The Runaway Pastor's Wife (22 page)

A voice in his head badgered him.
You’re
never gonna make it. Give it up. Just crawl back in bed and forget about
Elliot. Forget about your company. Who cares? Nobody gives a rip about you
anyway.

Michael snapped his head from side to side. “No.
No! I won’t give up,” he whispered. He crawled out of bed and began to make his
way to the bathroom. The sight in the mirror was even worse than before. His
skin looked pale and pasty. Dark puffy half-circles hung below his eyes. When
he peeled the bandages away from his wounds, the sight took his breath away.
His work was cut out for him.

An hour later, he emerged from his room
carefully scoping out his surroundings. The hot shower had given him renewed
hope, soothing his tired body and washing away the dirt and grime and dried
blood from the nightmare he was living. Even with only a couple hours of sleep,
he felt at least partially refreshed and eager to get on the road. He
recognized the elevated adrenaline in his system and knew he had to ride it out
for as long as it would last. It was his only hope.

Michael pulled through the motel parking lot and
back onto the road. He spotted another fast food restaurant with a drive-thru
and pulled in. As he approached the window, a freckle-faced teenage boy gave a
long, admiring whistle to Michael’s SUV. “Nice wheels, dude!”

Michael smiled and placed his order. After
evading the barrage of questions and comments about his car, he reached out for
the bag containing his breakfast and pulled out onto the highway. He popped the
lid off the tall Styrofoam cup of coffee and carefully took a sip. The fresh,
hot flavor of the coffee instantly revitalized him.

He tried to remember Peg’s directions to the
local bus station. Fifteen minutes later, he walked out of the noisy complex,
coughing from the diesel fumes of idling buses. He folded a piece of paper with
a locker number scribbled on it and wrapped it around a key. Tucking both into
his pocket, he felt a noticeable weight off his shoulders and hurried to his
car. The flash drive with evidence of Elliot’s involvement in the murder of
Christopher Jordan was safely out of his hands now. He would call Grady the
first chance he got and give him the number off that paper. Now he had backup.

Life insurance.

Setting his coffee in the console holder, he
turned on the radio and began to search for a news station as he pulled out of
the parking lot. He skipped through an array of country love songs,
indistinguishable rap music, a radio preacher’s blistering sermon, and a
station playing an old Captain and Tennille song before he found what he
wanted.

“And now a look at today’s weather. Expect
increasing snowstorms for much of the panhandle today as this second front,
which looks to be much stronger, continues to bear down from
Canada
. By
this evening we expect a traveler’s advisory to be issued as this storm moves
into our area from the northwest. Stay tuned to KCOL for your weather report
every hour on the tens.”

Michael unwrapped his sausage and cheese biscuit
and took a bite. “Once again, here are the stories we’re following for you here
on 990 KCOL . . .”

As the reporter rambled on with the news of the
hour, Michael’s mind raced back to the questions that still plagued him.
Where
were Elliot’s hounds? Elliot wouldn’t give up this easily. Where was he right
now? And what about Amelia? Surely she’s called Daddy by now complaining about
my absence. I wonder how Elliot covered that one?

Michael took another sip of coffee and looked at
his cell phone. He had kept it turned off, avoiding anyone’s efforts to trace
him
.
But he had to call Grady. He would find a pay phone in the next
town. His eyes were drawn to the green sign along the side of the road.

Edmonson—13 miles

Amarillo
—89
miles

Pueblo
,
Colorado
—409
miles

While calculating how much longer his drive
would take, his pain reminded him of the immediate need for more medication.
Suddenly, it dawned on him.

Why didn’t I think of it before?

He had always kept a supply of prescription
muscle relaxers in his gym bag, his desk at the office, his brief case, and the
bedside drawer at home. For years he had used the pain medication for relief
from a knee injury he suffered back in his last days with the Astros. It didn’t
bother him all the time, but when it did the pain could be intense. He scolded
himself for not remembering the meds earlier.

With a bum arm, he knew he couldn’t dig through
the bag while he drove. He pulled off on the side of the road, grateful for the
cover of an old, abandoned stretch of wooden fencing. Awkwardly, he reached
across his body with his good arm to pull the black vinyl bag up to the front
seat beside him. His clumsy movements frustrated him until he finally jerked
the bag around the seat. In a split second, the bag tipped the edge of his
coffee cup sitting on the console. Automatically his other hand reached to stop
it from spilling. Pain shot through the arm as the reaction tore through his
bullet wound. He screamed in agony only to be answered with a steaming splash
of coffee still hot enough to burn his right hand.

He cursed until his anger gave way to the
urgency of relief. He tore open the bag, digging out the first aid kit he’d
bought the night before, then tended to his wound. After treating his injuries,
he finally found the bottle of muscle relaxers. It wasn’t until he opened the
bottle of pills that he allowed himself a glimmer of hope. He washed the
capsule down with a gulp from his water bottle and turned the key once again in
the ignition.

