BRAVE, Episode Three - the Color of Danger
her tote bag and jacket, and dashed to the door. Before Logan could make a move to stop her, she had raced through it and away.

    * * * *

CHAPTER SEVEN

    Logan had snatched a little sleep here and there, between the hours of paperwork and worry. He was exhausted, grainy-eyed and raspy-voiced, but he cried out to Chloe even as he sprang into action.
    Truck keys, house keys, door slammed and locked, and he was into the outer hallway and down the stairs in pursuit.
    At the street he paused, casting wildly about to see where she’d gotten to. No sign of her. How could she possibly have disappeared that quickly? Racing to the parking lot and his truck, he careened along while keeping careful watch everywhere he could.
    He passed the neighborhood park, drove around the block, idled at a light. No Chloe.
    He returned to the restaurant, zipped inside the back door, into the kitchen. No Chloe.
    Obviously she’d planned this getaway for at least a day. She must have somewhere she was prepared to stay until he gave up and stopped looking. He settled himself into the truck cab and used his phone like the computer he hated: calls to the library, which had just opened; to other restaurants; to every hotel/motel in the area.
    It was futile. No Chloe.
    Oh, God. What if the worst had happened? What if she was right, after all, and David had somehow snatched her up during that wild dash away?
    Logan’s blood ran cold. He drew in several deep relaxing breaths, steadied his nerves, and then called the friend he should’ve called at the beginning of this crazy adventure: Nick, his former Marine buddy and current police officer in Ohio, with access to all sorts of private information. Time to ask for the help Chloe had insisted she couldn’t get.

    * * * *

CHAPTER EIGHT

    Chloe sat slouched in one of the hard vinyl seats, supposedly made to conform to any passenger’s body shape, at the American Airline terminal in LaGuardia Airport, while she debated her next step. Her black tote bag was securely zipped shut and slung over one shoulder.
    It was high noon. The occasional squall of a hungry baby, the buzz of conversation, the click-click of heels on the marble floor lulled her. She didn’t attract notice with her dark sunglasses, hair tied up into a tight bun, and nondescript clothing. Chloe was an expert at the fine art of living as a chameleon.
    She could purchase a ticket in cash to anywhere she chose. Which of her false identity papers should she use? She rather liked the name of Patty Morell. And Denver would be a good start.
    Time to say her final goodbye. And, with that thought, she mourned not being able to part with Logan on better terms. He was such a good man, and she wished—no, she longed, with every fiber of her heart and soul—that she might have stayed to see where this relationship could go.
    “Hello, Cam?”
    Outside of Logan’s apartment, four hours earlier, she had hailed a cab, then stopped at a nearby electronics store. There, she’d purchased a throwaway cell phone. An untraceable cell phone. Thank God for modern technology.
    “Yes, it’s me. I’m just checking in with you for a minute, and I wanted to—what? Who did what?”
    “That’s what I said, watching the house,” said Camille, from the noisy street where she’d gone out of her office to buy a hot dog. “Some guy came by here yesterday, looking for you. He actually asked for you. Only he used the name of—um—oh, it was Jessica somebody.”
    Chloe clutched the phone with suddenly icy, nerveless fingers .
    “Chloe? Chloe, are you still there? So, anyway, I think somebody may be watching the house, waiting for you to come back.”
    “I think—” carefully Chloe cleared her throat before continuing, “—I think you may be right, Cam. It’s a good thing—I called…”
    “Sure is, hon. I hope things are going okay for you now, and I hope you still have that safe place to be. Because you’d better stay away for a while, till this is cleared

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