Blind Faith (29 page)

Caitlyn hated the way his touch made her blood surge, almost causing her to forget the reason why she'd come to Hopewell to start with. She turned her face away from his without returning his passion. He stepped back, arms spread wide in surrender.

"All right, if that's how it's going to be. But I meant every word of what I said."

"I'm more worried about what you're not saying. What's going on here, Hal?"

He hung his head, shaking it slightly. "I only wish I knew. But you have to trust me. Your heavy-handed FBI ways aren't going to work around here—just like they didn't two years ago. Leave it to me and I promise, I'll get you all the answers you need."

She frowned, felt the pressure begin to build behind her eyes. Damn, she'd been pain free for hours and now she'd pay the price. If this headache was anywhere near as bad or disorienting as the last ones, then she would have no choice but to trust Hal to finish what she started.

Hal brushed his hand along her forehead, soothing the furrows there as if he could sense her headache as well. "Guess we gave Sarah enough time."

"You mean gave
them
enough time to get their stories straight."

He strode to the door, his boots clacking on the linoleum, the noise driving into her brain like a sledgehammer. She had no choice but to follow.

Sam stumbled through the fog, thoroughly lost. He was searching for the fork in the trail that would take him back to Sarah's, but instead found himself on the main trail leading to Lake Road.

"Sam, over here!" A strange voice called out his name and he wondered if he was hallucinating. Then two figures walking bicycles appeared from the mist, beckoning to him. "This way!"

He wasn't sure if he should run and hide or trust them. Then he drew close enough to see who they were. "JD and—" He faltered, searching for the girl's name.

"Julia, Mr. Durandt. Julia Petrino." She held her hand out as if they were meeting in a receiving line.

He took it in both of his. "Julia, of course. You wrote that beautiful sonnet about the Indian Princess and her Thundergod. Won the middle-school writing contest two years ago. My wife was very proud of you."

Even in the thinning fog he could see the blush creep over her face. "It's my favorite story, Ahweyoh flying into the air, so sure of their love that she knows her Thundergod will save her," she said with a shy smile.

Sam knew the legend well. "Sarah loves that story, too."

He remembered the first time Sarah had told him about the two Indian lovers. The first time they had made love, on top of the mountain where it felt as if they had owned the world, that anything was possible. He had promised himself he would tell her the truth that night, but after falling beneath her spell, he convinced himself that a woman like Sarah would never have fallen in love with a stupid, selfish idiot like Stan Diamontes.

Surrounded by her arms, comforted in the warm embrace of the mountain and the stars above them, he had decided that he was now a different man, a new man. And the next morning as the sun began to seduce the mountains with its golden glow, he had risen and found the last piece of Stan still remaining. A photo of him surfing when he'd chased the big waves to Oahu. Until then, he'd thought that was the happiest day of his life.

Sam had breathed life back into the fading embers of their campfire. He held the photo out to the dancing flames, watching as they licked its edges, turning from yellow to red to blue, before greedily devouring Stan's image. Small curlicues of ash had risen into the air, flying out over the gorge until they vanished.

Stan Diamontes was dead. And Sam Durandt had the rest of his life to look forward to.

He had woken Sarah. The rising sun bathed her in streams of ruby and gold. They had made love again and as they clung together, shivering in the morning breeze, tears had warmed Sam's face.

Sam choked back the memory and returned his focus to the two kids in front of him.

"Are you all right?" Julia asked.

Sam didn't trust his voice yet, so he merely nodded.

JD grabbed Sam by the arm, squeezing his biceps. "Wow," he said breathlessly. "What happened to you? Skinhead and all bulked up—were you in jail?"

Sam said nothing. What could he say? It didn't matter because JD and Julia filled in all the gaps in conversation.

"Was it you causing all the lights? We've been following them for days, they've been spotted down by the dam and two spots up on the ridge."

