Excerpt from August
Gigi laid on her back staring at the bubbles of popcorn on the ceiling above her. Though it was dark and after 10:00 p.m., sleep wouldn’t come for a while yet.
She never used to be like this. Gone were the days of crashing when her head hit the pillow. Nope. She could take all the magnesium and drink all the chamomile tea in the world and she still wouldn’t pass out at a reasonable hour.
Running for your life and hiding in Witness Protection did that to a person.
Was Todd hiding? If the Cartel had caught and killed him, the U.S. Marshals hadn’t told her about it. And since she was basically a prisoner without access to a phone or internet, she really had no clue what was going on in the world.
Damn Todd anyway. She was in this stupid mess because of his stupid ass, and who knew how long it’d be before she left stupid Wyoming?
Forever probably. While her food blog business burst like a pin stabbed into a balloon and her family was left wondering if she was even alive, Todd had made off with his millions that he’d skimmed from the Mexican Cartel and she paid the price.
Her quaint little prison didn’t even have a streaming service. Without the distraction of a creating recipes and food art, social media, or TV, she sure had a lot of time on her hands.
At least it was pretty here.
Even if the place was lacking in space. Her bedroom was in the house’s new addition, just off the kitchen. Outside her door was a short hallway that led to the backdoor. Joe’s room was beyond the living room at the front of the house.
The wind picked up, rattling something outside. Gigi pulled the musty-smelling quilt up to her nose and shuddered. There were always weird noises from the small, old farmhouse in Wyoming’s Laramie Mountains. The hundred-year-old walls practically screamed their objection to her presence. Although Wyoming wasn’t that bad. Kinda pretty actually. Joe’s farm was about twenty minutes from Castle which was close enough to get what they needed, but far enough to be out of the public eye.
She sighed.
I’m alive. I’m breathing. Be thankful, goddammit.
That wasn’t exactly from a book of affirmations, but it sometimes did the trick.
A creak sounded. Gigi’s hair stood on end.
Get a grip, it’s just the wind.
Or maybe some critter that inhabited the land. Besides, she didn’t have much to worry about. U.S. Marshal Joe Jefferson might be well into his sixties, but the dude was built like an ox and trained morning. If he couldn’t keep her alive no one could.
Joe was nice enough, just a little distant. But the rare moments her dry sense of humor made him crack a smile it was worth it. He’d given her free roam of the property and access to his gym which was a converted outbuilding with weights, a punching bag and a few machines. She’d made use of the space, because really, what else was there to do? She was in the best shape of her life with no hot guys to show it off to... or one guy in particular anyway.
Girl. Don’t go there.
Creak
Gigi bolted in the bed. The springs squeaked from her sharp movement, making a scream stab in the center of her throat. That noise was from a floor board. Of that she was certain.
Her heart beat in triple time, whacking her eardrums with ferocity. Slipping her hand underneath the pillow, she closed her fingers around the knife she’d been gifted.
She blinked in the darkness, willing more light into the room but it never came. Someone—maybe Joe—was walking through the house.
But Joe wouldn’t sneak around in the dark.
The air was thick with foreign energy, making her senses crackle in warning. She peeled back the covers but the rustling sound was as loud as a racoon in a garbage can to her ears.
If she screamed to alert Joe, the killer would find her quicker. She had to get out of the house. Her sweatpants and t-shirt felt like ten-pound weights as she stood from the bed. Terror tasted like liquid fire on her tongue as she moved closer to the door.
Maybe she’d lost her mind. Cabin fever and paranoia surely weren’t a good mix. If—
Crack!
The sharp blast of a bullet split the airwaves, making her surge to her toes. She let out a scream and then slapped a hand to her mouth.
“Hot zone!” Joe screamed their code word and she bolted from the room. That meant she had seconds to get out of the house before all went to shit.
The gnashing of fists to bone reached her ears, followed by the crash of glass. Fear gnawed at her heels. The slap, slap, slap of her bare feet on the wooden floor echoed in the small cabin. It took all of her self-control not to scream.
Joe said whatever she did, don’t scream. They’d find her faster.