Sunrise Crossing (11 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Panic

T
ORI
PACED
THE
attic room. It was late, almost dawn, but she couldn't sleep or paint. All she could think about was that she'd handed her driver's license to the highway patrolman. What if he recorded it somewhere? Parker had said there were people looking for her. The FBI even feared that she'd been kidnapped or killed, according to a report Parker saw.

Tori was in trouble. Big trouble. She'd known her parents would look for her, but she never dreamed it would make national news.

Logic told her that they'd been more than an hour away from Crossroads when the patrolman stopped them. There was little chance she could be tracked to Crossroads, and if she was, no one, not even Yancy, knew where she lived. Even if someone did find Yancy, he wouldn't tell anyone about her. He'd already proved that. Even if the police knocked on every door for a hundred miles and found this farmhouse, Parker would never give her away. She felt safe here. For the first time in her life, she had friends who would protect her.

Six years ago, when she'd realized her mother wasn't letting her grow up and become independent, she'd almost killed herself mixing drugs with alcohol. Her stepfather made a big deal about her being disturbed. She needed protecting, nurturing, watching. All that had changed was that she'd lost even more of her independence. They'd moved her to a house in back of the big place so she could be closer to her work, and they'd taken her car for months.

She'd felt like a prisoner. Her only escape had been to paint, and her canvases were as dark as her mood.

It had taken years to finally be allowed to fly alone to art shows and drive into town to shop. And even then, the trips were monitored, allowing her no extra time. Drivers, handlers, bodyguards were always near when her parents were too busy to travel with her.

Finally they'd grown bored with the weekly shopping trips where Tori spent hours just looking around. They let her go alone to the small town near their home.

Tori hated shopping, but she went every week just to get away. After a while, she'd stopped spending the cash she always took. No one noticed. They'd only watched what time she left and grown angry if she was not back for dinner. Eventually, they'd even sold her car, and the one she borrowed each week was in her stepfather's name.

Her stepfather told everyone that he had guardianship over her because very creative people have trouble with the real world. Even if he didn't have legal guardianship he did have power of attorney. His name was on everything she owned. He could freeze her funds.

For a long time her only revenge was the hundreds she dropped in her real father's old toolbox when she returned from her shopping trips. When she'd left almost a month ago, she'd packed thousands in her last purchase on her last shopping day. A backpack.

The backpack had been stored under her bed at the farmhouse. If she had to run again, she might need every dime.

Tori pulled out of her dark thoughts. “Not every dime,” she whispered. “I'll pay back Yancy.” If she could she'd keep her family away, far away, from the kind man who'd offered her all his money.

She'd gone along with her stepfather for so long, he believed a few harsh words were all it took to rein her in. That and her mother's rants about how she'd die if her only child turned out to be as insane as Tori's father. He'd been gifted, too, and Tori's mother swore that that's what had driven him to suicide.

Tori knew she'd let them rule over her for far too long. Maybe she wouldn't have been such a great success so young if they hadn't pushed or had the right connections. Maybe she wouldn't have been able to double her fortune in investments as her stepfather claimed he had. But she could have still painted. She could have lived a normal life.

In the shadows, her paintings surrounded her like close friends. Tori remembered how happy her father had been the summer they'd built her playhouse. He hadn't cared about being rich. He'd never wanted fame, but it had found him and eventually devoured him.

“Tori?” Parker's voice came from the bottom of the stairs. “You all right up there?”

“I'm fine,” she answered.

“Want some cocoa?”

“We have cocoa?” Tori almost ran to the door.

“My secret admirer dropped off another box a few minutes ago. Best oatmeal cookies I've ever tasted, cocoa and fruit.”

Tori almost danced down the stairs. “It's not even light and he's delivering food. I love this guy.” She stopped suddenly, frozen in midstep. “You don't think he could possibly be the grumpy neighbor who picked you up in Dallas?”

Parker grinned as if she had a secret. “He might be. Maybe I'll try talking to him one more time.”

“Great. Tell him you love spice cake and are addicted to moon pies.”

Parker had a funny look on her face when she shrugged. “I'll tell him if I see him.”

