Tomorrow's Sun (Lost Sanctuary) - By Becky Melby Page 0,117

far enough, he could tell by the sound. He waited, tiptoed to the stairwell. Snores still rumbled.

“Adam!” Lexi’s whisper was way too loud. He ran into the room. She pointed the light at the drawer, open about three inches. Not wide enough for the box. “Stuck,” she mouthed.

He bent close to her ear. “Can you reach the box and open it?”

She shook her head. “I tried.”

Adam pushed her away, got down on his knees. Clothes hung around his face. He’d never been claustrophobic before. He motioned for Lexi to close the closet door. His pulse pounded in his ears. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed both handles and tugged.

The drawer moved with a wrenching sound, slamming Adam onto his backside. He smashed into Lexi, who hit the closet door with a thud. The entire front of the drawer landed on Adam’s legs. “Go listen.” He forced a whisper. His throat felt like it was closing. “See if he’s still sleeping.”

Lexi, wide-eyed, shook her head. “I can’t.”

Adam looked inside the drawer and saw the box. He heard the end pop off Lexi’s inhaler. The spray, and her deep breath, seemed magnified in the small space.

“Then get out of the way.” He shoved the drawer front at her and grabbed the flashlight. He stood, but as he reached for the door, it swung open.

Lexi screamed and pointed the flashlight in Ben’s face. Adam glared at the man whose arm shielded his face, whipped around, and jabbed his hand into the box, pulling out a wad of cash and stuffing it in his shirt. His hand crept across the floor until he felt his hammer. In one fluid motion, he slammed the hammer on Ben’s bare foot, grabbed Lexi’s arm, and shot past the cussing hulk. He ran halfway into the room. Lexi didn’t. As he reeled around to see Ben’s fat hand on Lexi’s arm, his GPS flew out of his backpack.

Ben laughed. Deep and wicked. “Going somewhere?”

Victory Drive. How ironic.

Emily stared at the blond cupboards, harvest gold appliances, and white Formica countertop. “Cheery,” the Realtor called it as he inched the pen closer.

“It has potential.” Unlike my life. After twenty-four hours without sleep, twelve of them spent ranting and driving too fast, she’d developed a twisted sense of humor about her serial gullibility. As she reached for the pen, she noticed Mr. Ross’s watch. Just like Adam’s. Her heart squeezed. Adam would be crushed when he found out she’d left. This would be just one more loss in his life. The trial would begin in less than an hour. Oh, God, don’t let Ben get those kids. Maybe she should have stayed, played the part just for them. She hadn’t stopped to think.

“Miss Foster? Any questions?”

“No. No.” She signed her name, slid the papers across the table, and stood.

“I have a good feeling about this. We’ve got motivated sellers, and I think before you know it you’ll call this place home.”

Not a chance.

She had one hand on the door handle of her van when her phone buzzed. She pulled it out, afraid to look at the screen.

Jake. Wondering where she was. He’d be there to pick her up for the hearing. He’d be wandering through a more-empty-than-usual house, wondering why she’d left. She pushed the button to make it stop vibrating.

She backed onto the street, took one more look at the tan house with white trim, and tried to feel something. Satisfaction, hope, anything. Nothing surfaced.

“In two-tenths of a mile, turn left.”

She was going to Fredericktown. In the past few exhausted hours, the need to find out what happened to Hannah became demanding. With no answers for her own life, she could live vicariously through someone else’s.

An hour later, a she passed a sign for Bonne Terre/Farmington, her phone rang again. “Sorry, Jake.” She mashed the button again and threw the phone back on the passenger seat. Seconds later it buzzed again. An envelope showed in the window. A text message she would look at. If, by some remote chance, he was calling to apologize, to grovel maybe, it might lift a smidgeon of her mood. Or make it worse. She’d look at it when she got to a stop sign. Not before.

Two miles down the road, it vibrated again. Another call. “Sorry. All done being useful.”

Her pulse picked up speed at a STOP AHEAD sign. Slowing the van, she pulled to the shoulder. No sense being in the middle of the road if she was going to have a breakdown.