Chasing Marisol (Blueprint to Love Book 3) (21 page)

"Are you sure? Because— I thought maybe-" Her voice trailing off, Annie blushed pink.

"Maybe what?" Sharon was on the scent now— a hound to poor Annie's fox— or more appropriate— defenseless kitten. Sharon would be unstoppable. Mari nodded encouragingly. May as well give it up.

Checking the hallway, Annie took another step inside. "Well— he and I . . . I don't exactly know how to say this-" Her gaze on the far wall, she took a deep breath. "We— uh— were out at the farm . . . and Hank— well-"

Unable to resist a smile, Mari took pity on her. "You slept with him?"

Releasing an embarrassed sigh, Annie nodded. "I mean— I'm thirty-eight years old, right? I'm divorced. . . I can do this. I . . . I'm supposed to get back out there."

"So, what's the problem, Sugar?" Sharon's voice was no-nonsense. "He's a fine lookin' man and you're an available, pretty woman."

"I was— sort of-" When the fragile blonde's eyes filled with tears, Mari quickly rose, shutting the door and gently pushing Annie into her chair. "I sorta . . . freaked out."

"Hank was good to you, right?" Sharon's gaze caught hers over Annie's head.

"Of course he was." She sniffed. "He was amazing and kind."

"Then what's the problem, sweetie?"

"Being with Phil— he . . . made me ashamed when we— you know." Wiping her eyes, Annie hesitated. "Early on, things were okay, but the last eight years . . . he made the whole experience so . . . awful. When I finally worked up the nerve to let Hank— see me . . . I guess he sort of— could tell I was afraid. And he was
wonderful
to me." Annie's eyes filled again. "But . . . afterward . . . I think he seemed— angry. And now— he's not here today."

Jeff's words replayed in her head. Biting her lip, Marisol caught Sharon's attention. Was Hank out there— looking for Phil? The older woman shook her head in warning.

"Sugar— Hank has been working six days a week for three months, now. Jeff told me he just needed a day or two off. Said somethin' about him having a few appointments he'd been putting off because of the construction schedule."

Releasing a gusty sigh, Annie blew her nose. Her eyes relieved, she nodded. "You're probably right. I just— this is so . . . new." She smiled. "I just panicked, that's all."

"Of course you did." Sharon nodded, her friendly, brown eyes steeped with understanding. "Everything is gonna be just fine. You'll see."

Rising from the chair, she gave Sharon a hug. "I'll— get back to work. Thank you both."  

Waiting until they were certain Annie was out of earshot, Sharon frowned.

Marisol lowered her voice to a whisper. "Jeff said Hank was really angry about Phil showing up here."

"If that damn, stubborn fool has got it in his head to go after Phil— I'm gonna personally take a shovel to his thick skull."

Marisol agreed. Engaging with him would only serve to enrage Phil— making it even more dangerous for Annie— and everyone else at the shelter. Unless Hank could make Phil disappear permanently, he would guarantee only more violence. "We'd better warn everyone to be on the lookout."

"Lord have mercy— please spare me any more jealous men." Sighing, Sharon picked up the phone, her eyes weary. "If Hank challenges him— then Hurricane Phil is sure to make landfall shortly after." 

***

The next afternoon, Marisol peppered Jeff for details as they walked the perimeter of the building, reviewing the exterior. The tilt up walls in place, the roofers had begun framing to close it in. She was excited by the progress, yet still concerned about day two of Hank Freeman's disappearance. "Is Hank really running errands— or has he gone after Phil?"

Taking her arm as they walked the rutted site, Jeff was firm. "Hank is taking care of some personal business— which is none of ours," he reminded. "The guy hasn't taken a weekend off in months. He needs a few days."

"But Annie said-" Marisol hesitated, uncertain whether to share what she'd relayed in confidence. "She thinks Hank is mad at her."

Hands on his hips, Jeff released an exasperated sigh. "What is this? High school?" Checking his watch, his vivid, green eyes lasered in on her. "Maybe I could pass him a note in gym class."

