Perilous Refuge

Chelsea pulled out her phone and checked her messages. “Dr. Winchester’s office confirmed your pre-surgery appointment,” she informed Miss Abigail. “It’s set for the day before the surgery.” Dr. Winchester had been Ms. Abigail’s doctor in Tallahassee for years, but had recently moved to Maui where he was semi-retired. The elderly lady only trusted Dr. Winchester to operate, and had planned the trip with time to play tourist for a couple of days before she actually had to report to the hospital for her procedure.

“Thank you for taking care of that, dear.” Miss Abigail reached over and patted her hand. “It makes the vacation part of the trip so much more pleasant to know that you have all the other details well in hand. Hiring you to be my companion and helper for this trip was the best decision I ever made.” She gave the words a peculiar emphasis, seemingly aimed at Alex Sullivan. Chelsea wondered what that was about, but decided not to ask.

She looked back at her phone, scanning again for a message she wanted to see that wasn’t there—a message from the business manager of Southside Renovations, one of the shell corporations Justin Carver was using for misappropriating funds.

The only way she’d feel safe again was if Justin was in prison...but she didn’t trust the police to put him there, and knew they wouldn’t take her word against his without some sort of proof. She’d had too many negative experiences with law enforcement and the court system in the past to believe in that fallacy. No, if she was going to see Justin Carver imprisoned for his crimes, she’d need more evidence than her own sworn statement.

Carver Enterprises was both a real-estate acquisition and development company, and made the bulk of its earnings from buying undervalued commercial properties, renovating them and then selling them at a considerable profit. Justin had been the executive vice president, in charge of managing most of the company’s renovation projects. According to the documents Chelsea had uncovered, Justin had created fictitious vendors, opened bank accounts in those vendors’ names and then submitted phony invoices for renovation services that had never been performed. He then laundered the money through various businesses such as Southside Renovations before depositing them into his personal accounts in the Cayman Islands. Once the embezzlement trail had been discovered, Chelsea had helped trace more than ten million dollars that had been funneled into Justin’s accounts.

According to the internet though, Southside Renovations was still in operation and had a corporate office in Hawaii. The business manager had promised to meet with her in two short days and to provide her with copies of all of Southside’s latest internal accounting audits.

Knowing that Justin had committed murder and was still lining his pockets with stolen money was a bitter pill to swallow, but at least her resources indicated he’d made no attempt to cover up what he’d done or to get rid of the records. If the money laundering scheme was ongoing, then there should be plenty of evidence that could be used against him—if she could just get her hands on it. It was a long shot, but hopefully the Southside business manager would give her what she needed to put Carver away once and for all.

The manager still hadn’t texted her with the location of the meet, so she stowed her phone, hoping that by the time they landed in Maui she would know a time and location when he was able to sneak away and give her the documents.

The gate agent announced the boarding call for the flight that would take them from Atlanta to Maui, and the three of them stood and gathered their belongings.

Mingled anxiety and excitement churned Chelsea’s stomach as they got in line to board the plane. Would Hawaii give her the keys to free herself from fear? Or was she marching even further into danger?

TWO

As the plane began its ascent, Alex glanced at Chelsea who had a death grip on the armrest. The prospect of sitting next to this woman for the rest of the trip made him decidedly uncomfortable. He gritted his teeth. Who was he kidding? This whole trip made him uncomfortable. Alex lived an ordered life and enjoyed keeping surprises to a minimum. Spontaneity was definitely not his friend.

He checked his watch as another wave of frustration swept over him. He needed to be back in the office working his normal seventy-to eighty-hour work week, not gallivanting across the United States to some tropical paradise. Because of Chelsea, case files were piling up in his office and here he was flying halfway across the world in the opposite direction.

He looked her over suspiciously. She was actually an attractive woman. Her high cheekbones and wide chocolate-colored eyes only served to irritate him more. He didn’t want to find her attractive in any way, shape or form.

About thirty minutes into the flight, Chelsea gingerly touched his arm. “Excuse me. Can you let me get by?”

