Page 1 of Unlocking Hope

1

ZOEY

Zoey wished for running water, but when she twisted the handles to the faucet, only a couple of drops trickled out. Like the last three months, she was out of luck. Instead of leaving and trying to find another foreclosed house, she sat with her back against the wall in the master bedroom.

She checked herself in the broken mirror propped up in the room’s corner. She couldn’t even run her fingers through her tangled brown hair. Zoey wished she had some makeup to cover the bags under her eyes.

When she’d first ended up on the streets a few months ago, she still did her makeup every morning. Carrying makeup around took up room in her pack, though, and when she had to decide between a few granola bars or foundation, she’d decided on the granola bars. At the thought of food, her stomach growled.

“You’re not hungry,” she murmured to herself. Zoey reached into her pocket and broke off a small piece of the granola bar. It was stale. She’d stopped looking at expiration dates her second week on the street. At first, she wouldn’t have choked down an outdated bar. Now, when it was her only option, it didn’t bother her.

The foreclosed house would be her safe haven for a few days. Zoey curled up against the wall and hoped for a few hours of sleep. Paul had told her to use this house for the week. He had a contact at the Bexar County Courthouse. Every so often, he would find out about a home that was empty. She trusted Paul as much as a person could trust anyone living on the streets. However, something about the old man made her take him up on the offer. Maybe it was for the hope of a shower, but that dream had gone out the door when she tried to turn on the water.

Zoey wasn’t the first one to stay in the house. The previous squatters had left their trash and crap on the wall. She never understood who would touch their own poop and smear it on a wall. She shook her head and looked around the room. It was bare, the only room with no trash. In addition, it was in the far back of the house. Wires hung out of the outlets, and a single light bulb hung from the ceiling. Like the water, the electrical was off.

The Texas sun beat down on the house. She reached up and wiped the sweat dripping down her face. She smelled. The first few days of being on the street, she worried about her smell, but she no longer even cared what anyone thought. Zoey’s only goal was to stay alive until she figured out what to do with the thumb drive in her pocket. Zoey reached in her pocket to make sure it was still there. When they found her, they would torture her until she gave them the information they wanted.

Zoey glanced out the window. The sun was going down. She still wished the window had blinds so she could block out the early-day heat.

The smell in the house had been awful at first, and she’d almost gone back to the homeless shelter in downtown San Antonio. Zoey reached into her bag and pulled out her last bite of granola bar. Today, she would need to leave and find food.

The front door squeaked. Time had run out. She only hoped it wasn’t one of Nixson Walker’s men. If it was, she didn’t plan to go down easy. Living on the streets had taught her a few things, like to shoot first and ask questions second. She knew she should jump out the back window. Nevertheless, if she could take the person down, she could take his cash and have a meal. She reached into her backpack and grabbed her gun. It still felt strange under her fingers. Until a month ago, she’d never imagined owning one or having to use it. She hadn’t pulled the trigger yet, but it had helped her out when someone tried to steal her bag three nights ago.

Nixson, her ex-boss, was a ruthless businessman, and he wanted her dead. His men almost succeeded at killing her the night she went on the run. For three months, she had outrun Nixson’s men, until now.

Zoey stood on her wobbly legs. Not eating much for the past month had left her body weak. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten a real meal. When she’d gone to the homeless shelter, Nixson’s men were outside. Paul had given her a box of bars, and she had paced herself, eating one a day for the last week.

With a gun pointed at the door, she waited for the men who planned to kill her. A man opened the door, dressed in a polo and jeans. He was well over six feet tall and muscular, with sandy-blond hair. His eyes were a piercing blue. She noticed them because when they landed on the gun, they widened in surprise.

“Ma’am, please lower the gun, and we can talk.”

“You won’t take me back.”

When he took a step forward, Zoey closed her eyes and pulled the trigger. The force of the gun firing knocked Zoey on her butt. Her head banged against the wall. She hoped she’d hit him, because that was her only bullet.

“What the fuck? You shot at me.” His gruff voice sounded angry.

“You won’t take me back.” Zoey opened her eyes and peeked at the handsome man sent to bring her back to the boss.

He ran his hand through his hair. “Darling, you’re mistaken. I don’t plan to take you anywhere. You’re squatting in my house.”

“Oh.” That wasn’t good. She’d wasted her only bullet.

He cocked his head to the side. “‘Oh’ is all you have to say when you shot at me?”

If he called the cops, they would take her to Nixson. He had them all paid off. Zoey reached for her bag and purse. Time to run. “I’m sorry I’m in your house. If you will excuse me, I will be on my way.”

The sexy man crossed his arms over his chest. “You shot at me, and you think I’m just going to let you walk out the front door.”

Zoey’s hands started to shake. She could feel the tears forming in her eyes. She couldn’t escape the room unless she walked by him. “Please let me go. You can’t call the cops.”

“Why can’t I call the cops?”

“Because the man after me has them paid off. His men will take me to my old boss and not the police.”

“Let’s start over. My name is Cole. What is yours?”

“Kate.” It was the first name to pop into her head.

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