Chapter 1

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A customer stumbled out of the bar, quickly followed by a man with shaggy, dark blond hair wearing a leather vest. Heidi inched back on the sidewalk in shock after nearly getting knocked over. All she wanted to do was go back to the apartment she shared with a group of females who only wanted to get off the street.

"You don't touch women," said the biker, pushing the staggering man away from him. "Get your ass home and don't come back to Vavoom's."

He was in control as if his job was to bounce people out of the bar.

But, her timing couldn't have been worse.

She was stuck in front of the bar, unable to get to the apartment building three blocks away without passing the two brawling men. She glanced behind her and hugged her backpack filled with all her clean clothes to her chest. A group of young men gathered outside the laundromat watching the fight. She'd recognized the interested looks, the whispers, the gang signs earlier when she'd gathered her clothes out of the dryer and left.

"You're drunk. Go home. Keep your hands to yourself." said the biker.

She curled her fingers, pressing her short, unpolished nails into the canvas backpack. Once she started her new job, her first job, tomorrow at Pauly's Peddlers, which happened to be directly across the street from Vavoom's Bar, she hoped to save enough money to get her own apartment in a better area of St. John's. Hopefully, the apartment would come with a washer and dryer making one of her most time-consuming chores easier.

The drunk blubbered incoherently and turned to walk back toward the door of the bar. The biker tackled the unruly customer to the ground, quickly scrambling to his knees. A dark pouch fell on the sidewalk at the same time a pop of a fist making contact with the other man's cheek filled the evening air. She flinched and stepped forward to find out what the biker had dropped.

A man's black wallet lay on the sidewalk. She bent over and picked it up.

Three more men wearing leather biker vests pushed out the door. She lost sight of the man who'd lost his wallet as arms flew and bodies shifted. Not wanting to run across the street and be caught witnessing the brawl, she held her breath and waited.

"Yo, Glen." A man with a shaved head backed away from the crowd, dragging the biker who'd come out first away from the fight. "Cool it. They're leaving. It's over."

His name was Glen. He'd barely broke a sweat and remained in control the whole time, never fighting in anger or going too far.

Hidden in the shadow of the building, she watched him sweep his hair off his forehead. He had a trimmed goatee that matched the hair on his head. Big, strong, coordinated, he walked with a confidence she admired. As if daring others to try and hurt him, knowing fully well he could take care of himself.

Glen raised his hands and walked backward away from the drunk trying to cross the street. She slid against the wall when Glen's broad back came within touching distance to her. She bit down on her lip, hoping he wouldn't notice her.

Another customer rushed out to the sidewalk. "You can't beat up my cousin. Someone needs to call the cops. You fucking bikers think you own the bar."

"Yeah, make the call." Glen pointed his finger at the man. "Then, we can explain how your cousin thinks it's okay to put his hands on the waitresses here."

"They were flirting with us," said the angry man.

"I don't give a fuck. The waitress told your cousin to stop. He didn't." Glen straightened his shirt. "Take off or get hauled away by the police. Your choice."

Her heart raced. She had to get out of here before the police came.

She dragged her gaze away from the scene in front of her, checked for traffic, and jetted across the busy two-lane street. From the way Glen handled himself, he'd be all right. He wasn't her concern anyway. She didn't even know him. There were bigger things for her to worry about. The people on the street were the least of her concerns. It'd taken her weeks to realize that the old saying it was better to keep your friends close and your enemies closer was true. She stayed in St. John's where she knew the area and periodically knew where her ex-boyfriend was located. It was easier to disguise herself and hide when she understood her surroundings. That didn't mean she wanted the police to find her or her presence known.

As long as she stayed away from the police, she felt rather safe. Nobody from her past life would recognize her in the sloppy, unisex clothes, the shaved head and the weight she'd lost. She never wore makeup or hung around the stores or houses in her old neighborhood. She'd become invisible.

On the other side of the street, she slung her backpack over her shoulder and slowed down. Her whole routine now was different than her old life. Even the simple act of washing her clothes took planning. If she came upon money, she used the laundromat. It took her a week to find enough pop and beer cans to turn in for the five-cent refund. Even then, she couldn't get enough to use the laundromat and had to borrow two dollars from her roommate with the promise to pay her back in a week after she received her first paycheck.

Most times, without money, she used the Willamette River and jimmied the dispenser at one of the six laundromats around town for soap. She learned quickly that even water unfit for swimming was good enough to bathe in and wash her clothes when there was nothing else available.

Having only one outfit that was good enough to use for her new job that she'd picked out of the used clothing bin at the Lutheran Church, she needed to keep that outfit clean, not river clean. Once she saved enough money, she'd buy some more pants and shirts at the thrift store for work.