"Near the upper falls and just past Hal Waverly's house. Where'd you go, Mr. D? Why'd you come back? Who were those men with the guns?"

"Do you need a doctor?" Julia asked.

"Yeah. Looks like they beat the crap out of you."

Sam had to admit he was limping a bit and he was certain he'd cracked a rib. "No doctor, thanks." He stopped and turned to the two teens. "You two can't tell anyone you saw me or that I'm still alive."

JD waved him off. "Sure, we know that. Mrs. D said the same thing. I'm thinking those guys with the guns are holding your son for ransom. So what are they making you and Mrs. D do? Blow up the dam or something?"

"Are they terrorists? Al Queda?" Julia asked breathlessly. Sam noted the way JD's arm wrapped around her waist protectively. Guess he didn't need to ask what these two were doing out all night while watching for their mysterious lights.

"They are very dangerous men, that's all you need to know. All right?"

They nodded in unison, their eyes wide with excitement. Good Lord, was he going to have to lock them up somewhere to keep them out of trouble? "Do you know what happened to my wife?"

"Hal Waverly and the FBI lady took her and the man to the police station."

Sam blew his breath out in exasperation. No way he could show his face anywhere near town. Now that both Alan and Logan knew where Josh was, he couldn't waste any time. "Do either of you have a cell phone?"

Julia pulled one from her pocket. "The reception up here isn't very good," she cautioned him.

He flipped it open and dialed Mrs. B's number. She answered after the second ring, her voice crackling with static. "It's me," he said. "Everything all right there?"

"Speak up, Sam, I can barely hear you."

"Josh, is he all right?" he was practically shouting now, pacing up and down the path in search of a reliable signal.

"Up all night with one of his bad dreams, he just fell asleep a short while ago. Are you okay?"

"No. Things are," he darted a glance at the two teens, eagerly listening to his side of the conversation, "more complicated than I thought. I need you to take Josh and leave. Go to that place I told you about. There's money in the lockbox."

"The motel outside of Montreal? I have to tell you, Sam, I don't like this. Not one bit. That boy needs his parents, both of them."

Sam raised his head, beseeching the heavens. The fog was lifting and the sky lightening, but he still was no closer to saving Sarah and Josh than he had been yesterday. If anything, he'd made things worse. "I know, I know. Please, Mrs. B, I need you to do this. I need you to keep Josh safe."

Her sigh was punctuated by static. "All right. We'll go this morning."

"Thank you. Tell him I love him—" The line went dead before he could finish. He stared at the phone for a moment, then flipped it shut.

Julia gave him a half-hearted smile. "Your boy, Josh, he's all right?"

"He is for now," Sam muttered, trying to think of a way out of this mess. His brain was fried with lack of sleep and every thought he had seemed fuzzy and out of focus. Mrs. B would keep Josh safe. All he had to do was save Sarah, and stop Alan, Logan and Korsakov from going after her. A bitter laugh escaped him. Alone, unarmed, how was he going to stop three killers? "Could you guys keep an eye on Sarah? Call me on Julia's phone when she leaves the police station, let me know where she goes?"

JD's eyes went wide. "You mean tail her? Sure."

"You couldn't let anyone know what you're doing. Not even Chief Waverly. Don't try to talk to her. Just let me know where she is."

"My dad would kill me if I lose my phone," Julia said.

"I just want to borrow it," Sam reassured her. "Just for today." He considered his options. "Can you get a message to the Colonel for me?"

"The Rockslide will be open in a little bit, he's probably already there. What do you want us to tell him?"

"Don't tell him it's from me. Ask him to come to," he thought for a moment, "the caretaker's cabin below the dam."

"That's no good," JD put in. "What if the cops come back to search it or something?"

"Or maybe the terrorists have been using it as a base of operations," Julia added. "You'd be walking into a trap."

"All right. You tell me where. I can't be seen in town."

