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  Addison swallowed hard, wiped her tears, and appeared to gather courage to finish the story. “His message was clear. He would give us anything we wanted, but he had the power to quickly make it all go away.”

  “And Harper…?” Shel’s stomach felt like it was on a spin cycle just imagining the horror the child must have felt. “How did you handle it?”

  “I couldn’t handle it. We were isolated. And it…it changed her.”

  “She’s post-traumatic, protecting herself just like you are,” Shel quietly said. She clasped Addison’s hands between her own. “But she can get better—you saw her tonight.”

  “I was looking for help.” She gazed at the candles that had burnt low. “That’s when I found the network.”

  “I’m surprised they wanted to get involved in a high-profile relationship like yours. That’s risky.”

  “I didn’t tell them the illegal parts.”

  Shel was confused. “That might have helped you get permanent protection against him.”

  “Or it might have kept them from accepting our case. I was desperate. Believe me—nothing of ours would nicely fit in a textbook category. And Richard always said if he went down, we all would. He said Harper would end up in foster care and it’d be years before I’d see her again if ever.” Again her anxiety had peaked. “Do you know how bad that system is?”

  Shel slowly nodded, quietly pondering that it still might have been preferable to living with Richard Fortier. Still she admitted, “Yeah, actually I do.”

  Despite her own present intense state, Addison suddenly seemed to realize Shel had secrets of her own. She softened, wiped her eyes, and leaned forward slightly. “I’m so sorry. How insensitive of me.”

  “It’s okay,” Shel assured her. “Is there anything else?”

  Addison shook her head. “I feel badly about keeping the truth from the network. They were already doing more than they should have.”

  “I know I’m asking a lot, but last night when you told me you believe Richard killed your aunt and uncle. How strong is that belief?”

  “Strong.” She said the word without hesitation. “He was waiting at their house after the funeral. I believe he used them as bait to draw me out.”

  After all she’d heard that night, it didn’t sound improbable. It would be a tough haul getting anyone official to believe the dreadful tale. Shel attempted another angle, fishing for anything helpful from a legal perspective. “When he asked you to alter the paintings, could you have said no?”

  Addison shook her head, her eyes wide. “He said we owed a lot of money to people for start-up costs for the gallery and they were not the kind of people you wanted to be indebted to.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “He said they’d kill us all. That’s probably true. He said do it for our child.”

  “Tricky prick, preying on a mother that way.” Shel tried to control her anger. “He handled the business, but the business was you.”

  “At first I figured he was right, that we did need the money to pay off the gallery. But later, he was bringing on more sleazy investors and I knew his reasons had changed. We were no longer living hand to mouth; we were living in mansions, hosting social events. He had no intention of ever getting out of bed with those sleazebags. He had a lifestyle to support.

  “Richard continued to invest in my education, making me more valuable to him. I was getting better at it. I’d completely lost my ability to say no.” She softly chuckled. “For being such a horrible person, he really believed in my talent more than anyone in the world.”

  “He banked on it,” Shel affirmed. She asked, “And you never married?”

  “No. I don’t even remember when he started calling me his wife. I’d lost my identity anyway. There was no sense in sullying my parents’ name with his bad business.”

  “Did he want to be married?”

  “For all I know, he’s forged documents that say we are. Nothing really required my involvement.” She chuckled sadly at the ridiculousness of it all. Her momentary smile faded, as did the strength behind her tone. “I’m thankful he didn’t insist on it. My parents had such a nice marriage. I couldn’t possibly make a mockery of it by truly marrying Richard.”

  “Yet you have Harper.” Shel was not only struggling to establish a timeline, but also curious about the motivation behind having a baby with him.

  “Richard gets everything he wants.” Addison’s rasp sent a chill up her Shel’s spine, as did her big finish. “And what he doesn’t get, he takes by force.”

  Shel bowed her head, rubbed her forehead, as she considered the sickening implication. She weakly asked, “Have you tried to get away since the big storm?”

  “No.” Addison leaned forward, rubbed the back of her neck. “He had a game. He’d partially load one of his guns and hold it here…”

  Addison made an L-shape with her hand, and pressed her index finger against Shel’s temple. She winced, tightly shutting her eyes as she pulled the imagined trigger, whispering a word that threatened to eternally haunt Shel, “Click!”

  Shel grabbed Addison’s hand and pulled it away, looking at the woman through mortified eyes. She pulled Addison to her, held her close.

  “He’s a monster,” Shel whispered into her hair. “A horrible monster.”

  Addison’s tears flowed freely as she cried muffled sobs against Shel’s shoulder. When she could, she said, “I had to use the network. I didn’t know how else to get away. I hated deceiving them.”

  “Don’t you see? He is a terrorist. You’ve deflected his blows for so long. There was no way you could have done that alone.”

  “I did help him steal.”

  Shel did the mental math on their odds if they simply went to the police with this wretched story. Perhaps they would stand a chance in court with a decent lawyer who hit hard on the abuse aspect. Where would they find such a person, could they be trusted or would they, too, be reluctant to take on Fortier? What would such a thing cost…? It was getting easier by the moment to see why running felt like Addison’s best option.

