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Chapter Nineteen

S everal days passed by quickly, and Joe and Claire settled into a comfortable routine.

If he cooked, she did the dishes and vice versa.

The rain kept them inside for a day or two, but finally, the sun popped out and was drying everything off.

It was warmer than it had been, and everything was fresh and green.

She opened the sliders and a couple of windows, took a deep cleansing breath.

Joe had left for a meeting at the office but said he would be back in a couple of hours. Claire told him she would make dinner if he brought back some chicken.

She wandered around the house. Joe wasn’t big on color, so all the walls were off-white. It worked—for him. She would have liked more color, but it wasn’t her house.

She looked into his bedroom. A king-size bed with a blue spread was made tight as a drum.

The perverse thought Keith would have approved flitted through her mind.

A wooden dresser stood in the corner, and a chair with an ottoman completed the room.

He had his own master bath. She looked for personal items but didn’t find any.

Just a couple of photographs on the dresser, one of which must have been his SEAL team.

Mark was standing next to him. And another picture showed two younger boys standing shoulder to shoulder with Joe and Mr. and Mrs. Grissom.

Behind the picture was a small painting. She knew that painting. She picked it up and stared at it. She had painted it for Joe before they graduated. A couple—them—staring at the stars over the ocean. They used to wish upon the stars. It had been their favorite spot. She signed it “love Claire.”

Claire couldn’t believe he kept it after all these years. She swiped at a tear leaking from her eye. Memories of the two of them at the beach holding each other fluttered through her mind. She lovingly placed it back. She missed those days. Carefree and in love. Until he left, and they weren’t.

Claire tackled the living room next. It also had just the basics.

A big, comfortable black leather sofa and matching chair, the requisite ginormous single male’s TV, a coffee table, and a generic painting of palm trees.

But she had a ball poking into his bookshelves, opening cabinets.

Everything she hinted to him she was going to do before he left, she did.

He laughed, said, “Have at it.” He didn’t have many books—a few military books, a couple of novels, including one steamy romance.

Romance? She had a giggle over that. She would have to ask him about it when he got home, never figuring on him being a romance reader.

It was one of the cheesier ones too. Whatever .

All in all, the house reflected Joe’s personality. His love of home, the starkness of his upbringing, the joy of friendship. He was an uncomplicated man.

Shouts of joy floated in through the open window. She peeked outside and saw two little boys hitting a ball. For a moment, she felt jealous that she had no children to watch play games. Keith never wanted children. Claimed they would cramp his style, ruin her figure. Maybe in the future…

She saw the ball roll out into the street. One of the boys started running after it, not looking at the road. Not noticing any adults around, she yelled out the window, “Stop. I’ll get it,” and she raced out the door.

The little boy looked at her and stopped. Claire looked for cars, saw one still far enough away, picked the ball up and handed it to the little kid and asked him his name.

“Mikey. I’m Mikey, and that’s Paul,” he said, motioning to the other boy. “Where’s Mr. Joe?”

Claire explained he had to work. Mikey nodded and looked at her with wide, blue, hopeful eyes and asked if she wanted to play ball with them.

“Sure.” Claire tried to remember the last time she played ball. Long time. “Are your parents around?”

“Nah, Paul’s sister is watching us, but she’s busy with her boyfriend.”

They played for half an hour or so. Claire looked at her watch and realized Joe would be home soon, and she needed to start dinner. She was going to head in when a black car came racing around the corner and screeched to a stop.

She and the boys stared at the car. The window rolled down, and a man leaned over and said, “Get in the car, Claire.”

Claire’s heart stopped. No way. And who the hell was this guy? She stepped back and started to turn when he said, low enough for her to hear: “If you don’t get in the car, I will shoot your little friends.”

She glanced and saw what looked like a gigantic gun.

“Just tell them everything is okay, and they won’t get hurt.”

God, what should I do? She couldn’t let him hurt or kill the boys. She didn’t want to get in the car. There was no good scenario for her.

Mind made up, she turned to the boys and said, “Mikey, everything is okay. Just run home now. ”

She took a step backward, hoping the man wouldn’t notice.

