Page 10 of Freeing Ruby

I pick up the jar of pizza sauce and try to open it, but the lid won’t budge.

Miguel holds out his hand. As I study his palm and long fingers, I feel a shiver ripple down my spine. I shake myself mentally as I hand him the jar. He pops the lid off effortlessly and hands it back to me.

“Thanks,” I say.

“No problem. I really don’t mean to pry, but…”

Here they come—the difficult questions.

“Would you mind telling me why?”

“Why what?” I ask. “You mean, why don’t I leave my apartment? Or why have I shut myself off from the rest of the world?”

Miguel nods, then stands there leaning against the counter, patiently waiting.

Chapter 5

Ruby

I open a bottle of chilled sparkling water and take a long sip in an effort to buy myself some time. Now we’re getting to the stuff I don’t want to talk about. The stuff that brings back horrific memories that still haunt me.

When I glance up at him, I’m struck by the depth of compassion I see in his dark eyes. He knows it hurts me to talk about this, and he feels bad for asking.

The oven timer goes off, so I pull the pizza crust out of the oven and start spreading the sauce. “The world is a cruel and dangerous place.”

“It certainly can be,” he says. He sighs heavily. “Ruby, I’m really sorry about your mother. Edward told me how she died.”

My throat tightens, and I swallow against a painful lump. For a moment, I don’t speak. I can’t. I don’t want to think about what happened to her, let alone talk about it. Tears prick my eyes, and I blink against the pain.

“I can’t imagine how horrible it must have been for you,” he says. “You were so young.”

“I was eight.”

“Your godfather told me you witnessed her death.”

Feeling sick, I nod. “He shot her right in front of me. I was sitting in the back seat of the car, already buckled into my seat. She was in the process of getting in the driver’s seat when he grabbed her and pulled her out. When she started to fight back, he shot her.” I shudder at the memory. “He didn’t even hesitate.”

When I don’t say anything more, he fills in the rest for me. “The assailant took off in the car with you in the backseat?”

“Yes. After driving around for hours, he finally let me out at a shopping center. I think he panicked. I don’t think he intended to kidnap me. He kept muttering to himself, over and over, about what he was going to do now. Nothing he said made any sense. He was probably on something.”

Miguel’s eyes soften. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”

“I wasn’t hurt physically, no. But emotionally he took everything from me.” I meet his penetrating gaze for a split second before looking away. I head to the fridge to retrieve fresh basil leaves and mozzarella.

While I’m putting on the last of the toppings, he asks, “Who else do you interact with, besides your father, Edward, and your neighbor Darren? Anyone else?”

“No, not really.”

“I’ll need to pay him a visit.”

“Who?” I ask.

“Darren.”

That’s a surprise. “Why?”

“He lives next door to you, and he interacts with you more than anyone else does. That automatically makes him a suspect in my book. At the very least, I have to rule him out.”

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