her knees and dug in Palmer’s pants pockets until she located his wallet. It held a hundred dollars. To Cyn, it seemed like a fortune.
Thanks to the recent driver’s education classes at her school, she had her birth certificate and social security card in the top drawer of her dresser. No one had been more surprised than Cynthia when her mother agreed to let her take the classes—until Arlene explained that it’d make her life easier when Cynthia could do all the shopping.
Within two minutes, she’d dressed in her warmest clothes and gathered a few necessities. At the last moment, she dug beneath her mattress and pulled out the notebook she’d kept hidden there. With trembling hands, she laid it atop the rumpled blankets, knowing it told everything, all the things she didn’t dare tell while she was still living with him.
Maybe someone would understand. Maybe, when they found his body, she wouldn’t be blamed.
As she climbed out her bedroom window into the damp, cold spring night, she glanced back at the cramped room, at what she was leaving behind, and at the body on her floor.
He was dead and good riddance. She wouldn’t, couldn’t care. As far as she was concerned, Cynthia Potter died with him. The scared young woman was gone, and a new, free woman had emerged. A better life awaited her. It might not be great, but no way could it be worse.
Chapter One
As the vivid dream faded, Cyn stretched awake on the narrow, lumpy mattress. A spring rain pattered against the window, and for a brief moment, a sense of déjà vu settled over her. She turned her head to stare out the window. This soft, late-April rain smelled fresh and held numerous possibilities. She waited, yet there was no sense of danger, no threat, and her heart swelled with relief, with honest happiness.
She sat up and shoved the window all the way open, letting the cold air blow in, dissipating the scent of stale sex.
Thanks to the compelling dream that had filled her sleep for the past month, she’d made some decisions. As of last night, she’d turned her last trick, and knowing that sent a bounty of energy surging through her. Perched on the side of the bed, she flipped her head forward and gathered her impossibly long hair in her hands. After retrieving a cloth-covered band from her nightstand, she secured the unruly mass into a high ponytail, then left the bed to take a shower.
She lingered, washing away every trace of the men who’d paid for her body, and at the same time, she washed away the past.
She didn’t rue the things she’d done, because she’d survived, and if she could claim nothing else, she knew she was one hell of a survivor. Regardless of what others might think or how society would label her, she was damn proud of herself.
Wrapped in a terry cloth robe, she left the bathroom and made coffee. Her home for the past year was an efficiency apartment with a minuscule bathroom, a double bed, and a hot plate for cooking. It was so small, she barely had room to turn around, but compared to some of the other places she’d slept, like the park and alleys and one-night motels, it was nice. It was also cheap, which meant most of the money she made, she could save.
She’d decorated it with pictures from magazines and flowers that grew wild, and she’d loved the independence it had provided. For the first time in her life, she’d been able to call a place home. But she was now twenty-two, and she had enough cash saved to start over.
She’d managed it once before when she’d been no more than a kid of seventeen, afraid and alone. She was still alone, but fear was a luxury she couldn’t afford these days. By necessity, she’d taken risks that no woman should ever take, and they’d paid off.
Little by little, she’d learned to fend for herself, to protect her body and her mind, and to separate the two. She wasn’t wealthy, and a lot of people might scoff at a mere twenty-five hundred dollars.
To Cyn, it was a fortune, a future, and independence.
She sipped her coffee while daydreaming of what was to come, the things she’d do. When she closed her eyes, she saw a shadowed man, standing among tall trees, and a blinding sun with birds singing. Now familiar things.
The urge to make changes had been eating away at her for a month, when normally she didn’t allow herself the pleasure of daydreaming. It was the oddest thing, but she’d felt compelled to ponder it. Whenever she slept, visions of the man and a place far away, with water and fresh air and friendly people who didn’t know her, played in her mind with the same clarity as a movie show.
She didn’t recognize the man or the place, but both had become real to her. She knew them as well as she knew herself. Somehow, she’d find them.
She skinned on jeans, shoved her feet into flat sandals, and tugged on a long-sleeved T-shirt. Many of her clothes would be left behind. She couldn’t see herself wearing hot-pants and fishnet in her new life.
Grinning at the thought, she folded away her jeans, tees, and sweaters, then packed up her makeup and toiletries.
She eyed her collection of books, considered leaving them behind because they’d certainly be heavy, but she couldn’t do it. They’d saved her, and they were like her trusted friends. When she needed comfort, she revisited them. She had to remove a sweatshirt to fit the books into the suitcase, but it seemed a small price to pay. Her stash of money was hidden in the lining of her purse.
The box of condoms got tossed in the trashcan. She wouldn’t need those for a long time, if ever.
With everything else ready, Cyn opened the map that she’d swiped from the gas station and carefully spread it out on her bed. Feeling giddy with the pleasure of it, she closed her eyes, drew her fingers over the crinkling paper until it felt right, and then, finger pointed, she opened her eyes.
Visitation, North Carolina.
Oh, she liked the sound of it, the way it felt on her tongue when she said it aloud. She even laughed. So be it. Her days of running were over. It was time for a rebirth.
For the first time since she’d left her old life five long years ago, Cynthia slung her purse over her arm, rolled her suitcase to the door, and allowed the fates to guide her.
After spotting a cockroach beneath his chair, Bruce Kelly ruled out the soup. Cautiously, he stirred his coffee, and found nothing swimming inside it. He tasted it, and decided it wasn’t too awful. After doctoring it with sugar and creamer, he sat back to revive himself with some much-needed caffeine.
The cracked plastic seat of the booth snagged against his behind every so often, forcing him to shift around until he faced the window.
Evening had settled over North Carolina hours ago, bringing with it a black velvet blanket studded with stars and a chill that could cut to the bones. He should have been in bed by now, and usually he was, but he’d been too tired to continue driving without a break. He had another fifty miles to go, and he wasn’t fool enough to make the trip half-asleep.
His visit back to Ohio had been a pleasure, and he’d lingered too long chatting with friends. There was a time when he’d felt deeply rooted to his projects there, but in less than a year, Visitation had become home.
He was lost in thought, his cup nearly empty, when a semi pulled up outside the diner. The headlights briefly blinded Bruce before the truck swung around and stopped. As he watched, the passenger door jerked open and a young woman tumbled out in haste, almost falling to the broken concrete lot. His
