Running from the past, p.1
Running From the Past, page 1
Running from the Past
Katie Reus
Running from the Past
Author’s Edition
Copyright © 2008, 2014 by Katie Reus
First published January 2008
Reissue Copyright 2014
Cover art and design by Sweet ‘N Spicy Designs
Digital Formatting by Author E.M.S.
* * *
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.
Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book. This purchase allows you one legal copy for your own personal reading enjoyment on your personal computer or device. You do not have the right to resell, distribute, print or transfer this book, in whole or in part, to anyone, in any format, via methods either currently known or yet to be invented, or upload this book to a file sharing program. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
ISBN: 9780996087469
Chapter 1
Emma Garcia gripped the steering wheel of the stolen pickup truck she wished she wasn’t driving. In the entirety of her twenty six years, she hadn’t taken as much as a piece of gum without paying for it. Until today.
Today.
Oh how she wished she could go back and pretend today hadn’t happened. Just go about her daily life and pretend…no, she couldn’t. Not if she wanted to be able to look at herself in the mirror every morning. Why even pretend she could? She’d already had to pull over twice to puke.
After four and half hours on the road she hadn’t dared go over the speed limit by more than two miles. She couldn’t afford to get pulled over for something so stupid. Not when she’d come so far.
Her cell phone rang and she jumped, swerving slightly into the left lane. A soccer mom driving an SUV gave her the finger. Classy.
The harsh blare of the phone invaded the quiet cabin of the dingy truck. She hadn’t even realized that the radio was off until now. One look at the name displayed on the screen and bile involuntarily rose in her throat. Ricardo.
Before she could change her mind she slid her finger across the screen to answer, reminding herself to act natural. “Hello.” To her own ears she sounded calm, although she couldn’t imagine how. Not when her heart beat an erratic tattoo against her ribcage and she gripped the steering wheel so tightly she’d left claw marks in the vinyl.
“Where are you?” he demanded. Always with the demands because he couldn’t ever just talk to her like a normal person.
She gritted her teeth despite the fear bubbling up inside of her at just hearing his icy voice. “Out shopping.” That was a safe lie.
“When will you be home?”
She scanned the rearview mirror in a blind panic. It wasn’t likely he knew she’d left Miami, but her paranoia ran bone deep. After what she’d witnessed, she had a reason to be wary. “In a couple hours. I’m getting a pedicure and manicure later.”
He was silent, which wasn’t unusual, but today that could mean anything. Finally he spoke and she wasn’t prepared for the question. “Why is your car still here?”
She inwardly cringed. Shit, shit, shit! Her brand new SLR McLaren Roadster still sat in the four car garage so she blurted the first thing that popped into her mind. “Amber picked me up. We’re having a girl’s day.”
“Hmm. Amber called the house not ten minutes ago looking for you. She said she tried your cell phone but couldn’t get through.”
Emma swallowed hard. Phone service on I-75 was sporadic at best. She turned on her blinker and took the next exit. She couldn’t drive and have this conversation at the same time. Better to go on the offensive. “Why do you even care where I am? I don’t ask you questions about your social life or extracurricular activities.” She didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm in her voice.
He snorted and she could just picture him standing with his hands on his hips, overlooking the Atlantic Ocean from the three story balcony of his palatial Mediterranean style home. Thinking he was God. “I don’t give a shit what you’re doing or who you’re doing it with. I just don’t want you lying to me. We have a deal.”
“Correction. We had a deal. Now that my mom is dead, you have nothing to hold over me.”
He sighed and though miles separated them, she could visualize his cold blue eyes boring into her, daring her to defy him. He’d no doubt change tactics and try to appease her. Like always. Only this time it wouldn’t work. “Come on Emma, there’s a dinner tonight at the—”
“I don’t care what dinner you have planned or how important it is, I’m not going. We’re through. Do you understand?” Her voice shook. The only reason she felt safe talking to him this was because she didn’t plan on seeing him again.
There was a long pause in which she wondered where that burst of defiance had come from. “I thought you were happy with our arrangement. I buy you whatever you want and all I ask in return is that you accompany me to public outings. I even support that stupid homeless shelter you volunteer at.” His voice was filled with derision.
She ground her teeth so hard she was surprised she didn’t chip a tooth. If he’d thought her happy, then he was more delusional than she thought. “You threatened my mother if I didn’t agree to your demands! I just want a normal life, why can’t you find someone else for your pathetic charade?”
He let out a low chuckle, completely without mirth. “Maybe you’re not hearing me. You belong to me. I was going to announce tonight that we will marry in a year. The time has come. If I don’t propose soon, people will begin to wonder why I give you so much freedom.”
She steered the truck into a crowded Publix parking lot, and ignored the safe feeling she got when surrounded by people, even though two days ago she wouldn’t have thought twice about sitting alone in a parked car. Now she knew better.
