Behind Closed Doors (Rochester Trilogy 3.50)

My real go-bag. Not the one I tried to shove my life into back in my bedroom. I don’t know what I was thinking. Clothes? Keepsakes? No one needs those things to stay alive. You need a bit of cash and an ID. Everything else can be replaced. Even the ID, if you try hard enough.

God, it’s exhausting. Being on the run. Hiding. Trying to build a life that’s real enough to keep a roof over your head and fake enough that you never get caught.

I used to have a bigger bag packed up, just in case. Eben Cape made me lax. Lax enough to trust a hitman. And now I’m paying the price.

Walking away from everything—that’s the price. It feels heavy. My stomach churns at the thought of the empty inn and the unreturned scrapbooks and the friends I’ve made. Emily will be worried. There’s a good chance I’ll never be able to tell her that I’m okay. I’ll never talk to her again. If I can make it to tomorrow in one piece, I’ll never see Eben Cape again.

I start the motor, untie the boat, and haul the ropes in with me. It’s so damn loud. My only hope is that Sam doesn’t realize I’ve gone. He was on the other side of the inn, not facing the water. If he hears this—

It’ll be too late. He’s a strong man, but he can’t run as fast as a speedboat.

I steer myself away from the shore. Cold water stings my cheeks. I miss Sam. I miss the heat of the fire he made for me. I miss the safety of his body.

The fake safety of his body. That was never real. He was never here to keep me safe. He was only here to invade my life and find evidence.

I’ve had nightmares for years. They always involved the men who killed my father coming to find me. In my dreams, their faces were never clear. I knew them by their dark clothes and their rough hands. I never imagined it would be Sam. But then—I recognized him, didn’t I? I knew when he walked in the front door of the inn that he’d be a danger to me. What I didn’t expect is that he would make me feel so good. That having him with me would bring me back to life.

It’s humiliating. It was easy for him to get under my skin. I’ve been so starved for contact with a man that I fell for his lies. I can’t shake the feeling that there was some truth there, too. That’s what makes it so painful. He meant what he said. Which things, though? It’s impossible to say. Maybe he was lying about hating his job. Maybe he didn’t actually want to eat a BLT. Nothing is out of the question.

His body didn’t lie. He couldn’t fake that. It’s so wrong to remember it. So wrong to keep finding ways that he told the truth. But I felt it when we were together in bed. I felt his need and his hunger and his relief. That couldn’t have been a lie.

What does it mean?

Anything?

My heart twists. I just don’t want to believe it was all for nothing, even if that’s what all the evidence says. What I felt wasn’t nothing. What he felt wasn’t nothing.

Thinking about him isn’t going to help me now, though. My emotions have to be second to staying alive. I need to concentrate on the water. The moon is out, but otherwise it’s dark. Much too late to be boating. It feels too late to be running for my life. This should have happened earlier. I resent that it took so long. I had so much time to build the inn and make friends and get comfortable. If the CIA wanted me, they should have killed me before I did all of that.

Another motor hums over the water. I push my hair out of my face and turn my head, keeping one hand on the wheel.

It’s back behind me. Not very far. A man dressed in black is driving it. I can’t see much of him, but for a second I think it’s Sam. My heart skips a beat. That’s how Sam looked when he first showed up at the inn. He looked dangerous. A little rough. If he came for me, then maybe I’ll stop running. It would be better to be on the run with someone else. I don’t want to be alone.

I’m so tired of being alone. So tired of everyone leaving at the end of the weekend. My hand moves on the wheel, turning it just a little so I can get a clearer view of the other boat while I skim the water.

A gust of wind catches in the man’s hood and blows it back from his face.