Second Wind (Cypress Coast Book 1) Read online

  SECOND WIND

  BY

  ALISON HENDERSON

  SECOND WIND

  Desperate to escape her abusive fiancé, kinetic sculptor Laurel McDowell pawns her engagement ring, loads everything she owns into her VW Beetle, and heads for the sanctuary of her family home in Big Sur. She lands a job in an art gallery in picturesque Carmel-by-the-Sea and begins a new life.

  After her ex’s body washes up on the beach, Laurel finds herself dragged into a scheme involving money-laundering Russians, a pair of amiable biker gang members, and a good-looking government number-cruncher who’s more comfortable in a T-shirt and shorts than a suit.

  As a forensic accountant for the FBI, Jake Carlson is used to nailing bad guys by following the money trail. His current investigation is floundering until he meets Laurel McDowell, a young woman with connections to an alarming number of his suspects. Is she a witness, an accomplice, or a victim? All he has to do is to keep her alive long enough to find out.

  SECOND WIND

  © Copyright 2019 Alison Henderson

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover Art by Creative Author Services

  Published by Alison Henderson

  United States of America

  Electronic Version: NOVEMBER 2019

  CHAPTER ONE

  “I’ll give you ten thousand.”

  Laurel McDowell’s heart sank. She’d been hoping for more. She knew for a fact Richard had paid more than forty thousand dollars for the glittering boulder set in platinum that marked her as his. He rarely failed to mention it when he was angry.

  If she was to have any chance of escape, she needed more, much more. She forced a flirty smile in hopes of enticing the shrewd-eyed pawnbroker to raise his offer. “Couldn’t you do a bit better? It’s worth four times that amount.”

  The wiry little man lowered his jeweler’s loupe. “Lady, I’m going out on a limb as it is. Who comes into a joint like this to buy a diamond this size? Ten grand. Take it or leave it.”

  Laurel glanced at her watch. She didn’t have time to drive all over Seattle looking for someone who would offer more for the cursed thing. Richard would be home in a few hours, and she needed to be long gone. He might have calmed down, but she wasn’t sticking around to find out. She refused to give him one more second chance. “I’ll take it.”

  “I’ll write you a check.” The pawnbroker’s fingers curled around the ring.

  Her heart dropped a notch lower. She’d just come from the bank after closing her account and collecting her meager savings. “No. No check. I’ve got to have cash.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed as he appraised her. “I don’t keep that kind of cash around. If you need cash, the offer is five thousand.”

  He was lying. Pawnshops were cash businesses. He was trying to cheat her out of an already lowball price. Well, he wouldn’t succeed. She needed the money. She’d earned it. She would go elsewhere and risk Richard finding her before she’d give up five thousand dollars.

  She closed her eyes and mentally repeated the words that had been running through her head all day.

  Be bold. Take charge of your life. You’re in control.

  All she needed was the gumption to believe it.

  She shook her head and held out her hand. “Give me the ring. Five thousand is absurd.”

  The pawnbroker tightened his grasp. “Seventy-five hundred.”

  “Ten thousand in cash, or I’m walking out of here with the ring.”

  “Eight thousand.”

  She stood her ground. “Ten. Now.”

  “Nine thousand.”

  “There’s plenty of profit left for you at ten thousand. I won’t take a penny less.”

  The man shrugged and smiled, as if haggling were part of a game instead of a matter of her survival. “You drive a hard bargain. I’ll get your money.”

  Laurel extended her hand further. “And I’ll hold the ring until you get back.”

  The pawnbroker barked a short laugh, handed her the ring, and disappeared into the back room. A few minutes later he returned with a fat envelope. She opened the flap and stared at the thick wad of hundred-dollar bills. Was it enough? It had to be.

  “You gonna count it?” He made it sound like a dare.

  She had no doubt he’d cheat her, given half a chance, so she met his gaze with a defiant lift of her chin. “Absolutely.” She flipped through the cash. It was all there.

  “The ring?” the pawnbroker reminded her.

  She thrust it toward him, clutching the envelope in her other hand.

  The man gave her a slimy smile. “Pleasure doing business with you. Now watch your step out there. It’s not safe to walk through this neighborhood carrying that kind of cash.”

  His warning had an ominous ring. What if he’d called some associate while he was in the back and arranged a convenient mugging?

  Laurel couldn’t get out of the seedy shop fast enough. “Don’t worry about me. I’m parked right out front.”

  Fortunately, she was. She glanced left and right before stepping outside, saw that the sidewalk was clear, and made a beeline for her yellow VW Beetle parked at the curb. Checking the street again, she raced for the driver’s side, opened the door, slid inside, and slammed and locked it.

  Heart pounding, she gripped the wheel with both hands and rested her forehead on it. Her breath came in pants. She’d done it. She had money and was on her way to a new life—a life without Richard, without his demands and requirements, without his demeaning criticisms and terrifying fits of rage. Whatever happened next could only be a blessed relief.

