Her infant daughter slept downstairs. Liam was there, too—the gruff, reticent soldier who’d saved her life more than once. He had also become someone she cared for. Someone important.
She touched her soft belly. It had mostly deflated but still felt squishy. Her body was finally becoming her own again.
It was her mind that was different. The nightmares were lessening. The terrible flashbacks of her captivity were fading before a slew of brighter, happier memories.
She was braver, less fearful. She no longer cowered.
She was shedding the old Hannah to make way for something new.
She tugged her braid over her shoulder and pulled off the hair tie. She unwove the strands and let her long hair tumble to the small of her back. It was thick, wavy, and chocolate-brown, though ratty with split ends.
Last night, she’d washed it. They still had water stored in the hot water heater. Liam had used the washing machine’s supply hose to connect to the water heater valve and drain the water into several cooking pots, a couple of empty water jugs, and their water bottles.
He’d also collected the water from the back of the toilet tanks in the three bathrooms. Since it was clean and hadn’t been chemically treated, it was drinkable. It had frozen in the empty house, and Liam had chiseled out the ice in chunks.
He’d warmed the water and filled the sink for her.
It felt so good to be clean. Her itchy, oily scalp was now freshly washed and tingling.
The previous occupants had left their shampoo and conditioner. Hair spray and hair gel, too. She picked up the hair spray, shook the can, and set it down.
She imagined some people were desperately missing their usual toiletries right now—make up, hair dye, and their favorite hair products.
She’d gone without for five years. She had no use for those things now.
Maybe later. Maybe when she was finally home.
Hannah picked up the hair shears she’d found in the cabinet beneath the sink. It had been five years since she’d cut her hair. Pike hadn’t allowed her something so dangerous as a pair of scissors.
Slowly, methodically, she cut the first strands. It was more than just hair she cut. It was years of nightmares, years of abuse, years of degradation, pain, and horror.
All the times he’d seized her hair and dragged her to the floor—gone. All the times he’d savagely jerked her head back—gone.
She cut off her hair, lock by lock. Strands swirled into the sink. Her hair filled the bowl until it looked like the nest of a small animal.
She kept cutting until it looked fairly even. Her new, shorter tresses swept her shoulders. Her head felt lighter. Everything felt lighter.
Soon, she would be home. Home to her family. To Milo.
She wasn’t sure what she would be returning to. What Noah would be like. How they might resurrect their failing marriage.
Whatever the future held, she would be ready for it.
The new Hannah Sheridan looked in the mirror and smiled.
Liam
Day Twenty-One
The house that Liam and Hannah had taken refuge in was located on the outskirts of town.
It was at the end of a cul-de-sac, surrounded by trees to the west, with the river directly behind it. They hadn’t seen or heard any people or vehicles since they’d arrived.
That was a good thing, but Liam Coleman wasn’t going to let his guard down. He never let his guard down.
While Hannah recovered physically from the ordeal of childbirth, Liam had spent the days strengthening their defenses.
He barricaded the plywood he’d nailed to the sliding glass doors with a sofa. He used the wedges from his go-bag to block the doors and whittled shims to jam the windows shut. Even if the glass was broken, they wouldn’t open.
He cleaned his weapons and sharpened his knife. He always kept his Gerber tactical knife and holstered Glock on his body, a round ready in the chamber.
He studied the map and plotted the remainder of their journey to Fall Creek, which they should make in less than a day if he could scavenge them a working snowmobile or truck with a snowplow. He’d searched the nearby houses—many of them already scavenged—but he didn’t want to stray too far from Hannah.
He found deadfall among the trees behind the house and chopped more firewood. He cooked breakfast, lunch, and dinner for Hannah, Ghost, and himself, assembling creative meals based on the cans of soups and beans and boxes of pasta in the pantry.
Ghost happily gulped up anything. He was basically a garbage can on legs.
Liam’s back twinged as he bent over the counter to finish up the dishes. He missed the convenience of dishwashers. Washing everything by hand was a pain—literally.
Liam had spent his life preparing for any threat, any disaster, any eventuality. He’d trained for decades, becoming a soldier, a warrior, strengthening and hardening his body until it was a smooth, well-oiled killing machine.
But the crushed disc injury he’d sustained as an operator with Delta Forces continued to haunt him. In the last three weeks, he’d pushed his body further and harder than he had in years. His spine had protested, but he ignored it. The pain wouldn’t be ignored forever.
He winced and rubbed his aching lower back with wet, sudsy fingers.
“Is your back bothering you?” Hannah asked.
She stood in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, her head cocked, her lip caught between her small white teeth.
She wore gray sweatpants and a soft pink sweater that she’d found in one of the closets upstairs. They fit her nicely. The pink brightened her cheeks.
She was looking healthier. It was more than that, though.
Her green eyes were shining. Her chocolate-brown hair was brushed, clean, and swished around her shoulders.
She’d cut it. It looked…good. She looked good. Beautiful, even.
As if she could read his thoughts, she blushed and gave him a shy smile.
He cleared his throat awkwardly. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
Liam found it difficult to look at her for too long. It was a bit like looking into the sun. Warm and inviting, but painful.
Her presence did something to him, unnerved him in a way he wasn’t prepared for. She threatened to awaken a longing inside him that he didn’t deserve and could never have.
He dropped his gaze and concentrated on the dishes. He scrubbed the last plate with a bit of melted snow and soap and let it soak in a second pot of warmed water. “We should go soon.”
After she’d nearly died in childbirth, he’d been hesitant to push travel, even though he was antsy and hated being cooped up day after day. She was already exhausted from her ordeal, not to mention everything that had come before.
But she was recovering well. Last night, she’d helped him prepare cornbread slathered in honey, Kraft macaroni and cheese with water instead of milk and butter, and canned peaches for dessert.
Her company had been enjoyable. More than enjoyable. And the food wasn’t terrible, either.
If he was completely honest with himself, maybe he’d been putting it off. Three weeks ago, he’d been eager to deliver her home and be rid of the burden of responsibility.
Now, the thought of delivering her to her husband and heading north alone to his own isolated homestead left him feeling strangely bereft.
Hannah bit her lower lip. She nodded. “It’s time.”