They giggled and talked until all the cookies were gone, then both decided, since it was full light, they might take a nap. Tori grabbed a blanket and decided to sit outside until the sun grew too warm.

But an hour later, she was sound asleep when it started raining. She cocooned into her quilt, smiling even in her sleep. Her mind might not know it yet, but her heart did. A butterfly was awakening within Tori, ready to fly.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“
M
ADISON
,
IS
THAT
YOU
?” Fifth whispered, hoping the walls of his bedroom at the bed-and-breakfast weren't too thin.

“Of course it's me, Fifth. You dialed my number. Who do you think would answer my phone?”

He closed his eyes, swearing he could see those icy-blue eyes flashing. “I wanted to see what you found out.”

“Why didn't you call before five?”

“I wanted to have a private conversation.”

She laughed. “Next you'll start breathing heavy and asking me what I'm wearing.”

“What are you wearing?” Fifth hit himself in the head with his cell phone. If he got any dumber the sheriff would send him back to middle school. “Sorry about that. For a minute I forgot this was a professional call.”

“Well, remember that from now on, Deputy,” she snapped. “If you want to talk personally, hang up and try again. And while we're at it, I would have already called you if I had any news about Gabriel Santorno.”

Fifth disconnected. He needed to start over. For once he needed to get it right. Madison didn't suffer fools lightly; hell, she didn't seem to suffer them at all. Which probably left her out of ever being invited to any of his family reunions.

He punched Redial.

She answered on the fourth ring.

“Hello, Madison. What you wearing?”

She giggled in surprise. “No, you go first.”

He leaned back. She was talking to him now and not sounding angry. “Unfortunately, I've still got my uniform on,” Fifth said, then hit himself again with the phone. That wasn't right either. He should have said something cool like “nothing but a smile while I'm thinking about you” or something like that. He thought of hanging up again and starting over, but he wasn't sure she'd answer the next time.

“Well, if you're dressed, go downstairs and look out the bay window off the dining room. When you look up, think of me.”

Fifth gripped his phone tightly as he stumbled down the stairs and moved into the shadowy dining room. Maybe she had something romantic planned, like they'd both look at the moon at the same time. He never thought of stuff like that, but he bet women did. Hell, he'd never had phone sex. All he knew was that it started with “What are you wearing?” She'd have to carry the rest of the conversation.

His oldest brother had told him that women were always thinking, even when you weren't looking. He'd said his wife not only thought about everything she wanted to do, but about what she wanted him to do, too. She claimed it was a real time-saver for him. He should be able to do a lot more because he didn't have to think about it ahead of time.

Fifth moved to the window. Madison seemed more one who acted than one who thought. He might be safer just to ask for a date, drive to Wichita Falls and take her out.

He'd book a hotel room before he picked her up, just in case she had roommates or lived on the base. No, that might be too forward. But if he didn't, and she was interested in him, he'd feel awkward signing in for a room while she waited in the car. She'd have time to think about why being with him was a bad idea.

He looked out into the backyard; it usually made him think of what gnome heaven must be like. Last Christmas the Franklin sisters had even put out a policeman gnome by the birdbath. They'd said it might not be a deputy-sheriff gnome, but it would still remind them of him.

Only tonight he didn't see anything but Madison standing in the grass.

For a moment, he just stared, fearing that he was losing his mind and imagining her. After all, he had taken a few more blows to the head than usual lately.

She was so beautiful with the moonlight shining off her dark red curls. He could be happy just standing right here staring at her all night. He took a deep breath as he watched her lift her hands. Slowly, she touched the collar of her white shirt. Her fingers began to unbutton the top button of her blouse. Then the second. Then the third.

She was far enough down that he could see she wasn't wearing a bra before he made it outside.

“Madison! What do you think you're doing?”

“Getting your attention.”

“What if someone saw you?”

“The fence is seven feet high. I saw the two sisters who run this place leave and your professor slipped out the side door looking like he was going for a walk.”

“All right, Madison, you have my attention. Now what?”

“I decided to fly up and hand-deliver this report to you. When you called, I was walking in from the field where I landed. How about we go somewhere we can talk?”

“You can't just land a helicopter anywhere.” Fifth wasn't sure exactly what law she'd be breaking, but there had to be one.

