Bleeding Heart

By Wanda Dionne

A girl caught in Houston's darkest secrets!

 

Grace Randolph never suspected her routine late-night arrival at home would propel her into an underworld of intrigue and danger. She wants nothing more than a peaceful life without drama, but that changes when she finds Shuggie, an 11-year-old runaway, hiding on her front porch. Will Grace protect the child or guard her own heart?

 

Shuggie's dark past and mysterious behavior force the duo into a risky game of hide-and-sekk with Teaser Holmes, a predator with evil motives who offered refuge to Shuggie the night she arrived in Houston. He has controlled her since. A game of cat-and-mouse ensues when Shuggie flees the protection of Grace.

 

Terror abounds as Shuggie is immersed in the underworld of pornography and human trafficking. Grace and her new love interest, Detective Rob Morgan, race against time to save the girl from Teaser and his nefarious schemes. Will Grace find the bravery needed to face pure evil in this third suspense novel by Wanda Dionne or will she succumb to her ...

 

Bleeding Heart

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wanda Dionne
• Release date: May 9, 2024
• ISBN: 9798988361275

Book preview

Chapter 1

Mid-October 1997

Houston, TX

Grace Randolph allowed her ten-year-old Malibu to cough itself to death on the dark driveway before she grabbed her belongings and dashed through the rain to her front door.

Near midnight, amidst rumblings of thunder and pouring rain, her recently purchased bungalow in The Heights, Houston’s oldest community, appeared vacant. The sky was darker than she would’ve thought possible, and no porchlight welcomed her home. Her clothing and tennis shoes were soaked. She carried no flashlight. Untrimmed shrubs reached out to snare her as she hustled up the concrete steps. The surprise cold front had swept in on a day when she’d worn short sleeves to work.

She had been warned but ignored the morning weatherman’s suggestion that listeners take a jacket for the evening ride home. Grace had lost faith in the weatherman, just as she had lost faith in lots of things recently.

Bare-armed, she wrestled with her purse, briefcase, and the formal gown she’d rescued from layaway that morning. Her high heels swung from her free hand while the tennis shoes she wore mucked through the mud.

Thoughts of her divorce from Matt Randolph flashed through her mind, as they always did when she found herself feeling distressed. How foolish she’d been to build her life on a foundation of lies and infidelity. How foolish she still was, period. Sometimes Grace thought she was in a love/hate relationship with herself.

She used her hip to prop the screened door open as she fumbled in her bag for the house keys. Ambient beams from the corner streetlight helped some, but she still had to strain to see.

The moment she touched the keychain, the plastic-shrouded dress bag took a nose-dive. The keys were lost in the darkness.

Grace crushed the formal gown against her while trying to hold on to everything else. Bending at the waist, she blindly patted the dark cypress flooring in search of her keys.

Instead of metal, Grace touched living flesh that batted at her, threatening to attack. A cold hand grabbed her ankle. Grace stumbled, trying to get away.

A lump began to rise up from the shadows at her feet. Packages scattered. Panic consumed her. She wanted to scream, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t find her voice or her will.

Whoever was holding onto her would not let go.

When the hand crept up her calf, she grabbed hold of the screen door and kicked out furiously. Taking a deep breath, she readied herself to strike, stomp, and run for her life but her panicky movements only stirred the air.

Before she could scream for real, a small voice said, Hey, lady, don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.

Grace found herself trapped between the screen door and whatever lay beyond. Who are you? What do you want? Breathless, she searched the empty street for help.

Please don’t yell. Okay?

A young girl? Grace gained a milligram of confidence. She straightened her posture, toughened her voice. Come out of the shadows. Let me see you.

The child crawled forward on hands and knees then stood.

Pitiful sad-looking waif. Not much of a threat, is she?

Grace inspected the porch, shrubs, and yard. No one else seemed to be lurking in the shadows, so she spoke more calmly. You scared me half to death. Why aren’t you home on a night like this? Where do you live? Grace renewed her search for the lost keys, anxious to get indoors.

The girl fished the key ring out of the darkness and held it up to her. Grace snatched it, swiftly unlocked the door, and reached inside to flip on the porchlight. In the soft yellow glow, she decided she wasn’t in any danger. The child ducked her head, wrapping her arms shoulder to shoulder, hands tucked inside her arm pits.

Soaked jeans and t-shirt. Wet stringy hair. A scrape on her chin oozed blood while rust-colored splotches were splattered across her skimpy top. Her gaunt face, half-obscured by matted dirty-blonde hair, featured feverish blue eyes round with fear.

Grace was reminded of a whipped puppy as rain pounded harder on the porch roof, and lightning pulsed overhead.

