Debby Giusti - Nowhere To Hide

What did he want?

Lydia peered around the curtain and watched the security chief’s pickup disappear.

Tyler lay sleeping in the guest bedroom, but she was too wired to do anything but pace. She had checked the doors and windows more times than she could count to ensure they were locked, and although her body needed rest, her mind kept thinking back on all that had happened over the last seven months—the fire, her husband’s death, the attempt to kidnap Tyler. So much had occurred in such a short period of time. None of it good.

She had hoped Sanctuary would offer just that. Now she wasn’t so sure. Maybe her eyes had played tricks on her, but the man in the photo could have been Sonny’s twin. If only she could talk to the photographer. Maybe he’d remember when he’d taken the picture. Hopefully he’d be easier to deal with than the security chief who took his job way too seriously.

Lydia rubbed her neck. She wanted a chance to catch her breath and get their lives back to normal. When Katherine came home, Lydia would ask her to watch Tyler while she returned to Atlanta and continued the search for her husband’s killer.

Lydia glanced at the clock.

Six in the morning.

The Men’s Club in Atlanta closed at three. More precisely, it was supposed to close. Since Sonny’s death, she’d learned the back room activities lasted until dawn and catered to high rollers with money to pay for extra services and live entertainment.

Ruby Pace worked the front lounge. By now, she’d be home in the midtown condo she shared with her mother and handicapped sister, enjoying some quiet time to herself before the other two women rose at seven.

Lydia picked up the phone and tapped in the Atlanta number.

“Yeah.” Ruby answered on the third ring, a tired and angry edge to her voice.

“It’s Lydia. Can you talk?”

The voice softened. “Mama and Charise are sleeping. Where you been? I called your apartment.”

“We left Atlanta.”

“Why?”

“Someone tried to grab Tyler.”

Ruby cursed. “They’re trying to get to you ’cause of that evidence that Sonny hid. The Club hired him to run their Web site. They never expected him to poke his nose around where it didn’t belong.”

“The police still think I started the fire.”

“You tell ’em anything?” Ruby asked.

“Just that there’s more going on at the Men’s Club than meets the eye.”

“They didn’t buy it, did they?”

“Didn’t want to buy it is more like it,” Lydia said.

“Just like Sonny told you. Enough money going under the table, no one has a problem with the police. Real convenient for the cops to look the other way when their bank accounts are gettin’ fat.”

“What about those back room files?”

“Girl, they’re locked up tight. Give me a little time. The doorman I told you about says he wants out, just like me.” She paused. “I’m trying to work a deal. He watches the door while I check the files.”

“Call me.”

“No way, honey. I don’t even want to know where you be hiding. That way Ruby can’t tell the man what she don’t know.”

Lydia shivered, thinking of what would happen to Ruby if anyone at the club discovered she was talking to Sonny’s wife.

“I’m sorry I got you involved,” Lydia said.

“My choice. That night you came snooping around the club, I knew you was out of your element. You got nerve, girlfriend. I like that. Plus, I want a new start. I’ve had enough of this life. Want to move my Mama and Charise away from the city. Get us a little country place.”

“Be careful.”

“You know I will. By the way, that reporter was back.”

“Trish Delaney? What’d she want?”

“Information, just like you. Only she got the cold shoulder and an escort to the door. Maybe you should call her.”

“I…I’m not sure, Ruby.”

“Whatever. Talk to me in about a week. I might have something by then.”

Lydia hung up. Hopefully, Ruby would find evidence to prove the club was a front for something illegal. If she was lucky, information about Sonny’s death might surface, as well.

Whatever Sonny had been involved in now threatened Tyler’s life. Much as it terrified her to hunt Sonny’s killer, she’d do anything to protect her child.

Lydia pulled down the covers and crawled into bed. Just so Ruby didn’t get hurt in the process.

Reaching to turn off the bedside lamp, Lydia noticed a small cross-stitch sampler perched near the clock.

Jesus, I Trust In You, was stitched in tiny Xs across the fabric.

“If only I could,” she mumbled as she turned off the light.

The insistent ring of the doorbell woke her. She opened her eyes and squinted against the daylight streaming through the curtains. Her head felt packed with cotton wool. Too little sleep, most of it plagued with dreams of raging infernos, had taken its toll.

Glancing at the bedside clock, she bolted to a sitting position. Half-past eleven. She had slept far longer than she wanted. Not that she felt rested. Anything but.

She yanked the closet door open and pulled out the blouse and skirt she’d worn the night before. Slipping them on, she made her way barefoot toward the living room.

Tyler stood in the doorway of the guest room, dressed in the G.I. Joe briefs and T-shirt he’d slept in. He rubbed his eyes.

“Who’s at the door?” he asked between yawns.

“That’s exactly what I’m going to find out.” She strode past him, working to control the fear prickling her spine. Surely, no one from Atlanta could have tracked them down in the short time they’d been on the island. Maybe that nosy security chief wanted more information.

Stretching on tiptoe, she peered through the door’s tiny peephole. The distorted face of a high schooler, probably sixteen or seventeen, filled the glass circle.

Mustering her sternest voice, she demanded, “Who’s there?”

“James, from The Country Store. Ms. O’Connor called in a delivery long-distance. Said I was to get everything here by eleven. The storm washed out one of the roads. Had to take a detour.”

Lydia unlocked the door, inched it open and glanced first at The Country Store scripted on the truck’s side panel and then at the same logo stitched on the youth’s polo. She let out a sigh of relief and opened the door wider.

The kid nodded toward the large cardboard box in his arms. “Ms. O’Connor said to send over everything a boy age six might need. I’ve got a box filled with ladies’ things and another one with odds and ends in the truck.”

He dropped the first box inside the door and scrambled down the steps to the delivery truck, where he grabbed two more boxes and deposited them one on top of the other in the entryway.

Lydia reached for her purse. “How much do I owe you?”

“Ms. O’Connor took care of it, ma’am.” He climbed into his truck and waved as he backed out of the driveway.

Before Lydia could close the door, a second van pulled up to the house and an equally enthusiastic teen bounded toward the porch, carrying two large grocery bags.

“Harry’s Market. More groceries in the truck.”

Resigning herself to accepting Katherine’s generosity, Lydia pointed the boy in the direction of the kitchen and watched as he hauled the bags into the house.

“Be happy to unpack the groceries, if you need help.” He placed the last sack on the counter.

“Thanks, that’s not necessary.” Lydia dug in her handbag and pulled out a few dollar bills.

The teen walked back to where she stood by the door and accepted the tip.

Shoving the money into his pocket, he said, “You’re from Fulton County. Atlanta, right?”

She nodded. “That’s right.”