Mary Burton - Wise Moves

“I’ll keep a lookout for her.” Kristen glanced at her dollar-store wristwatch. “You better go now or you’ll be stuck in D.C. traffic.”

Sheridan turned to leave and then snapped her fingers, as if remembering something. “We’ve also got that contractor coming.” The plan was to convert the two small rooms off the reception area into a large tearoom.

“I remember. I can handle one contractor. Your sister is having a baby, Sheridan. Go to her.”

Mention of the baby made Sheridan smile as she grabbed her large denim satchel. “You know it’s a girl.”

“Yes.” She picked up Sheridan’s suitcase and guided her out the front door. The fall air had turned cold over the past few days.

Sheridan glanced back at the studio one last time. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Kristen. My students love you. You’re a wiz with this computer and a master with bookkeeping.”

Kristen was the one who was grateful. These last two weeks had been the most peaceful she’d known in years. “Go.”

Sheridan nodded, took her suitcase from Kristen and headed down the steps to a green VW Bug parked by the curb. Kristen stood on the front porch and waited as Sheridan started her car. However, instead of driving off, Sheridan shut the engine off and got out of the car.

Kristen shook her head, laughing. Sheridan was a brilliant teacher and her students loved her, but she was chronically late and could be scattered at times.

“I forgot to tell you about Simone Brady,” Sheridan said.

Kristen laughed. “At the rate you are going that baby is going to be in college before you see her.”

Sheridan smiled. “I promise this is the last thing. Simone is going to be calling.”

Kristen came down the stairs and met her halfway. “For a class?”

“No, she’s a reporter with the local paper and a stringer for the Washington Post. She’s doing a piece on yoga studios in Virginia. She wants to do a story on us.”

Kristen folded her arms over her chest. Publicity was great for Sheridan but the worst thing that could happen to her. Her voice sounded flat when she said, “Great.”

Sheridan was so distracted about getting on the road that she didn’t pick up on the shift in Kristen’s voice. “She might call for background info before I return. Just tell her what she needs to know. When I get back, she’ll be sending a photographer out.”

Apprehension twisted the muscles in her back. “Why?”

Sheridan beamed. “She’s going to take our picture.”

Kristen drew in deep breaths, letting her rib cage expand as Sheridan had taught her. She’d taken great pains to disguise her appearance, but having her picture publicized was asking for trouble. Benito had contacts all over the country. She could never be in that picture. “You better get going.”

Sheridan laughed. “Right.” She got in her car and drove off.

Kristen retreated back into the house and closed the front door. She locked the deadbolt. The safety she’d felt behind these walls had vanished. Sheridan’s mention of the photographer was a stark reminder that she could never be too careful. For the rest of her life she would need to look over her shoulder. Benito would never give up his search for her.

If Benito found her, he wouldn’t kill her, but she’d already learned from him that there were worse things than death. Her heart began to race.

She raised a trembling hand to her forehead. Again, she drew in a calming breath. The more she breathed, the more her heart slowed.

There’d been no sign of Benito in nine months. She’d been very careful. She was okay. She was safe.

Kristen closed her eyes and turned away from the door. She tried to push the worries from her mind.

She would stay free of Benito.

She would be fine.

Heavy footsteps sounded on the front porch. She heard a knock. She opened her eyes and turned.

A very tall man with broad shoulders stood on the other side of the glass door. He wore faded jeans that draped muscular thighs, a worn gray Virginia Tech T-shirt and brown scuffed work boots. A Carolina Panthers ball cap shadowed his rawboned face.

She glanced at her watch. One-twenty. If this was her carpenter, he was early.

Her stomach tightened a notch. Reason tried to rein in emotion. Surprises always made her nervous. She was far, far away from Benito and Sheridan had said a carpenter was coming.

Being ten minutes early didn’t mean he was a trained killer. She studied the man. He pulled off his cap and smiled at her.

“I’m looking for Sheridan,” he said through the glass. “I’m the carpenter.”

She relaxed and moved to the door. She clicked back the latch. “Sorry,” she said through the glass door. “You surprised me.”

His expression changed to sheepish, almost boyish. “Sorry. I got a habit of showing up early when I go to a new job. I’d hate it if I got lost and was late for my first day on a job.” His southern accent charmed her.

She opened the door. His thick black hair looked in need of a haircut. This close, she could see the sun-etched lines at the corners of very blue eyes. His nose had a ridge in the center, as if it had been broken. There was a ketchup stain on his shirt.

His deep, raspy voice had her pulse scrambling. And that was a surprise. She’d not looked twice at another man since Carlos.

“You must be Kristen Rodale,” he said.

“How do you know my name?”

“Sheridan told me. She said she might have to go out of town for a few days. Said a pretty blonde worked for her.” He winked. “And I’m guessing that must be you.”

She ran her hands through her short blond hair. “Right.”

His suntanned hand was tucked casually in his pocket and his shoulders were relaxed. “Sorry again about startling you. I figured you must have heard my old truck pull up. The muffler is shot and makes a heck of a racket.”

He seemed like a nice guy. And she was being overly paranoid. “I was lost in thought. Please come into the studio.”

He chuckled, wiped his feet on the mat and came inside. “No worries. I zone out all the time.”

She held out her hand. “I’m sorry, can you tell me your name again?” She knew the name but wanted to hear him say it first. Security always came first.

His large callused hand enveloped hers. Even white teeth flashed. “The name is Cambia. Dane Cambia.”

Dane had used his real name. Something he hadn’t done with the other leads Lucian had given him. Sloppy. Especially now, as Dane held Kristen Rodale’s hand, he feared Lucian had gotten it wrong again. She looked nothing like Elena Benito.

This woman did not have Elena’s long dark hair, and the bleached-blond hair was a startling surprise. The short cut accentuated high cheekbones, pale skin and large brown, wary eyes.

Kristen wore loose-fitting black yoga pants that skimmed her calves. A snug electric-blue top hugged her full breasts. Like Elena, she wasn’t tall—no more than five-one or-two—but she lacked Elena’s curves. Kristen’s body was lean. Her face was scrubbed clean of the heavy makeup Elena was so fond of and her nails weren’t polished. She looked more like a teenager than a woman in her midtwenties.

Over the last two weeks, Dane had investigated three of the five identity hits Lucian’s computer program had generated. When he’d seen the other women, one glance had told him they had the wrong woman. But to be thorough, he’d hung around each woman for a day, playing out the alias he’d fashioned for himself until Lucian could run the prints.

Now as he stood in the yoga studio, he thought about the time he’d waste today pretending to be a carpenter as he waited for an opportunity to get something with her prints on it. He never took shortcuts and he’d go through the motions, but already his mind was looking ahead to the next woman, in Kansas City, who Lucian had identified as a possible match.