the forefront of her brain.

Her sister and baby girl … dead because of Abby …

Grief racked her. “My fault.”

“Here, darling. Here’s your water.”

Abby felt liquid slip between her lips to cool her fiery throat. “Thanks,” she whispered.

“What’s your name?”

“Abby.”

“Well, Abby, I’m Justine McIvers and I think we need to get you to a doctor. Are you meeting someone here?”