Hunted (2 page)

Mike watched her move with grace and purpose, folding clothes in one fluid motion, packing so neatly it was nearly an art. He shook his head. It had to be a female thing. Women just saw things that men didn’t. That’s all.

“Help Sam get his schoolbooks together and take them to the car.”

Sam was still busy with his computer, so Mike picked up the brown paper bag covered books from the desk, and the MTV three-ring binder. Sam finally finished and put the laptop into the carrier, along with an extra battery pack and a package of blank disks.

“Honey, go brush your teeth, then bring me your toothbrush,” Becky said. “Then put on your boots. It’s freezing in here, and you're walking around barefoot.”

Sam gave Mike the universal eye-roll, then went back to the bathroom. Mike smiled, then turned to Becky. “Are you almost ready with that suitcase?” he asked.

“Just a few more sweaters. Why don’t you take that stuff down to the car? We'll be ready by the time you get back.”

Mike nodded, but he didn’t move. He didn’t want to leave his son’s room just yet. He looked back at his picture, stuck up on the bulletin board next to an A+ geography test and an advertisement for a 9600 baud modem.

Then he remembered Mojo. The man was headed here. If he’d left straight from the Leavenworth, and didn’t stop, he could be in Colorado in a day. Mike intended to be miles away by then.

* * *

The road was empty, Boulder was asleep. Marquee lights glowed over barred shops and traffic lights swayed with the heavy wind. A sheen of snow covered the street. Mike had the heater of the Bronco on high.

He looked at Becky. She sat very stiffly, facing straight ahead. He’d scared her. But there was nothing he could do about that now. He pressed the gas pedal down farther as they headed west. Checking the rearview mirror, he saw Sam’s eyes were at half-mast. It was late, and he would be asleep soon. Good. Let him get some rest. It was going to be a long drive. Maybe Becky could sleep, too.

“We have to stop the newspaper delivery,” she said, her voice hushed to go with the quiet of the night.

“There’s plenty of time for that when we get where we're going.”

“Where are we going?”

“Past Steamboat Springs, by the Utah border. I've got us a cabin in the mountains. It hasn’t been used in a while, but it has heat and it’s secluded.”

“Aren’t all the roads closed?”

He nodded. “I've mapped out a route that’s safe. We'll be going on some maintenance roads once we get up there. It isn’t going to snow tonight, so we'll be okay.”

“What about when we get there? What are we going to do?”

“Wait till he’s caught.”

“How long will that take?”

“It shouldn’t be long. This is precautionary. We've called in all agencies in four states. The local police are on the lookout in every town and truck stop. He’s probably headed north, to Canada. That’s why we're going west. They'll catch him.”

“And in the meantime, we're going to be holed up in some cabin in the woods. Mike, I don’t like this.”

He turned to look at her. She was staring at him. Her parka rose and fell with her deep breaths. “I don’t like it either, but we have no choice.” He looked at the road. They were almost at the edge of town.

She glanced in the back seat, while Mike checked out Sam in the mirror again. He was asleep, his head leaning on the window.

“He’s going to be confused,” she said.

“He’s a smart kid. He'll understand.”

“He’s going to wonder why we're together again.” She sighed heavily. “I just don’t want him hurt. He’s been through enough.”

They were climbing now, heading into the Rocky Mountains. Mike flipped on the brights and watched the curving road for deer. He listened to the sound of the tires on the pavement. He knew the kid had been through a lot. But he was tough. He wasn’t so sure about Becky. “How about you? How are you doing?”

She didn’t answer, and the seconds of silence turned to minutes. He heard her shift in her seat. Finally, she said, “I keep myself busy. The hotel takes up a lot of my time.”

“That’s good.”

“I wish you saw him more often, Mike. He misses you.”

“We talk.”

“Typing to each other on the computer isn’t enough. He needs to see you.”

“I'm with him now.”

“Is that what it takes to get you to see your own son? An escaped killer?” She’d whispered, but she looked back at Sam to make sure he was still asleep.

“I don’t want to discuss this.”

“The problem is you never want to discuss it. I don’t know who you are anymore. All I do know is that Sam loves you so much it hurts. And you don’t seem to give a damn.”

