Brody Law: The Bridge / The District / The Wharf / The Hill. Carol Ericson

not giving up on you, Elise. I’ll be here for a few days if you change your mind, and if you don’t I’ll bring your brothers down here with me to this freak-show city to get you home.”

      “Buh-bye.” Elise curled her fingers into a wave. “Try the sourdough bread bowl with clam chowder on your way out of the freak show.”

      Ty grunted and stalked off, calling over his shoulder, “I’m staying at some dump in Fisherman’s Wharf.”

      “Good. You can get the bread bowl there.” She tossed back her hair and sighed. “I can’t believe Courtney called him. It had to be her. I thought she was on my side.”

      “Maybe she was just worried about you and thought it best that you take a break.”

      She jerked her thumb at Ty’s retreating form. “With that?”

      “So, what’s the story, if you don’t mind my asking?”

      She dropped onto the low stone wall in front of Courtney’s building. “We were engaged. We were high school sweethearts and all that stuff, blah, blah, blah.”

      “He obviously had the stamp of approval from your brothers since he’s considering calling them in as reinforcements.”

      “Oh, yeah, my parents, too.”

      “And then you grew up? Changed?” He rested his foot on the wall next to her.

      “I wish I could claim that, but I was a coward. All the forces in our world were pushing us together and the flow carried me along in its current even though I had misgivings.”

      “What finally happened to get you to swim against the tide?”

      She pinned her hands between her knees and lifted her shoulders. “He cheated on me.”

      “What an idiot.” What man in his right mind would risk losing this woman? “How’d you find out?”

      “My maid of honor told me.” She raised her eyes to his. “On my wedding day.”

      “Ouch.”

      “I didn’t want to believe it, at first, but I guess deep down I knew.”

      “You called off the wedding.”

      A grin spread across her face. “Not at first.”

      “What does that mean? You married him and had it annulled?”

      “My maid of honor told me while she was helping me dress for the wedding, while all the guests were arriving or sitting in their seats.” She stuck her legs in front of her and tapped her toes together like a naughty schoolgirl. “I figured they got all dressed up for the occasion, I might as well give them a show.”

      “You called it off during the ceremony?” The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile.

      “I did. It was a big story in town, even made the local newspaper—runaway bride.”

      He threw his head back and laughed. No wonder Ty was so desperate to get her back. He had some face to save.

      “I walked down the aisle, smiling into the lying face that waited for me under the trellis, and when I got there I exposed him as a liar and a cheat.” She pointed her toes. “Then I kicked off my white satin shoes and ran back up the aisle—alone.”

      “I’ve never met anyone who ran out on their wedding. That’s impressive.”

      “It was just like a country music video.”

      “What did old Ty do after that?”

      “Came after me, of course, but I wasn’t having any of it. My bags were already packed for the honeymoon that never happened, so I threw them in my car and drove to San Francisco.”

      “And you’ve been here ever since?”

      “I went home once to get the rest of my stuff.”

      “That’s quite a story.” He wiped his eyes. “Why this city?”

      “The bridge.”

      His head shot up. “The Golden Gate Bridge?”

      “Is there any other?” She linked her fingers and stretched her arms over her head. “My parents took my brothers and me here on a vacation one year. I was fascinated by that bridge, and when we walked across it and I looked back toward the city and out to Alcatraz, I decided then and there I’d come back.”

      “And here you are.”

      “The other night when I was out in the bay scrabbling for my life, I almost felt like the bridge was protecting me, looking over me.” She glanced up, a blush flagging her cheeks. “Silly, huh?”

      “No.”

      “Anyway—” she stood up and brushed off the seat of her jeans “—that’s my sordid story.”

      “I knew it took guts to escape from a killer, but it really took guts to run out on your wedding.”

      Screwing up her face, she shook her head. “Not really. I was a wimp. I didn’t want to marry Ty even before I found out he’d cheated. I let myself be railroaded by him, my family and what everyone expected of me.”

      Sean wedged a knuckle beneath her chin. “You’re too hard on yourself.”

      “I just don’t think it’s all that admirable to run out on a wedding that should’ve never taken place to begin with.”

      The radio crackled from the car, and Sean dropped his hand and stuffed it in his pocket before he could do anything stupid again. “Keep safe and get that phone. I’m off tomorrow, but you have my personal cell. Give me a call when you get your new number.”

      “Yes, sir.” She saluted. “I’ll probably get it today if the phone store is open.”

      He waved and ducked into his car.

      Sean kept an eye on Elise in his rearview mirror as she watched his car pull away. She looked small and defenseless against the dark force hanging over her head, but he knew better.

      She had a lot of courage and pluck packed into that lithe frame, and she wasn’t the kind of woman to back down from a challenge...or a killer.

      * * *

      THE NEXT MORNING, Elise drove across the Bay Bridge to her school in Oakland. If Ty could see the school where she taught her kindergarteners, he’d kidnap her to take her back to Montana.

      She’d confronted Courtney and discovered it was her brother, Oscar, who had called Ty. Once he’d discovered where she lived, Ty had made it a point to contact Oscar, befriend him and enlist him as a spy.

      She’d have to give Oscar a piece of her mind when he returned from his trip.

      Turning onto the school’s street, she swerved around a trash can that had tumbled from the sidewalk. She slowed down to glare at a couple of older boys hanging out on the street corner. Her kids had to dodge so much just to get to school.

      She pulled into the parking lot, dragged her bag from the back and hitched it over her shoulder.

      One of the second-grade teachers held the door open for her. “How was your weekend?”

      “Not long enough.” Elise slipped past the other teacher and headed down the hallway to her classroom. She had no intention of telling anyone at her school about her terrifying brush with a serial killer.

      The students hadn’t filtered in yet. They lined up outside until the bell rang, and the teachers in the lower grades always escorted their pupils into the school.

      Elise unlocked the door to her classroom and bumped it open with her hip. She breathed in the smell of crayons, books and stale bread—all hallmarks of a kindergarten classroom.

      “Ready for the last week of school?” Lydia Cummings, one of the other kindergarten