“Yes, give me a minute.” He closed his laptop, then got up and stowed it in the overhead bin. “Where are you headed?”

Chelsea shrugged. “Nowhere. Anywhere. I just can’t sit here any longer. I’m going a little stir-crazy.” She headed toward the front galley of the plane and started pacing back and forth in the tiny space as the flight attendants began serving dinner to the first-class passengers.

Alex decided to follow her. Even though the woman was an enigma, she had seemed rather sick ever since the plane had taken off and he was decent enough to want to help her when she was so obviously distressed. She certainly wasn’t faking as he’d originally believed. In fact he’d never seen anyone so miserable on a plane before. He approached her from behind, intending to offer to fetch her a soda or maybe some motion sickness meds from a flight attendant.

Suddenly she turned and ran right into him. He caught her firmly in his arms and held her for a moment, surprised at how comfortable she felt there. The feeling lasted only a few seconds, but the frisson of warmth made him lock eyes with Chelsea before she pulled away. They both suddenly stepped back as if they’d been burned.

“Sorry,” Chelsea mumbled. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you. You looked rather pale and I didn’t want you fainting in the aisle.”

“I’m fine. Please don’t let me disturb you. I know you have a lot of important work to do.” She shivered and hugged herself nervously.

The captain’s voice came over the speaker and announced their airspeed and altitude. He then asked everyone to return to their seats due to turbulence and lit the fasten seat belts sign. Chelsea’s face turned even whiter as the plane rocked under their feet. She grabbed hold of a nearby seat to steady herself and took a deep breath.

Alex saw the fear etched in Chelsea’s face and reached out to support her other arm, even though she flinched at his touch. He gently led her back to their seats and steadied her as the plane continued to rock. They both looked over in Miss Abigail’s direction as they returned, but she was dozing and seemed oblivious to the turbulence.

Chelsea sat, quickly fastened her seat belt and wrapped herself up again in a blanket. The plane took another dip and she grabbed on to both armrests until her fingers started turning white.

Alex noticed and carefully removed her hand from the armrest they shared and took it in his own. He gave it a gentle squeeze but didn’t release it. Maybe he could distract her and learn something about her at the same time. “So why are you so scared to fly? Did you have a bad experience on a plane?”

Chelsea raised an eyebrow. “I’d really rather not relive it.”

Alex shrugged. “Fair enough.”

The plane jolted again and Chelsea screeched and squeezed his hand so hard it hurt. He shifted, but didn’t let go. He thought a moment, then tried again. “So tell me the story of your life.”

She didn’t respond and he gently pushed ahead. “Come on. It’s a long trip. Where were you born? Where did you grow up? These aren’t hard questions.” He raised an eyebrow. “Are they?”

“I’m not really in the mood for small talk,” she hedged.

“Would you rather I ignore you for the rest of the trip?”

“Honestly? Yes.”

Alex laughed for the first time since he’d packed his bags this morning. “Well, Miss Rogers, you must have something to hide.”

Chelsea flinched and Alex was instantly alerted by her reaction. This lady was obviously scared of much more than just flying in an airplane. He wanted to demand answers, but he knew instinctively that the direct approach wouldn’t work. With this woman he would have to read between the lines to discover her secrets.

He waited a few minutes for her to respond to his statement. When she didn’t, he tried again. “So? Why don’t you just tell me why you’re so scared of flying?”

Chelsea gave an exasperated sigh. “You don’t give up easily, do you?”

“Now you’re getting it,” he answered. “You’ll find I usually get what I’m after. Maybe it would be easier if you knew that about me right up front.”

“And what is it that you’re after, Mr. Sullivan?”

Alex leaned closer to Chelsea, keeping his voice low. “Information, pure and simple. Miss Abigail Van Buren is one of my oldest clients, not to mention a dear friend. I’m sure you understand that it’s vitally important for me to know everything I can about her associates so that I can adequately guard her interests.”

