Long Road Home (4 page)

Were the homeowners home? She hadn’t heard any noises in the house. What day was it anyway? She tried to focus, her head still pounding viciously. It was Saturday. She groaned. Everyone in the neighborhood would be home.

The window in this room was large enough for her to go out so she wouldn’t have to chance moving through the house. Tiptoeing across the carpeted floor, she was just about to slide open the window when the doorknob rattled.

Jules froze. The door swung open, and she met the startled gaze of a middle-aged woman carrying a laundry basket. The woman let out a shriek then dropped the basket. Could things get any worse?

“What are you doing in my house?” the woman demanded, hands on her hips. Her blonde hair, the product of one of the many bottles Jules had found in the bathroom, was teased and piled high on her head. Her T-shirt was stretched tight across an ample bosom and in big red letters read
Jesus Freak
. Oh yeah, things could definitely get worse.

Jules arched an eyebrow, surprised by the woman’s approach. No hysterics. No run to the phone to call 911. No, this woman was pissed and obviously not in the least intimidated by Jules.

“I’m sorry,” Jules said softly. “I needed a place to rest.” She purposely twisted her hands in front of her, adding to her pathetic air.

“You poor dear,” the woman said, surprising Jules by pushing forward into the room. “Are you hiding from a man? Did he do this to you?”

It took Jules a moment to realize the woman was referring to her battered appearance. Was she nuts? She had no idea who this intruder was or if she was armed or dangerous. She
should
be calling 911, not acting like an over-concerned mother hen.

“I had an accident,” she said truthfully. “I couldn’t stay in the hospital. Someone is looking for me. I just needed a place to rest. And now I have to be going.”

“Have you eaten? Because you look too thin,” the woman said, ignoring her statements.

Jules loathed her weakness. She should have just taken the woman out, removed any liability to herself. A year ago, she wouldn’t have thought twice. She would have just acted to protect herself.

But she hated the person she’d been even more than she hated her current fragility.

“I appreciate your concern, ma’am. But I really should be going. I’ve imposed on you far too much.”

“Polite young thing,” the woman clucked. “Too many young people these days are just plain rude. It’s nice to see one with manners. Now come downstairs and let me at least fix you a sandwich before you go. Do you have clothes?”

Jules’s head was spinning. The woman was an F5 tornado. She reminded her of her own mother. Well, in a perverse sort of way. She didn’t have much in common with Frances Trehan, but her protective manner was reminiscent of Jules’s beloved mom. Her throat swelled.
Weak
. She was turning into a weak idiot. And it would get her killed.

“If you have a shirt and some jeans, I’d appreciate it,” Jules said. “And I’d love a sandwich.”

The woman beamed at her. “My name is Doris. Doris Jackson. Come along, dear. I’ll have you fixed up and you can be on your way.”

“Mrs. Jackson,” Jules called out as the woman turned to leave the room.

She paused and looked back at Jules. “Yes, dear?”

“Promise me you’ll call the police if you ever find anyone else in your house. You could get hurt.”

She chuckled. “Don’t worry. If I didn’t think I could take you, I would have screamed the house down. But you didn’t look like you could hurt a fly in your condition.”

Jules nearly laughed. If she only knew. “Appearances can be deceiving, Mrs. Jackson. Don’t make the mistake of being nice to an intruder again.”

A few minutes later, Jules was attired in a soft long-sleeved sweater and a pair of jeans that almost fit her perfectly. A pair of worn sneakers completed the outfit.

“They were my daughter’s,” Mrs. Jackson explained. “She’s off at college now.”

Jules smiled and nodded. She was unused to being around chatty people, and while it comforted her, she wasn’t sure how to respond.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Jackson clicked around in her high heels and prepared three sandwiches, tossing them in a bag with numerous other snacks and a few soft drinks. “Here you are, dear. You be careful, okay?”

Jules took the bag and smiled at the older woman. “Thank you. I won’t forget your kindness.”

“Can I drive you anywhere? Perhaps you shouldn’t be walking.”

