The Always Cambridge Series chronicles the life of Holly Cambridge through her tumultuous childhood, violent teen years into adulthood, and the consequences that stem from being the daughter of mob boss, Bill Cambridge.
Holly Cambridge and Randy Phillips are dead!
But they re-emerge in Witness Protection as Beth and Andy Gregory, far away from the mob life that nearly destroyed them.
Can Holly finally realize her dream and live in peace without the threat of violence shadowing her every step? Settle down in one place, put down roots with the husband and the loving family she’s always dreamed of?
Or will the Mayhue vendetta reach across the ocean and strike Holly where it hurts the most?
We’d been here six months. It was cold and it rained all the time. But Holly loved it, everything about it. Therefore, I loved it too.
Holly’d thrown herself into the culture here, researching the names of the clans and how they were associated to one another. She studied the tartans and the mottos. She’d even begun to investigate some of the old buildings around town, finding out the stories and legends the folks loved to tell.
It was a rare sunny day and she’d gone into town. She’d actually been surprised I’d allowed her to go alone. It wasn’t something I did—allow her to go anywhere alone. And she was the same with me. But I required some time alone today. I needed her out of the house for a little while.
There had been absolutely no sign of trouble since we’d landed here. Nothing suspicious. No strangers asking about us in town. Nothing that made us think our deaths had not been totally accepted and believed by the people who were after us.
We had this great old house at the end of a road. The surrounding area was rugged and almost impassable, which had appealed to Holly. We could focus most of our security provisions towards the front of the property. She had cameras everywhere. We had the back and the surrounding area totally covered and secure, she made sure of everything. She was prepared for almost any possibility, probably even an air attack. It was quite amazing to watch her work. She was tactically thorough. She kept up with all the newest technological advancements, always updating our software, equipment or gadgets to the latest thing to keep us safe. Alex would be proud.
She was better. The weeping had stopped. Thank the good Lord. But the nightmares were another thing. They’d lessened somewhat and become farther apart as she learned to live here without the constant watchfulness, and relaxed into a semblance of a normal life. I guess she’d always be careful, watchful. It was just who she’d become out of necessity. But when she was upset or overtired, the nightmares were worse. I still kicked around Alex’s idea of getting her help, a shrink. But I knew she wouldn’t go for it. She didn’t want to be around people, let alone pour her heart out to a stranger, when she couldn’t even talk to me about it. And because she had to conceal who she really was, she wouldn’t receive the practical benefits therapy provided, unable to be open and honest about the events or her true feelings.
But I was waging a different battle with her today. I looked around and took a deep breath. Everything was in place.
I beeped her on our two-way phones. She liked these gadgets. We could communicate quickly at all times with just a push of a button.
I sighed, feeling relief when I heard her voice. I hadn’t realized I’d been worrying, but I had.
“Are you on your way home yet?” I asked.
“Yes, I am. I hope you have some hot chocolate on, I’m freezing.”
“I’ll put some milk on. Hurry home, Hol. It’s getting dark.”
“I’m almost to the mailbox. Give me five minutes, then send Wallace down the driveway to meet me.”
“Will do.” Wallace. The dog. She’d made us get a dog. She said he would be back-up just in case our fail-safes failed. He would alert us if anyone was around. She’d wanted to name the great big chocolate Lab after William Wallace, but she didn’t like the thought of him being called William because of the reminder of her father. It was Wallace and occasionally just Braveheart, at least to her. He was the most spoiled thing ever. For now, he was her baby. But I was about to wage a war of my own on that front. Allowing her to have a dog was a perfect precursor for the attack I was about to launch.
I let the dog out. “Go get her, Wallace. Go get, Mommy.”
Just as he’d suggested, and I didn’t even want to think his name for fear his ghost would jinx this for me. But I’d given her six months, as he’d specified. Six months of normal, humdrum, the white picket fence, in a safe place where she didn’t have to pick up and run. She was as happy and safe and secure as I’d ever seen her.
I heard her truck pull up the long drive and I took another deep breath.