Chelsea pulled her hand away and shifted uncomfortably in the seat, apparently accepting his explanation. “I was born in South America. We moved to the U.S. when I was twelve.”

Alex nodded. “Ah, yes. I thought I detected a hint of an accent. Which country?”

“Brazil,” she answered softly. “On a flight there to visit family a couple of years ago, my plane had some difficulties and the turbulence was horrible. We nearly crashed into a very large mountain. I’ve hated flying ever since.”

She glanced out the window as the plane took another dip. Alex saw her start to shake and took her hand again. He waited a moment for her to relax a bit before pushing forward. “So, why did your family move to the United States?”

“I’ve told you about me,” she whispered, not meeting his eyes. “Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself?”

His brows pulled together. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a very exciting story to tell. I’m certainly not a world traveler like you. I’m the oldest of three boys and have lived in Tallahassee all of my life. I spend most of my time working at my law firm with one of my brothers. My father was an attorney and he passed the business down to us. Miss Abigail has been with us since the beginning, and is one of my mother’s closest friends. I am fiercely devoted to protecting her interests.” His tone was businesslike yet filled with a subtle threat.

Chelsea tightened the blanket around herself. “I can understand why. Miss Abigail is a wonderful person. I know I haven’t known her nearly as long as you have, of course, but I also have come to care for her a great deal.”

“I’m glad,” he said softly, searching her eyes for any hint of deception. “How long have you been living in Tallahassee?”

Chelsea swallowed and squeezed the blanket nervously. “About a month.” She paused. “Can you let me by please? The turbulence seems to have passed and I need to go to the ladies’ room.”

Alex saw the withdrawal in her eyes and backed down. She was obviously hiding something, but there was no need to push for all the answers right now. With a little patience and some help from the private investigator he’d hired back in Tallahassee to research her background, he would know everything he needed to know about Chelsea Rogers in a day or two.

He stood to let her pass and glanced around at the other passengers as he did so. Miss Abigail had woken up and was doing a crossword puzzle. The lady in the seat next to her was typing furiously on a laptop and gently swaying to some music she was listening to on her headphones. Everyone else around them was dozing or watching the in-flight movie with headphones of their own.

He heard a noise behind him and noticed the man from the airport—the one with the Braves baseball cap who had made that strange phone call about a package. He was getting a bag out of the overhead bin. He wasn’t a first-class passenger, but must have had to store his belongings in the first-class section due to the lack of space in the rear of the plane. The man glanced at him and nodded, then returned to rummaging around in the bag. He watched the man return to the coach seats, then sat down again and waited for Chelsea to return.

* * *

Chelsea paced back and forth in the small galley of the plane, glad to have a short reprieve from the attorney’s prying questions. She didn’t know why he was pushing so hard to discover her past, but discussing her history could never happen again in any context. Justin Carver was a powerful man with a very long reach. If she wanted to stay alive, she had to keep her secrets at all costs.

Chelsea took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She tried to think of something pleasant that would take her mind off the flight and the gruff attorney, but instead her head filled with images of her recent past.

The past month had been the worst of her entire life. She had been happy in Chicago. She had felt needed and fulfilled between her work and her ministries at her small Christian church. She’d lost everything that fateful day Roderick Carver died.

After the murder she had barely escaped the grounds undetected. Once away from the office building, she had been too scared to even return to her apartment. Instead she had emptied her savings account and completely abandoned her life in Chicago. The newspapers had reported Carver’s death as a suicide; that he had killed himself after becoming despondent over large investment losses.

Chelsea Rogers was the only one not on Justin Carver’s payroll who knew the truth about the murder. It was that knowledge that would keep her from ever leading a normal life again.

Chelsea bit her bottom lip and took a deep breath. Two days. If the business manager from Southside Renovations could actually give her the documents he had promised and they contained what she hoped, then all of this fear and running could be over within two short days.

Her ruminations made her hands start shaking and she quickly moved them out of sight as she returned to her seat. She glanced furtively at the tall attorney, thankful that he was engrossed in the document he was studying and not paying any attention to her. These days, it was hard not to be constantly looking over her shoulder, wondering who would be a threat. Mr. Sullivan didn’t seem threatening exactly, but he would never win an award for Mr. Congeniality.

