Chapter 6
Sarah dropped the phone onto the passenger seat. The bright daylight streaming through the windshield felt like a spotlight. They were officially fugitives in a town controlled by the people who had murdered her husband.
"They called the police," Sarah told the children, her voice tight but remarkably steady. "They're claiming I kidnapped you, Connor."
Connor’s fair face went pale. "They're going to put you in jail, Aunt Sarah."
"Not if I can help it," Sarah said, shifting the car into gear. "But we can't stay here. They'll track my license plate."
She drove them away from the commercial strip, heading toward the outskirts of town where the affluent neighborhoods gave way to older, forgotten industrial parks. She found a cheap, brightly lit motel with peeling paint and an exterior facing a busy highway. It wasn't safe, but it was anonymous.
Sarah paid for the room in cash, rushing the kids inside. The room smelled of stale smoke and heavy bleach, but the locks worked, and the curtains were thick enough to block out the prying eyes of the street.
Once inside, Sarah sat Grace down on the edge of the worn, floral bedspread. She went into the bathroom and returned with a pair of cheap plastic scissors from a complimentary sewing kit.
"It's not going to be a salon cut," Sarah said softly, kneeling in front of her daughter. "But we can make it even. Okay?"
Grace sniffled, nodding her head. The bright overhead light illuminated the jagged, humiliating cuts Sabrina had made. Sarah worked carefully, her hands gentle as she trimmed the uneven pieces, creating a short, neat bob that framed Grace’s beautiful, rosy face.
"There," Sarah whispered, brushing the stray hairs away. "You look beautiful, Grace. You always look beautiful."
Grace threw her arms around her mother's neck, hugging her fiercely. "I love you, Mommy."
"I love you too, baby," Sarah replied, kissing her cheek.
She turned to Connor, who was sitting at the small wooden desk, keeping a watchful eye on the door. "Connor, I need you to listen to me carefully. I have a friend from the hospital, Dr. Evans. He lives a few miles from here. He doesn't know Sabrina or your Grandmother. He's a good man."
"Are we going to his house?" Connor asked.
"You and Grace are," Sarah said, her voice turning grave. "I'm going to drop you two off. Dr. Evans will keep you safe and out of sight."
"What about you?" Grace asked, her eyes widening in panic. "Mommy, where are you going?"
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Sarah looked at the digital tablet resting on the motel bed. The video of her husband's murderers played on a silent loop in her mind. They had stolen David’s life. They had stolen Grace’s future. And they had humiliated her child for sport.
"I'm going back to the house," Sarah stated, her American accent flat and terrifyingly resolved. "I'm going to get the red ledger from the study."
