Saving Grace

Chapter 11

Shay's POV




When we reached Los Angeles I expected to go straight to the Wittiness Protection Program Headquarters, but instead the parking lot we turned into was that of a nice hotel.




"Let's get you girls up to your rooms so you can shower and change," Marie said, ushering us out of the car. "We got a lot of your clothes from New York."




Grace was asleep in my arms, even though it was about four in the afternoon. On our way to our rooms we earned quite a few looks. Three highly battered women, two sleeping children and one put together and polished business woman parading through the lobby probably wasn't the norm.




The first thing I did when I got into my room was latch the door shut. I didn't trust the automatic lock. Grace stirred in my arms as I set her down on the bed so I could shower.




While we had been at our safe house I had avoided the one mirror. I had had no interest to see what I looked like, no desire to count the added scrapes and bruises that peppered my body. On the back wall of the bathroom was a full length mirror, so the first thing I saw after closing the door and turning was my reflection.




My hair was no longer at it's "tastefully shaggy" length, as Charlie liked to call it, but well past the tops of my ears and fell into my eyes. Brown roots were showing instead of the sleak and shiny black that it should have been. I had little scabs on my face, but nothing permanant. Without the thick layer of makeup that I usually wore, the long scar on my cheek was obvious.




I turned away from the mirror to turn on the water and reached into the bag Marie had given me. She had given me shampoo, conditioner and soap, as well as some stuff for Grace. At the bottom of everything was a box of jet black hair dye.




While steam filled the bathroom I mixed the dye and applied it to my roots. Then I put on a shower cap, stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower.




The burning water was a welcome pain. It washed away the dirt and grim while bringing me back to before I was taken a second time. I didn't, couldn't, allow myself to think about what had happened while we were there. Instead I thought about Liam.




Perfect Liam.




The love of my life, the father of my child.




The only man I really trusted.




The first time I had been forced to leave him he had told me that he would love me no matter what. Could that still apply? I had spilled my heart out to him and he had still loved me.




But I had lied to him again. I had made him believe that I was dead. Can a person recover from something like that? Was there any possibility of him forgiving me?




Had the roles been reversed I would forgive him. Did I love him more than he loved me though?




All of the questions that I had refused to ask myself over the past few years came flooding into my head with the burning water that flowed from the shower head.