Robyn Carr - Hidden Summit

Brie frowned. “Don’t call me lady,” she said. “My name is Brie and I’m helping you. Show some gratitude. You’re not the only person alive to have some bad luck. I’ve had my share. Now, I have a new cell phone for you. Here’s the number. We gave your sister a new cell phone, as well. The area code for both phones is Colorado Springs and the D.A.’s office is picking up the tab. You won’t get reception in the mountains, forests or town of Virgin River, but while you’re out on construction jobs in clear areas or around here, in Fortuna, you’ll have reception. And,” she said, sliding him the large envelope, “directions to the Riordan cabins and to Paul Haggerty’s office. Also, directions to a little bar and grill in Virgin River—good food. Do not get drunk and spill your guts or you’ll probably just be moving again. If you live that long.”

“I don’t get drunk.”

“More’s the mercy,” she muttered. “If you need anything, call me at this number. Do not call the D.A. He’ll contact you through me. This is serious, Conner. You don’t have any options. Whether you agree to testify or not, the man you witnessed committing murder obviously has the means to have you taken out. The authorities have always suspected he’s that kind of man, even though he appears on the surface to be quite upstanding.”

“Understand something,” he said to Brie. “If it weren’t for my sister and nephews, I might just go up against him because A, I’m that kind of man, and B, I’m a little past caring.”

“Katie could be collateral damage, just being related. Remember, when you speak with your sister, no clues about where you are. Don’t discuss the time zone or weather or landmarks, like redwood groves. There’s no point in taking chances. Let’s get through this whole. Hmm?”

He lifted his coffee cup in a silent toast. “Yeah.”

“Get settled into your cabin. Go see Paul and get your job. When you’re comfortable, I’ll have you to dinner. Maybe talking with Mike will settle your nerves a little.”

“If you had any idea what the past year has been like…”

She put her hand over his in what might appear as a gesture of friendship to the casual observer, but her voice was firm. “I’m sure it’s been hell. Can I just remind you that this is a favor for an old friend? I’m sticking my neck out for the D.A. because he’s a good man and I owe him. We have a mission here. You’re a friend from college, so go the extra mile and try to be pleasant. I don’t need my brother and my close friends wondering why the hell I’d find you a place to live and a job because you’re such an ass! So—”

“Brother?” he asked.

“Yes. I was an A.D.A. in Sacramento, but now I’m freelance up here and I have a husband and a little girl. I came up here to hide out while I was getting ready to testify against a rapist. I stayed after the trial.”

He swallowed audibly. “Rapist, huh? Who’d he rape?”

“Me,” she said. “First he beat the conviction—I was the prosecutor. Then he raped and tried to kill me. So, you can assume I understand some of what you’re going through…”

He was quiet for a long moment. He had been the primary support for his sister and nephews for a few years now. He couldn’t help but wonder how he’d feel if Katie had gone through something like that. It turned his stomach. Finally he swallowed thickly and asked, “Did you get him?”

“Life sentence, no parole.”

“Good for you.”

“This goatee,” she asked, running her fingers over her own upper lip and chin. “Is it new?”

“A slight change was suggested,” he said.

“I see. Well, I understand you’re going to need some time to adjust. Give me a call if you get antsy, but for right now—try to enjoy the area. It’s incredibly beautiful. A man could do worse.”

“Sure,” he said. “And, I’m sorry you had to go through what you had to go through, you know?”

“It was awful. And behind me now, as this will soon be behind you. You can get a fresh start. Um, Conner? You’re not a bad-looking guy, but this wouldn’t be a good time to hook up, if you get my drift.”

“Not a problem,” he said. “Not looking to hook up.”

“Good. I guess,” she said, standing. “Hug me like an old friend.”

He opened his arms. “Thanks,” he said roughly.

Conner followed the directions to Virgin River. Conner Danson had formerly been Danson Conner, owner of Conner’s Hardware, so the name change had been merely a reversal, which was a little easier to get used to than an entirely new one. Danson was an old family name—some ancient great-grandfather. His parents, sister, nephews and ex-wife had always called him Danny. But at work he had been called Conner or sometimes Con or even Connie by quite a few. It wasn’t difficult to remember to respond to the new name. He was tall, had brown hair, blue eyes, a small scar over his right eye, one slightly crooked tooth and a dimple on his left cheek.

The past five years had been a challenge and the past year, a nightmare.

Conner and his sister, Katie, had inherited their father’s business—Conner’s Custom Carpentry and Hardware. Construction work and running a hardware store was no walk in the park, it was very physical. His muscles had been hard-earned. They’d outsourced custom kitchen and bathroom jobs to builders and sold commercial hardware, cabinetry, fixtures, accessories and lumber used by contractors. Conner had managed it full-time with about ten employees and Katie had done the books, mostly from home so she could take care of her twin boys. Their merchandise had been high-end; the business had done well.

When Conner had been thirty, Katie’s army husband had been killed in action in Afghanistan—she had been twenty-seven, pregnant and ready to give birth. At that point, Conner had had to take over their support. They couldn’t sell the family business—their source of income would have dissipated in no time. And Katie couldn’t contribute enough time to the family business to draw an adequate salary for herself and her sons. So—Conner had worked a little more than full-time, Katie had worked part-time and Conner had picked up the slack so Katie and the boys could live in their own home, independent.

Those days had been long, the work demanding. Many days had ended with Conner feeling as if he’d been married to a store, and while he loved his family, he hadn’t had a life. Still, hard work never bothered him, and he’d remained good-natured and quick-witted. His customers and employees had enjoyed his laugh, his positive attitude. But he had needed something more.

And then he’d found the perfect woman—Samantha. Beautiful, funny and sexy Sam with the long, black hair and hypnotizing smile. And God, going to bed with her had just wound his clock! She was a whiz of an interior decorator who had helped Katie slap her little three bedroom into a showplace in nothing flat. She’d wanted him constantly. Loved sex.

Little had he known.

One year of marriage later and he’d found out she was cheating—and not with a guy, but with every guy she met.

“She’s sick,” Katie had said. “It’s not even like she’s unfaithful, she’s a sex addict.”

“I don’t believe in sex addicts,” Conner had said.

“She needs help,” Katie had said.

“I wish her luck with that,” he had replied.

Of course they divorced. He ended up paying for an expensive treatment program, but escaped alimony. He hadn’t recovered from that before things got worse.

All he’d been doing was taking trash out to the Dumpster in the alley behind the store. A man in a black town car had gotten out, walked around to the passenger side, opened the door and put a bullet in the head of his passenger. Conner had crouched behind the Dumpster while the man, whom he’d unfortunately gotten a very good look at, had pulled out the victim’s body and used Conner’s Dumpster as the coffin. Then he’d calmly gotten back in his fancy car and driven out of the dark alley.