  A plaintive yowl startled her. She twisted and stretched until she could see into the kitty carrier balanced on the back seat. Rufus was waking up from the anesthesia. The big, long-haired marmalade tabby with piercing green eyes shook his head to protest the white plastic cone the vet had snapped around his neck to keep him from disturbing his stitches. His pupils were still dilated, and he looked woozy.

  “Hey, buddy, it’s okay.” She poked a finger through the wires. Despite the cone, Rufus thrust his chin forward, rubbed it against her finger, and meowed.

  “I know. But the vet said you can’t have anything to eat or drink for several hours. Maybe by the time we stop for the night.”

  Rufus sniffed and eased himself down on the folded towel in the bottom of his crate.

  Laurel turned back and stuck the key in the ignition. “Try to go back to sleep. We’ll be there before you know it.”

  The vet had said the cat would be fine, but guilt gnawed at her. Rufus had been her best friend for five years before she met Richard. The feline could be bossy, but he never asked questions and never judged. He seemed to sense her moods, cuddling her when she needed cuddling and making her laugh at his antics when she was down. He was the perfect male companion in nearly every respect.

  He was also fearless. But he’d paid a heavy price for his bravery, all because he loved her. Now, he deserved protection, too.

  While she’d been in the pawnshop, a heavy mist had congealed on the windshield, so she flipped the wipers twice and turned on the headlights. In three hours, they would be in Portland. Then ten hours to Sacramento and four more hours home to Big Sur. Never in the past fourteen years had the idea sounded so comforting.

  But neither she nor Rufus was in any condition to drive through the night. S
he needed to find an anonymous motel on the other side of Salem where they could hole up and lick their wounds. At least she could. As far as licking was concerned, Rufus was out of luck for the next week or so.

  As she headed toward the I5 freeway, the mist turned to drizzle, typical for an early-November afternoon in the Pacific Northwest. It was only a little after three o’clock but looked more like six. For once, Laurel welcomed the bad weather. It shrouded her in a cloak of anonymity as she slipped out of town.

  She told herself she wasn’t really on the run—she hadn’t taken anything that wasn’t rightfully hers. Despite the fact that she’d continued to work in Richard’s business after their engagement, he hadn’t paid her a salary since she’d moved in with him, preferring to cover her expenses and give her a small allowance. She figured he owed her. She’d also read in an etiquette column somewhere that an engagement ring was legally considered a gift, and as such, was hers to do with as she pleased.

  Her gaze shifted left, right, and center as she checked the mirrors to reassure herself that no one was following her. While she didn’t believe Richard would disrupt his well-ordered life to chase after her, she couldn’t escape an escalating sensation of unease. He might not truly miss her, but he was bound to see her flight as ungrateful and disloyal. And he would be angry. Very, very angry.

  With luck, he would accept the note she’d left on the kitchen counter as sufficient explanation. After what he’d done that morning, she certainly didn’t want to talk to him. She’d turned off her phone before leaving the condo, but maybe she should have left it behind. She’d heard there were apps that allowed the user to pinpoint the location of a cell phone the way police did. It wouldn’t surprise her if Richard already had one. But there was probably no point worrying about it. He was sure to figure out where she was going, app or no app. It wasn’t like she had many options. Nor had she had time to put together a detailed plan.

  A bolder woman might hit the road and keep driving until she found a place where she could construct a new identity, but that wasn’t Laurel. Besides, she didn’t want a new identity. She just wanted a peaceful and productive life, a safe life. A life without Richard.

  A shiver raced through her, and she reached over to turn on the heat.

  He had been so charming when she first went to work as his assistant in his art investment business last year. He was older, and his sophistication, intensity, and dark good looks had attracted her from the start. He was also charismatic, with a way of concentrating his attention on her that had made her feel special and important, so different from the self-involved art students she’d dated while she was in school and afterwards. He’d dazzled her into believing she was in love.

  Still, his proposal six months ago had taken her by surprise. But Richard Vargis had a way of convincing people to do what he wanted. Whether he was negotiating a business deal or choosing a movie, the force of his personality flattened objections like a steam roller.

  The real changes began after Laurel moved into his elegant, high-rise condo. At first, she’d been flattered when he made all the decisions, from their favorite restaurants to the concerts they attended. She’d taken his attention as a sign of caring. But after a short time, she’d begun to chafe under her lack of input and choices. That’s when she learned Richard could be very ugly when questioned.

  She should have recognized the signs. She should have been stronger. She should have left sooner.

  Be bold. Take charge of your life. You’re in control.

  She stretched up and shot a quick glance in the rearview mirror, trying to steal a peek at the kitty carrier. Rufus hadn’t made a sound since they hit the interstate. She hoped he was sleeping off the lingering effects of the anesthesia and there was nothing seriously wrong. Cats could get concussions the same as people, couldn’t they?

  Her stomach clenched and bile rose in her throat as her mind flew back six hours to the image of Richard, his face contorted with rage, kicking the cat across the room and into the sliding glass door to the balcony. And for the simplest, most inconsequential reason. Laurel had told him she might not have time to pick up his dry cleaning on the way home from work.

  Smack!