Something about his condescending tone rattled and for the first time in years, actually annoyed her. Maybe it was the horror she’d witnessed that morning, or maybe it was eight years of dealing with his chauvinistic, pompous, ‘the world owes me something’ attitude. She’d heard the rumors, but hadn’t truly believed them until now. There was no hiding the disgust in her voice. “If you think I’m going to voluntarily marry you, you’re out of your freaking mind. Just leave me alone and I won’t tell anyone your secret.”
The secret she referred to wasn’t his profession. He barely tried to hide that. No, this was something he kept from the world.
He ignored her outburst and promise of silence, as if she hadn’t spoken at all. “Your mother died months ago. Why are you doing this now? I haven’t even seen you in a month…” Ricardo abruptly stopped and her stomach roiled violently.
She began to tremble. He knew. She didn’t know how, but he did.
Neither spoke for several moments until finally he broke into her thoughts. “Tell me what you saw Emma.”
The phone slipped in her sweaty palm, but she managed to keep it against her ear. “Nothing.” The word came out a whisper.
She heard him rummaging with something in the background. “Is that why half your clothes and all your jewelry are gone?”
Emma closed her eyes, massaged her temple with her free hand, and ended the call. Her next move was to turn it completely off and take out the battery. Ricardo had a long arm, and she knew people could be tracked using the GPS in cell phones. That was the same reason she hadn’t taken the new Mercedes he’d bought her as an early Christmas gift. That would have been like putting out a homing beacon for him.
She glanced in the rearview mirror and blanched at her reflection. She had no makeup on, and the dark half-moons under her eyes gave her a haunted look. As she brushed a strand of her long blond hair back, an idea struck her. She didn’t know where she was going, but she knew she needed to change her appearance. And fast.
Ricardo had insisted she keep her hair platinum blond so that would be the first thing to go. She was a natural brunette so changing it would be easy enough. She had close to one thousand dollars in her purse, not including all her jewelry which was worth at least thirty times that, but the money wouldn’t last her long and she couldn’t risk pawning the jewelry just yet. That was for emergencies only.
“Okay, all I need to do is reinvent myself, find a place to hide, and get a job. Should be easy enough.” She said the words aloud in a pathetic attempt to convince herself.
Nothing about this was going to be easy. Not when she had no clue where she was headed, or what to do with the information in her head. She couldn’t go to the police in Miami. Even if they put her in protective custody, she wouldn’t last two days, probably even less. On that, she’d stake her life. The only person she could trust right now, was herself.
Chapter 2
Caleb Ryder took off his Stetson and wiped the sweat and grime from his brow. He breathed in the crisp country air, when a deep, rumbling sound interrupted his walk from the horse stables to his house. Lifting his hand to block the sun, he looked to the west to see a dusty, beat-up truck inching down the driveway, shooting out white smoke and kicking up dirt every few feet.
He glanced at his watch out of habit, even though he knew it was a little after five. If this was another traveling salesman, he didn’t have the time. Normally he didn’t quit work until at least six, sometimes seven but since Rachel, his full time housekeeper, had up and gotten married on him, he had no one to prepare meals for his men. Almost four weeks had passed and not one single person had answered his ad, so he’d been stuck cooking.
The truck careened through the main gate, sputtered once more and jerked to a halt. Before he could prepare a mental “get lost” speech, a petite, dark-haired woman with impossibly full lips stepped out of the truck. For a moment, he forgot to breathe. She was his walking, breathing, living fantasy. She pushed her sunglasses back to reveal dark, stunning eyes. Eyes a man could lose himself forever in. Shit, where had that thought come from?
Despite her simple clothes, everything about her was graceful, stunning even. Her long, brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail and though she wore a clingy turtleneck and jeans, he’d bet anything her outfit, including the sunglasses, cost more than the truck she drove.
Expensive. It was the one word he could think of to describe her. Hell, close up, she even smelled expensive. Something indefinable and erotic teased his nose. Flowery, but not overwhelming. Just enough to make him want more. She must be lost. It was the only explanation.
“Hello, I’m Emma G-Cole.” She coughed and half-smiled as she held out a delicate hand.
It took him a moment to comprehend what she wanted. “Um, yeah, hello,” he grunted and grabbed her small hand in his, then wanted to kick himself. He was nasty, dirty and he smelled like a horse. Literally.
She faltered a bit but was polite enough not to wipe off her hand. “I’m here about the job.”
When he didn’t respond, she continued and he didn’t miss the uncertainty in her voice. “For the cook?”
Was this some kind of joke? She wanted to cook for him and fifteen of his men? Cowhands and horse trainers? Why would a woman who could easily be a face model want to work in Lake City, Florida, the middle of nowhere? Okay, maybe nowhere was a bit of a stretch but with a population of a little more than ten thousand, it wasn’t an overly active city and he wasn’t even in the city limits.