He stared at the lines on the road. “You’d better get some rest. It’s going to be a long drive.”

N
o one had said a word for twelve minutes. Becky had sipped her tea, Sam had torn open two packets of sugar, and Mike had downed a cup of coffee. But they hadn’t spoken, except to the waitress.

The sparsely filled boxcar diner echoed with music from the tabletop jukebox. Mike didn’t recognize the song or the singer. He shifted and put his arm across the back of the leatherette booth. Becky’s gaze followed his movement. She touched the handle of her teacup, but didn’t bring it to her lips.

“How’s the hotel job coming along?” he asked. His voice seemed loud and intrusive.

“Fine,” she said. “It’s nearly done. I was supposed to meet with the florist today. The artwork goes up next week.”

He nodded. “That’s great. I bet your father’s pleased.”

“He is.”

Her gaze met his, but only for a second. She studied her hand as the silence returned.

Becky had been the one person in the world he’d been able to talk to. She’d always known what questions to ask, and when to say nothing at all. He’d listened to her, too, and he’d known when to tease her and when to be serious. They’d lost that rhythm in doctors' offices and hospital rooms. There had never been the right words when Amy had been dying. But Mike remembered when Becky had been his best friend. He’d never found anyone to take her place.

“How’s the bureau treating you these days?” Becky’s voice was light and only a little forced.

“Same old, same old,” Mike said. “Too much paperwork, not enough time.”

She nodded, but didn’t comment. She turned to look for the waitress.

“Becky.”

She turned quickly back to face him.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t.”

But he had. Her smile didn’t fool him. “Look, we're going to be together for a while. It will be a lot easier if we can talk to each other.”

Her smile faded and she glanced at Sam. He’d stopped playing with the loose sugar and was staring up at her. “Don’t play with the food, honey,” she said, then she looked back at Mike. “Can’t we discuss this later?”

Mike shook his head. “I'm not saying anything that Sam doesn’t already know.”

“I'm sure that’s true, but I’d still like to discuss it later.” Her green eyes flashed a warning, and her tight-lipped smile was anything but friendly.

“Fine. We'll just sit here then.”

“Why don’t we talk about school? Sam’s working on a big history project, aren’t you honey?”

Mike took a slow, deep breath. He studied Becky as she turned her attention to their son. She asked him questions, laughed at a silly joke, stroked his hair. It was so clear that she loved him.

It wasn’t right to be jealous of his own kid.

* * *

Moose Lake Summer Resort

Mike read the sign and slowed down the car. This is where his new partner, Cliff, spent his summer vacation with his wife and kids. Their lakeside cabin would make a perfect refuge. The whole resort was closed for the winter, nearly impossible to get to, and the only person in the park was a caretaker named Witherspoon.

It was almost two in the afternoon, and he felt as though they’d been on the road forever. After lunch, they’d found a market and stocked up on supplies. Then they’d made the dangerous ride up the mountain. The roads were all closed to the public, and he’d had to take it slow and easy. He’d worked out the route using maintenance roads so the snow never became impassible. But he still had to stop a dozen times to remove chains and roadblocks, then drive through and put them back up again. It had taken a lot longer than he figured to make it to the resort.

Mike turned in the driveway and headed toward the lake. The sky was gray and the wind made the snow-laden trees tremble. He passed long, low public buildings and one- and two-story houses. He thought of hibernating bears, closed-eyed and silent for the winter. Their cabin was number fourteen.

“Is this where we're going to stay?”

Mike looked at Sam in the rearview mirror. “Yep.”

“It’s empty.”

“It’s a summer resort. No one’s here.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“I got the puzzles and the board games at the store,” Becky said. “Remember?”

He didn’t say anything. He just stared out the window.

The cabin was a two-story A-frame, like most of the others they’d passed, with a large deck that ran all around the structure. The windows were dark and draped; the white paint looked dull and chipped; it was singularly unwelcoming. But it was safe. That’s what mattered.

He pulled the car around to the back and stilled the engine. Sam flung open his door and jumped out into the snow. Becky looked at Mike, her frustration at the situation, at him, quite clear. Then she climbed out, too.