Jules wanted to refuse. She didn’t want to place Mrs. Jackson in any danger, but if she drove Jules out of the subdivision, the chances of being seen would be far less. At the same time, if Mrs. Jackson was questioned about her later, this would be a prime opportunity to lay a false trail.

“Could you drive me to the bus station? I would be very grateful.”

“Of course. Let me get my keys.” She squeezed Jules’s hand as she passed, and Jules snatched it away as if she had been bitten.

She was mortified at her reaction, but she wasn’t used to being touched. After three years of isolation, she had, in the space of twenty-four hours, been hugged by her mother, held by the man she cared about more than life itself, and comforted by a well-meaning stranger. It was enough to put her in sensory overload.

They drove to the bus station in silence, Jules scanning the surroundings outside her window. When they arrived, Mrs. Jackson dug into her purse and pulled out several twenties. She thrust them at Jules.

“I can’t take it.” Jules pushed her hand away. “You’ve been far too kind as it is.”

“You remind me of my daughter,” Mrs. Jackson said softly. “And I can’t bear the thought of you out here all alone. Let me at least buy you a ticket to where you’re going.”

She blew out her breath then took the money Mrs. Jackson offered. “And you remind me of my mother.” She could almost smell the butter and vanilla scent that was so familiar to her. “Thank you.” She climbed out of the car and hurried away before Mrs. Jackson could respond.

As soon as the car was out of sight, Jules stepped out of the bus depot and hurried down the street. She fingered the wad of bills Mrs. Jackson had given her. The beginnings of a plan came to her. At least her brain wasn’t completely fried.

After getting directions to a local boutique, she headed in that direction. If she was going to pull off her plan, she needed to look hot.

Chapter Six

Manuel stood outside the sixth door he had knocked on and waited impatiently for an answer. He was getting nowhere fast. He’d found the discarded shoe covers in the hills above the subdivision. Wet and muddy, hospital issue. Yeah, Jules had been close, and she might have sought refuge in one of these houses.

The door finally opened and a forty-something lady with frizzy blonde hair stood looking questioningly at him. Emblazoned across her chest were the words
Jesus Freak
.

He flashed a badge, one that identified him as a local policeman, and left it open long enough for her to get a good look. “Good afternoon, ma’am. I wonder if you could help me. I’m looking for someone, and I wonder if you’ve seen her.” He held out a picture of Jules with his other hand.

Fingers with long, well-manicured, fire-engine-red nails plucked the picture out of his hand and held it up. She pursed her lips then held the photo back out to him. “Sorry, haven’t seen her.”

Manuel frowned slightly and studied her expression. Something odd flickered in her eyes. It looked like anger. And she hadn’t asked him any questions as so many of the other neighbors had.

“If you could just take another look,” he cajoled. “It’s very important that I find her. She’s in a lot of danger.”

Again, some nameless emotion flickered in her eyes. This time he read uncertainty. Excitement mounted within him.

She leveled a hard stare at him. “I said I haven’t seen her. Now if that is all?”

He had to get inside the house. “Thank you for your help, ma’am. Do you mind if I use your bathroom?”

She looked suspiciously at him, and for a moment, he thought she’d refuse. “Can I see your identification again?”

He held the badge with his photo and “name” up to her once more. After a long perusal, she pinched her lips together and opened the door wider. “Down the hall on the right.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. If the woman had any sense, she would have slammed the door in his face. How many cops would actually ask to use someone’s facilities while in search of a suspect? He smiled reassuringly at her and stepped inside, his gaze absorbing every detail as he slowly walked down the hall. Some of the rooms were open as he passed, and he took quick stock. If only he had time to search the whole house.

He stepped inside the large bathroom and shut the door behind him. After a moment he flushed the toilet then hurriedly opened the cabinets, rifling through the contents. He had no idea what he was looking for, perhaps something to tell him Jules had been there.

He turned on the faucet like he was washing up then transferred his attention to the garbage can. He carefully picked away the top layer. Toilet paper, a few tissues, a wad of hair. Yuck. An empty box of hair dye. No doubt the woman changed her hair color every week. A few cotton balls. Damn. Nothing out of the ordinary.

He stood up and turned the faucet off, disappointment tightening his features. He opened the door to go when his gaze flitted back over the box of hair color. Red.