“It's in my cousin Mike's field. He hasn't farmed in years.”

Fifth looked down at her open blouse that showed the valley between her breasts. “You going to button up?”

She grinned. “Does it bother you?”

“Not at all. Your skin is so creamy white. If you don't mind me looking, any objection if I feel it, too? Two senses are better than one for memorizing, and I never want to forget the sight of you in the moonlight.”

“Weathers, I think you're a romantic at heart, but you're not touching my creamy skin until we're finished with business. We talk first. Then we'll negotiate the touching policy.”

All he cared about was that she hadn't said no. So he opened the back door to the bed-and-breakfast and invited her in. She opened her satchel and started spreading out papers while he made coffee and counted down the minutes until the negotiations.

When he turned toward her, he simply stood there holding the two hot cups of coffee, watching her move. Her blouse opened slightly as she worked, as if playing peekaboo with him. He decided whatever the terms of the negotiation were, he'd give up. It would save time.

When he set the coffee beside her, he tugged at one of her wild curls.

She batted him away. “I had to dig deep, but what I found is a patchwork puzzle with gaps. Gabriel Santorno died almost forty years ago in Denver. He was six years old. His grave is in Fairmount Cemetery.”

“Common name, maybe. Different person. Two Gabriel Santornos in Denver wouldn't be that rare, I guess.”

She held up a piece of paper. “Same Social Security number. Apparently, our Gabe Santorno had to wait to be sworn in at the army recruiting station in Denver until they got the number. For some reason it took him three days to find his birth certificate and Social Security card.”

“How'd you find that out?”

Madison pointed to the corner of a printout of the original enlistment application.
Waiting on ss number or birth certificate
was scribbled beside where the date had been changed from March 3 to March 6.

“Everything on his application was the same as the dead Gabriel Santorno. No middle name. Same birthday, Social Security number and birthplace. So, who is buried in Fairmount? Or maybe a better question is, who is in Crossroads? Recruiters don't usually check names on death records since a live body is standing right in front of them.”

“Do you have his army records? If he got in and served, there will be records.”

“Yes. Active duty for twelve years. A ranger. Deployed three tours of duty overseas. Qualified as an expert in a dozen different fields, both combat and interrogation. The guy's got more medals than he could probably wear on his chest. Three Purple Hearts and several stars. He must have seen action many times.”

“Bullet holes to the chest,” Fifth whispered.

“Why'd you say that?” she asked.

“I saw the scars.” Fifth's instincts were right. The professor was far more than he seemed.

“So you already guessed we weren't dealing with a sweet little tea-sipping professor from the University of Texas.” She pulled one sheet of paper. “He even had a pilot's license, but looks like he never renewed it after the army. In fact, when he walked away from Uncle Sam, he fell off the earth for a while, and even within the past ten years he's been spotted about as often as the Sasquatch.”

“What are you saying?” Fifth could tell she wasn't finished.

“The man's got more than one ID. To disappear off any records like he does, he may have a dozen.”

“So why'd he use this old one here in Crossroads? He couldn't have been much over eighteen when he picked up Santorno's name off a grave.”

Madison shrugged. “Maybe he's going back to the beginning here.”

Fifth shook his head. “No, he's new to Crossroads. The sisters would have remembered him if he'd been here before.”

Fifth thumbed through the information. “The guy's permanent address is a post-office box in Denver. He didn't appear to own a car. He'd been arrested under this name twice in the past ten years and charges were dismissed both times due to lack of evidence.

“Other than that, he's more of a ghost than a man. No credit cards. No bank account I could find. Hasn't applied for army or government assistance. Hasn't checked in at the VA. It's like after the army he lived underground. Never bought a house or owned a business or applied for a marriage license. At least not under this name.”

She leaned her chin on Fifth's shoulder. “Doesn't it strike you as odd that a guy who was a warrior for a dozen years doesn't even own a gun?”

“A registered one, anyway.” Fifth added, “The sheriff told me once that men who pass too close to death never go out unarmed. I'm betting our professor has more than one weapon on him right now as he's taking his walk.”

Madison leaned back. “Any more questions?”

“Yeah,” Fifth said. “What in the hell is he doing in my town?”