She reached for her purse that was stowed under the seat in front of her and began rummaging for her gum. The crisp white envelope didn’t catch her attention immediately, but she raised an eyebrow when she noticed it and pulled it out of her purse. There was no writing on the outside, but it was sealed and she could tell it had a letter or some sort of paper inside. Where had this come from? She didn’t recognize it at all. A sliver of fear went down her spine as she carefully tore open the envelope and removed the single sheet of paper.

I found you and now I’m never going to let you go.

Chelsea’s hands started trembling as she dropped the note back into her purse as if it were on fire. Where had this note come from? When? How had it gotten into her purse? She sank against the window as the fear consumed her. Was it from the man with the Braves cap at the airport? She thought she’d noticed him watching her, but when he hadn’t said anything, she’d assumed she’d just been paranoid again. Had he slipped the note in her bag when he’d brushed past her earlier? Did the note mean that Carver had found her? If so, how? She thought she had been so careful to cover her tracks, but apparently, at some stage, she had made a grievous error.

She picked up the note again and studied it carefully, hoping she would see something that would reveal its origin. “I found you...”

She wadded it up as nausea made her stomach heave.

“Are you okay?” Alex asked from beside her, startling her. “Do you need an airsick bag?”

Chelsea shook her head quickly, aware that her situation had just gotten even more precarious. She’d forgotten that the attorney watched her every move. She didn’t think he had actually seen the words on the note, but he’d certainly seen her reaction and now would be even more suspicious of her. She quickly zipped up her purse with the crumpled note inside and held it close to her chest, then tried to hide her shaking hands under the blanket.

Somehow, Carver had found her. Now there was only one question remaining. How long would he let her live?

THREE

Alex put his legal pad down and paced around the hotel room as he mentally went over his to-do list. His first priority was to contact his private detective in Tallahassee to see what he had been able to find out about Chelsea. Then he needed to convince Miss Abigail to sign the original trust documents and discard the version benefitting Chelsea. After that, he’d just need to make his plane reservations to fly back to Tallahassee.

He checked his watch, surprised at how much time had already passed since he had gotten up this morning. They had been in Maui less than twenty-four hours and the jet lag had slowed him down a bit. He pulled a number out of his wallet and dialed Tony D’Angelo, his favorite private investigator. Alex had known Tony for years, and although the man was scruffy and sloppy in appearance, he was a first-rate investigator. Tony had been an investigator for the firm for over fifteen years, but he had also been the one to discover Alex’s fiancée’s deception two years ago. They had been good friends ever since.

Tony picked up on the second ring, his voice loud and gregarious. “Yo, this is Tony.”

“Hey, Tony. Sullivan here. Any news about Miss Abigail’s assistant?”

“Some, Sully, but you’re not going to like it.”

A cold heaviness settled in Alex’s stomach. “Lay it on me.”

“Well, like we suspected, Chelsea Rogers doesn’t exist. I doubt it’s her real name and she’s obviously taken pains to create a new identity. I’m also guessing that Abigail Van Buren is paying her under the table in cash, and that’s why Chelsea’s history wasn’t discovered sooner. Otherwise her lack of a legitimate social security number would have tipped us off. You need to talk to Miss Abigail about that, by the way. We don’t want the old lady arrested for failing to pay the appropriate taxes.”

“I found some new information about Chelsea while we were on the plane,” Alex offered. “She said she moved to the United States from Brazil when she was twelve years old.”

“Any idea how old she is now?”

“I don’t know. Late twenties? Early thirties?”

“Well, once we figure out her real name we can check with immigration to see if we can verify that story against the visa and passport records.”

“Any news about this violent man with lots of resources that seems to want to find her? Miss Abigail seems to think Chelsea was a victim of domestic violence.”

“None yet.” Tony paused. “I’ve started working on the Bombay blood angle you told me about, too. I can keep digging if you want me to. The question is how far do you want me to go?”

