doesn’t have to. There’s no school tomorrow.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know. One of those teacher in-service days. A kid holiday.”
Or a single parent’s nightmare. What was she supposed to do with her son now? Even her sitter, Nadia, worked days twice a week.
“Bring Aiden with you in the morning,” Ted said. “We never get to see him.”
“I just don’t want him to be bored.” Or seen.
“You kidding? He loves it here. Who wouldn’t?”
Maybe a six-year-old who’d prefer to play outside? “Why do you know about this schedule change and I don’t?”
He held up a sheet of paper. “Local school district calendar. I watch it to know which mornings we’ll be overrun with kids and their parents.”
But that didn’t explain why she hadn’t known. Had she missed something in Aiden’s backpack? She tried to keep on top of that mess, but sometimes she was just too tired. It was easier to curl up with her sleeping boy after she’d carried him down the freezing second-floor walkway from Nadia’s apartment to her own.
“Everything’s ready for the morning, right?” Ted asked.
“The cinnamon rolls are all ready to go in the oven.”
“You made extra, like I asked?”
She nodded, his earlier request now making sense.
“And you’ll be able to come in earlier since Aiden doesn’t have school? Eight maybe?”
Her second nod hurt a little more. Aiden would be grouchy if she got him up early on his day off.
“Good. Then you’d better get home.”
She headed back into the kitchen for her jacket before he changed his mind. She slid it on and pulled up her hood in case it was still raining.
Jamie had been soaked when he’d come in earlier, though the others had been dry. The thought struck her as she stepped out onto the sidewalk, where puddles remained, though the downpour had dwindled.
Why was the police officer on her mind again? Didn’t she have enough on her plate without taking on someone else’s problems? Bigger problems even than that she’d known nothing about her son’s school holiday. Obstacles like caring for a child who deserved a better, safer life than she’d given him, and too many bills with a paycheck that wouldn’t stretch. And the ever-present need to look over her shoulder for a boogeyman with a recognizable face, a booming voice and pain-inflicting hands.
As a familiar tickly sensation scampered up the back of her neck, she splayed her apartment keys between her thumb and first two fingers to face off with a possible attacker.
No one was following her. She knew that. Aiden was safe. They were safe. So why did every drip of leftover rainwater from the gutter echo in her ears? Why did each crunch of her shoes on the concrete throw off sounds as difficult to place as a ventriloquist’s voice? That seemed to come from behind her.
She’d made it only to the corner of the storefront when she gave in and peeked over her shoulder. The sidewalk and even the street were deserted. In the lot between Casey’s and its nearest neighbor, Langston’s Furnishings, only two cars remained. Ted’s and the clunker that Léon used to drive himself, the night cook, Marty, and sometimes her to work. At least she wasn’t the only one who didn’t have a car. She hurried across the parking lot, but as she passed Ted’s car, a pair of headlight beams whipped into the lot, the vehicle they were attached to barely slowing to make the turn. The car swerved into a parking space, its driver cutting the engine.
Sarah froze, a squeal escaping her. She needed to run back inside, yet her feet felt glued in place. Instead, she was forced to watch, an unwilling bystander to her own life. The car door flew open, and the driver leaped out and ran right toward her, something light fluttering beneath the figure’s hooded raincoat.
As the runner’s bare legs came into view, Sarah released the breath she’d been holding. “Marilyn?”
Of course, the waitress would be the one racing in and then sprinting across the parking lot with her apron whipping like a flag behind her. So why couldn’t Sarah stop shaking? Why did she have to assume that every fast-moving car would be him coming for her to finish the job, like he’d always said he would?
Marilyn didn’t even come to a full stop when she reached her. “Sorry I’m late. The babysitter—”
“Ted said it was car trouble.”
“That, too.”
Marilyn’s wry smile suggested there was more to it. Sarah nodded. Single moms had to have each other’s backs since no one else did. With a wave, the woman rounded corner to the entrance.
Sarah continued home on foot. It was safer this way. No license plate for police to trace. No checks on the numbers of a driver’s license that matched an eighty-year-old woman’s profile. A deceased one at that.
It hadn’t been Michael running toward her this time, but one day it would be. Safe? They would never be safe. Even if he didn’t know where they were—or who they were—he would find them. No prison walls would be strong enough to contain that type of hate.
It didn’t matter whether he would be able to convince a parole board that he was a safe risk for release or not. Michael’s network could fan out like a freeway map. Why had she ever thought they would be able to escape him?
She shivered and pulled her jacket tighter as she neared her apartment building.
She wouldn’t allow herself to think any more about a guy who had problems of his own and no time to deal with hers. Her only focus could be on that sweet little boy whose hair smelled of baby shampoo and whose kisses were the most precious gifts she could receive. Without hesitation, she would trade her life for her his.
If she allowed herself to think about any man at all, it would be the one who still stalked her nightmares. The one who’d promised to kill her, and always kept his promises.
Michael Brooks wedged himself between the car door and the frame and tilted his head back to pitch a mouthful of profanity at the bawling Chicago South Side sky. The least the sun could have done was shine on his first day seeing it from outside the prison gates in six years, but instead, it pissed all over him like the rest of the scum responsible for putting him behind bars.
“Would you get in and shut the door?” his driver grumbled from inside the car.
Michael whipped his body into the front seat so fast the other man flinched, his head cracking against the door. For the first time all day, Michael smiled. Then he brushed rainwater off the paper-thin jacket covering his button-down dress shirt and no-name jeans he’d been presented upon his release.
“Good to see you, too.”
He glanced around the interior of the cop’s personal vehicle, a foreign-made SUV with many driver distractions across the dash. He brushed his fingers over buttery leather upholstery.
“Nice ride.” Nicer than the guy deserved.
When Larry didn’t answer, Michael wanted to slug him. He’d been itching for a fight all day, an itch among many that hadn’t been scratched for too long. He tossed his measly bag of possessions into the backseat. He had nothing. That was his wife’s fault. Ex-wife. She was responsible for everything that sucked about his life now. No place to go home to. No feminine heat in his bed. No chance to get to know his son. And most of all, no access to his own sweet nest egg.
She would pay for all of it. When he figured out where the hell she was. He would find her, too. He had to. She held the key to his future in more ways than she knew.
Larry didn’t even look his way as he pulled out into traffic. Maybe he was too scared to risk it. Served him