Betrayed by Trust (18 page)

T
he place Ringo took us to was an enormous house on the lake. A small camera watched the entry as we approached, and Dan’s friend unlocked the door by entering a code on a keypad. As we walked into the foyer, I could see all the way through the great room with its cathedral tongue and groove ceiling and a wall of windows, to the water where a pleasure boat was moored at the private dock. Dan whistled and raised a brow in question.

Ringo shrugged, as if embarrassed. “It belongs to my uncle.”

“You never said you came from money,” Dan teased.

“I don’t.” Ringo’s tone was defensive.

“And yet you have the key code.”

Maisie looked from Ringo to Dan, then back to her master, as if watching a tennis match.

“My uncle lives in Vermont. He doesn’t get down here as much as he’d like, and he asked me to drive over to check on the place now and then. Make sure the property managers are doing their jobs.”

“How come you didn’t show me this last year?”

“I only bring high-class people like Marianne out here.”

Dan grinned. “And you didn’t have the key, then.”

Ringo chuckled. “That, too.”

The next day we got up late. Ringo cooked breakfast for us, then we took the boat out on the lake for a couple of hours. Maisie loved being on the water. She stood on the prow wearing a doggie life-vest, with her nose into the wind like a bowsprit.

Dan hated not being able to help with the mooring ropes, but Ringo scolded him the first time Dan reached for a line. “Don’t be a stupid ass, Collier! Your woman needs you whole as soon as possible. You won’t get there if you puncture a lung.”

“My ribs aren’t broken! They’re just bruised,” Dan complained, but he didn’t try to help again.

After lunch, I took a nap and didn’t get up until late-afternoon. I found the guys out on the dock, shooting the shit. I had a feeling they changed the subject as soon as they saw me, and shortly afterward Ringo left for the kitchen to whip up an early dinner. I couldn’t imagine how he was going to protect me in Dan’s absence if he couldn’t stand to be around me. Hopefully, I’d never find out.

The kitchen boasted every possible hi-tech culinary gizmo ever invented, and Ringo apparently knew how to use them all. An hour later we settled in to watch television while enjoying the best chicken marsala I’d ever eaten. Ringo claimed “cook’s privilege” and insisted we watch “Buck Rogers in the 25th Century” as his reward.

The next day followed pretty much the same pattern, except the guys spent the afternoon watching football and drinking beer. I couldn’t sit still. Braxton Hicks contractions were pinching uncomfortably. The western Arizona weather was mild even in early November, so I snapped the leash on Maisie’s collar.

Dan looked up sharply at the sound, and started to rise, apparently not the least bit drunk.

“Relax,” I told him, glad to see that he was moving more easily than he had been. “Us girls are just going for a slow waddle up the street. We move at about the same speed, don’t we Maisie?”

Maisie looked up at me, her huge ears swiveling between me and Dan.

“You want company?”

“No.” I needed some time to myself. “I won’t go far.” How far could I get?

Maisie and I walked at about the same pace, which wasn’t very fast. The houses on the lake were spaced a good distance apart, and there wasn’t much traffic. Lake Havasu City, Ringo had told us, had a small population that swelled in the summer with visitors to the lake and the recently relocated London Bridge, and in the winter with folks fleeing the frigid weather up north after Thanksgiving. This early in November not many snowbirds had yet arrived. Ringo’s uncle’s house was well outside the city, so no one was around to interrupt my thoughts.

I rubbed my lower belly as a sharp ache heralded yet another Braxton Hicks contraction. I’d read everything the doctor had given me, and several books, too. My doc, and the one who’d treated Dan at the hospital, had assured me that my pregnancy was progressing normally, and that I and the baby were healthy. I knew what to expect as well as any first time mother could, but despite all my protestations to Dan that I was fine, I was still nervous. I wanted to call my mom and talk to her about what was happening.

Thanks to Kincaid, I couldn’t talk to her when I needed her most.

Maybe, if I’d accepted Kincaid’s offer of protective custody, he wouldn’t have tried to have Dan killed. But Kincaid had wanted to do more than protect us. He’d wanted to take my child, and that would never have been acceptable.