She shifted her feet and her toothpaste-commercial smile fell. Shit, he still hadn’t given her an answer and he’d been staring a lot harder than was socially acceptable. He cleared his throat but didn’t break her gaze. “Yes ma’am, the position’s still open. I should warn you that it doesn’t pay much but room and board are covered. You’d be in charge of cooking breakfast and dinner for at least fifteen men, five days a week. On weekends, they fend for themselves. You’d also be responsible for cleaning the main house.” He paused and let his eyes trail to her hands. Fine-boned, slim hands that looked like they hadn’t seen a day of hard labor.
She must have noticed his appraisal because she clasped her hands together and clenched them so tightly her olive skin turned white.
“I come from a big Cuban family so I’m used to cooking for large numbers and I have no problem cleaning. As long as you’re not an unusual pig, I don’t foresee any difficulty,” she said in a tone that suggested she was used to bossing people around.
As long as he wasn’t a pig? Oh yeah, she was definitely a princess. And a bossy one at that.
He let out a bark of laughter. Normally he’d do a more extensive interview but what choice did he have? It wasn’t as if people were lining up for the position and he was afraid his men would mutiny if they had to suffer through another night of his cooking. “All right, I’ll have to do a background check, show you the kitchen to see if you think you can handle it, then—”
“No.” She crossed her arms over her chest and set her jaw.
“Uh, no what? You don’t want to see the kitchen?”
“No background checks. I’m not giving you my social security number.”
He stood there quietly, watching her, trying to figure out what was going on in that pretty head. Desperation and defiance were an odd mix but the emotions played across her upturned face in equal measures. Caleb knew he should just tell her to turn around and leave but something in her deep brown eyes called to his protective nature. Something primitive and unfamiliar inside him stirred. “Why?”
She swallowed but instead of turning and running as expected, she answered. “I just broke off an engagement with someone and my family is less than thrilled with me. I need space and I need to make it on my own without my family butting in.”
After twelve years as a Marine Corps scout sniper, he was better than most at reading people’s faces. If there was one thing he knew, it was if someone wasn’t being straight with him. Her story was good and she obviously thought quickly on her feet but it was a lie. He’d let it slide. For now. “Then why can’t I do a background check?”
“If you run my number, my family will find me.”
“How?”
Her face paled and something flared in her eyes. Something he’d seen on the battlefield more times than he could count. Fear. Real, unabashed, almost tangible terror. “They just would. Trust me,” she muttered and shifted her feet again.
He didn’t respond, forcing her to break the silence. “I know you haven’t had any responses to your ad…”
“How the fu—how do you know that?” he demanded.
A pinkish tinge of color ran across her high, exotic cheekbones. “Alice Delaney told me you were looking for someone and she also said you were the worst cook south of the Mason-Dixon line. So I know you need someone badly and I need a job. Maybe we can strike a deal. I cook for a week and if you’re not satisfied, I leave. You don’t even have to pay me.”
Her mouth snapped shut and those damn expressive eyes widened expectantly, luring him in. Oh she was trouble all right. No doubt about it.
Caleb was going to tell her to leave. It was on the tip of his tongue. How could he hire someone without any references? And Alice, the owner of Delaney’s Bed and Breakfast, didn’t exactly count. She was close to a hundred and trusted everyone.
All his experience told him this would pan out badly—because this woman was trouble—but he wasn’t thinking with his head. No, he was thinking with a much lower part of his anatomy. The part that wondered what was underneath that formfitting sweater. Her breasts were small, just like the rest of her but he’d bet anything she had perfect, pink nipples. Perfect for sucking and kissing. “When can you start?”
Confusion flitted across her features, as if she’d expected him to tell her to leave but it was quickly replaced by a blinding, megawatt smile. “Tonight if you want. If you haven’t already started dinner, I can do it.”
“Don’t you need to go back and get your stuff from Alice’s?”
She shook her head. “No. Everything I own is in the truck. If you weren’t hiring, I was going to keep moving north.”
The thought of her driving along the highway at night, by herself, caused that stupid protective urge to jump in his gut again. “Where are your bags?”
“In the back but I can get…”
He didn’t let her finish. He opened the back door and pulled out two large Louis Vuitton bags and he very much doubted they were fakes.
“I said I can—”
Ignoring the sweet scent teasing his nose and her protestations, he shut the door and turned to face her. “Do you know where you’re going?”
“Well, no,” she faltered.
“I do.” He turned on his heel and led her up to the main house.
He stalked down the gravel driveway, through the two-car garage attached to the kitchen, slung open the side door and waited for her to enter. As she passed, she glanced at him and for the first time he saw a trace of unease. Good. The more he thought about her situation, or what she’d said of it, the more pissed he got. She’d practically announced that no one except Alice knew she was at the ranch. For all she knew, he could be dangerous.
Which he was. But not to her. Never to her.
But she didn’t know that. What if she’d trusted the wrong person and not him? The thought caused a strange squeezing sensation in his lungs. That stupid protective urge was back.
