Soldier Mine (Sons of War #2)(10)

He lifts his head, listening. “And … karate?”

“Let me think about it. A girl I can understand. I don’t want Tampa to happen again,” I say and shudder.

“I think Petr is legit,” he offers. “He came to my class and he’s all over the internet.”

“Hmmm.” I stand. I don’t know how to admit to my brother that I’m terrified of taking a chance on anything. When I look at him, I see a child still. “I’ll think about it.”

“Your homework done?”

“Yep.”

Picking up his empty chili bowl, I return to the kitchen and place it in the dishwasher before going to the cupboard. I pull out the snowman and count how much I have.

Enough for two one-way bus tickets anywhere … or an iPhone. He has an iPad issued by the school, and I use cheap, disposable phones, swapping them out every two to four weeks or so.

Normal, I tell myself. Glory Glade is supposed to be where we become like everyone else. Normal people don’t worry about bus ticket money. Laying the money out on the counter, I recount it then roll it into a wad to tuck into my pants.

When I leave the kitchen, Todd is in his room with the door open so Snickers can go in and out. I turn on the television to help block the phone call I need to make and then seal myself in my room.

I fiddle with the phone for a moment before dialing one of the numbers I have memorized.

“Santiago Law Firm,” answers a male voice.

“Simon, please,” I say.

He transfers me. Every time I call, my insides twist into knots and I end up needing a bowl of ice cream when it’s over.

“Simon.”

“Hey, Simon, it’s me,” I murmur, my back to the wall I share with Todd’s room.

“Claudia! I haven’t heard from you in weeks. I assumed the worst happened.”

“I’m fine,” I assure him. He’s an old family friend of my father. I can’t afford a lawyer, but he’s kind to me because of my deceased dad. “Just wanted to check in.” I hold my breath for good news.

“The Feds are moving slowly,” he reports. “If they mess this up, it won’t stick, and we’ll be out of cards.”

“So no progress?”

“There’s progress, just no results.”

I know better than to expect a different answer. The man stalking me is under investigation by the federal government for smuggling drugs. The problem: the investigation has one shot to nail his ass and put him in jail for twenty years. If they mess this opportunity up, they can’t charge him again for the same crime. I understand that they’re treading slowly, but I, too, am tired of running. Restraining orders and thirty-day stints in jail for domestic disturbances are nothing to a man who thinks he owns me – and who somehow figured out I helped the feds build their case against him. I thought escaping was the hardest part. Four years later, I know the truth.

Running is the hardest part. I’ve been praying for years that the feds can throw him in jail.

“Okay. I’ll call back in another couple of weeks,” I say, disappointed.

“When they move, it’ll be quick. Maybe check in every week?” Simon asks. It’s not the first time he’s brought this up.

“We’ll see,” I reply. “Thanks, Simon.”

“Take care, Claudia.”

I hang up with him. I no longer stress over doing something different. It’s been a year since The Monster found us, and we’ve moved four times since then. I’ve gotten good at disappearing.

It’s a skill I wish I didn’t have to learn.

My heart is pounding. I take a deep breath and go to the fridge for some ice cream.

It’ll be over soon. It has to be. Until then, I can’t let down my guard around anyone.





Chapter Five: Claudia


I buy Todd’s phone in the morning, before work and set him up on a monthly plan. I’m out all of my savings, but holding the device brings a smile to my face, along with a trickle of hope.

What I’m not expecting to see when I arrive to work is Petr. He’s seated in the same booth as yesterday. Mornings are quiet on Saturdays, when the downtown businesses are closed or opening late. I pause as I walk through the door. He’s facing the door this time and waves.

I did my own research online to verify his story and ensure he wasn’t a psycho. He’s not. If anything, he’s the town’s much loved war hero, a man wealthy enough to pay for other injured soldiers and vets to receive additional medical care.

He’s what I would’ve called a good guy before my life went to shit.

But seeing him here … knowing he knows where I work and when I might be in … it stirs my sense of paranoia, the instinct that’s kept me alive and also interfered with my ability to trust anyone.

Without returning the wave, I go to the staff area at the back of the kitchen and tuck my coat into my assigned cubbyhole. I pull on my apron and finger his card. I left it there purposely yesterday instead of taking it home with me, as if the card itself was one of the two people who invaded my life yesterday.

“You need help lifting anything?” I call to the cook.

“He’s set. Already broke my back for the day,” replies Eileen, the older waitress I split my shift with for half a day. With platinum-dyed hair and leathery skin, she looks more like the women in Florida than in Massachusetts. “Table four was asking for you.”