Holiday Hideout. Lynette Eason

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Holiday Hideout - Lynette Eason Mills & Boon Love Inspired Suspense

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was it all real?

      “I’m Fiona Whitley. You’re in my home in our small basement apartment. My mom and my brother, Cal, rescued you when you passed out at the bus station.”

      “Passed out!” Abby sat up and regretted the quick action when the room spun. Closing her eyes, she waited. When she opened them, things had settled, but she still felt as weak as a newborn. “When was that?”

      “On Tuesday. Today’s Friday. Your fever finally broke yesterday. You’ve had a nasty case of the flu and strep throat. Dr. Seabrook came by and gave you some fluids by IV. After that, you seemed to start improving hourly.”

      Abby remembered her self-diagnosis in the bus station. And with that memory came the vision of the man who’d been following her. “Oh, no,” she whispered.

      The pretty woman with the red curls and green eyes frowned. “What’s wrong?”

      Did she dare burden her? Abby looked around the cozy apartment and realized she couldn’t just blurt out she thought someone was following her.

      A person who had evil intentions toward her. “Has … um … anyone been looking for me? Asking about me?”

      “Not that I know of.” Fiona gave her a wry smile. “We live on a large ranch, not exactly a hub of excitement and information. Fortunately, we have all of the modern conveniences. Do you have someone you’d like me to call?”

      “No!” At Fiona’s start, Abby softened her tone. “No. No one.”

      “But surely someone’s missed you by now.” Fiona sat on the bed beside Abby. “We found your phone in your purse, but the battery’s missing.”

      “I took it out.” She remembered thinking that somehow her whereabouts could be traced through the phone’s location, so she’d pulled the battery out and sewn it and her driver’s license—and the flash drive—into the leg of a pair of her jeans. An extreme measure maybe, but she just wanted to disappear. She didn’t want to be Abby O’Sullivan for as long as it took to find a slice of peace and put her life back together.

      A guilty look flashed across Fiona’s face. “We went through your things trying to find out who you are.”

      “My things?” At first she was alarmed, then calmed. She hadn’t had very much. “That’s all right.” They wouldn’t have found her identification. A fact that was probably weighing on the pretty woman’s mind. Abby said, “I’m Abby. Abby … um … Harris.” She picked at the comforter as she gathered her strength. “Thanks so much for taking care of me.” Her eyes landed on the woman’s belly. “I sure hope you don’t get sick.”

      “Mom didn’t want me near you, either,” Fiona admitted with a small laugh. “She used to be a nurse and insisted on doing most of the caring for you. And Dylan came by a couple of times.” Fiona smiled. “So no worries, I’m fine and so is the little one.”

      Abby swung her legs to the side of the bed and realized she had on a pair of strange pajamas. “Where did these come from?”

      Fiona gave another light giggle. “They’re mine. I outgrew them quite a while ago—” she patted her distended belly with a loving hand “—but they looked like they might fit you.” She bit her lip. “I hope you don’t mind, but we couldn’t leave you in your clothes once your fever broke now, could we? Mom helped me get you into those.”

      “No, I guess not.” She’d had pajamas in her bag.

      As though reading her thoughts, Fiona offered, “We didn’t get your bag from the bus station until yesterday afternoon.”

      That explained it. Abby pulled in a deep breath. “I really appreciate you all taking care of me. It was a very kind thing to do.”

      Fiona smiled and something flashed in her eyes. Something Abby wanted to discern but couldn’t quite put her finger on. She ignored it and said, “I probably should get going.”

      She tried to stand and another wave of dizziness almost knocked her down.

      Fiona took her by the arm and helped her lie back down on the bed. “You aren’t going anywhere until you get better. You’re welcome to stay here until you feel well enough to leave.”

      Abby wanted to argue but couldn’t summon the energy. She knew Fiona was right. But the problem was, she had someone after her.

      The other problem was she didn’t have the strength to do anything about it. She lay on the bed and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to take everything in that had happened in the past several months.

      Would Reese really go this far? Was he still after her? Or had the fever caused her to hallucinate in the bus station?

      Even though he fully believed—as did she—that the deaths of his wife and her baby were her fault, would he really go to the extreme of following her this far?

      She honestly didn’t know, but it sure looked like it.

      But why would he search her apartment? Why would he try to get in her window in the middle of the night?

      To keep her off balance? To make her so afraid of her own shadow that when he finally pounced, she’d be an easy target?

      Possibly.

      “What do you think?”

      Fiona’s question made Abby blink. She realized she hadn’t heard a word the woman said. “I’m sorry. I was thinking … What’d you say?”

      “I said I think it might be a good idea for you to stay here awhile. Unless you have someone—”

      “No. Like I said, there’s no one.” No one at all. Her family had disowned her the minute her sister had taken her last breath.

      Because it was her fault her sister had died. At least that’s how she felt. And so did her family.

      Shuddering, she looked at Fiona, grief piercing her as she studied the large bulge under the woman’s blue maternity shirt. “When is your baby due?”

      An excited smile curved Fiona’s lips. “Right after the first of the year. My due date’s January 2.”

      “That’s wonderful for you. Just about three more weeks, eh?”

      “Yes.” The word was more of a groan. “And it can’t come soon enough.”

      As an obstetrician, Abby figured if she had a dollar for each time she’d heard those words from an expectant mother, she’d be a millionaire.

      “I don’t—”

      A knock on the door jarred her to a stop. Heart in her throat, she grabbed the blanket and pulled it to her chin. Like it could protect her from whoever was on the other side of that door.

      Compassionate green eyes watched her, saw her fear. “It’s all right,” Fiona said. “It’s probably my mother or my brother, Cal. My husband sold two of our horses and went to deliver them to a family in Virginia. He’ll be home Monday afternoon.”

      Feeling

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