Hide and Seek (6 page)

"Any description?”

"According to Grace, he wore a plaid shirt.”

“Plaid and a Yukon?” he said. “Does that sound like one of your ex-husband’s people?”

“No, but Alan is unpredictable. Grace promised to call the police, if he shows up again. On the other hand, it makes sense that when I do arrive, Alan will have given up chasing me. He'll know it's too late, that I've already contacted the proper authorities and...”

“Too late?” Concern jabbed at him like a patch of dried thistles. "There’s more to this, isn’t there?”

"Of course not,” she said, but he knew she was lying. Avoiding his gaze, she smeared whipped butter on Shawn's pancakes. “How will you explain me and Shawn to your father?"

He shrugged. "Dad will think you're my woman."

Her lips clamped and her cheeks turned a chili pepper red. She shifted sideways to smooth the napkin in Shawn’s lap with nervous, fluttering movements.

Holt snorted, and she looked up, a challenge in her narrowed eyes. “What now?” she snapped. “Why do I sense your disapproval?”

“Lady, your constant fussing and dithering can’t be healthy. Stop mollycoddling him.”

The skin under her eyes twitched. If she had a wand handy, he would be toad soup. Holt braced himself sure she’d have some searing comment, but instead she asked, "Why is your father in Virginia when you and your sister live in Florida?"

"Dad's retired Air Force."

"And, your mother?"

"Ran away."

“That’s awful.”

“Lady, that’s life,” he said, noticing her accent was strongest when she was appalled. “My mother couldn’t handle the constant moving, and there was the unpredictability of living with a pilot sent on missions at a moment’s notice.”

“How did you get into raising cattle?”

“My grandparents owned the Florida ranch. Dad flew a lot, so my sister and I went to live with them."

She continued to stare. "Did your mother tell you she was leaving?"

"Nope.”

“That’s so sad!”

Adorable as Caprice was, her sympathy was wasted on him. "That was long ago. Now ranching is in my blood."

After a moment she said, "You must be worried about your father."

"Yep. Dad sounded shell-shocked.”

****

Seconds after pulling into his father's drive, Holt’s nerves jangled like the keys he yanked from the ignition. Mangled branches, a picture frame, and parts of an artificial Christmas tree littered the lawn. The cement columns that once supported the front porch were cracked, and canted. Far above them, a National Guard chopper maintained a watch over the chaos.

With his stomach twisted in a half-knot, Holt glanced in the mirror, making eye contact with Caprice. She was pale. The miles of ruin had affected her too. Holt rubbed his face. This was a mistake. He should never have brought Caprice and Shawn to this insanity.

A movement on the roof caught Holt's attention. A wiry, sun-burned man with thinning gray hair straightened and used his hand to shield his eyes against the afternoon glare.

Holt gripped the metal handle, threw the door open, and marched across the soggy, leaf strewn lawn. "Dammit, Dad! Get down before you slip and kill yourself."

Colonel Jack LeBerger dropped a roll of thick plastic. "That's just like you to arrive, barking orders like a squadron commander. Your ETA was yesterday no later than fourteen-hundred hours. What took so long?"

"I had problems.”

“Engine troubles?”

“No. There were road blocks and…detours, all kinds,” Holt said, hedging with the partial truth. Across the street a neighbor carried a chain-saw and approached a downed pine tree.

“I’d planned to have you completely debriefed by now.”

To make his point, the colonel glared at his wristwatch, but Holt held up his hand before his father could continue. “I've bought a generator and a water pump."

Jack considered his comments. “The military’s commandeered the cell service in these parts. If your sister doesn’t hear from you or me pretty soon, there will be hell to pay.”

“Relax. Melissa knew I was coming. She sent dry clothes and food.”

From his elevated perch, the older man swept his arm toward the ripped roof deck. "I completely lost the roof off my office addition. The ceilings in the living room and the bedrooms are frickin’ ruined.” He swept a hand over his head. “I dragged the mattresses outside to dry."

“Dad, come down.” Holt steadied the ladder. The chainsaw screamed through the tree’s trunk and forced him to raise his voice. “The day is early. We'll get your roof dried-in before the sun sets. That’s a promise.”

Once on the ground, uncustomary tears clouded his father’s eyes. Holt received a back-slapping embrace. “Having you here just raised my spirits.”

“Let’s start with a beer.”