"Okay— I get it. We're overreacting." Marisol couldn't help smiling. In his hardhat and jeans, Jefferson looked both annoyed and edible— at the same time.

"I'm late for a meeting with the roofers." He raised his head to the guys three stories up. "Can we please talk about this tonight?"

When she nodded, Jeff leaned in, giving her a swift kiss. Smiling, she released his hand, then turned to head back around the building to the side entrance. Mari hadn't taken two steps before she felt a tug at her elbow. Turning, she discovered he'd followed her. "I thought you-"

Pulling her against him, he sealed her mouth with his, not coming up for air until she sagged against him. Setting her back on her feet, Jeff smiled at her dazed expression, ignoring the cheers raining down from the roof. "See you later, carina."      

***

It was her new pumps that tripped her up. Returning the next day from a successful meeting with a willing and influential donor, Marisol was humming as she juggled her briefcase and the temperamental side door. Construction had shifted the main entrance again. "Where is Pete," she wondered, realizing as she said it that they'd all grown terribly spoiled. Big Pete was always there— opening doors, carrying heavy boxes and just— taking care of them.

Finally jockeying the heavy door open, Marisol tripped, the heel of her pump catching on the rubber mat they'd laid to catch all the construction dirt at the door. Before she could right herself, she was jerked by a pair of hands. Crashing into an unyielding chest, she instantly smelled alcohol.

Hurricane Phil had made landfall. Shoving back against him, Mari cried out when he twisted her arm behind her back. "Shut up, bitch. Or you'll get it, too. You've been protecting that whore-"

Heart pounding in her ears, Marisol stopped fighting him. Hours of security training kicking in, she went limp in his arms. As expected, Phil floundered with the added weight as he was forced to hold her up.

"Stand up."

As he jerked her upright, pain radiated through her arm. Not losing focus, Marisol utilized the momentary distraction. With her free arm, she eased her hand into her pocket, activating the panic button they'd all begun carrying two days earlier. All she had to do now was keep him there— in the vestibule outside the dining area. Unsure of the time, Mari didn't want Phil gaining entrance to the dining room, where Annie was possibly setting up a service.

The gleam of his knife flashed in her peripheral vision. Fighting the terror welling in her throat, she dragged in deep breaths. The panic buttons carried GPS. About now, she envisioned the team in action. Her panic button had grabbed a shelter phone line— sending a signal to the police substation— notifying them of a hostile intruder. The switchboard had also sounded an emergency code for shelter staff. Already, someone would have seized Annie— hustling her to a safe room, where she was now locked in with a guard protecting her. That thought reassured, in spite of the desperate man trying to break her arm. At least the kids were still in school. Tommy and Jason wouldn't witness yet another violent incident with their unstable father. And Hector- Despite her resolve, a shudder of fear tore through her. Hector was safe— at school.

"That's right, you better be scared of me."

"Phil— if you let me go, the police might not press charges," she lied easily. "If they storm in here and you're still holding me— you'll have no choice."

"I want my wife. Where is she?"

He was sweating profusely— alcohol seeping from his pores. Trying not to gag at the smell, Marisol's job was to stall and distract. Phil hadn't noticed the sudden stillness— the ceasing of activity as groups of employees and volunteers made their way to her location. They would come from all directions— not to attempt disarming him— but to witness. The more people around, the less likely Marisol would be injured. Angry ex-husbands were bullies at heart. They enjoyed terrorizing their victim- But it was only the person he was emotionally invested in that would give Phil the sense of power he needed to feel like a man. There was little satisfaction in hurting strangers. And a large group of witnesses would only add to his embarrassment.

Sensing movement to her left, Marisol shifted subtly to the right. If she could distract him long enough-

A split second later, Mari crashed to the floor when Big Pete body-slammed Phil into the wall.
It was over
. Rising unsteadily to her feet, she was surrounded by shelter staff. With Phil still in a chokehold against the wall, Pete glanced at her over the crowd, his eyes worried.

