Revolving Door

  Table of Contents

  Epilogue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Copyright

  Revolving Door

  Copyright© 2017 by Dani Matthews

  All rights reserved.

  This book is meant for entertainment purposes only. Names, characters, and events are all products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental. All comments and conversations written within these pages are part of a fictional story and are not meant to be taken in the literal sense. This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any format without the permission of the author. The author acknowledges the trademarked status of products referred to in this book. Trademarks have been used without permission.

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Epilogue

  One

  Ashton

  I enter the gas station, fighting back a yawn as I walk towards the service counter. I’d stopped in a busy part of the city, and I have to wait five minutes before it’s my turn to pay for the gas that I’d just put in my car. This would be one of those times that I wish I had one of my credit cards. I could have easily swiped one at the pump and been on my way. However, this is the beginning of my new life, and using a credit card would put a target on my back.

  The clerk looks bored and doesn’t return my polite smile as I pay him with cash. After he gives me my change, I turn and walk to the glass doors. Another yawn tugs at the corners of my mouth, and I manage to suppress it as I push through the door and step out into the hot, muggy night. I’m exhausted from driving all day, and my stomach is in knots. It’s been twisted up with them since I’d climbed into my car and left Philadelphia behind. I’ve made it all the way to Riverside, California, but I still haven’t found ‘the’ place where I want to build my new life.

  I notice a guy dressed in black yanking the large, designer handbag out of my car’s passenger window, and he begins racing off into the night.

  My heart stutters for a moment as I yell, “Stop!! Help! He’s stealing my bag!” I take off after him, desperate to get that bag back. As his feet slap the pavement ahead of me, I keep my eye on him the best that I can with the help of the street lights. I dodge a car that’s trying to exit the gas station and earn a few expletives. The station is busy enough, but no one offers me their help. It’s as if I don’t exist to them.

  The bottoms of my shoes pound the sidewalk as I run, my mind racing. How did he get my bag? I could have sworn I locked the car before going into the gas station. Did he break a window? Hadn’t anyone seen him?

  Wait…

  Damn it.

  The air conditioning had quit working earlier, and I’d had the windows rolled down a few inches to allow fresh air to circulate.

  Cars are driving down the busy street in front of the gas station, and I’m ignored as I chase the thief down the sidewalk. He’s about a hundred yards in front of me, and up ahead, he turns and begins racing down a different street. I glance at the building I’m now passing, and it’s a closed restaurant. I’m not going to get any help there.

  I’m not an athlete, and I am extremely winded and developing a stitch in my side. The gap between the thief and myself is widening, and my chest aches over the fact that I may have just lost the bag. I manage to follow him down another street, but he’s growing smaller and smaller. That bag, it’s my life.

  Afraid that I’m about to lose sight of him, I dart into the street. Headlights shine brightly across my face, and a horn blares loudly into the night before I find myself hurtling through the air. My shoulder slams into something, and I feel myself somersaulting head over heels along a hard surface before crashing down to the unforgiving pavement. My hip takes most of the impact, then my shoulder. Lastly, my head connects with the hard ground.

  I lie there in a heap, pain spreading throughout my body as my head throbs horrifically. Tonight really is not my night. It’s bad enough that my bag was stolen, but to also be hit by a car?

  “Oh my God!!! Holy fuck! Don’t be dead, don’t be dead, don’t be dead!” I hear a feminine voice praying desperately. Trembling fingers touch my neck, seeking my pulse.

  With a soft groan, I force my eyes open and peer at the feminine face hovering above mine. Her face is glowing red for some strange reason. “Is he gone?” I manage to croak out.

  She blinks with confusion, and then her lips form a wobbly smile of relief. “You’re still alive.”

  “The guy… He’s gone, isn’t he?” I ask with dread.

  The woman bites her lip. “I think you hit your head.”

  “I hit more than that,” I mumble. I reach a hand up and touch the back of my head, wincing.

  “I am so sorry. I didn’t see you.”

  I need to see for myself that he’s gone, and I struggle into a sitting position as my head throbs something fierce. We’re behind a car, and I see now that it’s the red taillights causing the woman’s face to glow eerily red. After blinking a few more times, I crane my head and look around, feeling disoriented. Which way had he gone?

  “Don’t move. I’ll call for an ambulance.”

  My head whips around, and I feel dizzy for a moment before my eyes focus on her once more. “Don’t!”

  She stares at me, her phone in hand. “I hit you. You went right up and over my windshield.”

  I make a face. “Yeah, I remember that part. I’m fine. It’s just a little bump.”

  “No, really. You need to be checked,” she says quietly, her eyes serious.

  I can’t allow her to call an ambulance. They’ll want my full name at the hospital, and I’ve been very careful to stay off the grid. “I promise, I’m fine.”

