glass of wine to the hammock on the back porch, screened in thanks to Nico’s hard work.
Letting the hammock swing her gently, she reviewed every detail of her discovery, her report and her escape, looking for missteps, for anything Craig might twist to his advantage.
He could drag her into it by association, but she’d never had anything to do with his dealings. Although her firm hadn’t balked at her request for six weeks off, she knew it was only a matter of time before she was unemployed. Her firm wouldn’t tolerate the bad publicity of having her name dragged through the mud because she’d been idiot enough to nearly marry a traitor. Smart women weren’t supposed to fall for the wolf in sheep’s clothing. Her only saving grace was she’d found out before exchanging vows, but that wouldn’t be enough to save her job.
She tipped back more of the wine, draining the glass, considering another glass. To pour or not to pour? became the most pertinent question. She used a toe to push off and send the hammock rocking again while she made up her mind.
It was so peaceful out here, the darkness so deep and quiet. She’d loved the West Coast city life, loved the challenges and perks of a high-powered, well-paying job. Being a single parent of an active, intelligent son had ups and downs, but at the end of every day, there was unconditional love. Everything about that life, except her son, was over. Where did that leave her? Where did she want to go next?
Money wasn’t a big, immediate problem. Having been raised on next to nothing, she’d invested well and saved more through the years. Only Bernadette, as the executor of Addison’s will and potential guardian for Andy, had access to those accounts.
She rubbed at the space between her eyebrows, wishing once more that there had been a way to warn Bernadette of the oncoming storm. But that kind of move would’ve been dangerous. During her relationship with Craig, she’d mentioned a few of their young and stupid antics in New Orleans, and he’d taken care of Andy six months ago when she and Bernadette had spent a girls’ weekend in Tahoe.
Did fools come any bigger than she’d been with Craig?
Rolling to her feet, Addison headed back inside with her mason jar. She’d done all she could, taken every precaution, including running here, the safest place she knew. There was nothing left to do but wait it out. She had nearly six weeks left before school started. Out here, with only Nico as a contact, surely that would be enough time for her to know how much farther she’d have to run to provide Andy with as normal a life as possible.
Walking inside, she closed the door and checked the load on the shotgun. It had felt odd in her hands at first, but after a few hours of practice, shooting at stationary targets and then moving ones, her hands and body remembered the routine.
Carrying the shotgun with her, she unrolled her sleeping bag on the kitchen side of the narrow bedroom doorway. Settling on top of the thick layers of fabric for the remainder of the night, Addison listened to the soft hum of the refrigerator. It seemed to underscore the gentle, content sounds of her son sleeping on the cot in the corner on the other side of the door.
Bugs continued whirring and chirping outside, and she heard the occasional splash from fish, frog or turtle beneath the stilted house. They were safe. Craig couldn’t find them here. If he searched anywhere, he was more likely to start with the small plot of land in Mississippi that still held her name on the title. It was on public record, which she couldn’t change now. Although he knew she’d loved visiting New Orleans, she’d never told him anything about her dirt-stained summers out here in the bayou.
Nico had promised to keep her presence here a secret as well as keep her informed of any suspicious strangers who might appear and ask questions. She had the radio, and maybe in a week or two she’d risk a trip into town to scour the internet for any warning signs and check in with Professor Hastings.
Addison discarded the idea immediately. Any contact with her friend and mentor earlier than planned would put her “insurance policy” in jeopardy. No one could know she’d sent him backup files of Craig’s treacherous dealings as well as more incriminating evidence. She thought of all the names she didn’t know on his contact lists, the lists she’d downloaded from his phone and computer before sending them anonymously to the FBI.
With any luck, they would keep that as an ace up their sleeve, the secret weapon he wouldn’t be prepared to explain away in court. Combined with what she’d sent to Professor Hastings, Craig would never be free long enough to cause trouble for her or Andy. As long as they caught him.
As she drifted off to sleep, one hand on the stock of the shotgun, she almost believed it.
Minutes or hours later, Addison woke with a start. It was tricky, listening past the blood thudding in her ears, to figure out what had startled her. The refrigerator was quiet and she heard the creak of wind in the trees.
Not the wind, she realized, as the curtains over the sink were still. She strained for another clue, telling herself it was just another overreaction to new surroundings.
This time the quiet splash of water under the house was followed immediately by the soft rasp of a boat being pulled onto the grasses that lined the shore. Damn it all to hell. Someone had found her.
Immediate worry for Nico flashed through her. Guilt pricked her conscience. Had they hurt him to get a lead on her direction? Since Leonie’s death, there had been no reason to head into this part of the swamp. Many of the locals believed she haunted the place, and they preferred to avoid even benevolent ghosts.
Addison gripped the shotgun and sat up without making a sound. It might very well be someone familiar with the shack and in need of shelter. If they’d noticed the generator was going, it made sense to stop and ask for help, but Addison prepared to shoot first and ask questions later.
For several long moments nothing more than typical night swamp sounds reached her. Maybe whoever had been in the boat just needed to sleep off a wrong turn. It happened, and hospitality was part of the odd society out here. If they stayed down there with the boat, they wouldn’t have any trouble from her.
She’d just relaxed her hold on the gun when she caught the unmistakable creaking tread of the third step in the string leading to the porch. Addison tried to breathe, telling herself Craig wouldn’t come by night and sure as hell wouldn’t come to a place so rural without vocalizing his discomfort in the process.
But that had been the Craig she’d known—thought she’d known—not the greedy bastard who’d brokered terrible deals that ended with dead US citizens.
She listened, her palms going damp as whoever was outside climbed closer to the porch. Part of her wanted to run, to grab Andy and bolt through the back, but she’d only heard one person. She could take one person.
“Addison?”
The inquiry, delivered in a low whisper, only revealed that the speaker was male. Nico would’ve announced himself already, knowing she was armed and prepared to defend herself.
So who else out here could possibly know her name?
The intruder made no secret of his approach now. He leaned close to the window. “Addison? Are you in there?”
Without a porch light, the intruder’s identity was impossible to make out, but he was nearly at the door.
“Hello?” The voice, a little stronger, sounded familiar. “Addi?”
Addison’s heart clutched. She knew that voice, and only