Again, Marisol was reminded how fortunate they were that Pete had taken such an interest in the shelter. A thrashing drunk still struggling under his grip, Pete's first concern was that she'd been injured. Though her nerves were still arcing like a live wire, Mari forced a smile, giving him a thumbs up.

Her arm aching, she allowed herself to be led into the cramped kitchen for an icepack. Nothing was broken, but she'd probably have a sizable bruise from the episode.

"Mari— you're sure you're okay?" Poor Sharon's eyes were wide as saucers. "I know we've practiced that a hundred times— but damn, girl. When it comes down to it, it's still awful scary."

"I'm . . . good."  Her nerves stretched taut, Marisol smiled reassuringly. She'd be alright in a little while. But she needed quiet. In her office with a cup of tea— she could decompress before it was time to pick Hector up at the bus stop. "We aren't out of the woods yet. If Phil makes bail— he'll be back," she reminded.

"We'll get on that right away." Distracted, Sharon hesitated. "Sugar— I hate to hit you with this now— after you've just dealt with Phil but-"

In an instant, Marisol went cold with dread. "Oh God— not Luz. She's here, isn't she?" Her friend blurred in her eyes as she staggered with the knowledge. Not this— not now— so soon after one shock.

"Not yet, but she's comin' this afternoon. To see Hector. I made the appointment for four o'clock. I didn't want her here for any of his afternoon routine. I don't want her knowin' anything about his schedule."

On autopilot, Marisol nodded, not really hearing anything over the insistent drumbeat of fear in her head.

"Deep breaths, Mari. Deep breaths," Sharon coached. "It's just a visit. She said she's not makin' waves. I got the impression maybe she's leavin' town." The older woman squeezed her hand in encouragement. "Maybe she's gonna offer to sign the consent. It will be over. Hector will be yours— and you won't have to wait 'til September. We can petition for permanency next week."    

"Okay," she whispered, wanting desperately to be alone. So she could just— lose it. Releasing a deep breath, Mari forced a calm she did not feel. "Okay, Sharon. Okay. I need to sit here. . . for a little while. I need to— think."

"Whatever you want, honey. I'll take care of the police out there. You can give them your statement later." Sharon checked her watch. "I'll check your calendar. If there's anything— I'll just reschedule. And we'll keep everyone away."   

As the door finally clicked shut, Marisol felt herself crumbling, the barriers she'd erected around the seething cauldron of bitter fear collapsing in on her. She felt small. Alone. And powerless. As tears splashed down on the blotter, she buried her face in her hands.

***

Grimacing, Jeff jerked into a parking space, the metallic taste of terror acrid in his mouth. Resisting the urge to jump out and leave the car running, he remembered to lock up and take his keys. "She's alright," he muttered in a futile attempt to keep the raw panic at bay. Pete had explained to him— in clinically detached, highly specific detail that Marisol was safe.

"Mari's okay," he repeated. But— he didn't want to hear the words. Jeff wanted to see her. Hold her— proving for himself it was actually true.

Crossing the parking lot at a run, he jerked open the side door. Police were milling through the vestibule taking statements. As he entered the dining room, his eyes snapped pictures of the normal activities taking place. The volunteers were readying the room for lunch service.
Mari.
Where the hell was Marisol?

As several volunteers approached him, Jeff waved them off, heading for the office corridor. He needed to see her. Before anything could ever be right again, he needed to see her.
Now
.

"Jefferson- wait."

Drawing a ragged breath, Jeff was forced to stop, but only because Sharon was blocking the damned hallway like a linebacker. "Sharon— where is she?"

"She's here but I need to talk with you before you go back there."

"Please, Sharon. I can't-" Raking agitated fingers through his hair, Jeff fought for the patience to be polite. "I have to see her— to make sure she's okay. I'll come back, I promise."

"Hold up there, Sugar." Sharon shifted again, blocking his access. "This is about Mari. And we both care about her. So, you're gonna have to listen to me."

"For God's sake, Sharon— what is it?" Reigning in his impatience, Jeff allowed himself to be pulled into the conference room. "Just tell me she's alright."