  Shel was forming notions of bringing in the government for the fraud, and the possibility of a Stockholm Syndrome for her defense. If he truly were an escaped felon, it might be easier than she imagined; it might not be impossible.

  Shel realized that no matter what defense she mentally put together, she’d play hell getting Addison to turn Fortier over to the authorities, thereby blowing her own cover. Plus, confession or not, testimony or not—Addison could still go to jail. She’d seen worse things happen. Fortier had been right about that issue; even a short jail term would have Harper in foster care. She wondered if Addison would even be emotionally strong enough to put up what would surely be a nasty, lengthy court procedure. She wondered if, having been employed by Fortier herself, she’d be eligible for testimony or if she’d simply get thrown in jail for living for years off the government books. None of them were without fault. It would remain to be seen in court whose faults the government disliked most. She shook her head, as if she could physically shake away the legal voices in her head.

  “Did your network get you any kind of counseling?”

  “Some,” Addison answered. “But again, I’d limited my description. Had I elaborated on our situation they may have wanted to legally pursue things. I didn’t want to risk being guilty by association. Again, the foster care.” She looked desperate. “Can you possibly see what I’m talking about? It’s a vicious circle.”

  “I do understand.” Shel released her hold on the woman to see into her eyes. “Still, you could have benefited from some real therapy. I think you’re carrying too much of the burden of wrongdoing. I worry that it would be difficult for you to convince anyone legal of your innocence when I sense you don’t believe it yourself.”

  “I can’t go to court. I couldn’t very well tell anyone all I’ve told you tonight. And I certainly couldn’t tell anyone that I took that money.”

  “That’s it.” Shel’s hea
rt did a flip-flop amid her surprise that she’d nearly forgotten about the money knowing it was a conversation they desperately needed to have. The money could fix everything. “Where is that beautiful money? If we can turn it over to the authorities, it may be our saving grace.”

  “We can’t.” Her tone was soft, sad. “I gave it back.”

  Shel’s smile faded and she looked confused. “Gave it back…?”

  “I anonymously returned it to the people Richard stole it from in the first place.”

  “Oh Jesus…” Shel scrubbed her head. “We could really use that money right now. What charity?”

  “Tree of Life. They feed and educate homeless children. My mother helped start it up years ago. She created the logo.” She airily drew a little design with her index finger and sadly smiled. “Having him steal from them was the lowest blow. He sold them on the idea of an art investment that would pay off over the long run.”

  “But there must be a record of your donation—anything—something.”

  “No.” In the dark she could see Addison again wringing her hands. “I stole the money from Richard’s safe, carried it out in a duffel, and arranged to have it dropped at donation boxes at two locations, one in New Orleans and the other in Slidell.”

  Shel’s mouth slightly gaped with her awe. “You plunked ten million dollars into a Tree of Life drop box just like that?”

  “Not me personally, but a reliable friend. He did it the night I ran. He didn’t ask what the packages contained and I never told him.” For the sake of detail, she demonstrated the dimensions with her hands. “Plain, brown-wrapped packages about this big, taped and tied with string.”

  “Who’s your drop guy—he could be our proof.”

  “Bernard Smith, the same man who introduced me to the network. He actually works at Richard’s gallery, but I know he can be trusted. He’s really the last person anyone would connect to me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Shel’s heart lurched. Hearing the deceased clerk’s name from Addison’s lips was disheartening as hell. It was clear that Fortier had no intentions of stopping until he’d found his would-be wife. She was foolish to think otherwise just as she was foolish to believe she could stop him. The gallery robbery where Smith was killed had indeed been staged. Shel was nervous about other extreme measures Fortier may have already taken.

  Addison’s expression turned to one of concern. “You look funny, is something wrong?”

  Shel realized she’d stopped talking; quite possibly she’d stopped breathing. How was she to reassure the woman she was safe and would not be found, when in fact, she had been found. Shel was dizzy with her own culpability.

  “No,” Shel lied.

  “I’m sorry about the money, but it was the right thing to do. Please don’t be angry.”

  “I’m not.” Her tone said Shel was utterly depleted. She had no answers. “I just want you to be safe and feel good.”

  “Every day I feel a little safer.” Addison actually managed a small smile. “I feel stronger. And today Harper laughed.”

  Shel conjured up what she hoped was a convincing smile. Addison easily curled into her side, continuing her cautious, yet upbeat narrative probably designed to convince herself. “I know things look bad. I know my part in all this. I worry about karma or God or fate, but then I met you, and I wonder if I’m forgiven. Perhaps everything isn’t as bad as it seems.”

  No, Shel thought. It’s probably actually worse.

  “I’m sure we did meet for a reason,” Shel quietly genuinely acknowledged. Her head pounded, her chest felt tight. All thoughts of confession had gone out the door. Addison was calm, if only for the moment. There was no sense ruining her rare peace. Instead, she said, “I’d like to help.”

  “You’ve already helped me. You’re my first friend here.”

  Addison’s eyes were full of emotion and something Shel didn’t quite recognize. It felt like trust; she surely hoped it wasn’t admiration. She was dead last on a list of admirable people. She realized Addison was still sweetly rambling.