The girl’s attention seemed to waver between Grace and the freedom call of the street.

Jeez, lady, you scared the …, well, you know.

Grace forced steel into her words. I repeat. Why aren’t you at home? How old are you, anyway?

I’m almost twelve. The girl lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. I don’t have a home.

Are you sick? On drugs?

The youthful intruder wiped her nose with her sleeve. I’ve got a cold, that’s all. Don’t worry about me. I’m leaving. Watch me go. She edged sideways to pass Grace.

Eleven years old? My own baby would have been twelve in May.

The girl pointed at the clear plastic protecting Grace’s new dress. Can I have that to cover my head?

Grace didn’t seem to understand. Where will you go? she asked, sensing the girl’s reluctance to lose their human connection. Or is it my own?

Look, lady, I was trying to get out of the rain, that’s all. I thought nobody lived here. Okay? She coughed, adding, I’m sorry if I scared you.

A chilling wind rustled the shrubbery as Grace listened to leaves and acorns drop from trees in the yard next door.

Bootsie, the stray black kitten with the white feet Grace had rescued the first few days she lived in the house, suddenly appeared, and brushed against the girl’s leg. Dropping to one knee, she absently stroked the damp animal and stared at the rain.

The kid was probably a runaway. A mother somewhere yearned for this child, just as she had been bled dry by the loss of her own baby so long ago.

The girl moved toward the steps, startling Grace. Her petulant tone seemed challenging as she asked again, Are you going to give me that plastic or not?

Grace considered her question then answered, I’m going to do better than that. I’m going to invite you inside, dry you off and feed you. Are you hungry?

The girl wet her lips. I don’t feel so good.

Grace held the door open, but the girl, still clutching the kitten, seemed glued to the porch. What if you keep me? What if you won’t let me leave?

Grace snorted. What if you have a buddy hiding in the bushes and your whole intent is to rob me?

A wisp of a smile flickered across the girl’s pinched face. You won’t call the police?

Grace knew her best answer would be the most expedient one. Crossing her fingers behind her back, she said, No, I won’t. Come on. You’ll catch your death if you stay outside tonight.

Can I bring the cat in, too?

Bootsie slept at the foot of my bed last night. If I can take in one stray, I guess I can take in two.

When the girl still didn’t move, Grace asked, Well, are you coming or not?

Chapter 2

Once indoors, Grace wondered why on earth she’d invited the kid inside. What’s done is done. So, Grace did what she always did when she had regrets. She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and put on a happy face. What could it hurt to be kind to someone in need?

Your house is kind of creepy, the girl said quietly. All the boxes…

I’ve only lived here a few weeks, Grace explained. I’m not unpacked yet.

Standing forlorn in the living room, the girl gave the room a good once-over, which caused Grace to look around, too. Early attic antique furniture, crystal candlesticks, her grandmother’s silver tea set. Grace displayed her most precious treasures with pride. Her eyes went to the homey afghan her mother had made and the oval picture frame of her grandparents on their wedding day. Is she casing the joint? Grace motioned for her guest to follow her into the kitchen.

The girl hesitated before pushing through the café doors leading to the high-ceilinged room. Grace busied herself turning on the gas stove, leaving the oven door open to warm the place.

Spurred by a sudden thought, she whisked past the girl and the cat to deadbolt the front door. Upon return, she said, There, now nobody can get in.

Or out, muttered her guest.

When the amber-eyed kitten jumped out of her arms, the girl didn’t seem to know what to do with her empty hands.

Wash up. Grace pointed to the sink. A wave of weariness made her words sound sharper than she intended.

The girl asked softly, Can I help?

Sure, but I at least ought to know your name.

Shuggie, the girl said promptly. Short for Sugar.

Must come from a good old Southern upbringing. I’m Grace Randolph. You can call me Grace. She placed the bread and condiments on the table. Want some lettuce, tomato, onion? I’ve got roasted chicken and ham. She prattled, a nervous habit she’d had all her life that mostly showed up when she felt uncomfortable.

I guess I like just about anything, the girl answered.

By her somber expression, Grace wondered if the girl regretted coming inside.

Working quickly, Grace prepared thick sandwiches, placing them on blue-patterned plates and slicing each one down the middle. Shaking off her unease, she said, Go on, have a seat, get started.

She poured milk into a glass, then placed a saucer full near the girl’s feet. Both you and Bootsie look pretty scrawny, Grace said. Maybe I can fatten you up.

Shuggie’s eyes widened, tracking straight to the open oven door.