“Ahh, a cold-one will improve the day and my temperament.” Jack pointed. “What happened to your eye? Have a tussle with a short-tempered heifer?"

"You could say that.”

“Well, you look like a damned, hippie-lumberjack. When will you shave that beard, cut your hair, and fly in formation like the wingman I raised?”

Before Holt could retort, the neighbor called from across the street. “I see your reinforcements arrived, Colonel LeBerger.”

His father’s hand clamped onto his bad shoulder. "Yep. My son is here from Florida."

The man chuckled. "Looks to me like he could sling you over his shoulder and carry you back to Florida in two or three strides."

Holt scowled, catching his father’s gaze. "The air is foul."

"Affirmative. Dead fish and some unfortunate wildlife, but you’ll get used to it." Jack wiped his brow with his sleeve. "I hear Tropical Storm Gemma is churning up the Gulf of Mexico and headed toward the panhandle."

Holt held up his hand. "One catastrophe at a time.” Added tension made his blood-pressure soar as he pictured Caprice. "I need to warn you. I brought company."

His father’s face lit. "Son, that’s great! Who? Scott and Pudin’?" Jack led the way to the motorhome. He picked up a torn shingle, tossed it into a curbside debris pile then peered over his shoulder. "Folks are pulling together, sharing food, tools, and lanterns at night. I'm meeting my neighbors, but all the pretty ones are married."

Before Jack could enter the Freelander, Holt reached above his head, keeping the door shut. Over the hum of the camper’s generator, he raised his voice. "There's a woman in there. Caprice. She has a son."

"A female!” Jack grinned broadly. He slapped Holt's bad shoulder, causing red-hot pain to spike down his arm. "Son, I knew there was plenty of LeBerger bull left in you."

"Her ex-husband is after her. She claims he has political ambitions in West Virginia.”

“Yeager broke the sound barrier twice, you know. He hails from West Virginia.”

“Right, but what do you know about Alan Montero?” Holt wished his father would stay on track. “It must be some small town election."

"Montero?” Dawning ensnared Jack’s expression. “Son, Alan Montero is favored by his party to win the state’s gubernatorial race this fall.”

The Governor’s office
? Holt swore. He should have plied Caprice for more answers. "Yesterday, Caprice and her son hid in the camper when I stopped at
Casa de Fuego
." Holt explained the incident at the Raleigh-Durham airport with Lugo.

Jack blinked. "She broke his nose, eh? Why she sounds as feisty as an F-22 Falcon."

“She wants to get her son to her sister's place in Georgia, so she can make some meeting, but Montero’s people keep tailing them."

His father's expression turned thoughtful. "
The Richmond Times-Dispatch
ran an article weeks ago. Montero is West Virginia's golden boy. His family is big in real estate with interests in the mining industry, natural gas, coal, and oil.”

"Anything else?"

Jack rubbed his chin. "This last spring there was mild speculation concerning Montero’s possible involvement when a Piper Seneca crashed outside Beckley, killing his lead opponent.”

“Foul play?”

“Apparently the National Transportation Safety Board thought so, but it all died down,” Jack said. “Right now, Montero’s garnering sympathy votes because his son is missing. Other than wanting his kid, it makes no sense for him to chase an ex-wife. Why, he's reeking wealthy. He can have any woman."

Holt shook his head. "You haven't seen Caprice."

"Is that so?" Jack’s expression turned hopeful. "I'm a leg man."

"Then prepare yourself for a treat."

His father stepped back and swept his arms wide. "Well...give me clearance, so I can meet this vision."

****

When the door to the Freelander opened, Armor barked. Jolted by the unexpectedness, Caprice dropped the flashcards she had been using for Shawn’s signing and vocabulary practice.

"Caprice, this is my father, Jack LeBerger," Holt said, shutting the door behind them.

His father took her hand and winged his brows at Holt. “Hello, darlin’.”

"This is Shawn," she said softly. “I'm so sorry for your troubles, Colonel LeBerger."

"Call me Jack, and that’s an order. Esmeralda was some ripsnorter, but people are resilient. Now that I have a generator, I can live like a human until Virginia Power restores the electricity.”

After handing his father a beer, Holt's gaze drew up her entire length, and his husky tone caressed. "Caprice?”

“Thanks, no. I don't drink."

Jack sat on the sofa and removed his sneakers. "Damn. I've got trench foot. Holt, did Melissa send socks?"

