Unshakeable Pursuit (Christian Romantic Suspense)

Chapter 8a

Cassandra froze in place like a rabbit about to bolt.

Geoffrey was trying to think of what to do when Maylin quickly said, "We're not here to get you in trouble. We just want to talk."

"How did you find me?" Cassandra demanded.

"A skip tracer," Geoffrey said.

Cassandra dropped the garbage bag she'd been carrying and pressed her hand to her mouth, her body shaking. She muttered as if talking to herself, "He can find me. I need somewhere else, somewhere safe."

"You came to the clinic to help us," Geoffrey said. "We can help you. We have somewhere no one could find you."

"It's where we've been hiding," Maylin added.

Cassandra's brown eyes were wide. "Did he come after you?" she whispered.

"Some men came after us," Maylin said. "We don't know who they are. We're hoping you can explain."

"Hey, Cass—" A young African American woman came through the side gate and stopped at the sight of them. She immediately grabbed Cassandra's arm, dragging her behind her. "Who are you?" she demanded. Geoffrey guessed she was Jean.

"I'm Maylin, and this is Geoffrey. The same people who are after Cassandra are after us."

The woman's rigid stance relaxed a fraction. "What do you want?"

"Answers," Geoffrey said. "So we can stop all this."

Cassandra choked. "You can't stop it."

"You don't know that. Tell us what's going on. We have resources you may not have."

"You won't have more resources than him."

"Cassandra," Maylin said gently, "what have you got to lose by talking to us?"

There was a few seconds of silence, then Jean touched a hand to her friend's shoulder. "She's right, Cass. What have you got to lose?" Jean picked up the dropped garbage bag and motioned toward the open side gate with her head. "Come on back."

The backyard was a square of brown grass, framed by a weathered wooden fence. A plastic patio chair and a pool lounge chair sat around a wicker circular table where there were two coffee mugs. Jean moved a motley-colored cat from another plastic patio chair and carried the chair to the table. "Have a seat. I'll make more coffee and tell Quentin." She disappeared into the house.

Cassandra perched on the edge of the lounge chair. "Jean's boyfriend is working." She pointed to the second story, where the top edge of an easel could be seen through the large window.

"Have you been hiding out here since you spoke to me?" Geoffrey asked.

Cassandra nodded, her eyes on the ground. "I was afraid."

"Of what?"

"My father."

Geoffrey hadn't expected that. "I don't understand."

"Is he the one after us?" Maylin asked.

"You both saved Frank Chan's life, right?" Cassandra said. "A few days later, he killed Chet."

"He killed your brother?" Maylin asked.

"I thought it was a car accident." If Geoffrey remembered the news article correctly, a couple witnesses said that the car had been swerving recklessly, then hit the side rail and flipped over down an embankment.

"Frank was driving his father's car," Cassandra said. "Frank and Chet were both drunk. They were thrown from the car because they weren't wearing seat belts, Frank had head trauma and broken bones, but Chet died almost instantly. Frank is my father's only son, and he went crazy with grief," she said with an edge to her voice. "And now he's out to kill everyone responsible."