Mike joined her, immediately aware of the quiet of the place. There was an almost unnatural stillness. No birds, no cars, no airplanes overhead. The only sounds were the crunch of boots on snow and gravel and the wind in the pines. He shut his door and a patch of snow from an overhanging branch fell on the roof with a splat. It did feel good to be out of the damn car. He stretched, trying to ease the kinks, but it was useless. Everything felt stiff and all he wanted was a hot shower and bed. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t get either for a while. He saw a large woodpile at the side of the house. At least they could have a fire.

Becky walked with him to the back door, and when he unlocked it, she started to go in. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “Let me check it out first.”

She looked over at Sam, who was packing some snow into a ball. “I thought you said this place was safe.”

“Doesn’t mean there won’t be a spider or two around. I'll just be a minute.”

Becky watched him move into the house. The long trip and the awkward lunch had made it clear that this “vacation” was going to be difficult. All alone, away from the rest of the world, she and Mike would be forced to talk. To share the cooking and the cleaning. She shook her head. Share? If this turned out to be anything like the last few years of their marriage, Mike would find some perfectly reasonable excuse for being late for dinner. He would be too tired to help with the dishes. He would go to bed early, and then the phone would ring and he would leave and she would worry the rest of the night away.

Sam was on the deck now, walking toward the boat dock. She followed him. The lake came right up to the rear of the house. In the summer it must be beautiful, but now the frozen water just looked forbidding. A chill shot through her, a cold shiver of terror. Someone was out there, somewhere, looking to hurt her and her child. Mike didn’t have to say the words; his actions had told her the truth. He wouldn’t have brought them to this isolated mountain unless they were in real danger. Would they be safe here?

Becky looked around the desolate grounds, and knew she shouldn’t count on it. If Mojo wanted to track them down, he would. There wasn’t a fortress strong enough to stop him. No heroes on white chargers would save the day. If she thought it would do any good to pray, she would have. Instead, she gave her word to the sky and to the trees that she would do whatever she had to, to keep her son safe. No matter what.

“Becky? Sam?”

“Over here, Mike,” Becky called. She heard his boots on the deck as he came toward them.

“The house is fine. I've turned on the gas, so it should warm up soon. Let’s get the bags inside, then I'll get a fire started.”

“Look over there, Dad.” Sam pointed to a treeless bank. “That’s perfect for sledding. You think we could get a sled or an inner tube or something?”

“I don’t know, Sam. Let’s just get inside and we'll talk about that later.”

Sam didn’t put up a fight. He walked toward the car, his shoulders hunched forward, and kicked a fallen branch.

Becky waited until he was out of earshot before she turned to Mike. “Don’t keep chasing him back to that damn computer of his. Can’t you see that he’s too quiet?” She sighed. “Look who I'm telling. He’s just like you.”

He stared at her, his cheeks ruddy in the cold wind. He looked tired and thin, but he was still Mike. Still dangerous. The man used to steal her breath with a glance. His brown hair was a mess and needed a trim. It was below his collar and ragged. He hadn’t shaved in almost two days—she could tell by the length of his whiskers. She knew just how those whiskers would feel on her cheeks. They would be sharp and prickly, and he would rub her skin on purpose until she laughed and made him go shave.

She had to look away.

Mike went to get the suitcases from the car while she moved inside. The kitchen was cold and it smelled from the unused gas heater being cranked up for the first time in ages. The room itself seemed familiar in a cheesy sort of way. That same Formica dining table, the same torn plastic chairs she’d seen in a hundred guest cabins in the area. There was nothing lovely at all about the room. It was function over form, decorated in the fifties to be strictly utilitarian. She wasn’t the least bit surprised that the fridge and the stove were that awful salmon color. Or that the curtains over the window were so faded, they seemed almost white. But, she thought, as long as it all worked, what difference did it make?

Becky heard Sam in the other room and she followed his voice. He was in the living room, at the base of the stairs.

“There’s a bedroom up there,” Mike said.

Becky turned to see him in the kitchen, a suitcase in each hand.

“That’s where you'll be sleeping. My room is down here,” he said.

Sam raced upstairs, and Mike followed him.

