you back home?”
The bell over the door jingled again and kept jingling as a people filed inside.
“I’m sorry, we’re closed,” Elisa called out. “Special event. We’ll be back in two weeks.”
“Oh, we’re not here to eat!” A diminutive, heavily made-up blonde with big hair turned her blinding smile on Fiona. “We’re here to talk to her!”
A guy with a video camera lifted it up, just as Elisa recognized them, with a stab of dismay. It was one of the tabloid e-zine crews. They still showed up from time to time, following the news blitz about Fiona and Anton’s near-death experience. The first big flush of media interest had passed, thank God, but the smaller outfits popped up regularly, fishing for lurid tidbits of follow-up.
“This is Fiona Garrett,” sang out the blonde, holding out a big microphone toward Fiona. “Ms. Garrett, would you like to tell our viewers more about growing up in that cult at GodsAcre? Is it true that you were forced into marriage when you were just a child? How long were you married? Did you escape?”
“The café is closed!” Elisa insisted. “Please leave. Right now.”
The cameraman’s lens swung toward her, as did the blonde’s microphone. Ice cold panic rushed through her, as if the cameraman had put a gun to her head.
2
“Would you like to comment?” the blonde asked. “Were you part of the cult, too?”
Elisa’s blood pressure dropped, and her stomach flopped. She spun around and headed for the kitchen. People tried to talk to her, but she brushed past them, speeding through the back room and out onto the concrete steps that led down to the alley, gasping for air. Her vision had dimmed. Her chest was constricting. Her heart raced frantically.
God, how she hated this. Her legs buckled and she sank down onto the steps, shaking all over. She heard noise in the kitchen. Yelling, shouting. Crashes and bangs. Nate’s deep voice, calmly responding to them.
The sound of his voice calmed her down slightly. Nate would keep them away from her. He would get the situation in hand.
She struggled to talk herself down. It was silly to get so paranoid. It was unlikely that Gil would ever see this media outlet. It was tabloid trash, and Gil was a busy man with high standards, lofty ambitions, better things to do, and he made sure everyone knew it. All the time.
They probably wouldn’t even use that bit of video that might or might not have her face in it. She hadn’t said anything all that interesting. Besides, she looked different now. Nondescript. She was thinner, and she’d taken to wearing glasses, just frames with plain glass lenses. She’d dyed her hair back to its original dark brown and let it spring back into its natural fuzzy state of long, corkscrewing curls.
Back in the old days, when she was trying to fit the image of an up and coming DA’s wife, she’d lightened and streaked it and straightened it with expensive blow-outs twice a week. Back when she was killing herself trying to be Ms. Perfectly Put-Together. Trying to shoehorn herself into Gil’s life. Trying not to embarrass him.
Never quite getting the hang of it.
If Gil saw her, even for an instant, even with the dark curly hair and her weird, nerdy glasses, he would recognize her. The man was as sharp as a tack.
She should have left when the TV crews first showed up for Eric and Demi’s business. She’d been sloppy. Not ready to go. She’d talked herself into staying a little longer because she liked being around people she cared about. She liked having friends nearby. She could no longer bear the solitary odyssey to nowhere she’d been on. Four long months on the run.
But she’d been over four months here. Too long.
Goddamnit. She liked this place. She liked who she was with these people.
And oh Lord, did she ever like Nate Murphy’s long, smoldering glances. The constant pull of his curiosity. The hot, shimmering buildup of anticipation.
It felt so good, but she needed to abandon the anticipation. She was being self-indulgent. It was time to grab her suitcase and fucking go, already.
The door creaked behind her. She turned, and saw Nate on the top of the steps, wiping his wet hands on his jeans.
Elisa forced the quaver in her voice to calm. “What was the noise all about?”
“Had a difference of opinion with the cameraman,” Nate said. “He followed Fi into the kitchen. I objected. I invited him to leave the restaurant.”
“And