his way. And his way of dealing with things was rarely appreciated at the time by the people he was trying to help.
He wouldn’t regret his adolescence of moving from one city to another, one job to another. He’d been happy leading a solitary life. Maybe his mum and dad had wanted different things for him—like the police force—but it hadn’t been him then, and it wasn’t now. He was a free spirit, impulsive, a decision maker who’d run from his family. Run from the responsibility that hummed through the Forrester household until he couldn’t breathe. Cat thrived on it.
Responsibility was his sister’s middle name. His, once upon a time, had been “freedom.” Until he was forced to come home and face what he’d left behind. Maybe Cat hadn’t appreciated his insistence of putting their mum in rehab after years of her care, compared to his pathetic three weeks, but he’d had to say what he felt regardless. Rare tears burned his eyes and Chris blinked. Never again. He wouldn’t turn his back when he was needed again.
Marching to the chest of drawers, he stuffed his cell phone in his back pocket and headed downstairs. The first question was how the hell was he supposed to find Angela again? He had a funny feeling when Cat ran a check on her, nothing would come up.
CHAPTER SIX
ANGELA GLANCED AT her kitchen clock once again. Morning had broken but with it came no desire to go to the news agents. She closed her eyes. Three cups of coffee and a brisk walk around her garden had done nothing to clear the words of warning circling her brain like damn seagulls around a cliff top. Nor did it help her stop seeing Robert’s face everywhere she looked.
His name and everything he was swirled inside her head, rescarring her heart and making her jump at her own shadow once again. For two years she’d felt safe. Even knowing Robert had been free for a year this coming July, Angela was confident he wouldn’t find her. Why would he have reason to stumble across the tiny and beautiful town of Templeton Cove?
Well, now he had reason. If her picture appeared in the national paper...
Tears stung her eyes and her body shook. Cursing, she slammed her coffee cup into the kitchen sink. The satisfying smash of china against steel soothed rather than agitated her nerves. She wanted to hit something. Hit him. Meet violence with violence. She abhorred such a sentiment, but her choices were running out. She’d followed the law and he was released after serving three pathetic years. Now, after finally starting to believe she might be free of him, might be able to breathe easier, God chose to open the skies at a holiday resort and make it all too easy for Robert to discover her secret haven.
Why? Why here? Why did yet another disaster strike slap-bang in the middle of her new life?
She whirled around, leaving the shards of china where they laid, and rushed out of the kitchen. Snatching the rental car keys from a hook by the door, she strode out into the mid-June heat. In just twenty-four hours, the weather had changed from devastating torrential rain to bright sunshine settled in a crisp blue sky. Not a single cloud marred the purity of it. It would be eerie if it wasn’t so painful.
People were dead, others missing. The flood had ripped through thousands of lives in a matter of hours. When she arrived in the town center, undoubtedly the ripple effect of shock would be written on everyone’s face. Although most of the town escaped the deluge, it was likely everyone knew somebody who’d lost something—if not everything.
She slid behind the wheel and closed her eyes. At least she’d managed to rent a car the evening before so she could keep mobile. It was imperative she had the means to get around the Cove where she was needed. She guessed others wouldn’t be so lucky, managing to get a vehicle this morning when the demand would suddenly be so high. God, she was brooding like a spoiled child.
Gunning the engine, Angela backed out of the driveway. Not only had she come away from the disaster unscathed, but she still had her home intact. A beautiful place to live. Some people had lived in the park for years. People who worked hard for the right to retire in a stunning seaside area, safe in the knowledge their families would like nothing more than to come visit for the holidays.
She’d do everything she could to help salvage at least part of their lives once the police and investigating teams gave the all-clear for the big cleanup. In the meantime, she had to think what she was going to do next as far as Robert was concerned. The first thing she had to do was think like him. Years of abuse had taught her to preempt his every mood, his every thought. There were two choices: run or sit it out and be ready for him when he decided to show.
The appeal of being a lame target waiting for him to strike over the next few weeks held zero appeal—the alternative to leave, even less so. She didn’t want to give up the new life she was beginning to love. She tightened her jaw. The one option she wouldn’t even begin to explore was trusting the police. They’d let her down too many times to be trusted.
The roads into town passed by unseen as plans formed in her mind—each one less and less appealing and quickly discarded. In her heart, she hoped and prayed she wasn’t photographed after all. Could she be that lucky? Would her perfect and quiet little life remain as it was? Or would it be pummeled around and around on Robert’s silent and cruel axis until she threw up from the sheer force of his torment?
There was only one way to find out. Get the morning papers and take it from there. She pulled to a stop outside the news agents’ and got out.
The local paper was piled high on the stand outside and her stomach knotted. The headline screamed from its front page and her feet stuck to the pavement as people brushed past her.
“Disaster Strikes Beautiful Templeton—Lives Lost.”
She willed herself forward and pressed her hand to the nausea swirling like floodwater in her stomach. Drawing in a strengthening breath, she sent up a silent prayer there wouldn’t be a picture of her anywhere within its pages. Surely any journalist worth his salt would focus on the real story. The devastation. The loss. Contemplation of the power of water, the likelihood of a natural disaster. Not her. Not Angela Taylor. She was nobody. Robert had reminded her of that so many times it beat like a mantra in her head.
It was egotistical, stupid and selfish to think for one minute a photographer would zoom in on her, out of the hundreds of survivors. No. It would be fine. Everything would work out. She tilted her chin and lifted a copy of the paper from the rack. The front page showed a full aerial view of the holiday park.
She released her held breath; it was going to be okay. She trembled. Opening the pages was like pulling back the lid on Pandora’s box.
The breath left her lungs as she came face-to-face with her worst nightmare.
Bringing her trembling hand to her mouth, Angela stared at the full-page image. She and Chris stood with their arms wrapped around each other. They stared into the other’s eyes, seemingly oblivious to the devastation and fear all around them.
“Oh, my God.” Angela’s whisper caught in her throat. “Oh, my God.”
Another—her face buried in his chest, his eyes closed as he held her tight. His brow was furrowed with concern, his muscular biceps strained and secure around her. If Robert saw this, he’d surpass anger and move to fury in seconds.
Her mouth drained dry and when someone nudged her as he reached for a paper, Angela stumbled backward on legs of rubber.
The man touched her elbow. “Sorry, I didn’t mean... Hey, are you okay?”
She met his eyes; concern mixed with caution stared back at her. She forced a smile. “Sure. Terrible, isn’t it?”
He frowned. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
He moved past her and disappeared inside the shop. She had to get out of here. An unwelcome, once familiar feeling of claustrophobia threatened and Angela forced a slow, steady breath through pursed lips. She wouldn’t do this. She would not go back. Never back.
She tossed the newspaper back on the stand and spun around. Marching to the rental car, she yanked open the door. Her hand