Escaping Vegas (The Inheritance Book 1) (5 page)

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

T
he congestion of Southern California extended even into the earliest morning hours. Traffic wasn’t nearly as heavy now as it would be in three or four hours, but there was proof that workers were already getting a jump-start on their drive. Those who had five o’clock start times departed their house at three-thirty, and so on.

Madalina guided Cole to the edge of Whittier, then onto the surface streets, using her knowledge of the city to take every back road they could. Paranoia still lived with her, despite the lack of an incident in the final stretch home.

Home. Madalina wasn’t sure she would feel entirely safe within the beloved walls of her rented house. She had nowhere else to go, at least not anywhere that wouldn’t put someone else in danger. What would Cole do once they arrived? Would he drop her at the curb? Stay an hour or two? Paying his exorbitant bodyguard fees was out of the question, but she’d made it clear she wanted his help. Perhaps he would stay at a nearby hotel, remaining in constant contact. The thought of separation still unnerved her. She didn’t want to be alone. Visions of sedans cruising past her house, stalking her, waiting for her to set foot outside, persisted.

In an older section of town, Madalina directed Cole to Wildflower Way, a charming street of small but quaint homes built at the turn of the century. The boughs of trees interlaced overhead, creating a dappled effect of moonlight and shadow on the asphalt.

“Right up here. Two fourteen,” she said, pointing to a blue house with white trim. She’d left the porch light on to deter any would-be thieves. A small stone pathway led from a buckled sidewalk to her front steps, the tiny yard of green, green grass freshly mowed and manicured.

Everything looked as it should.

Cole pulled to the curb, habitually surveying the street in all directions. When he turned his shoulders to peer out the back, his arm brushed hers. Madalina refused to be distracted by the swell of muscle under his gray shirt.

Now came the awkward part. She fiddled with the strap of her purse, thinking of several different openings, working on how to ask him where she could find him if trouble came up.

“Looks peaceful enough.” He put the car in park and cut the engine. “Come on.”

Surprised, but not about to argue with his decision to accompany her to the door, Madalina disembarked and met him on the sidewalk.

“Careful. The city hasn’t fixed this yet.” She gestured to the buckled section of concrete in front of her yard. Roots from the giant trees sometimes wreaked havoc on the sidewalks, creating a tripping hazard. The residents, including Madalina, wouldn’t have it any other way. The trees were a barrier to the rest of the city, providing pleasant greenery and an almost woodsy feel to the street.

“Got it.” He led the way up her walk and took the three steps to her porch in one long stride.

Madalina fished her keys out of her purse, caught between the desire to stare at him in front of her door and to look warily over her shoulder. She couldn’t help herself. The almost-abduction was still too fresh in her mind.

“Here.” He held his hand out for her keys.

Madalina, saved from having to bring up the subject of him leaving, readily placed her keys in his palm. She shivered when their fingers brushed.

He inserted the key into one lock, then another, and twisted the doorknob.

Madalina checked the street one more time, then followed him in. She didn’t get very far. Bumping into his back, the material of his shirt muffling an
oomph
of surprise, she realized that Cole had gone utterly still and silent. Half in and half out of the doorway, she whispered, “What’s wrong?”

“Stay here. I mean it; don’t move.” He stepped forward into the house. The soles of his boots cracked and crunched over what sounded like shattered glass.

Once his body receded into the shadowy interior of the living room, Madalina had a clear view of the destruction. In the gloom, she recognized the shattered remnants of her lamps, the stuffing from her hunter-green couch, shredded accent pillows and curtains that now overlapped the tipped-over dining table. Pieces of her grandmother’s china were scattered throughout the living room, small dining area, and probably the equally small kitchen at the back of the house. The rugs were ruined, her collectibles broken into unrecognizable slivers of porcelain. Even the single curio that she’d saved six months to buy had been tipped over, the glass in shards on the carpet. The beloved objects that had once been inside lay strewn here and there, lost amid the chaos.

She could not comprehend the viciousness with which someone had hacked her life to pieces. A hand flew to her mouth, covering a gasp of shock and dismay.

Cole disappeared into the shadowy niche of a bedroom doorway, then reappeared a few moments later. He did the same with her bedroom, then the bathroom, and stalked through the living room to the kitchen. She didn’t need to be told that the other rooms in the house were as devastated as the living room. His grim expression said better than words that her once-tidy home was in shambles. All of it. Every room. Tears welled, threatening to spill over. She choked on a sob, smothered the sound with her palm, and inwardly cursed the bastards who had stripped her life bare. Of freedom, of security, of comfort. It was more than the loss of everything she’d worked so hard for; a profound sense of violation settled over her and refused to leave. Someone had shredded even her most personal things, ripping her life apart one thread at a time, leaving only callous destruction behind. It was as if her things meant nothing; therefore,
she
meant nothing. The sense of desolation and loss was a great sinkhole, ready to swallow her whole.

“Come on. We’re leaving,” Cole said as he approached. His features were stern, hard, his eyes darting past her to the yard.

“But I don’t have any clothes. I need things from my—”

“It’ll take too long to sort through what’s left. We’ll get you clothes later. I—” Without any warning, Cole grabbed her elbow and pulled her inside. He slammed the door, braced an arm around her shoulders, and hustled her toward the kitchen. “I saw a back door. Is there a way off the property, a back gate, anything?”

Madalina yelped, casting a quick look over her shoulder. A car had come to a stop behind the Jaguar, headlights on, the doors flying open. She thought she saw two figures emerge, but then she was running, stumbling over debris. Breathless, fear twisting a knot in her gut, she said, “Just the yard, no gate. It backs up to other people’s property.”

Cole didn’t stop. He yanked open the back door, which proved to have a busted lock, and ushered her into the night.

