mail?
He scrutinized the man. Just because that was what he always did as an agent.
The man’s back was to him so he couldn’t see his face, and the hood of his sweatshirt covered the rest of his head. Average height. Even though the loose gray hoodie camouflaged his upper body, the butt and legs of his jeans revealed he was lean, not stocky. Ben didn’t see any signs of a weapon, only a piece of white paper sticking out of his back pants pocket.
The guy finished reading the labels and started a second pass. Ben frowned. The stranger wasn’t looking for his own box; he was searching for someone else’s. The second round apparently proved unsuccessful, because he slammed his fist into the top row of boxes and kicked a heavy-duty boot into the bottom row.
When he prepared for another assault on the mailboxes, Ben called, “Hey, dude, lighten up.”
The man spun around. Instead of responding, he took off toward the street.
“Shit,” Ben grumbled, flying down the staircase. As he rounded the corner of the building, he instinctively jammed his hand inside his jacket and gripped his pistol.
By the time he reached the front of the complex, the man had disappeared. The squeal of tires snapped his attention to a white vehicle careening around the far corner.
* * *
After work on Wednesday, Amber packed another box. As she set it next to the rented end table, she glanced through the blinds at Ben’s apartment. Dark again. She hadn’t seen or heard from him in two days. Was he out on a date with another woman?
None of my business.
She gave herself a mental shake. Special Agent Alfren had already moved on. And she couldn’t blame him. She’d be moving on soon herself.
She never enjoyed fleeing from Jeremy, but this time, the prospect seemed especially repugnant. Was it because she’d just grown so tired of being hunted? Or was it because of Ben, the first person she’d made a connection with in a long time? She didn’t know, but it didn’t matter.
She flopped onto the couch—which wasn’t hers either. Closing her eyes, she imagined the living room she would design if she could buy her own furnishings. Warm, vibrant colors appealed to her. If she never saw a beige couch and chair again, it would be too soon. The cushions would be loose, not attached to prevent loss or theft. She’d have a half dozen—no, make that a whole dozen—throw pillows in every conceivable color. Lots and lots of drawers in all the tables because she’d finally be able to have lots and lots of stuff. Like normal people. And pictures on the walls. How she’d love to have pictures of her family hanging where she could see them every day. Of course, if Jeremy was out of her life, she’d be able to actually go home to visit her family in person.
Well, none of it would be happening now. No, she’d already picked out her next destination: Phoenix. Her preliminary feelers to both of the surrogate mother clinics there had resulted in positive responses. Not job offers, but definite interest. After a long online search, she’d even picked out her new apartment complex. A huge savings from what she was paying here in Coronado. When she’d seen this unit, the view of the bay, city, and bridge had convinced her to spend a little more. In Phoenix, she could recoup her splurge in a cheaper place.
Maybe she should just finish packing and leave in the morning. Get it over with. Jeremy was getting close again—she could feel it in her gut. She didn’t dare wait too long. Been there, done that. The result was painful—literally.
Calm down. Do it right.
Even though she bounced from place to place, she never had any problem getting a new job for two reasons: her specialized skills and her great references. When hired, she immediately showed the appropriate people the restraining orders against Jeremy, police reports with photographs of what he’d done to her, and his outstanding arrest warrants. Everyone on staff was instructed not to give out
He scrutinized the man. Just because that was what he always did as an agent.
The man’s back was to him so he couldn’t see his face, and the hood of his sweatshirt covered the rest of his head. Average height. Even though the loose gray hoodie camouflaged his upper body, the butt and legs of his jeans revealed he was lean, not stocky. Ben didn’t see any signs of a weapon, only a piece of white paper sticking out of his back pants pocket.
The guy finished reading the labels and started a second pass. Ben frowned. The stranger wasn’t looking for his own box; he was searching for someone else’s. The second round apparently proved unsuccessful, because he slammed his fist into the top row of boxes and kicked a heavy-duty boot into the bottom row.
When he prepared for another assault on the mailboxes, Ben called, “Hey, dude, lighten up.”
The man spun around. Instead of responding, he took off toward the street.
“Shit,” Ben grumbled, flying down the staircase. As he rounded the corner of the building, he instinctively jammed his hand inside his jacket and gripped his pistol.
By the time he reached the front of the complex, the man had disappeared. The squeal of tires snapped his attention to a white vehicle careening around the far corner.
* * *
After work on Wednesday, Amber packed another box. As she set it next to the rented end table, she glanced through the blinds at Ben’s apartment. Dark again. She hadn’t seen or heard from him in two days. Was he out on a date with another woman?
None of my business.
She gave herself a mental shake. Special Agent Alfren had already moved on. And she couldn’t blame him. She’d be moving on soon herself.
She never enjoyed fleeing from Jeremy, but this time, the prospect seemed especially repugnant. Was it because she’d just grown so tired of being hunted? Or was it because of Ben, the first person she’d made a connection with in a long time? She didn’t know, but it didn’t matter.
She flopped onto the couch—which wasn’t hers either. Closing her eyes, she imagined the living room she would design if she could buy her own furnishings. Warm, vibrant colors appealed to her. If she never saw a beige couch and chair again, it would be too soon. The cushions would be loose, not attached to prevent loss or theft. She’d have a half dozen—no, make that a whole dozen—throw pillows in every conceivable color. Lots and lots of drawers in all the tables because she’d finally be able to have lots and lots of stuff. Like normal people. And pictures on the walls. How she’d love to have pictures of her family hanging where she could see them every day. Of course, if Jeremy was out of her life, she’d be able to actually go home to visit her family in person.
Well, none of it would be happening now. No, she’d already picked out her next destination: Phoenix. Her preliminary feelers to both of the surrogate mother clinics there had resulted in positive responses. Not job offers, but definite interest. After a long online search, she’d even picked out her new apartment complex. A huge savings from what she was paying here in Coronado. When she’d seen this unit, the view of the bay, city, and bridge had convinced her to spend a little more. In Phoenix, she could recoup her splurge in a cheaper place.
Maybe she should just finish packing and leave in the morning. Get it over with. Jeremy was getting close again—she could feel it in her gut. She didn’t dare wait too long. Been there, done that. The result was painful—literally.
Calm down. Do it right.
Even though she bounced from place to place, she never had any problem getting a new job for two reasons: her specialized skills and her great references. When hired, she immediately showed the appropriate people the restraining orders against Jeremy, police reports with photographs of what he’d done to her, and his outstanding arrest warrants. Everyone on staff was instructed not to give out
Similar Books