Could I have persuaded the director that giving up Evan wasn’t necessary to protect him? I hadn’t even tried. Maybe I could have made him see that Evan would be safer with me.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips, and Maisie looked up at me. This was Kincaid I was thinking about. He was not a man who was open to changing course once he’d made up his mind.

But maybe it hadn’t really been necessary to run. What if Dan’s hit-and-run had really been just an accident? Kincaid might even be thinking that the Path had kidnapped us. As much of a prick as Barry had been at the beginning, his change of heart seemed to be genuine. I was sure he wouldn’t tell Kincaid we’d run. The other people Kincaid sent after us might actually think they were trying to rescue us.

What if it wasn’t really necessary for us to cut ourselves off from everybody? What if we were worrying our families and friends for nothing? If we were wrong, there would be no reason for me not to call Mom, and Janna, and Jill. There’d be no reason not to go home, where the doctor I’d been seeing for the last eight months could deliver my child at the hospital I was familiar with.

I came to a stop, standing beside the road, staring between two big houses out at the lake beyond them. “I want us to be wrong about all of this, Maisie.” I looked down at the buff and white dog. She cocked her head and looked up, swiveling her radar dish ears at me. “If we’re wrong, we won’t have to live our lives cut off from family and constantly looking over our shoulders. That’s no life for a child.”

I took a deep breath and sighed. Wishing wouldn’t make it true.

Kincaid had made it clear he wanted our child. Barry had crawled out on a limb to warn Dan and me about the team sent after us. He wouldn’t have done that if the threat wasn’t real. And if Kincaid could arrange Foxworth’s murder, there was no reason he wouldn’t kill both Dan and me to clean up loose ends, once he had Evan.

I sighed again, then Maisie and I waddled back to the house.

The next day, on Sunday, Ringo exchanged his leather vest for a western-style long-sleeved shirt and a bolo tie and took us to a small church a few miles from the house. He obviously attended services there whenever he was in town, because the congregants greeted him like a familiar friend. The women all fussed over me, and a few worried that I was taking a risk traveling so close to my due date. They asked if I was moving to the area, and more than one offered the use of their old baby things. I felt as welcome as if I’d been dropped into an episode of the Waltons. They didn’t seem to need the message of the sermon, “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”

I wondered if Mom and Dad were at church, and if they were singing the same familiar hymns that we were.

After the service we picked up a pizza and the guys settled in to watch football again. I decided to take yet another nap. I hadn’t slept so much in the middle of the day since I was five, but my body had its own agenda. Maisie looked from Ringo, to me, and back to Dan, clearly undecided about whether to stay with them or go with me.

I made it easy for her. “Stay here, Maisie. The food’s better.”

The dog seemed to nod and lay down beside Ringo, who was closest to the chips.

I slept longer than I expected to. By the time I emerged from my hibernation, the game was over and the news had already started. Tension crackled through the air as I entered the living room. On the television, a film clip showed an unruly mob of dark haired men shouting in a street. Walter Cronkite’s distinctive voice intoned that little was known about the situation of the hostages being held in the American embassy in Iran, but that the Iranian government said that all were safe and guests of the Islamic Republic of Iran.

When Cronkite moved on to other news, Dan turned off the
TV
. “Fuck.”

Ringo shook his head. “Stupid bastards. We’ll never recognize their government now.”

“You think they care?” Dan asked.

“Isn’t it just a bunch of students who did this?” I asked. “The Iranian government will get control of the situation in a day or so, release the hostages, and make points with the US.”

“I hope so,” Ringo said. “But I doubt the students acted without permission.”

“And they won’t let the hostages go unless it’s what Altesse and the Path wants,” Dan said.

“Altesse?” I asked. “You think he’s behind this?”

“I’m not saying the Shah didn’t deserve to be tossed out on his ear, but the whole revolution? It looks like the kind of pie the Path would have a finger in.”

I cradled my belly. “Kincaid …”

Dan nodded. “He’ll see this as a sign that the Path is growing stronger and bolder. He’ll want to control Evan more than ever. He’ll never stop looking for us.”

I met his grim gaze with my own. “What are we going to do?”

Before Dan could answer, a wave of dread poured over me. For a second I couldn’t breathe, and I pressed a fist against my chest.