They exchanged glances. "How about the clearing above the dam?" JD suggested. "You know, the one where—"

"The one where I almost died. Yeah, think I remember it." An expression of chagrin clouded JD's face and Sam regretted his harsh tone. "I'm sorry. Okay, the clearing above the dam after the lunch rush is done." He paused, knuckling his temple, trying to force a coherent thought into his frazzled brain. Much as he hated the damned thing, he felt naked without the gun. "Ask him to bring a gun—a pistol, not a rifle. Got it?"

"Sure thing, Mr. D." They swung onto their bikes, balancing as they turned to look at him. "You going to be all right until then?"

"We have some left over sandwiches if you want them." Julia rummaged around in her backpack and handed over a brown paper bag.

Sam had to smile at their combination of youthful enthusiasm and heart-warming naivety. He'd just risen from the dead, been beaten up, had his wife and child threatened at gunpoint, and they thought a few bologna sandwiches would make everything all right.

"Thanks, kids. Don't let anyone hear you when you talk with the Colonel."

"Not even his wife?" JD said with a grin.

Sam rolled his eyes and both kids smiled. "Lordamighty. Especially not the Colonel's wife."

They pedaled down the trail. He began his lonely tramp through the woods and back to his hidey-hole of a cave. It was warm and dry and safe enough that he'd be able to catch a few hours of sleep before meeting the Colonel. To Sam that made it worth more than any five star hotel.

He just wished he knew what the hell he was going to do afterwards.

The sun was rising as Alan steered his Volvo onto the Interstate. He headed south, thinking that a guy like him could find plenty of places to hide in a big city like New York. And plenty of opportunities.

It wasn't a setback, he'd told himself after almost running into the police when he'd returned to pick up Sam and Logan. No, rather an opportunity.

Because there was no way in hell Korsakov would let Sam or Logan live. Hell, having seen the Russian when he worked himself into a frenzy, he wouldn't be surprised if Korsakov torched the entire town in retribution for Hopewell giving sanctuary to Sam all these years.

But Alan still had a chance. He'd hightailed it back to his house, tossed everything of value into the car and headed off into the fog. Alive without a hundred million was better than being a dead man with it.

Still, all that money...the things he could do with it cascaded through his mind, torturing him with could-have-been scenarios.

His cell phone rang, breaking his reverie. He looked at it in its perch on the dashboard and narrowed his eyes in suspicion. What if it was Korsakov? Or what if Logan rolled on him? The cops could track those phones.

It rang again and again. What if it was Sam? Maybe he'd gotten clear of the cops and still wanted to deal? After all, as far as he knew, Alan was on his way to Bumfuck, Quebec right now, ready to kill his kid.

His hand hovered over the phone. He knew the safest bet was to ignore it, toss it out the window and buy a new one at the next Walmart. But one hundred million dollars, that was a helluva payoff. Least he deserved after spending two years setting this up.

He grabbed the phone and flipped it open. "Yeah."

"Alan?"

Christ, it was Sarah. What the hell did she want? He didn't have time to play Sir Galahad—but she might still be a key to get him the money. "Yes? What's up, sweetheart? Having trouble sleeping again?"

"I'm in jail. With your friend, Logan." Her voice was clipped, rushed.

"Logan?" What the fuck had gone wrong? How had Logan and Sarah ended up together, much less in jail? And where the hell was Sam?

"It's a long story. I need your help, Alan. Can you come down to the station? Please?" He couldn't resist a smile when he heard her pleading. In two years, she had never asked anything of him, had always been the one taking care of everything herself. But now Miss Self-sufficiency was begging him for help.

"I'm on the road. It will take me awhile to get back. Maybe you should call someone else." There was an emergency vehicle turn-around ahead. He slowed the Volvo and pulled onto the gravel path that connected both sides of the interstate.

There was a long pause before she answered. He could hear her breathing, it sounded raspy as if she was panicking. Good. The more desperate she was, the more she would follow his orders. All of them.