Alex shrugged to himself. Tony charged quite a fee for his services. How much did he really want to know about Chelsea Rogers? Once he talked Miss Abigail out of the crazy idea of making Chelsea her executor, the case would be closed from his standpoint. His client’s interests would have been safeguarded. But what if Chelsea continued to work for Miss Abigail and ingratiated herself even further in the elderly lady’s good graces? Or what if he couldn’t convince Miss Abigail to revert to her previous will and keep Chelsea out of it?

He ran his fingers through his hair. He knew he needed to look out for Miss Abigail. He couldn’t just stand by and watch her get taken to the cleaners by an unscrupulous con artist. “Take two more days. While you’re searching on that end, I’ll try to find out what I can from this side. I’ll let you know if I come up with anything new.”

“Can you overnight me something with her fingerprints on it? If she’s ever been printed I can find her in the system, and that might speed things up.”

Alex paused a moment. “I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, I’ll wait here in Hawaii until you report in, just in case you find something.” He read off the number to the hotel and his room number, then disconnected. It looked as though he would be stuck in Maui for another two days unless Tony was able to discover something sooner.

Alex laughed softly to himself. There were probably very few visitors to this lush tropical paradise that considered themselves “stuck” here—but Alex had never been the type to enjoy vacations. He liked being at work, where he could feel productive and useful. He called the firm and checked in with his brother, Ryan, then called the airline and reserved a seat home. For the next two days he would do his own research on Chelsea Rogers here in Maui to see if he could discover her secrets for himself. Between his own investigation and Tony’s, surely he would find out the truth.

* * *

Chelsea adjusted the sunglasses on her nose, then scanned the pool area once more for anyone who might be watching her. She hadn’t seen anyone acting suspicious, but the fear the note had inspired hadn’t dissipated and she was terrified that at any moment, Justin Carver or one of his minions would approach her. She glanced over at Miss Abigail who was doing a crossword puzzle under a large blue beach umbrella. The lady had been very energetic today, despite the jet lag, and they had spent the better part of the day discussing their vacation plans and making sure all of the last-minute details were covered.

Chelsea had tried to be an enthusiastic participant in the conversations, but the note had made her jumpy and she’d found it hard to concentrate. Was the note really from Justin or one of his cohorts? If so, then she should probably be running again. Justin wanted her dead, and she had no doubt he would hunt her down and try to kill her if he truly had discovered her location. But Chelsea couldn’t leave Miss Abigail, not right before her surgery—not when she couldn’t even be sure the note was connected to Justin. No, for now she’d stay put—but she’d stay on alert, too.

She opened her laptop and did a search for Justin Carver, trying to see if there was any mention of his current whereabouts in the media. She found nothing recent, so she moved on to check her email. Finally. The email from the business manager from Southside was short and succinct.

TOMORROW. SOUTHSIDE WAREHOUSE. BUILDING 149, 11 P.M.

Her heart leaped as hope swelled within her. She glanced around the pool again, then returned her attention to the screen.

A man in jeans and a blue T-shirt caught her attention and she studied him carefully as a wave of anxiety swept over her. He was the only one in the pool area that wasn’t in a bathing suit, but it was more than his clothing that made him appear suspicious. Twice he had looked in her direction with a cold and calculating expression, and he seemed to be following her with his eyes. He looked familiar to her, but she couldn’t quite place where she had seen him before. Was he the man from the airport yesterday? The one in the Braves cap who she suspected had planted the threatening note in her purse? Her hands started shaking and she closed her laptop with a snap.

“I think it’s time to go back to the room. Don’t you think so, Miss Abigail? I’m starting to get a little too much sun.”

“Sure, darling. I think it’s about time for my favorite TV show anyway.”

The man looked in her direction a third time. Chelsea quickly got up and went to Miss Abigail’s side, then helped her gather her things just as the man started to approach them. With each step he took Chelsea’s heart seemed to beat faster and faster and her knees turned to jelly.