Had thoughts of the wicked witch in the Hansel and Gretel fairy tale flashed through Shuggie’s head, too? That old crone had aimed to fatten up her guests then eat them. In a few quick steps, Grace firmly shut the oven door.

While her guest devoured half of a sandwich, Grace toyed with her own food, no longer hungry. She was surprised that when Shuggie finished, she touched the paper napkin to her mouth. Then she spread it open and tucked the remainder of her sandwich inside, placing the bundle next to her empty plate.

For later, she explained, suddenly vanishing beneath the table, returning with Bootsie in her arms.

Grace’s tension evaporated like air exploding from a popped balloon. She nibbled at her food, unable to ignore the pitiful picture created by the two throwaways in her kitchen.

I’m glad you decided to join me, Grace said. I guess I am a little lonely.

Thanks for the sandwich. It was good.

Such nice manners.

Shuggie grinned then touched her chin where the smile had pulled the scab taut enough to make her wince.

When Grace rose to answer the whistling kettle, Bootsie bounced out of Shuggie’s arms and padded off to conduct his own investigations. Without the kitten, the girl seemed especially vulnerable, just like Grace felt when alone on a dark street, afraid thugs were around every corner. The room grew warm. Shuggie quickly resumed her self-hug, stifling a yawn.

Grace prepared two cups of hot chocolate, plopping fat marshmallows on top. Shuggie blew softly at her mug, waiting for the drink to cool. This is a nice kitchen, she said, looking around. Did you know there’s wallpaper on the ceiling?

Grace laughed. Not my idea. But having ivy trellises overhead opens the room, don’t you think? Must have been a lot of fun pasting wallpaper on the ceiling.

Shuggie commented, Like that famous artist who painted church ceilings in Italy. My Dad promised to take me there someday. The girl’s smile flickered off so fast Grace was certain a revealing story must lie buried in the girl’s past.

Shuggie looked lost, even near tears. She bowed her head, still holding herself together with crossed arms. Grace didn’t have the heart to broach the subject of Shuggie’s parents. Surely the girl has a family somewhere who loves her, a history, a father who wanted to take his daughter to see the Sistine Chapel. Grace became even more determined to rescue Shuggie—whether or not the girl wanted her help.

Thanks for supper, Shuggie said. Rising from her chair, she sneezed three times. ’Scuze me. She rubbed her nose with her sleeve, looking as if she wanted to bolt.

Grace promptly placed her hand on Shuggie’s forehead to check for fever, studying the pale elfin face as any mother would.

I think we better hustle you off to a hot shower and some warm night clothes.

But....

No buts. I believe you landed on my porch for a reason. I want to help you.

Facing her, Grace placed her hands on Shuggie’s shoulders but gasped, noticing for the first time copper-colored stains on the girl’s t-shirt. Uh, you're not hurt, are you? I mean, you're not bleeding, are you? I was so anxious to put some food in your belly, I forgot....

Shuggie extended both hands, palms out, like a traffic cop. Don't ask. I'm not hurt. It’s not my blood.

Like fireworks, multiple doubts exploded in Grace’s mind. Her hands flew to her chest in a prayerful pose as she asked, If it’s not your blood, then whose is it?

Chapter 3

Y ou have to explain, Grace said, firmly. I won’t be a part of any criminal activity. If somebody’s been hurt, well, that’s a whole new scenario.

Silent, Shuggie stared wistfully at the back door. Grace stepped aside. She wasn’t going to stop the girl if she chose to run.

Listen, Shuggie said, the blood — it’s no big deal. I got a nosebleed earlier. When I fell and scraped my chin. I didn’t even know blood had dripped on me.

Grace gave Shuggie a piercing stare. Do you have nosebleeds often?

No, ma’am. It’s been a hard night. I was running, and I fell. She sighed. I’d rather not talk about it.

But we must. Grace wasn’t going to let the matter drop.

Shuggie ducked her head, her voice barely above a whisper. Okay, I lied. I didn’t want to worry you.

Why did you say it wasn’t your blood?

I don’t know why. Sometimes I just make things up. I’m sorry. I know lying is bad.

What really happened earlier that evening flashed through Shuggie’s mind like a slide show. A stranger had offered her a ride, but when she got into his car, he grabbed her and tried to kiss her. Shuggie’s fist instinctively shot out and socked the man in the nose. Blood spurted at her, but she’d avoided most of it by scampering out of the car and around the corner.

Grace broke into her reverie. Have you lied about anything else tonight?

Shuggie shook her head. I don’t think so.

You don’t think so? Alarms went off, but wanting to believe her, Grace minimized. There’s not that much blood. Waves of indecision swept through her. Should she send the girl packing? She didn’t look like much of a threat.

