another glass. To pour or not to pour? became the most pertinent question. She used a toe to push off and send the hammock rocking again while she made up her mind.
It was so peaceful out here, the darkness so deep and quiet. She’d loved the West Coast city life, loved the challenges and perks of a high-powered, well-paying job. Being a single parent of an active, intelligent son had ups and downs, but at the end of every day, there was unconditional love. Everything about that life, except her son, was over. Where did that leave her? Where did she want to go next?
Money wasn’t a big, immediate problem. Having been raised on next to nothing, she’d invested well and saved more through the years. Only Bernadette, as the executor of Addison’s will and potential guardian for Andy, had access to those accounts.
She rubbed at the space between her eyebrows, wishing once more that there had been a way to warn Bernadette of the oncoming storm. But that kind of move would’ve been dangerous. During her relationship with Craig, she’d mentioned a few of their young and stupid antics in New Orleans, and he’d taken care of Andy six months ago when she and Bernadette had spent a girls’ weekend in Tahoe.
Did fools come any bigger than she’d been with Craig?
Rolling to her feet, Addison headed back inside with her mason jar. She’d done all she could, taken every precaution, including running here, the safest place she knew. There was nothing left to do but wait it out. She had nearly six weeks left before school started. Out here, with only Nico as a contact, surely that would be enough time for her to know how much farther she’d have to run to provide Andy with as normal a life as possible.
Walking inside, she closed the door and checked the load on the shotgun. It had felt odd in her hands at first, but after a few hours of practice, shooting at stationary targets and then moving ones, her hands and body remembered the routine.
Carrying the shotgun with her, she unrolled her sleeping bag on the kitchen side of the narrow bedroom doorway. Settling on top of the thick layers of fabric for the remainder of the night, Addison listened to the soft hum of the refrigerator. It seemed to underscore the gentle, content sounds of her son sleeping on the cot in the corner on the other side of the door.
Bugs continued whirring and chirping outside, and she heard the occasional splash from fish, frog or turtle beneath the stilted house. They were safe. Craig couldn’t find them here. If he searched anywhere, he was more likely to start with the small plot of land in Mississippi that still held her name on the title. It was on public record, which she couldn’t change now. Although he knew she’d loved visiting New Orleans, she’d never told him anything about her dirt-stained summers out here in the bayou.
Nico had promised to keep her presence here a secret as well as keep her informed of any suspicious strangers who might appear and ask questions. She had the radio, and maybe in a week or two she’d risk a trip into town to scour the internet for any warning signs and check in with Professor Hastings.
Addison discarded the idea immediately. Any contact with her friend and mentor earlier than planned would put her “insurance policy” in jeopardy. No one could know she’d sent him backup files of Craig’s treacherous dealings as well as more incriminating evidence. She thought of all the names she didn’t know on his contact lists, the lists she’d downloaded from his phone and computer before sending them anonymously to the FBI.
With any luck, they would keep that as an ace up their sleeve, the secret weapon he wouldn’t be prepared to explain away in court. Combined with what she’d sent to Professor Hastings, Craig would never be free long enough to cause trouble for her or Andy. As long as they caught him.
As she drifted off to sleep, one hand on the stock of the shotgun, she almost believed