  “I do have one other friend here, but she’s more like a mentor. She’s part of the network. You’re the first person I want to confide in—that I’ve wanted to…” She blinked damp lashes, her eyes nervously darting away, then back to Shel again. She shyly finished, “kiss.”

  Part of Shel longed to kiss her slowly, see where it took them. Instead, she drew Addison closer and pressed tiny kisses on her forehead in an almost maternal fashion. “I understand everything you’re saying, but we need to take serious consideration about getting this right and on the record. I won’t do anything you don’t want to do, because I want you to trust me.”

  “I do trust you.” Addison seemed to consider it further. “Perhaps that’s foolish of me—after all, I’ve known you for only a short time. But I feel like I do trust you.”

  The words pained and strengthened Addison at the same time. She spoke plainly, truthfully. “We need to try to make things right in a legal way for Harper’s sake.”

  Addison was quiet and Shel could only hope she was listening as she continued.

  “You’re using an assumed name, but that won’t allow you to own anything of real value, like a house or car.”

  As Addison didn’t appear shocked, Shel could assume she’d already considered these things, probably much more. Addison shifted slightly, as if her discomfort over the subject at hand was actually having a physical impact as well. “I know this.”

  More notions were flooding Shel’s head. “One day, Harper may do something amazing, but you’ll still be in hiding. She surfaces, you surface, too. Harper would never endanger her mother, so already she’s limited in life and she’s only four.”

  “I know this,” Addison said again, more loudly this time. Her chest rose and fell rapidly and she appeared to be in the preliminary stages of an all-out panic attack. She closed her eyes, seemingly willing herself to calm down. Her voice was quiet when she added, “I’ve thought of all this—I’m living this.”

  “Right now you’re surviving, but soon enough you’ll want to thrive.” Shel tightened her hold on Addison whose stance had gone rigid as her defense. She stroked her back. “You’re an artist; she’s a smart kid. You both deserve better than that kind of life.”

  “Hypothetically speaking, what’s your plan?” The question was issued in a tone that said she already knew she wouldn’t care for the answer.

  “I’ve seen how these networks work, and I have to say, I’ve never seen anyone take a child underground.” Shel dipped her chin, tried to capture Addison’s gaze. “How’d that happen?”

  “It’s against the rules,” she quietly admitted, refusing to grant her a look.

  “Did you kidnap Harper?”

  “She’s my daughter,” Addison quickly answered, raising her gaze to reveal her eyes flicking with the fire of a protective mother. “She’s mine.”

  Shel held her gaze. “But understand that from a legal standpoint, she’s also his. There is no statute of limitations on parental kidnapping. You’d face jail time even if you were sixty.”

  Addison didn’t blink, hesitate or stutter when she replied, “The only reason I’m here is for Harper. If she’s successful and happy and able to stand on her own two feet—I can live with jail.”

  Shel stammered, “W-what about your life?”

  “She is my life.”

  The conviction in her voice sent a chill through Shel. The full weight of everything Addison was up against, as well as her unbending devotion to her daughter, hit Shel front and center. She felt breathless and revived at the same time, her admiration for the woman next to her ever strengthening. “You’re…a spunky one.”

  Addison looked bewildered. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

  “No,” Shel mumbled, again drawing her close. “It just so happens to be that my interest is seeing both of you safe.”

  “I don’t see how—”

  She cut Addison off. “Ju
st trust me, please. There might be a way to tackle this legally, but I promise not to do a thing if you’re not one hundred percent onboard.”

  Shel felt her relax, but her own worry-addled brain wouldn’t rest. She watched the flickering candlelight cast slow shadows along the walls until she at last felt Addison’s breathing level out. She considered the plethora of issues they would face. It felt utterly impossible.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  A sound, real or imagined, startled Shel from sleep. She quickly scanned the room, recalling where she was, who she was with, and then thought of the candle which had long ago extinguished in its own waxy pool. Shel gently extricated her arm from behind the woman sleeping against her, rubbing the prickly feeling that needled her from having been still for so long. She stood and quietly collected the glasses before blindly scooting sock feet across old hardwood floors. She quietly deposited the glasses in the kitchen sink and headed down the hallway to check on Harper.

  The child slept soundly. Shel crept around checking door locks and peering out windows checking for movement beyond moon shadows. She was still processing the fact that the uppity, standoffish gallery clerk was, in truth, a masterful actor. He was Addison’s friend and her link to the underground. He was also dead.

  She went into the master bedroom and flicked on the bedside lamp feeling sufficiently paranoid that even the dimmest light might put her movements on display to anyone lurking outside. She opened the drawer and stared down at her gun box.

  “What are you doing?” Addison’s sleepy voice sounded behind her, startling her. Shel spun around to see her petite form leaning against the doorframe.

  “I was…thinking.” Shel slowly shut the drawer, but apparently not before Addison could see its contents.

  “Can I see it?” Addison’s sleepy eyes flitted away, surveying the room, its sparse furniture and barren walls. Her eyes came back around to Shel, still quiet, waiting for clarification. Addison clearly enunciated her succinct words, “Let me see your gun.”