Excitement filled her. Two years of living on the streets and she finally found a job where she felt like no one would recognize her. The boost in her attitude over her soon-to-be employment had her looking forward to tomorrow.

"Hey," a male voice shouted.

She kept her gaze on the sidewalk and walked faster. The apartment was on the next block. Not the safest part of town, but at least inside the room, she was surrounded by other women, and she felt safe. Safer than she'd felt in a long time.

"Wait up," said the man.

The crosswalk light turned red. Heidi sprinted across, praying a car wouldn't turn and hit her. Heavy footsteps pounded behind her, growing louder.

Heidi glanced over her shoulder without stopping. It was Glen. Her muscles moved too slow, but her heart sprinted, breaking records, feeling him pressing her from behind, urging her to go faster.

Ahead of her, the chain-link gate to the apartment that never closed came into sight. She pushed herself faster and only when she was within a hundred yards of safety, she realized she still held Glen's wallet. Panicked that he'd think she stole something that belonged to him, she pumped her arms and kept running.

All she needed to do was reach Apartment #3A, and she'd lay low until the man gave up looking for her. Tomorrow, she'd return the wallet to Vavoom's when he wasn't there. She couldn't take the chance that he'd call the cops on her.

Her sneakers hit the grass, and then she went airborne. Taken by surprise, she clamped her teeth in preparation of the pain that'd come when the ground came up to meet her. Instead, she flipped in the air, cushioned by two strong arms, and landed on top of a solid piece of man.

A pair of stormy gray eyes stared back at her. Disoriented and out of breath, she pushed against the wall of chest.

His arms locked around her. She squirmed. "Let go of me."

"Keep wiggling your tight little body against me, and I have no problem rolling until you're underneath me and we're both enjoying the way you move." Glen's hand landed on her lower back.

She stilled. "I didn't steal your wallet. It fell out of your pocket during the fight, and I didn't want it to get lost or stolen. I was going to return it tomorrow to the bar. You can check. I didn't even open it."

"Nice story." He lifted her off him and stood, holding her arm. "Considering you took the wallet and ran, I don't believe you."

"Whatever." She jerked her arm out of his grasp. "Ever thought of finding out what was going on first before you decided to chase and tackle me?"

His lips hardened, and he brushed at the pieces of grass stuck to his elbow. "I found it easier to go after you now rather than hunt you down tomorrow after you spent all my money."

She tossed the wallet in his direction, picked up her backpack, and walked away. He was just like her ex-boyfriend. Overconfident and pushy. She wanted to take back all the compliments she thought about him earlier.

"Hey," he said.

She turned around at a safe distance from him. "What?"

"My name's Glen Steele." He remained standing in front of her, watching her.

"So?" She frowned. He had no idea she already knew his name or that she'd admired him from a distance before. That was before he'd tackled her and treated her like a criminal.

"Usually when I give my name that's when you'd tell me your name." Glen stepped forward.

"Stop." She stepped back, putting a safe area between them. "Stay right there."

He raised his hand. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'd like to give you something."

Her spine straightened. "What?"

"Are you going to give me your name first?"

She lifted her chin. Not naive about the favors, gifts, bargains, and bribes exchanged on the streets, she refused to answer.

"Okay, I'll call you Blue," said Glen.

She cocked her head. "Why?"

Glen pointed to his eyes. "You've got the prettiest blue eyes I've ever seen. They're even beautiful when you're angry."

There was not much about her that was considered pretty anymore. Men lied to women all the time for sex, food, a bed.

Glen opened his wallet and pulled money out. "Take it. You need money, and I only need my driver's license."

Embarrassment left her gasping. She clamped her lips shut fighting tears. Over the last two years, she'd thought she couldn't sink any lower. She'd lived through hell. Every day was a lesson in obedience, fear, and humiliation.

But, she wasn't desperate. She wasn't hurt. Not anymore.

Whirling around, she flung her backpack over her shoulder and walked away. She refused to look back to see if Glen followed or to be scared. Going in the opposite direction of her apartment, she rounded the corner and stopped out of sight of Glen. When several minutes ticked by, and he failed to appear, she peeked around the building. Seeing the area clear, she ran to apartment #3A.

The women she lived with were the third group she'd found over the last two years who allowed her to stay with them since running away. The accommodations never lasted long. Sometimes a couple of weeks, other times a day or two. Then, she was back to sleeping on the street and under overpasses. The timing was perfect for her this time. She'd have a job to support herself. That alone gave her hope.

It wasn't the first sign of hope that she'd had in the last two years, but the most real. It almost made her feel normal. Something she hadn't felt since she'd made Ingrid disappear and became Heidi Lundin. Nothing and nobody would stop her now.

She refused to let Glen's comment make her feel bad about her position. Things could be worse.