  She swallows and looks troubled. “I still need to report this.”

  “I told you, I’m fine.” And just to prove it, I press my hands into the pavement and struggle to stand. My purse happens to be nearby, and I pick it up before rising all the way to my feet, hiding a grimace. My hip and shoulder hurts, but at this point, I’ll do anything to avoid the authorities.

  The woman looks at me with resignation. “Look, as much as I want to avoid calling the authorities, this still has to be reported.”

  My attention is caught now, and I look at her closely. Her hair looks a shade of blue in the red lig
ht, but I’m certain it’s just my imagination. She’s dressed for a night out on the town, but her guilty expression looks completely out of place, and now I’m curious. I’m the one who darted out in front of her. “Why?” I ask.

  She hesitates.

  I’m a pretty good judge of character and equally good at reading faces. She’s looking extremely guilty. “You were on your phone. Texting?” I guess.

  She looks offended. “Now that’s just plain stupid.” Then, she grimaces. “Which makes me partially stupid, because I was trying to call a friend.”

  “Look, I don’t want to call the police, and you don’t want to get ticketed. Let’s just forget this happened, okay?” I suggest.

  I can see her thinking, and then she shakes her head. “My guilty conscious won’t let me walk away from this,” she says stubbornly.

  She seems genuinely upset over the accident. I look around and see that we’re on a side street, and there hadn’t been anyone around to witness anything. I turn back to peer at her. “You really want that ticket?”

  “No. But you’re injured. Can I at least take you to the hospital?”

  “No hospital,” I repeat. “But if you don’t mind, I could use a ride back to my car.” There’s no way I’m going to be doing much walking tonight. Or tomorrow. Or however long it takes for my hip to heal.

  “Okay,” she agrees without hesitation. She touches my arm. “Let me help you.” She’s insistent, so I allow her to guide me to the passenger side of her car, and she opens the door.

  I gingerly settle into the seat, my hip protesting every move I make.

  The woman carefully closes my door and hurries to the driver’s side. As she sinks into the opposite seat, her perfume permeates the air. It’s a bold, feminine scent. She tosses her phone in the cup holder and puts the car in gear. “Oh wait, which way is your car?”

  I blink and peer out the windshield. Which way? I inwardly cringe, because my sense of direction is horrendous. I’m always mixing everything up. “It’s at the gas station. A block or two over,” I add.

  She nods, immediately knowing which one I’m referring to. After checking for traffic, she pulls further into the street and turns left. “Why are you here and your car at the station?”

  I sigh. “My bag was stolen. I chased him down this way, but he got away.”

  Her face swings towards me, but in the dim interior of the car, I can’t see her expression. “Some asshole stole your purse? But isn’t that your purse?” she asks, nodding to the small one I’m still holding.

  “I had a bag in the passenger seat. I locked the car when I went in to pay for gas, but I forgot that I had the windows rolled down a little.”

  “Damn. Want me to drive around a block or two, see if we can spot him?” she offers.

  “You’d do that?”

  “I owe you,” she reminds.

  “I guess if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t,” she assures. She drives a few blocks while we peer out our windows, looking for anyone suspicious. “What was he wearing?”

  “Jeans and a black hoodie.”

  She glances at me. “Do you know how many guys dress in hoodies in this area?”

  “It’s gone,” I agree with disappointment. “You can take me back to my car.”

  “What was in the bag?” she asks as she begins driving back the way we’d came.

  I debate whether to be honest. She seems nice, and I can tell that she’s concerned for me. A lot of people would have quickly left after I’d told them I was fine. Instead, she’d stayed and admitted she’d been distracted when she’d hit me. I’m not used to such honesty, and I like it. I decide to trust her, because it’s not like she can steal anything more from me. Well, she could I suppose, I do have my purse after all, but it only has nine hundred in cash. The rest was in the bag.

  “It had money in it,” I tell her.

  She turns the car into the gas station. “Money? A lot? Which one’s yours?” she asks, her eyes scanning over the cars in the parking lot and at the pumps.

  “The red Chevy at pump twelve. And yes.”

  She expertly turns the car around and pulls in next to the old Chevy I’d bought two weeks ago. I’d sold my original car before leaving Philly, and then I’d sold the used car I’d bought for another car in Ohio.

  She places the car in park and turns to face me. In the light from the overhang above, I see that her hair is indeed a pale shade of blue. On her, it’s stunning, and her brown eyes are focused on me expectantly. “You should report that your bag was stolen.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Did you rob a bank or something?” she asks suspiciously.

  “No. It was my own money. I swear.” I reach for the door handle. “Thanks for the ride.”