Frowning, he stared at it for a long moment. The woman was blonde. A fresh blonde judging by the consistency in the color. No roots showing, and no hint of red.

A slow smile spread across his face. “I got you, Jules,” he murmured. Why the lady was going to such lengths to protect her he couldn’t understand, but then Jules was proving to be more of a challenge than he could have possibly imagined.

Leaving the bathroom, he walked back to the foyer where the woman waited by the door. She frowned at him again. “You aren’t going to hurt that young lady you’re looking for, are you?”

“No ma’am,” he said with utmost sincerity. “I care a great deal about her, and I’m going to find her before some rather unsavory people do.”

She studied him for a long moment then laid a hand on his arm. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but you seem like a sincere young man, and well, I’ve been told on more than one occasion that I’m a trusting old fool.”

“What is it?” he asked. “Did you see her?”

“I took her to the bus station this morning. Gave her some money for a ticket.” She sighed heavily then pinned him with a determined glare. “If you hurt that young lady, I’ll hunt you down and cut off your balls.”

Manuel sobered. “You don’t have to worry, ma’am. Jules is very special to me.”

The woman’s expression softened. “Is that her name? Jules?”

“Yeah. I gave it to her,” he said quietly, remembering the day he had named a two-year-old little girl with an unruly mop of curls and innocent blue eyes.

“You find her then and take good care of her.”

“I’ll do that, ma’am. Thank you for helping her.”

“I just wish I could have done more,” she said with a frown as Manuel backed out of the doorway. “Poor thing looked like death warmed over.”

Manuel’s stomach clenched as he waved to the woman and headed for his car. Jules was in no condition to be running all over the country. She needed to be in a hospital bed resting.

He drove immediately to the bus depot and headed inside. Doubt nagged at him as he surveyed the terminal. It was too obvious. And one thing he was fast learning about Jules was that she did nothing that was obvious.

Still, on the off chance that she’d slipped up, he questioned the person at the ticket counter. He struck out there and turned his attention to the passengers waiting for buses. Twenty minutes later, he knew his suspicions had been right.

The woman had driven her here, but had Jules actually left on the bus? More and more he was convinced that Jules wanted it to look like she had.

Manuel walked out of the bus station and continued down the street. He had a lot of ground to cover and not much time to do it in.

Jules breathed a huge sigh of relief as she climbed down from the cab of the eighteen-wheeler and waved goodbye. She teetered unsteadily on the high heels she was wearing and quickly adjusted her sunglasses.

“Sure I can’t do anything else for you, sweet thing?” the trucker asked with a broad smile.

“You’ve been more than kind,” she said through gritted teeth. She slammed the door and hobbled into the truck stop.

At least four sets of eyes followed her into the bathroom. She couldn’t get out of this clothing quick enough. The miniskirt gave new definition to the word
mini
. She stripped it off in disgust and dug out a pair of jeans from her bag. The sneakers Mrs. Jackson had given her were decidedly more comfortable than the three-inch heels she’d donned in Grand Junction. She pulled a T-shirt over her head then put on a zip-up sweat jacket with a hood.

When she was dressed, she began washing the heavy makeup off her face. Then she pulled off the platinum blonde wig she had stolen off a mannequin and brushed her red hair behind her ears.

The reflection in the mirror was of a young college student, not the siren who had flirted with a trucker to get a ride to Denver. Now all she had to do was go to the building where she had rented an apartment and recover the locker key. Not so easy when she was sure the apartment was staked out.

Stuffing the clothes into the garbage can, she eased out of the bathroom and headed back outside. As expected, no one paid her any attention. She was scruffy compared to the blonde bombshell who’d just come in.

Manny. Her insides twisted. Was he looking for her? She knew the answer to that. He was probably frantic with worry. Guilt riddled her gut for what she had done.

You didn’t have a choice
. He was someone Northstar would use against her to gain her compliance. Just as he had done for the last three years. And if she refused, Manny would die. Just like her parents had.

Still, it didn’t make her feel any better about betraying him. She wondered if he used the same cell phone. She had long ago committed the number to memory. No. She couldn’t chance it.