“Excuse me?”A woman inched her cart closer.“Can you move?”
Grace furtively glanced over her shoulder.Behind the woman with a baby in the cart, a man in Carhartt overalls, waiting impatiently for her to move, held his deli hot bar lunch sack.She couldn’t meet their eyes.“I’m sorry.”
They probably didn’t hear her.The staccato rhythm of her heartbeat drowned the words from her own ears.
“Lady, get outta the way,” the Carhartt man demanded.
“I…” Grace couldn’t catch her breath.It was as if her chest was devoid of oxygen while simultaneously squeezed to capacity.Her lungs would burst like a balloon if she said another word to them.
She abandoned the cart and sidestepped past the woman with her baby.Grace pressed her crossbody purse to her stomach and put her hand behind her to smoosh her backpack closer.The baby reached for Grace as she skirted between them and the promotional tower of colas.Her backpack threatened to push a twelve-pack to the ground.
The Carhartt man grumbled.His judgment burned into her ducked shoulders.Blistering shame curled down her back.Grace fumbled with her purse for her burner phone.Her thumb slid over its raised buttons as she tried to decide who to call.
She could call her parents and ask them to check on Dominic’s prison status.The Bureau of Prisons’ website listed where inmates were located, but hell, what good would that do?It would only confirm what Grace had seen with her own two eyes.Dominic was out of federal custody.
Hayden would know what to do—except her older brother was deployed somewhere overseas and likely incommunicado.On the off chance that he was in the US, Grace was certain Hayden wasn’t anywhere near the little rural Maryland town she’d hidden in.Her parents and brother never knew where she was.That was part of the magic of keeping her family safe from her ex’s reach.
The only option was to escape from the grocery store and melt into one of the hiding places she’d used over the years.Grace had a safe contact—a protective friend she’d made—who lived relatively nearby and had always helped without asking too many questions.She hurried to the customer-service desk.
The manager held court there, ready to sell nicotine and lottery tickets or take complaints and requests.He pushed his long hair back and shifted behind the battered and bruised counter littered with legal notices and age requirements.“What can I do for you today?”
She focused on his name badge.Johnny.Johnny seemed like a reasonable guy who wouldn’t ask too many questions.“Can I use your back door?”
His hair fell loose again, and she imagined he played death metal on the weekends.“Sorry?”
Grace twisted the black tourmaline beads on her bracelet and tried to catch her breath.No one would understand her if she mumbled and rushed.Minor mistakes like that would slow her down, and Dominic would pounce.She glanced toward the front exit.No sign of him.Not that she expected him to walk in and find her.Where was the fun in that?Better for her to walk out and straight into his open arms.
She noted that the traffic jam she’d created was gone.Her abandoned cart had been moved out of the way.Did Dominic see it?She licked her lips and forced herself to speak slowly.“I have to—” Breathless, she had to pull it together.
Johnny pushed his hair back again, dark eyes studying her as though she might cause a problem in his store.
“If I use your back door, will an alarm ring?”She couldn’t meet his eyes, but his silence bore into her.“Please.”
His wariness softened.“Ma’am, are you okay?”
Ha.Not in a million years.She had no immediate plan other than to run.No access to most of her belongings.No place to go without a friend’s help.Even her car had to be abandoned.She’d figure out what to do about that and the little place she’d rented under a false name later.
“Ma’am?”Johnny leaned against the marred counter.His hands planted over the taped notices and the stack of Shop ’n’ Save coupons.
She couldn’t meet his eyes and dropped hers to study the worn grooves where years of use had faded the faux wood.Years of therapy had come down to this moment that she knew would inevitably arrive.She had two choices: get her anxiety under control or have a panic attack at the customer service desk.
Grace inhaled through her nose and held it.An eternity crawled by before she released the breath.“I can’t go out the front door.There’s someone out there—I just can’t.”
“I can call the police for you.”
“No.Don’t.Please.That will make it worse.”She stared at his name tag again.A valued employee for more than five years.So much could change in five years.Five years ago, her parents and brother had buried her in a family-only closed-casket ceremony.“Johnny.Please.I need to go out the back.Will an alarm ring if I do?”
His fingers tapped on the worn groove of the counter.He had short fingernails with dark nail polish mostly scratched off and wore several rings.A portion of a tattoo peeked out from his shirt sleeve.If only she could meet his gaze, if she could see what he was thinking, and he could see her desperation, then maybe he would answer her.
“Nah,” he finally said.“Come with me.No alarms.”
Relief flooded as if a cold rag had been wrapped around her neck on a sweltering day.“Thank you.”But he couldn’t have heard her whisper that had caught in her throat.She followed him and tried again.“Thank you.”
His keys clinked as he guided her down the canned vegetable aisle and past the deli, where the lunch crowd waited for mac and cheese, potato wedges, and fried chicken.They entered a dim hallway and passed the restrooms until Johnny pushed through the old swinging double doors.
Boxes and pallets lined the walkway.They stopped beside two large, closed truck bays next to a beaten-up door with a handmade poster that read,Don’t forget to clock out.
Johnny swung the door open as though he wanted to catch someone lurking by the dumpster.The bright noon light momentarily blinded her.Grace’s eyes watered.She faltered in her escape, but Johnny lifted his hand to block Grace until he’d inspected the space.She appreciated everything the guy was doing for her.
