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He wanted the truth, but how could she tell him about that awful night?
“Talk to me, Lydia.” The warmth in Matt’s voice touched her. She gazed into his eyes and saw something she hadn’t seen before-compassion, concern, empathy. “What happened in Atlanta?”
“There…there was a fire.” Whether it was the late hour or the haunting memory, the words slipped out before she realized. Her palms grew damp. “I got Tyler outside and went back for Sonny…but there was no hope.”
Matt reached out and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She dropped her head onto his chest and let the tears fall. She cried for her husband who had died, for her son exposed to too much pain and for a way of life that had been introduced to an unending fear.
DEBBY GIUSTI
is a medical technologist who loves working with test tubes and petri dishes almost as much as she loves to write. Growing up as an army brat, Debby met and married her husband—then a captain in the army—at Fort Knox, Kentucky. Together they traveled throughout the world, raised three wonderful army brats of their own and now see the military tradition carried on in their son, who’s also in the army. Always busy with church, school and community activities, Debby knew it was time to settle down and write her first book when she and her family moved to Atlanta, Georgia. Despite occasional moments of wanderlust, Debby spends most of her time writing inspirational romantic suspense for Steeple Hill.
Debby wants to hear from her readers. Contact her c/o Steeple Hill, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279. Visit her Web site at www.debbygiusti.com and e-mail her at [email protected].
Nowhere to Hide
Debby Giusti
The Lord is a refuge for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble. Those who know YOUR name will trust in YOU, for YOU, Lord, have never forsaken those who seek YOU.
—Psalms 9:9–10
To my wonderful husband, Tony
For your love, support and encouragement. You’ve always believed in me. Thank you, honey.
To Elizabeth, Joseph and Mary
God blessed me abundantly with the gift of each of you. No mother could be more proud of her children.
To Sharon Yanish, Dianna Love Snell,
Darlene Buchholz and Annie Oortman Dear friends and outstanding critique partners
To Georgia Romance Writers
Especially Mae Nunn, Jennifer LaBrecque, Doreen Graham, Anna DeStefano, Rita Herron, Stephanie Bond, Karen White, Wendy Wax, Nancy Knight and Carmen Green
To Love Inspired authors
Margaret Daley and Lenora Worth
To my editor, Krista Stroever
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
ONE
“Not my baby!”
In a split second, Lydia Sloan saw everything unfold—the black Mercedes parked in the deserted school yard, the tinted window partially lowered, her six-year-old son’s hesitation before he stepped toward the stranger’s car.
Fear shoved her heart into her throat.
She swerved to the curb, clawed at the door of her SUV and leaped into the late-afternoon storm. The wind pulled at her hair and rain slapped against her face as the buzzer on the dashboard blared a warning she’d left her key in the ignition. All she cared about was the alarm going off in her head.
Someone was trying to kidnap her son.
“Tyler!” she screamed as she ran toward him.
Her feet splashed through puddles. Water splattered her legs. She slipped, caught herself, then continued on, desperate to reach her son.
Her lungs burned like fire. If anything happened to Tyler, she would never breathe again. Over and over, she cried his name, but the storm drowned out her words.
Her son moved closer to the Mercedes.
Lydia surged forward, flailing her arms. “Tyler! No! Stay away from the car!”
He was oblivious to the warning.
“God, help me.” She cried.
Lightning ripped through the sky. Hit its mark. Thunder exploded behind her.
Tyler jumped at the sound. He turned, saw her and stepped away from the car. The door opened. A hand reached out to grab him. Fingers hooked his book bag.
He jerked free.
“Run, Tyler!”
A moment later, he was in her arms. His small fingers dug into her neck. She hugged him tight, both of them crying as they clung to one another.
The door of the Mercedes slammed shut. The sedan sped out of sight.
Lydia’s heart pounded against her chest. Her breath came in ragged gulps as she struggled to control the panic threatening to overpower her. Falling to her knees, she ignored the pouring rain, thinking only about the softness of the body pressed against her. She rubbed her hands over Tyler’s shoulders and down his back, wanting to touch every inch of him. She raked her fingers through his wet hair, pulled his head back to stare into his troubled blue eyes and then drew his trembling body even deeper into her embrace.
It had been seven months since her husband’s death and she had tried to pretend everything would get better. But it hadn’t. The pinpricks of fear that randomly tickled her neck weren’t her imagination. The footprints in the mud behind the apartment had been real. Someone had been watching…and waiting.
Why had the police chosen today to reopen the questioning about Sonny’s death? They had grilled her for hours until she demanded to be released to pick up her son from school. But her timing was off. Friday-afternoon traffic and she’d almost arrived too late.
Tyler looked at her, his eyes swollen with tears, his blond hair plastered against his round face. “He said he was a friend of Dad’s.”
Lightning slashed through the sky and thunder rolled across the empty school yard.
“It’s okay, honey,” she said, hoping her voice belied the terror that had taken hold of her.
A black Mercedes had tried to run Sonny off the road just days before his death. Now, someone