Page 17 of Nicole's Shelter

“Shh.”

The reporter didn’t accuse her outright, but the implication was there. “While none of the residents were seriously injured, a Ms. Nicole Livingston is missing. Firefighters and arson investigators will do a walk through as soon as the fire is out and the site is safe to determine a cause of the blaze.”

Nicole’s image stayed on the corner of the screen as terrible pictures from the scene played out in an incriminating visual testimony.

“Is there anything viewers can do?” the anchor asked.

“At this time, authorities are asking people to call the hotline. I believe the number is on your screen now, with any information about Livingston’s whereabouts.”

Rick turned off the television. “That changes things.”

Chapter 4

Nicole couldn’t breathe. Worse, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. They knew she was making a run for it and they intended to stop her. How soon until the cabbie or the desk clerk called that hotline and turned her in? She might only have minutes left before the suits pounded on the door, irritated with having to move her into yet another life.

What if the man who’d killed her mother and sister had set this fire too? What if he’d done it to flush her out?

“It’s over,” she moaned, utterly defeated.

Heavy hands landed on her shoulders, gave her a little shake. “Not yet. Stay with me, Nicole.”

“No.” She shoved at him, desperate to do something right in this god forsaken situation. “You have to go now. Get as far away from me as you can.”

“Nicole.” He pulled her close, his strong arms banding around her, chasing away the chill of dread. “Whatever it is, remember?”

His words whispered into her ear, seeped into her soul. She wanted to believe, but it wasn’t fair. “Not this. I—”

He eased back, holding her at arm’s length. “Tell me later. Dress now. We’re out of here in two minutes.”

She found her jeans and coat on the side of the Jacuzzi tub, a bottle of fabric freshener nearby. The smell was a bracing sort of intense clean, and as she dressed she let out a small, hysterical laugh at the idea that it might be enough to distract scent dogs.

“Ready?”

“Almost.” She started to pull her hair back.

“Leave it down. As different as possible from your ID,” he explained.

She tucked the elastic band into her pocket, staring as he strapped a revolver into an ankle holster.

“Do you know anything about guns?”

Nothing good, she thought, shaking her head.

“I have two, but I’ll keep them both if you aren’t prepared.”

“Keep them.” How had she missed that he was armed? They’d been joined at the hip during that jaunt through the store and she hadn’t had a clue.

He motioned her forward, interrupting her reverie. Her purse, camera and a plastic shopping bag were on the bed. “You keep track of that,” he said, pointing. I’ll handle the rest.”

“Right.” She couldn’t seem to find the words to create full sentences. At this point, silence might be the best option anyway.

He hefted his backpack into place, she tucked her camera into her purse and followed suit.

He paused at the door, his eye to the peephole. “Stay close and stay quiet.”

She nodded. It was clear he was committed to this plan of action. Maybe he was just an adrenaline junkie riding from one high to the next.

He took her hand in his, his grip gentle, steadying.

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