Holt returned and tossed Jack a package of crew socks. After retying his shoes, Jack stood and his somber gaze encompassed them. "You may as well see the house."

Within minutes, Caprice stood in Jack LeBerger’s living room. Rain-stained drapes sat in a sodden heap on an equally wet couch. They walked across carpets, spongy with water. The walls were mud-spattered with grass and shingle grit. Like a thief in the night, the storm had ransacked Jack’s house, but Caprice schooled any unnecessary remarks.

In the dining room, Jack gestured to a yellow bucket filled with glass shards. "I lost two windows in here."

"I'll get the generator," Holt said. "I brought a case of bug repellent. Thought you might need some."

"I'll ration some to the neighbors. The mosquitoes are murder. Oh, a few of us received tetanus shots yesterday. That's big talk around here."

The older man's attempt at levity squeezed Caprice's heart. "Jack, when did you eat last?"

He scratched his head. "Yesterday the Red Cross delivered peanut butter and jelly sandwiches." He considered Holt. "Come see the flooding in the basement."

Once they left, Caprice gripped Shawn's hand and headed for the kitchen. She was determined to help in some way. Thinking of salvaging some foods, she opened the refrigerator. Shawn made a strangled noise and backed away, covering his nose.

Caprice fought instant nausea against the unmistakable odor of rancid chicken. She slammed the refrigerator’s door and ran to inhale air from the open window over the sink. After a moment, she wiped her eyes and studied Shawn for any stomach distress.

Instead, Shawn pressed his thumb nail to his chin and wiggled his pointer finger in the direction the two men had left.

Kneeling before him, Caprice finger spelled, J-A-C-K. “A storm broke Jack’s house."

He nodded. "We fix.”

Fierce pride filled her to overflowing as she hugged him. “Yes. We can help.”

Later, Holt entered the kitchen as she twisted a rag, wringing out bleach water. "Most of Jack’s perishables are spoiled. I threw out so much food from the refrigerator and freezer," she said conscious of her hair piled haphazardly on her head. “It’s clean now.”

"The generator should run some lights and the refrigerator." He tousled Shawn's hair then stopped before her, a boot heel scuffing the floor. "This isn't your problem, Caprice, or part of our agreement. You don't have to clean."

"I want to help."

“I appreciate that,” he said, going to the window, “but this place isn't safe. It was a mistake to bring Shawn.”

Sensing that he would soon be issuing orders, she tossed the rag into the bucket and made an effort to control her temper. "I’ve been watching my son.”

"Remember the boil-water order,” he said and his sudden grin coaxed her to set her irritation aside. “By the way…Dad bolted down that roast beef sandwich you made. Now he’s going full throttle.”

"But, I can tell you're worried," she prodded as he rubbed his shoulder.

"The storm ruined the structural integrity to parts of this house. If my father tries to fix it without a contractor, he could get hurt.” Holt ran a hand over his head. “Dad should have listened to me months ago about moving back to Florida.”

"You want all your ducks in a row."

His dark gaze challenged hers. "What's wrong with that?"

"I've lived with controlling men all my life, my grandfather, then Alan."

"You didn't tell me Montero wants you for West Virginia’s first lady. If I hadn’t seen the bruises, I’d wonder why you would turn down the offer.”

“I don’t love Alan, and it’s more complicated than that. It would be safer if you didn’t...” She hesitated, afraid of divulging too much information. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t ask so many questions. The less you know the safer.”

His brows jammed. “That sounds ominous as hell, Caprice.” He appeared dissatisfied and brimming with endless questions, but she was grateful when he changed subjects. “Dad keeps board games and some toys for my two nieces when they visit. I'll hunt for them."

"Thank you.” She gestured to the cupboards. “Apparently your father stocked up before the storm. He has some bread and plenty of canned foods.”

Holt peered out the window then faced her. "Folks are leaving in droves, taking their kids."

She ground her teeth. "Maybe a neighbor knows of someone who's heading south."

"Right. I'll work on that."

****

Using food from Holt’s camper and Jack’s kitchen, Caprice fixed a light dinner of vegetable soup, and canned chicken spread on bread. It was the best she could do under the circumstances. Afterwards, she joined Shawn and Jack at the kitchen table as they played a game of checkers. Outside, the powerful generator's constant humming filled the night air.