Dan pushed himself to his feet, alarm widening his eyes. “Marianne?”

“I think they’ve found us,” I whispered.

“Get the bug-out bags,” Dan ordered Ringo. “We’ll take the boat. We have to go.”

“Just like that?” Ringo asked. “On her say so?”

“Just like that.” Dan answered sharply. “I told you she’s psychic, and what happened at
TMI
. I’m not second guessing her now.”

He’d told Ringo I had premonitions?
What else did they talk about while I was napping
?

The foreboding sensation abruptly intensified, as if a lead apron had been dropped on my shoulders. I groaned at the pressure. “No. We’re out of time.”

My heart pounded with fear and I wrapped my arms around my belly. The danger was here, almost on our doorstep. Kincaid was going to take my baby.

Out of nowhere, a feeling of peace enveloped me.

From a distance I heard Dan ask Ringo, “Do you have any weapons?” and then closer, in my inner ear, an intimate whisper told me what we needed to do.

“Hide us,” I interrupted the men’s discussion. “Behind the wine cellar.”

Ringo’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

Dan looked from me to Ringo.

I didn’t waste time explaining. I led the way to the overlarge pantry and pointed to the massive wine rack on the back wall. “I think it slides open that way, like a secret panel.”

“No way!” Ringo protested, but he grasped the wooden rack and pushed. Half of the bottles disappeared behind the right hand wall, silently revealing a narrow metal panel with a keypad like a pay phone. He punched in some numbers, but nothing happened. “Fuck! It’s not the same as the front door. I don’t know the code!”

Irritation flared, and a Braxton Hicks contraction gripped my belly.
Not now!
Why the hell would my intuition, or whatever it was, tell me about a hidden room and then not give me what I needed to get in?

Because Ringo knows.
The thought came, as distinct as if someone has spoken in my ear.

“Yes. You do.” I looked up into Ringo’s grim expression. “Think. A birthday. Or an anniversary.”

Ringo pressed the buttons deftly with his huge fingers, but again nothing happened. He tried another sequence with the same results, and he growled with frustration.

Heavy knocking echoed down the hallway.

I looked at the keypad again. It had letters on it, as well as numbers. “A name.”

Ringo pressed several keys. I heard a soft click, then he pulled on the recessed handle. The panel slid open, revealing what appeared to be a well-stocked shelter.

“Damn,” Ringo muttered. “How did you know this was here?”

Powerful blows reverberated through the house as someone pounded on the front door. “Federal Marshals! We have a warrant to search the premises!”

I couldn’t hold back a gasp. “Kincaid has
Marshals
on the payroll?”

Dan shook his head. “I don’t think so. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t send operatives with fake badges to bully their way in.” He looked at Ringo. “Or that they won’t use deadly force if you give them reason. Let them in, but be careful.”

Ringo’s grin was feral. “Of course, man. Careful is my middle name.” Then he ushered me into the long narrow room beyond with a wave of his hand. Storage benches lined the walls on either side and two narrow cots with bundled bedrolls were in the back.

The door closed behind us with a light snick of the lock. I knew Ringo must have returned the wine rack to its previous position covering the entrance, but its movement was smooth and silent. I tried to picture where the room was from the outside of the house, and realized it must be tucked between the living room and the garage. No one who didn’t know the measurements of the house would suspect this room even existed.

Dan surveyed our accommodations and whistled softly. “Uncle Bert is a bit of a paranoid, I’d say, but right now I could kiss him.”

“Me, too.”

He reached past me and flipped a switch underneath a small monitor set in the wall. It flickered to life. The grainy, panoramic black and white view showed the entire front walk, all the way up to the door, where three men in dark suits stood. We didn’t have sound, but we didn’t need it. Ringo’s tall, broad body filled the doorframe. The man in front held up a leather wallet, with his badge and
ID
. Ringo peered at it closely and frowned. A second man thrust a folded paper at Ringo. He frowned at that, too, then sneered and thrust it back at the first guy’s chest.

“No!” Dan exclaimed. “Don’t be stupid! Cooperate with them!”

Behind the first two, the third man reached under his jacket, as if going for his gun.