“Either get in the car,” the driver said, “or we can go into the house, and I’ll shoot the bodyguard when he gets home.”

There went that idea. Mikey started to come closer, but she yelled at them again to go home and that she was going to take a ride with a friend. Mikey and Paul ran away.

God, she didn’t want to get in the car. But she didn’t want Mikey to get hurt, plus she didn’t want Joe to be surprised and killed.

Who was this guy? Was this somebody Keith had sent?

She couldn’t imagine how Keith had found her.

She guessed Sam and Joe were too confident when they said they could protect her.

She slowly walked backward a couple of steps.

He turned the gun on her. “Get in the car now.”

Oh God, what to do. She would be killed if she ran away. She moved on wobbly legs the few steps to the car and got in. Her body was trembling. “What do you want?”

The man had pulled a hat down over his forehead.

His sunglasses were dark against his face.

Claire wouldn’t have been able to identify him again if she tried.

He started driving. “Claire, I’m not going to hurt you or anyone.

Keith just wants to talk to you, and then I promise to bring you back here. ”

“What do you mean, Keith wants to talk to me? Who are you? Why would you kidnap me?” The situation was getting more bizarre.

He glanced over at her. “Let’s just say Keith pays me a lot of money to find people. Besides, I didn’t kidnap you. You got in the car willingly.”

“Humph.” Semantics. Great, a wise guy. “Where’s the gun?”

“Gun?” He shrugged. “It’s somewhere safe. I only wanted to scare you. I hate guns.”

Claire breathed a sigh of relief .

“Which isn’t to say I don’t have one close by. I do. But I prefer not to use it unless I have to.” He gave a wry smile.

“How do I know you’ll bring me home?”

Silence. Claire didn’t think the man was going to answer her. How could she trust him to bring her home?

“Because I told Keith there are certain things I won’t do. Kidnapping isn’t one of them. Hurting women is another. I only agreed to get you if I could bring you home.”

Claire sat back in the seat. She let out a hefty sigh. How had her life gotten so complicated?

The worst part was now she would have to move again. Keith knew where she lived. Joe and Sam couldn’t protect her from Keith. She needed to protect herself and them from Keith.

And where could she go this time? Where could she go where Keith wouldn’t find her?

The man drove about twenty minutes to the hotel district in Black Pointe. He pulled up in front of the Art Deco hotel. Oh, Keith was here all right. The art deco luxurious style appealed to him. Although she had never been here, they always stayed somewhere similar whenever they traveled.

The man told her that Keith was waiting up in his condo for her. Condo? That was new . She only had to ask the front desk for a key to room 2801.

Claire got out and leaned in. “How will you know when I’m ready to go back?”

“No worries. I’ll be here.” She got out, and the man drove off.

Her heart was beating wildly. She did not want to go into the hotel, and she definitely did not want to see Keith.

She debated about calling Joe. No, he wouldn’t let this go.

If he did something drastic to Keith… She shuddered.

She was hopeful that she could convince Keith once and for all to leave her alone.

Long shot, but that’s all she had. When she got back to Joe’s, she would make plans to disappear.

She entered the cool interior of the hotel.

The glass atrium should have provided an open, welcoming feel, but she felt closed in.

She could feel Keith’s presence surrounding her, stifling her.

The modern art on the wall usually would have excited her but now felt like decorations to a prison.

The one thing she was not going to do was go to Keith’s room.

One step in front of the other, she walked up to the front desk, resisting the urge to turn and run. She had forgotten the room number on top of everything.

“What room is Keith Willis in?”

The attendant asked for her identification and told her Mr. Willis was expecting her.

“Give me his phone number.” Claire dialed his number, and when Keith answered, she explained to him in no uncertain terms that she would only meet him in the lobby. He started to give her grief but finally agreed to come down.

She stood by the front desk. A few minutes later, Keith stepped out from a bank of elevators. He was nattily dressed in a crisp white shirt and dark pants, his blond hair perfectly coiffed, not a hair out of place. He looked arrogantly around the lobby until he spotted her.