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disappear on this property, surrounded by fences and cameras to keep out unwanted guests. If she remained in Beulah somewhere else, she’d only serve as a beacon for national media interest. And that would not be good for anyone.
    He had enough supplies within the confines of his fenced orchards that he could probably remain locked inside the perimeter until the U.S. Marshals Service arrived via helicopter to take him back home. Back to Miami where his testimony could ensure key members of a particularly vicious street gang would live out their days behind bars.
    He couldn’t let Atlanta’s runaway heiress jeopardize everything he’d worked so hard to accomplish. He’d have to find her and help her be as invisible to the world as he’d become—at least for three more weeks.
    *
    “Beulah Retirement Community”
    The sign tilted to the side, half-buried in kudzu less than a mile from Heath Lambert’s farmhouse. She was finally here. At Grandma’s house.
    Gulp.
    Nerves tap danced overtime in her stomach. Surely that was just because of the whole debacle of her wedding and the worst hide out attempt. Ever.
    Heath had helped her slip out a back gate, but she’d still felt like spiders were crawling all over her, her skin burning with the sense of being watched. She’d checked her rearview mirror compulsively, but only saw normal traffic. She was just being paranoid. This wasn’t Atlanta.
    Annamae stepped out of her car and walked up the flagstone path to the three-story Victorian that looked like new construction despite the old-fashioned appeal. By all accounts her grandmother—Hazel Mae Smith—lived here at the retirement center, referred to as the old folks’ home by the gas station attendant earlier. He’d apologized if that sounded politically incorrect to a big city girl but around here they didn’t believe changing words changed reality.
    Did she really want to meet Hazel Mae, a woman Annamae’s mother hadn’t bothered to call in twenty-some years and labeled dead? When confronted after her slip up, Delilah Jessup had written off the rift with Hazel Mae as “old baggage” as if that somehow alleviated the need for Annamae to concern herself with her grandmother’s presence in the world. But as far as Annamae could see, wasn’t that all the more reason to fix the problem? What old baggage could possibly prove important enough to keep Annamae from seeing her only living grandparent for that long?
    Sure Annamae had wanted to write off her own parents a time or two when their public disputes turned their lives into a media circus, but she’d always hung on to the philosophy that family was worth the extra effort.
    Decision made, Annamae charged up the steps to the porch with her dog tucked under her arm. She turned the low door handle favored by old people and arthritic fingers, more bar than knob. A few kids played in the foyer with crayons and paper near a polished wooden toy box with an elephant painted on the front. A lady who was probably their mother sat in a rocking chair beside a frail-looking old man who frowned and stared at a television as if the thought of visiting with relatives was a wholly unwelcome idea. The kids’ eyes lit up at the sight of the dog.
    Gramps looked up. “Your dog’s not wearing a vest.”
    Annamae paused. “Pardon me?”
    Grumpy Gramps pointed to Bagel. “Your dog ain’t wearing a therapy dog vest. He can’t go inside to visit with the residents. Rules are the rules for the pets that come here.” His eyes narrowed. “You ain’t one of those people who tries to pass off fake working dogs just so you can carry your pet in your purse are ya?”
    She blinked fast at the crash course on working dogs 101. “Uhm, no sir. I just can’t leave my dog in the car and I’m here to see someone and—.”
    He plucked the pooch from her arms. “I’ll hold him outside ‘til you’re done. And don’t worry about me wandering off with him. My daughter here watches me like