Becky turned her attention to the downstairs. The furniture in the living room had been covered with sheets. The whole place looked dark and spooky, like something out of an old horror movie. She turned to look upstairs. In a moment, Mike came out empty-handed.

“Is there a washing machine in this place?” she asked.

“In the basement,” Mike said. “The stairs are in the kitchen.”

Becky flipped back the sheet on the couch. Beneath it, the sofa was nicer than she’d expected. A big pattern, white with large red flowers, good for a summer cottage, but wrong in the dead of winter. She gathered the sheet up in her arms, then plucked the others from the two fake-leather wing chairs. She ran a finger over the coffee table, and it came up brown. Once she put the food away, she would clean the house.

At least there was a big fireplace to warm up the place. The hardwood floors would probably work well in summer, but not in this weather. She wished they’d put in wall-to-wall carpeting instead of just the one long carpet runner.

She moved over to the large windows and found the cords to open the floor-to-ceiling beige drapes. The meager light from outside helped brighten the room a little. Not enough. It still felt stuffy.

“What the hell are you thinking?”

Mike’s voice scared her and she dropped the sheets on the ground. He walked behind her and pulled the drapery cord so hard she thought he might break it. The drapes trembled as if they, too, had been startled. The room grew dark again.

“We're in hiding here. It’s bad enough there’s going to be smoke from the chimney. I don’t want you making yourself an easy target.”

“Don’t scare me like that.”

He lifted the edge of the curtains and studied the front yard. “We've got to be on our toes, Becky,” he said, his voice strained and weary. “That’s all.”

“He’s going to find us, isn’t he?”

Mike dropped the edge of the drape. “No.”

He’d taken off his jacket. His flannel shirt was open, and the white T-shirt underneath wasn’t so white anymore. Over it all, strapped on his body like a prosthesis, was his shoulder holster with his precious .45 ready for action.

“I hate this.” She kicked the sheets, but they just billowed a bit and sank to the floor again. “How did he escape? He was in Leavenworth, for God’s sake. No one gets out of there. Weren’t there guards and dogs and guns? Why didn’t they just kill him?”

Mike took a step toward her, but she backed away from him. “Don’t touch me. And don’t you dare say everything’s going to be all right.”

“I won’t let him hurt you or Sam.”

She looked at the couch. In the dark room, the red looked like blood. “You shouldn’t tell lies, Mike. They only make
you
feel better.”

“Dammit, Becky. Stop it. You think it’s my fault the bastard broke out of prison?”

“Nothing’s anybody’s fault,” she said. She looked up at him, fighting the anger that was churning inside her. “It’s no one’s fault, but people keep dying, don’t they? Well, not my son. So help me God, I won’t let him take my son.”

“I'll keep him safe.”

He stood straight and tall, his hands loose and open by his sides, ready to fight. His warrior stance. Once upon a time, she’d found it the most reassuring sight in the world. But she’d learned how dangerous it was to believe he could fight every battle and beat every foe. “I know you'll try,” she said, unable to hide the sadness from her voice.

“I'll do more than try.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She studied his tall, fierce body, the determination on his face, the hard cut of his jaw, and she wanted to run to him. To fold herself inside his arms. To have him stroke her hair and tell her everything was going to be all right. But she knew she wasn’t welcome in those arms. She never would be again. “I just want this over,” she said. “I want to go back to my life. I have to meet with the florist and the carpet man. Sam’s got a geography test.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?” She bent down to pick up the sheets. “I'll go put these in the wash. Then we'll put the groceries away.”

Mike was next to her then, grabbing for the linens, too. He touched her, his fingertips brushing lightly across the back of her hand, and the shock of it ran up her arm. She pulled back, but it was too late, the damage was done.

It had been a long time. It used to be that she needed the feel of his skin like she needed water to drink or air to breathe. It had taken her a year to stop needing him. To stop waking up in the middle of the night, alone and frightened. To stop longing for his touch.

She risked a glance at him. He’d felt the shock, too. He was still, like an animal is still when it smells danger. She wished she could tell him there was no danger here. But there was. It wasn’t just about the madman out there, either. No one had ever had the power to hurt her like Mike had. And she knew she had that same power over him. That’s why they needed to be apart. So no more damage would be done.