She twisted from side to side, seeking to break free.
“Stop it, I said.” His breath smelled of cigarettes.
She stilled, catching her breath and trying to come up with her next move. She had to get away from this man. “I’m not going back to California.”
Don chuckled. “No, you’re not.” His voice was sinister. “You know what Max liked about you? That you had no family. No one to notice or care that you were gone.”
He let go of her wrists. She crab-walked backward. He lunged at her, wrapping his hands around her neck. Fear shot through her. She scratched and pulled at his wrists, but he pressed harder. She struggled for air as she clawed at his forearms and then tried to pry his fingers off. She saw spots before her eyes. The air left her lungs.
Up the hill, headlights cut a swath of illumination across the park. The car came to a stop and laughing teenage voices filled the still night air.
The thug loosened his grip on Clarissa’s neck. She gasped for air. The teenagers were headed toward them. One of them shouted, “Hey, what’s going on there?”
Don let go of her neck altogether. She flipped over and took off running. She could hear the thug talking to the teens, telling lies, no doubt. She headed down the hill toward the library. It was closed, but the building might offer a nook or cranny where she could hide.
Max’s henchman wasn’t going to give up, but he wouldn’t try anything as long as she was within screaming range of the teenagers. She’d never in her life been so glad for teenagers ignoring park curfew rules.
She slipped into a dark alcove in the library exterior wall, pressing hard against it. He wouldn’t see her here. Moments later, she heard his footsteps on the concrete walk. The noise faded slowly. Her fingers touched her neck. Warm tears formed.
She squeezed her eyes shut. She wouldn’t give in to crying. She was a fighter, a survivor. She would get out of this alive. Clarissa squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She waited at least ten more minutes before stepping out of the shadows and walking toward the lights of downtown.
She stayed alert, looking from side to side and listening for footsteps. Of course, Don would return to the street where he’d parked. Still, the Black Bear Inn seemed like her best option. Staying on the street looking for a hotel only increased the odds of him finding her again. Somehow she’d managed to hold on to her purse, all she had in the world. She could afford to get a room for the night.
She walked one block past Main Street and then circled back to the inn until she found a side door. Pausing outside, she straightened her clothes, buttoned her blazer and ran her fingers through her hair.
The lobby held a warm glow. She walked toward the check-in desk, where a college-aged man hunched over a notebook computer. If she looked out of sorts, he gave no hint of it in his expression, and he didn’t stare at her bare feet. She appreciated his professional demeanor.
“Can I get a room, please?”
“We have one single left,” he said.
“That would be fine.”
He pulled a key off the wall and slid it across the counter before shifting over to the hotel computer. “It’s eighty dollars a night. How will you be paying?”
“Cash.” Clarissa opened her purse and stared down at the pile of bills. The day she’d left California, she’d gone back to Max’s house to plead with him to drop the charges and give her the money she was owed. He had not been home, but his wife had been. When Stella Fitzgerald found out how Max had ruined Clarissa financially, she’d given her some money from their personal safe. Clarissa pulled out four twenties and handed them to the clerk.
“Have a good night.” He offered her a bolstering smile. “Your room is on the second floor at the back.”
Before she left the lobby, she peered out the window that faced Main Street. Don’s car was still parked across the street by the Jefferson Expeditions office. She shuddered and backed away.
She turned to face the clerk. “This place is fairly secure, isn’t it?” The vibration in her voice gave away her fear.
He studied her a moment. “Sure, there’ll be someone at the front desk all night. I’ll be locking the side doors in ten or fifteen minutes.” His voice was filled with compassion.
She hurried down the hall and up the stairs. Her hand was still shaking when she stuck the key in the hole. After locking and bolting the door, locking the windows and pulling the shades, Clarissa collapsed on the bed.
Now you can cry.
She stared at the ceiling while the warm tears flowed down her face. How had her life gotten to this point? The words of her would-be murderer came back to her. She had no family. No one to come looking for her if she went missing. She’d never known her mother, and her father had died of acute alcoholism when she was five. There had been a shining moment when she was fifteen. She’d met a boy who said he loved her, and she had believed him. She’d thought she’d never have to be alone again. Once she became pregnant, though, he had disappeared. In the end, she had miscarried, the pain of that loss almost unbearable. After that, her heart had closed off and she’d thrown herself into working hard, knowing that the only person she could depend on was herself.
Sleep came slowly, but every rattling of the window or noise in the hallway woke her. All she had to do was make it through this night. Sondra would be here in the morning. If Don was still across the street, she’d call her friend and change the pickup point. Chances were, with daylight and the streets filled with people, he wouldn’t try anything. It would be best, though, that he not see her get into Sondra’s car.
In the darkness of the room, Clarissa placed her hand over her throat. Don’s beefy hands had almost robbed her of her last breath.
Back at the airport, Don had originally said that he wanted to take her back to California...to talk to Max. Thinking about it now, Clarissa decided that that had probably been a lie. Whether it happened in California or here, Max’s intention had been to have her killed.
Ezra pulled the Jefferson Expeditions van up to the curb by his office. He’d taken it out early in the morning to get it gassed up and pick up some final supplies. An older man with salt-and-pepper hair stood outside the door.
Ezra shut the van door and called over to him, “Can I help you?”
“My name is Leonard Stillman, and if it’s not too late, I’d like to sign up for your survival school that’s headed out this morning.”
Another client would really help his bottom line. It seemed a little odd, though, that the man was showing up at the last minute. “Where did you hear about Jefferson Expeditions?”
“Saw the flyer at the bait shop. I came out here for some fall fishing, but I think this survival school would be much more my speed. I like a challenge,” said Leonard.
“Sure, go on inside.” Ezra moved toward the door and pulled out his keys to unlock it. “Have a seat and we’ll get the paperwork done. I need to get a few things out of the back of the van, but then I’ll be right with