  He’d slapped her so hard her ears rang, and she’d been too stunned to react. When Richard was angry, he raised his voice and occasionally broke small items, but he’d never hit her before. She’d stood, staring at him, one hand raised to her injured cheek. Rufus, however, had leapt into action, sinking his teeth through the fine Italian wool of Richard’s three-thousand-dollar designer suit, deep into the flesh of his ankle. She still couldn’t believe the cat had survived with only a cut to his shoulder from the door handle. He’d used up at least a couple of his nine lives that morning, and she refused to risk another.

  Richard had seemed unusually stressed the past couple of weeks, rebuffing her sympathetic questions and attempts to lighten his mood, but that was no excuse for his behavior. She frowned and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Stress was an unavoidable part of life, and if his response was going to be anger and violence, they had no future together. He had crossed a line from which there was no going back.

  Laurel suddenly realized she was whizzing past other cars on the foggy freeway and eased up on the gas pedal. After all, the whole point of this trip was to get home in one piece.

  In Eugene she filled the tank then stopped at a McDonald’s for a restroom break and to pick up dinner for herself and Rufus, who was awake and complaining loudly. She crumbled the patty from a single hamburger into his bowl and set it, along with a bowl of water, in his carrier. The vet wouldn’t be happy about Rufus eating hamburger, but after what he’d been through, he deserved it. They ate in the parking lot because she didn’t want to leave him alone any longer than necessary.

  A little more than an hour later, she spotted a Motel 6 with several semis parked in the lot. It would be cheap and anonymous—perfect. She checked in and unloaded her overnight bag along with Rufus and his gear. As soon as they got into the room, she set up the litter box, and he marched over to it, turned his back, and took care of business.

  When he finished, Laurel scratched his head inside the cone. “Feeling better?”

  He answered with a loud rumble. His purr could rattle the glass in the windows next door. It was one of his finest attributes, and one of which he was justly proud.

  “You’re such a good boy.” She rubbed his ears.

  He pulled away and swung his cone around to give her a look dripping with disdain.

  She laughed. “Okay, okay. You’re not a good boy. You’re a tough guy. Is that better?”

  Rufus lifted his chin and sauntered off to explore the room. Laurel plopped down on the bed and watched him check the perimeter and sniff the corners. There wasn’t much to see. The room was a small, Spartan cube. Not many physical comforts compared to the luxurious condo she’d just fled, but a welcome haven nonetheless.

  She tried watching TV for an hour but gave up, turned off the light, and tried to make herself comfortable on the ancient, sagging mattress. She’d expected Rufus to take advantage of Richard’s absence and snuggle up to sleep next to her, but he was too busy. Every time he passed the long mirror on the closet door, a strange cat appeared, and he was forced to howl at the intruder. Between the meows and the intermittent whoosh of trucks roaring past on the interstate, Laurel gave up and lay staring at the streaks of light that filtered through the thin curtains and danced across the ceiling. She finally fell into a fitful sleep only to be awakened by Rufus walking across her head.

  “Do you have to?” she mumbled.

  “Meow!”

  She rolled over and glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Four-thirty. She groaned. Rufus bopped her with his cone.

  “What is it?”

  “Meow!”

  She pushed up onto her elbows and peered into his glowing green eyes. “I know it must be hard to sleep with that thing on, but I can’t take it off.”
/>   “Meow!”

  “Are you hungry?” Stupid question. Rufus was always hungry. “I think I have some treats in my purse.”

  She threw off the thin blanket and stumbled across the room with the cat darting between her feet. After locating her purse, she fished around inside until she found his kitty treats and poured half the packet into his bowl. His purring increased to the level of a muffled jackhammer. She’d never figured out how he could eat and purr at the same time, but he did.

  She collapsed back on the bed, pulled up the covers, and tried to fall asleep, but Rufus’s tummy alarm had destroyed any chance of that. When the image of Richard’s angry face intruded on her thoughts, she shoved it aside. There would be plenty of time for analysis and self-recrimination later. Right now, she had to concentrate on her future.

  She punched the pillow and rolled to her side. Her future—what a joke. Who was she kidding? She’d had such bright, shiny dreams of becoming a famous sculptor when she’d left for art school at eighteen. Now she had nothing to show for her life but a ten-year-old car and a conehead cat.

  Her younger sisters were the artists. Sage was a potter, and Angelica worked with glass. They both had other jobs, but according to her mom, they still managed to sell their work from time to time.

  Laurel had bounced from one minimum wage job to the next while struggling to make it in the fickle art world until she’d landed the job as Richard’s assistant. Initially, the pay was a step up from waiting tables or working in a bookstore, but under his criticism, her would-be sculpture career had withered and died. She hadn’t sold a single piece in the past year. She hadn’t even started one. Richard didn’t think her metal wind spinners were good enough to be commercial, and—as he frequently pointed out—he was the expert.

  She glanced at the clock again. Five o’clock. Might as well get up. If they left by five-thirty and got lucky with traffic, she and Rufus should make it home by late afternoon. The thought filled her with equal parts dread and relief.