Page 32 of Preying Heart
It’s not ideal, but it’ll give me a chance to choose where I can hide the duration of my pregnancy. “And they’ll let me live at the shelter until I find work?”
“They’ll take good care of you,” she assures me. “Come. I’m headed to town and can drop you off.”
It feels scary to step out on my own, but I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. While Heath helped me get away from the gray suits, I don’t know his true agenda. He told me he’s one of the good guys, but there’s no reason for him to tell me otherwise—especially if he’s setting me up.
At least I still have my purse, wallet, and both my real ID and fake ID. I count the few measly bucks I have. “I’m not sure how I can pay you for the office visit.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “You needed the help.”
“Can you lend me a tiny bit of money?” My face burns with shame at having to beg. “To fill the prescription and buy a burner phone.”
“I have the pills here, and I can spare you a twenty. However, if you give your testimony at the church on how you chose life over abortion, they might give you a love offering.” She takes a bottle of pills out of her cabinet and hands it to me. “They’re good folk down at Divine Baptist.”
Like a little lamb, I hobble after Dr. Cole to the clinic exit. My blistered feet are still sore, and the borrowed sneakers pinch. I’m in no condition to run away from anyone, least of all Heath. He’s not back, so I get into Dr. Cole’s clunker car and slide down the seat to hide. I do wonder why she has no other customers and why she is bent on helping me get away from Heath. She must know something I don’t.
She drives me over the dry river bed and onto the asphalt road full of potholes and cracks. The trees loom ominously overhead, darkening the sky, and I get the sense she believes she’s saving me from Heath. Unless she, too, has an offer to turn me over for a million dollars.
How do I know she’s taking me to the women’s shelter?
Why am I surrounded by all these devils I don’t know?
And who the heck is going around offering a bounty on me fit for a queen?
It’s not Gavin’s style. He’s more likely to contact me and coerce me to return on my own free will. Or send his handymen to do the dirty work.
Heath
The letter has me unsettled and so are the stories of the missing women. I decide to swing by the church and see if the assistant pastor who’s in charge of the women’s shelter has heard anything. If my contact is really going around offering a million-dollar bounty to every Tom, Dick, and Harry in the Northwest, then Remi is in more danger than she believes.
I greet Jason McKay, the father of two young children, on the church lawn. He shuts off the lawn mower and wipes his forehead with a handkerchief and tucks it back into his button-down shirt pocket.
“Mr. Summer, hot day, isn’t it?” he greets me.
“Yep. I was in town picking up some supplies. How are the food bank and the women’s shelter doing? Is there anything you need?”
“Now that you mention it, one of the window air conditioners broke at the shelter. Tried to get it repaired several times, but it just shuts off—always at the hottest time.” He leads the way to the shelter building to show me.
“Heard anything about the missing hikers?” I notice the temperature inside the shelter is only slightly lower than outside. About ten women are sitting in the common room in front of the television with the fan turned to full blast.
“Nothing. Although there’s a missing woman up in Washington State that’s getting a lot of social media attention.”
Spikes of adrenaline prick my skin, but I play it cool. “Why’s that? Is she famous?”
“Sort of.” Josh steps into the office and wakes his computer. “Daughter of billionaires. It’s catching a lot of attention. There’s a ten-thousand-dollar reward.”
Remi’s picture—one that looks more recent than the glamour shot—is plastered on the screen.
“Only ten thousand when her parents are billionaires?”
“I know, right?” Josh says. “They didn’t know she was missing until she failed to show up for brunch this morning. Went to her apartment and saw nothing amiss. Twenty-four hours passed since the mother spoke to her, and her cell phone went offline going south on Interstate 5. They set up a tip line and got a bunch of leads already.”
“She probably went off with a boyfriend they don’t approve of.” I chuckle and shake my head. “Good-looking gal.”
“I’m married, so I’m not commenting,” Josh says. “A posh woman like that is unlikely to show up around here. If they up the reward to a hundred thou, I’d go crawling over anthills to find her.”
“I’d rather look for people who are truly in danger. Wonder if this is a publicity stunt for their human trafficking rescue foundation.” I point to the screen where they show a picture of Stan and Deana Greasley at a press conference with text superimposed on the image. “They head Operation Persephone.”
Josh shakes his head. “Tristan, this is way too cynical, even coming from you. They look genuinely worried. Whether the young lady is wealthy or not, she could still be a victim. We ought to pray for her safety.”