  Her hand shoots out and clasps my arm to stop me, but not in a threatening manner. “Not so fast,” she says softly. Her eyes search mine when my eyes swing back to her. “Do you know anyone here in town?”

  Where is she going with this? “I’m just passing through,” I say lightly.

  She cringes and seems to come to a decision. “Go park your car, you’re coming home with me. My brother is a paramedic and…” She looks at the clock on the dashboard. “His shift just ended. Please let me do this for you. I’ll sleep better if he checks you over and confirms that you’re okay. We also have a spare room that’s available, so let me help you out tonight,” she offers.

  “Thank you, that’s kind of you, but I can’t. I was just going to find a hotel.”

  “You could have a concussion. I’m sorry, but if you won’t let me take you to the hospital, you at least need to allow my brother to check you over.” She gives me a look. “Besides, if you do have a concussion and you slip into a coma in your sleep and eventually die, I’ll be charged with vehicular manslaughter.”

  “But no one would know you hit me,” I point out.

  “God, woman. You are stubborn.”

  Even though my head hurts fiercely, and my body is begging for something to take the edge off the pain, I still smile. “I’ll be fine.”

  She slowly shakes her head. “I’ll have to follow you wherever you go to guarantee you make it through the night.”

  I study her, and her face seems set. “You would too, wouldn’t you? Why? You don’t even know me.”

  “True,” she agrees. “I could take the easy way out and dump you at your car and try never looking back on this night. But you know what? It would haunt me for a long time to come. It’s easier just to see to you myself, and then I can breathe easy once I know you’re okay.”

  “You’re opening your home to a stranger. I could be a murderer.”

  “Are you?” she promptly asks.

  I almost choke on a laugh. “As if I’d admit if I were.”

  She snickers. “True.” She turns serious. “Honestly, I’m getting good vibes from you. But just in case you were thinking of taking advantage of my kindness, I can assure you, you’ll never pull it off. I have three older brothers that live with me, and a male friend. You really don’t want to mess with them.”

  “Duly noted.”

  “So you’ll come back with me?” she presses.

  I think it over. It’s either go back to her place and receive a free exam from her brother, or go to a hotel and deal with her staring at me all night. She’s also providing a wonderful distraction, because when I think about how much money was in that bag, and what that means for myself…

  “All right. I’ll let your brother look me over,” I agree.

  “Thank you.”

  “Now may I go park my car?”

  “Yes. I’ll go pull into that parking space over there,” she says, pointing.

  After I climb out and limp to my car, I open the driver’s door and carefully ease into the seat. The second I’m enclosed inside, crushing regret sweeps over me. If only I hadn’t left the windows down. I draw in a deep breath and carefully exhale before starting the engine a
nd putting the car in gear. I drive across the lot to park the car next to the woman’s Volkswagen convertible. The top is up, and I suppose I’m extremely lucky to have flown over that instead of a harder surface.

  She watches me with concern as I limp to the passenger side of the convertible and climb in. “You’re really hurting, aren’t you?”

  “A little.”

  “Before I take you back with me, I want to see your license,” she announces.

  I look at her with surprise. “Why?”

  “I want to know who you are. And I can spot a fake ID a mile away,” she warns.

  She’s taking me to her home, so I can’t blame her for wanting to know my real identity. If she hadn’t been so kind and so willing to help me, I’d bolt. Odds are, she probably won’t even connect my name with the family that I’m running from. I open my purse and pull out my wallet, handing her my ID.

  She immediately turns on the overhead dome light and studies my license intently. “Ashton Delegrave,” she murmurs. She scans it before handing it back to me with a smile. “Nice to meet you. I’m Quinn. Ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Quinn backs the car out of the space and confidently drives away from the gas station. “Damn. Will you do me a favor?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Grab my phone for me. I was just about to call my friend when I…hit you. Can you text her that I won’t be meeting her and we’ll talk later?”

  Her request has me cringing inside. I don’t like text messaging. I can’t very well say no though, so I pick up her phone and reluctantly turn it on. Her friends’ face appears on the screen—a pretty brunette—and I see the messaging icon. With a shaky finger, I press the button and stare at the letters on the tiny keyboard. I immediately feel overwhelmed, and my stomach tightens. Very carefully, I begin to type out what she wants, but it takes longer than what it would take most people.

  Once again, I feel almost ashamed over my dyslexia as I hear Hayden’s voice taunting me in my head. Your inconsistency drives me crazy, Ashton! You are completely unreliable. I grit my teeth and concentrate on finishing the sentence I’ve been tasked with. I want to forget Hayden and the way he’d crushed my self-esteem with his careless rants. He’s no longer a part of my life, and I’d refused to keep on living with people that had continuously treated me like I was stupid. I am not stupid.