Betty Lewis entered the room of her younger sister, Ellie, and smiled with a cheer she did not feel. Betty didn’t like the room its unrelenting yellow and carefully placed pictures of flowers and rainbows. It tried disguised its true nature—a sterile room in an institution meant for the helpless, the hopeless.
Her little sis sat unmoving in her wheelchair. She stared out the window, not seeing the rolling green lawn or blue-sky day. Betty pulled a chair close and sat, stroking the dark hair away from Ellie’s face.
Betty was too agitated to chatter. Usually, she brushed then braided Ellie’s hair and filled the silence with small talk about everything—the weather, her job, the antics of her dogs, any mundane, trivial thing that popped into her head. She sat next to her sibling, the only family she had left, and took her cool, unresponsive hand.
“He’s done it again.” She pressed Ellie’s hand to her cheek and closed her eyes. “I’m so sorry.” Tears fell, sliding between her sister’s too-still fingers. Betty took shuddering breaths, trying not to give into the sorrow. “He trapped your soul, darling. Trapped you in a broken body.” She squeezed Ellie’s hand. “He killed his wife. Just like he tried to kill you.”
Five years ago, Ellie had been the fiancé of prominent attorney Rodrigo Santos. She’d hidden the abuse from Betty—from all of her family. Until one night, Rodrigo beat her so badly, she’d ended up ICU and the asshole had been arrested for domestic violence.
Ellie’s recovery had been slow and painful, and all that suffering made her realize the man she loved was a monster. She ended the engagement. Rodrigo pled out on the charges, paid a fine, and sauntered right back into his privileged life. A week later, Ellie walked out of the restaurant where she’d gotten a waitressing job and got shot in the head. Betty knew Rodrigo had pulled that trigger. But there was no proof. And while Ellie didn’t die, she would never again be the vivacious girl with the beautiful smile and kind heart.
Once again, she found herself wishing Rodrigo Santos to hell. Maybe this time, he’d pay for her sins.
Maybe this time his money and connections and lies wouldn’t save him.
Maybe.
Two
Hayley rolled her suitcase across the charming boardwalk that led to the steps of the Victorian three-story house. It was beyond gorgeous. Its candy-esque pink exterior was laced with white trim and shutters. The huge wraparound porch hugged the building like a pretty white scarf. She saw the wooden rocking chairs, just as she’d always imagined—and between them a matched table large enough for a lemonade pitcher, two frosty glasses, and a plate of shortbread cookies.
It was as if the creator of this property had taken her vision of the perfect house right out of her mind. She picked up the rollaway and walked up the steps to the porch. At the top, she turned, watching the dinghy that had transported her to the tiny island off the California coast row out to the yacht.
So. This was her brother’s idea of safety.
Just until the trial, Hayley. Please.
Hayley sucked in a few more relaxing breaths, then picked up her suitcase and entered the house turned beach resort. To her right was a lovely spiral staircase, in front of her, a long hallway, and to the left, a small check-in counter. Her gaze continued left, and she spotted a nook with three oblong stained glass windows. She noted the two pear-green loveseats facing each other and the oblong cherry wood table between them. That seating area offered the only furniture—or any other objects—in the lobby. It was sparse, clean, and smelled strongly of lemon with teasing hints of cinnamon. She instantly loved the cozy feel.
This place reminded her of Logan. Her heart turned over in her chest. They had been searching for a Victorian home to renovate. She’d loved him deeply. She’d believed he’d had working class roots, the same as her, but no, he’d kept secrets. Big secrets. Like who his family was and that he wasn’t exactly unattached. Six months later, she missed him still. But she’d made her choice.
And he hadn’t come after her, had he?
That’s not fair. Just a week after they’d broken up, she’d witnessed Maria’s murder and had gone into protective custody. Every day since had been nothing but fear and chaos. And she was no closer to getting her life back. It would have been impossible for Logan to find her even if he’d wanted to track her down.
The woman behind the check-in counter waited for her. Her bright-white smile was cheerful and reached her twinkling brown eyes. Her short black hair framed an apple-cheeked face with a brownie-dark complexion. Her pink tank top and tan shorts showed off a muscled, trim body. Wow. She looked like a competitor from American Gladiators.
“Welcome, Hayley,” she said. “We’ve been waiting for you. I’m Claire.”
“Hi, Claire.” Hayley approached the counter and once again dropped her suitcase. “It’s so quiet here. And beautiful.”