Though Nate had certainly seen through the ruse.
She had to let it all go, she lectured herself as she packed in quart-sized plastic containers of soup. Her decision was made. Her friends’ problems had brought too much attention to this place. The local and state police, the Feds, the CDC, all trying to figure out what Kimball was up to, and what the story was with this virus. And then there was the media frenzy. Some of the intensity had faded, but Shaw’s Crossing was still swarming with law enforcement, and an army of virologists.
She’d been here about four months now. Felt like longer. It was time to bounce. Long past time.
Her bus ticket was bought, and zipped into the inside of her coat, along with her fake IDs and her stash of cash, saved over months of wages and tips. She was packed and ready, and her bus left at seven AM the day after tomorrow, the morning after Demi’s wedding. From Tacoma, she would pick a destination. Whatever bus left soonest. Maine, Florida, Louisiana. It didn’t matter, as long as it was far away.
She piled containers in the box, slapping them angrily, one on top of the other. Leaving Shaw’s Crossing made her feel cheated and miserable. She actually felt at home here, more at home than she’d ever felt. They accepted her and all of her quirks. It was clear that Demi suspected that Elisa’s life story didn’t quite add up, but she had enough troubles of her own to not fixate on it.
And though she was sorry for their troubles, they did make her feel a little bit less of a freak somehow. Like her crazy tale of woe was in good company, even if none of them knew it. The Trask brothers had a bizarre history, and Fi and Demi both had their own checkered pasts . And they were all so busy fending off Kimball, they didn’t have time to ask inconvenient questions.
Which had worked out fine for her—until Nate Murphy came along.
Nate’s intense interest in her dated from the mortifying box-cutter incident. She’d practically severed the guy’s brachial artery with the box-cutter in her apron pocket immediately upon meeting him. Hey, welcome to Shaw’s Crossing.
Eric had called on his brother Anton in Seattle for help after the first attacks on him and Demi a few weeks ago, and Anton had come that same night, bringing his friend Nate for back-up. No one had expected Elisa early that morning. She’d let herself in using the key Demi had given her, to deliver a tray of breakfast pastries. She saw strange men, guns. She’d panicked—and out came the box-cutter.
Luckily, Nate had fast reflexes. The only harm done had been to the sleeve of his leather coat. And to her lacerated nerves and dignity, of course.
It was a hell of a first impression, but Nate wasn’t put off. Far from it. He wore that jacket around with the long slash in the leather all sewn up with a heavy black thread, like a decoration. A perverse badge of honor.
It was getting harder and harder to evade him. He’d reawakened her awareness of herself as a woman, and he’d done it at the worst possible time. She couldn’t be teased or tempted or allured right now. It was distracting and stupid. And dangerous, both for herself and for Nate. She reminded herself of that every time she caught herself straining to hear his voice, or ogling him as he passed by.
When she came out of the kitchen laden with the heavy box of food, Nate strode over and took it from her arms. “I’ll take this out to the car.”
Fiona waited until Nate was outside before moving closer to Elisa. “This is none of my business, and I’m way out of line,” she said. “But, ah, when are you going to put that poor guy out of his misery? You know you want to.”
The heat in Elisa’s face deepened. “You’re right, Fi. It’s none of your business.”
Fiona sighed and made a lip-zipping gesture. “Yeah, yeah. I know. These things are complicated. Not another word about it, I promise. My bad.”
Fiona’s apologetic smile made her feel guilty. Elisa liked Fi, and wished she could confide in her. The woman was tough and smart. So was Demi. And she missed confiding in her women friends. The normalcy of it. Giggling, laughing, joking, commiserating.
But that was a luxury she did not have. Knowing Elisa’s story would put Demi and Fi in danger, even more than they were in already.
God knows, compared to Demi and Fi’s, her own tale of woe had taken on some perspective. The Trask guys, Fi and Demi all faced trouble on much the same scale as she did, and just look at them, handling it. They fought back like demons. They never gave up or ran away. They never cowered or whined or felt sorry for themselves.
It wasn’t a comfort so much as a stern reality check. She wasn’t the only one living under a shadow. These people did it with style. Thriving, even. Seizing love, sex and happiness in the face of fear. The ultimate fuck-you to their enemies.
Which was great for them, but damn. It set the bar freaking high.
It would be selfish and irresponsible to burden them with her past. They were stretched to the limit already. She had to deal with this herself. Feeling lonesome and scared was not a good enough reason to put her friends in more danger.
No matter how Nate coaxed her to confide in him.
He flirted, too. Oh, God, how he flirted. Constantly making his interest clear. He was classy about it, of course. Understated. Gallant. Relentless. Delicious.
It was so hard to resist that deep, magnetic pull. She felt it right now, deep inside her body, and he’d barely said a word.
It was like gravity. Constant and all-encompassing.
Nate came back inside, smiled at her, and gave Fiona a questioning look. “Shall I run you back home?”
The bell over the door jingled again and kept jingling as a people filed inside.
“I’m sorry, we’re closed,” Elisa called out. “Special event. We’ll be back in two weeks.”
“Oh, we’re not here to eat!” A diminutive, heavily made-up blonde with big hair turned her blinding smile on Fiona. “We’re here to talk to her!”
A guy with a video camera lifted it up, just as Elisa recognized them, with a stab of dismay. It was one of the tabloid e-zine crews. They still showed up from time to time, following the news blitz about Fiona and Anton’s near-death experience. The first big flush of media interest had passed, thank God, but the smaller outfits popped up regularly, fishing for lurid tidbits of follow-up.
“This is Fiona Garrett,” sang out the blonde, holding out a big microphone toward Fiona. “Ms. Garrett, would you like to tell our viewers more about growing up in that cult at GodsAcre? Is it true that you were forced into marriage when you were just a child? How long were you married? Did you escape?”
“The café is closed!” Elisa insisted. “Please leave. Right now.”
The cameraman’s lens swung toward her, as did the blonde’s microphone. Ice cold panic rushed through her, as if the cameraman had put a gun to her head.
2
“Would you like to comment?” the blonde asked. “Were you part of the cult, too?”
Elisa’s blood pressure dropped, and her stomach flopped. She spun around and headed for the kitchen. People tried to talk to her, but she brushed past them, speeding through the back room and out onto the concrete steps that led down to the alley, gasping for air. Her vision had dimmed. Her chest was constricting. Her heart raced frantically.