protective numbness that kept her mind focused and moved slowly up the beach. Had he seen them together? Did he know that she and Taylor were a pair?
If not, she had to keep it that way. Anyone looking for her would be looking for a woman with an eighteen-month-old boy. Not a woman wistfully watching a man with one.
And if heâd seen them together?
Then her walking off alone would at least throw him. Taylor was safe with Scott. Would be safest with him if something happened. She had to go. Separate herself from them. Be a woman on her own, unencumbered, unknown, spending a quiet Saturday alone in Coronado.
A brunette whoâd lost twenty pounds in the past fifteen months wearing store-bought clothes and big plastic sunglasses.
Up the beach a couple of yards was a road access. Tricia took it, not once looking back. She didnât know that man and child, had never seen them before in her life. Leaving them was nothing to her.
God, let me escape before Taylor sees me. Calls out to me. Let me go before Scott noticesâ¦.
She didnât breathe until she made it to the streetâand then almost passed out with dizziness. She walked on. Half a mile. Maybe more. Unhurried, glancing at the flowering bushes, the palm trees lining the road. The resorts in the distance. Maybe she was on vacation. Or perhaps she was there on business.
Maybe her folks had a condo on Coronado Island.
Yeah, that was it. A condo. She could play that role. Had to play a role in her mind if she was to give the appearance of being someone else. A woman on the run looked like a woman on the runâa woman whose body was so filled with fear it hurt her muscles to move.
Tricia was a woman visiting her parentsâ condo. Appearances were everything. They had to be. Without them, she and Taylor wouldâve been dead two years ago.
A car passed. A light-blue Toyota. Going too fast. Probably because a high-school-age boy was driving. He had a young girl in the passenger seat.
No sign of the man. She couldnât be sure he wasnât behind her, though. She didnât hear footsteps. Didnât see shadows.
Pulling her bag over her shoulder while she walked,Tricia took out a tissue, dropping the pack in the gravel. Bending to pick it up, she looked back between her legs. And saw the dress slacks. Heâd stopped, too. Was leaning against a lamppost, lighting up a cigarette. His hair was blond. And too long. He needed a shave. And he should lose about thirty pounds.
Mouth dry, Tricia was sweating beneath the sun as though it were midsummer rather than a balmy April day.
Scott and Taylor would have noticed her missing by now. Scott would be worried. Sheâd have to come up with something damn good to explain this. An urgent need for a bathroom might do it. Guys didnât usually ask questions when a woman needed to take care of personal matters.
The man was still there, facing in her direction.
If she had to, she could always meet up with Scott at the house later. Heâd return there eventually. It would be better, though, if she could get to a phone and call his cell. He always had it with him in case of an emergency at the station. The bathroom excuse would be more credible if she called him.
If she had a chance. She was away from Taylor now. It might be the perfect time to get her. After all, she was the commodity; the baby had been unnecessary baggage.
She walked on. She could feel the man following behind her. Was he merely visiting relatives on the island? Stopping for a smoke because he had the time and nothing better to do? Still, sheâd spent countless hours onCoronado Beach since arriving in San Diego and she hadnât seen many vacationers there in dress slacks and shoes.
None that she could remember.
Maybe she was overreacting. It wouldnât be the first time since this nightmare had consumed what had once been a satisfying life.
And yet, what if she didnât react? What if she grew
If not, she had to keep it that way. Anyone looking for her would be looking for a woman with an eighteen-month-old boy. Not a woman wistfully watching a man with one.
And if heâd seen them together?
Then her walking off alone would at least throw him. Taylor was safe with Scott. Would be safest with him if something happened. She had to go. Separate herself from them. Be a woman on her own, unencumbered, unknown, spending a quiet Saturday alone in Coronado.
A brunette whoâd lost twenty pounds in the past fifteen months wearing store-bought clothes and big plastic sunglasses.
Up the beach a couple of yards was a road access. Tricia took it, not once looking back. She didnât know that man and child, had never seen them before in her life. Leaving them was nothing to her.
God, let me escape before Taylor sees me. Calls out to me. Let me go before Scott noticesâ¦.
She didnât breathe until she made it to the streetâand then almost passed out with dizziness. She walked on. Half a mile. Maybe more. Unhurried, glancing at the flowering bushes, the palm trees lining the road. The resorts in the distance. Maybe she was on vacation. Or perhaps she was there on business.
Maybe her folks had a condo on Coronado Island.
Yeah, that was it. A condo. She could play that role. Had to play a role in her mind if she was to give the appearance of being someone else. A woman on the run looked like a woman on the runâa woman whose body was so filled with fear it hurt her muscles to move.
Tricia was a woman visiting her parentsâ condo. Appearances were everything. They had to be. Without them, she and Taylor wouldâve been dead two years ago.
A car passed. A light-blue Toyota. Going too fast. Probably because a high-school-age boy was driving. He had a young girl in the passenger seat.
No sign of the man. She couldnât be sure he wasnât behind her, though. She didnât hear footsteps. Didnât see shadows.
Pulling her bag over her shoulder while she walked,Tricia took out a tissue, dropping the pack in the gravel. Bending to pick it up, she looked back between her legs. And saw the dress slacks. Heâd stopped, too. Was leaning against a lamppost, lighting up a cigarette. His hair was blond. And too long. He needed a shave. And he should lose about thirty pounds.
Mouth dry, Tricia was sweating beneath the sun as though it were midsummer rather than a balmy April day.
Scott and Taylor would have noticed her missing by now. Scott would be worried. Sheâd have to come up with something damn good to explain this. An urgent need for a bathroom might do it. Guys didnât usually ask questions when a woman needed to take care of personal matters.
The man was still there, facing in her direction.
If she had to, she could always meet up with Scott at the house later. Heâd return there eventually. It would be better, though, if she could get to a phone and call his cell. He always had it with him in case of an emergency at the station. The bathroom excuse would be more credible if she called him.
If she had a chance. She was away from Taylor now. It might be the perfect time to get her. After all, she was the commodity; the baby had been unnecessary baggage.
She walked on. She could feel the man following behind her. Was he merely visiting relatives on the island? Stopping for a smoke because he had the time and nothing better to do? Still, sheâd spent countless hours onCoronado Beach since arriving in San Diego and she hadnât seen many vacationers there in dress slacks and shoes.
None that she could remember.
Maybe she was overreacting. It wouldnât be the first time since this nightmare had consumed what had once been a satisfying life.
And yet, what if she didnât react? What if she grew
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