“He’s where?”

“I told you, Mr. Thomas—he’s just now leaving
Plainview
. Going
north toward
Amarillo
. Could be he’s headed for
Colorado
. He
got any friends up there? Family? You all got one of them chalets up there
anywhere?”

“No, of course not,” Elliot snapped, changing
the receiver to his other ear. “Our chalet is in
Switzerland
. If he
has friends up there, it’s nobody I know about. Just keep your eyes open and
whatever you do, don’t lose him.”

“No sir. We won’t let him out of our sight.”

“Make sure you don’t.”

“Only thing is, sir, you sure we can’t just grab
him and haul him back to
Houston
? What’s with this cat and
mouse game anyway?”

“That’s not your concern. Just stay on his tail
but don’t let him see you, got it? And Gus—don’t you and Marcus screw this one
up, understand? I’ll make it well worth your while as long as you follow my
strict instructions. Are we clear on that?”

“No problem, sir. And don’t you worry none. We
won’t blow it. You can count on us, sir.”

Elliot slammed down the phone. “Why does that
give me no comfort?”

CHAPTER 14

Seminole,
Florida

“Don’t even say that! How could you!” Jessie
cried, shoving her chair back as she jumped up. She threw down the rest of her
sandwich and bolted from the school cafeteria, shouting, “You’re not my friend
anymore!”

She was halfway down the hall when she heard a
stern, commanding voice behind her. “Stop right there, young lady!”

She turned around, quickly wiping her tears.
Jessie kept her head down, afraid to face whoever belonged to that mean voice.
As the footsteps approached her, the voice softened.

“Why, Miss McGregor! What’s wrong?”

Jessie looked up into a familiar face,
recognizing the man from church. She sniffed a couple of times and wiped her
eyes on her sleeve.

He dropped to one knee and put a hand on
Jessica’s shoulder. “Now what could be so bad to send you running out of the
cafeteria?” His tone was gentle and compassionate. “You can tell me, honey. My
name is Mr. Harrison. Your daddy and I are good friends.”

“You are?” She looked up at him, studying his
face.

“Why, of course we are! And I know that if my
little girl was upset and your daddy was there, I’d want him to help her. Sure
I would! Here now—here’s my nice clean handkerchief for you. You go ahead and
use it to dry those pretty big blue eyes of yours. And then you can tell me
what’s happened.”

Jessie wiped her nose and her eyes and began
telling her daddy’s friend how she was missing her mommy.

“Where did Mommy go, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know. Gran just told us she had to go
away for a while and she doesn’t know when she’s coming back.”

“Oh. Is that so?”

“Yes, and then Samantha said maybe my Mommy and
Daddy are getting the Big D.”

“The Big D?”

“A di-divorce!” The tears erupted all over
again. Jessica hid her face in the handkerchief with the fancy monogrammed
initials. When she finally peered over the cloth at her daddy’s friend, he had a
strange look on his face.

“Well, now, Miss McGregor, there’s no need for
you to get so upset. I’m
sure
if your mom and dad were getting a
divorce, then I’d know all
about it. ’Course, I suppose your mama could
have left for a while. She might have needed to get away for a little vacation
or something. See, sometimes kids, and especially little kids, can just wear a
mama out. You know how it is—a mama gets so busy with cooking and cleaning up
and doing laundry and driving her kids all over the place. And then kids are
always fighting and arguing and making even more messes for her to clean up—”

Jessica tried to keep her lower lip from
trembling.

“—and I’m sure your daddy’s probably never
at
home hardly at all, is he?” Her head slowly nodded in agreement. “And of
course, that just makes it
extra
hard for a mama. She feels all alone.
Has to do everything herself.

“So it’s not so hard to see why your mommy
probably just felt like she was all tuckered out. We grown-ups call it
‘burn-out.’ Happens all the time to busy people. Especially someone like your
mother. So maybe she just needed to get away from everything for a while.
That’s all! Certainly nothing for a pretty little girl like you to worry
about.”

Her daddy’s friend stood up and moved in
alongside of Jessica, his arm draped protectively on her shoulders. She blew
her nose as they began walking down the hall. Daddy’s friend sounded like a
nice man. He seemed to know a lot more about her mommy and daddy than she did.
That didn’t seem right somehow.

I don’t care. I just want Mommy to come home. I
want my mommy and I want her now!

She didn’t want to hear Daddy’s friend talk
anymore. Jessie pulled free from him and took off down the hall, whimpering as
she ran.

Max
was torn between taking notes and stealing glances at the clock on the wall.
Missing the closing words of a lecture by Mr. Harrison could prove deadly on an
exam. Still, the countdown was irresistible. Only three more minutes until
freedom. The second hand crept along its circular path unbearably slow today,
as if hesitating to pass each and every numeral.
C’mon . . .
c’mon . . .