Shuggie abruptly gathered her half-sandwich and turned toward the front door. I’ll go, now. I’m sorry I lied.

Grace had to stop herself from grabbing Shuggie by the shoulders and shaking some sense into her, but she recognized her own shortcomings, too.I believe anything I’m told.

So, what if she lies sometimes? I can’t send this child out into the cold. She’ll be safer here with me.

Grace said, Come on, let’s get you ready for bed.

After a thoughtful moment and with obvious reluctance, Shuggie allowed herself to be led out of the kitchen.

Chapter 4

The sight of Bootsie, tummy-up in the hall, created an instant domesticity that seemed to trap both woman and child in a web of want.

Come on, young lady, Grace said. You're dead on your feet. You can sleep on the daybed in my bedroom. It’s the size of a loveseat. You’ll fit fine.

A short hall led to an old-fashioned bathroom, complete with claw-footed tub. Grace turned a knob and held a burning match to the grill of a small wall heater. Gas flames whooshed loudly, startling the girl. A twist of Grace’s wrist brought hot water pouring into the tub full force from a shower centered over the tub.

Let's get you a towel and washcloth, Grace said, but when she opened the hall linen closet, sheets, towels, and boxes of kitchen tools crashed down around them. Shuggie helped her stuff everything back in.

Grace nodded her thanks and patted the girl’s shoulder. I'm almost finished with Baumgartner Department Store’s Christmas displays. I’m the store marketing director. I dress the mannequins, she explained with a smile. Now maybe I can take care of a few things at home. Are you excited about Christmas?

Shuggie's expression turned flat. "There is no Santa Claus, ma’am. Not for me."

Grace ruffled Shuggie's hair then thought better of it. Lice? She handed the girl a fluffy white towel and shampoo. Go on, strip off those damp clothes while I check the water.

Shuggie smothered another yawn. Want me to help you make up the daybed? I don't need a bath.

We can do that later.

It's late, and I'm tired. I'm not dirty, Shuggie protested.

You've got a fever and your clothes are damp clear through. If I hadn't thought it was more important to get food into you, I would have made you strip at the door. Grace felt suddenly ashamed for speaking so harshly.

The girl stiffened. I'm sick, she said. I ought to go straight to bed.

The bathroom's nice and warm, Grace countered. A shower will bring your fever down.

But I don't have any clothes to sleep in, Shuggie whined.

I'll find something for you. Grace rested her fist on her hip, surprised at the unexpected power struggle.

Look, Grace said, I put in a long day at the store. You scared me half to death, hiding on my front porch. I fed you a decent meal, and now it’s way past midnight, and I go back to work tomorrow morning. All I want is to settle you in and go to bed myself. Is that asking too much?

Shuggie showed her obstinate side. I’m leaving in the morning, she said, arms crossed against her chest, her thin body turned away from Grace.

That's fine with me. If you're well enough, I'll drop you off on my way to work—anywhere you want to go.

Any street corner will do, Shuggie muttered, advancing into the over-heated bathroom. Grace said quietly, While you’re in my house, you will follow my rules. Understand?

Shuggie gave a grudging nod.

Grace fished a toothbrush, still in its plastic wrap, out of the medicine cabinet and handed it to the girl. I'll find you a gown and check on you in a minute.

Shuggie waited for the door to completely close, its old-fashioned keyhole staring vacantly at her. No key. No push button or twist knob, either. No way to lock the door.

During Grace’s brief absence, Shuggie wondered what in the world she’d gotten herself into. Was the woman a pervert? Did she want to see her naked?

No way!

Chapter 5

Shuggie peeled off her soiled clothes and kicked them into a pile in the corner. For a moment, she stood naked in front of the gas heater, its warmth turning her skin rosy. Now that she thought about it, it felt good to finally shake the chill that had held her ice-bound for nine months. Maybe now she could truly thaw out.

Cautiously, she dipped a toe under the water to test its temperature and stepped carefully into the cascading shower. She applied squirts of liquid soap all over her body and rubbed her skin raw, allowing the pulsing spray to rinse the suds away.

Shuggie stretched her legs, arched her back, and twisted her shoulders from side to side, enjoying the combined wet heat and bubbles. She was rinsing her freshly shampooed hair when Grace knocked and entered.

Shuggie quickly wrapped herself in the shower curtain.

Grace raked her with a brief glance before she hung a plaid flannel shirt on the towel rack. How is it? she asked, a soft smile lighting her face.

Fine. Shuggie's tone sounded flat, even to her own ears. Shuggie assessed the middle-aged woman, noting her soulful eyes, eyes full of need.

"Do you want to