Cole estimated that he had maybe three minutes to act before the people in the car caught up to them. He pulled Madalina down a set of concrete steps to the yard and followed a footpath through the grass. Two trees stood between the house and the fence, oaks perhaps, with trunks as broad as a linebacker’s shoulders. Touched by moonlight, silvery leaves rustled in an errant breeze. The idyllic scene played a backdrop to havoc; using the trunks as cover—temporary cover, and probably poor cover at that—Cole zigzagged toward the fence. Better than running in plain sight, where he might be gunned down.

At any other time, on any other night, Cole would have simply scaled the five-foot fence. Instinctively understanding that Madalina couldn’t easily make the leap, he paused and put his hands on her hips. He didn’t ask, didn’t explain. He simply plucked her up off the ground and lifted her high enough for her to swing a leg over. She yelped, awkwardly fumbling her purse, and tilted forward as if she was astride a horse. It was rough going, too, with a bump, a scrape, and a drag of wood across her forearm. She fell over to the other side, landing with an ungraceful thump. Cole had just released her when he heard the steady rhythm of running footsteps. Grabbing the top of the fence, he vaulted it, landing a foot to Madalina’s left. She was still picking herself up off the ground when he snatched her hand and yanked her into a run. To her credit, she didn’t scream or complain; she gathered speed, breath coming in shallow gasps, shorter legs struggling to keep up.

The backyard opposite Madalina’s had an advantage hers did not: a swimming pool. Just as he pulled her behind the trunk of an old tree, he heard scrabbling hands and feet on the fence they’d just scaled.

Cole paused, body pressed right up against Madalina’s softer one, timing his emergence from the tree to the pursuer’s passage. He lurched out when the runner blipped into view, grasping the thinner man around the torso. The assailant grunted in surprise, twisting in Cole’s grasp. Using momentum, Cole charged three long steps, whipped the man in a circle, and threw him into the pool. He gestured back to the tree, to Madalina, encouraging her to move.

She bolted away from the tree trunk, eyes wide on the man in the pool.

Cole grasped her hand just as a flood lamp flashed on, bathing the backyard in blinding light. He blinked against the glare, tugging Madalina alongside the small house, and simply kicked at the flimsy-looking gate when they came to it. The latch gave with a snap. Running into the front, Cole changed directions, slanting left along the yard to the sidewalk. Trees like those on Madalina’s street arched over the asphalt, limbs intertwined, casting shadows in broad swaths. He ran along the sidewalk, Madalina huffing and puffing beside him, passing other quaint houses all as old as her own. A For Sale sign in the yard of a canary-yellow, Craftsman-style home drew him like a moth to a flame. He glanced back, seeing nothing of their pursuers yet. With luck, the homeowner had caused a mild distraction. Cole didn’t think for a second that any homeowner would stop the assailant completely.

Cutting through the yard, ignoring a mewl of protest from Madalina, he angled for the side of the For Sale house and a three-foot chain-link fence with an unlocked gate. He flipped up the U-shaped latch and tugged her alongside the home.

“What . . . what are . . . we . . . doing here?” Madalina said between gasps.

Cole led her along an awning-covered back porch to a sliding glass door. He fiddled with the handle. It held.

“Can’t bust this out; they’ll hear.” He urged her on, testing windows until he found one leading into an empty bedroom. There was no screen to mess with, and after several struggling attempts to lift the stuck window from the sill, it gave with a groan and inched upward.

Madalina set her hands on the frame once he’d opened it far enough to clear a body. Cole set his hands on her waist, glancing left and right to check that a pursuer hadn’t caught up to them.

“Ugh!” She slid in and onto the floor, unable to stop her forward momentum.

Cole pulled himself up, threw a leg over the frame, and ducked inside. The carpet had been ripped up, exposing rustic wood floors. There was an old-house smell, perhaps exacerbated by molding carpet from the previous owner. That could account for why it was gone.

“You okay?” Cole asked, grabbing Madalina’s hand once she was on her feet. He led her into a gloomy hallway, which also lacked carpet. To the right was another open door, exposing a second bedroom. To the left, the hallway emptied into a small living area, dining area, and kitchen. Some of the windows had blinds; some had nothing, not even sheers. A tiny brick fireplace stood in a corner near the door. Cole stuck to the shadows, alert for noises of intrusion elsewhere in the home.

“Yes. Yes. What just happened?”

“They were waiting to see if you showed up at your house, that’s what happened. We should have been more careful.” He released her and peered out a front window, keeping his body to the side, away from the view of prying eyes. The street outside looked quiet.

“But
why
? What do they want? I don’t have anything that valuable, I haven’t ever been part of any mob, I haven’t stolen anything—I don’t get it!” She panted for breath, standing next to him against the wall.

“Trust me. You’ve got something they want. The state of your house proves it.” Cole remained vigilant, examining the street in both directions. Headlights alerted him to a slowly cruising car, and he pulled back enough to see, but not be seen. The sedan, this one metallic gold in color, inched down the middle of the road. Cole couldn’t see inside the vehicle thanks to darkly tinted windows, but the speed of the car—a snail’s pace—indicated they were searching for something.

For Madalina.

For him, too, now that he’d aligned himself with her.

“What is it?” she asked, pressing against his arm.

“They’re actively looking for you. Haven’t seen anyone on foot, but I’d bet my next paycheck the men in that car are the same ones—or of the same group—who ransacked your house.” Cole watched the car until it disappeared out of sight. He couldn’t see the corner of the street from here, only two houses or so in each direction.

“Do you think they know we’re nearby?”

“It’s hard to say. They may think we’ve taken more shortcuts through other yards, trying to get farther away. Count on it, though. They’re actively looking. It’s going to be tricky to slip past their net.”