Hide and Seek (19 page)

“Shawn!" She slammed the implement again and again.

When the house phone trilled, she tossed the shovel and raced across the yard, her flip-flops slapping her soles. In the kitchen, she snatched up the receiver.

"Holt? Holt, have you seen Shawn?" His recorded voice invited the caller to leave a name and number. "Holt!"

"Hello, darling. Looking for our son?"

"Damn you, Alan!" Her voice broke on a rolling wave of rage. "Where's Shawn?"

Alan chuckled. "Why he’s right here. Next to his dear ol' daddy. Now, turn off the answering machine."

"I can’t,” she lied. “It’s in another room. Please..." Her voice filled with her tears. "Shawn means everything to me. Don't harm him."

"No need to panic," he soothed. "We've always worked out a satisfying solution, haven't we?"

She clutched the receiver. "Yes. Name it."

"The book, Caprice." His tone chilled.

"Yes. I'll do anything you say."

"Anything?" His voice lowered. "Now that's how I always liked you, sexy Caprice. Compliant, meek, and pleading. We'll make a switch."

"Shawn hardly knows you. Alan, if you've hurt him..."

"The kid's right here. Want to talk to him? He'll want to
hear
from his beautiful mother." She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth to stifle a scream. "Go to the Confederate. The circle." The answering machine beeped, ending the recording. “There’s a statue.”

“Yes, yes. I’ve seen it.”

“No excuses, Caprice. Bring the planner. You have fifteen minutes, or…”

“Don’t touch my son!”

“Now, if the cowman interferes, then…”

"He won’t,” she said. “We’ll keep this strictly between us.”

“That’s right. Our little family.”

“I'll hand over your planner, but don’t harm Shawn." Her hand shook as she dashed tears aside. "Right, Alan? You won't do anything to him."

"Caprice, Caprice... why so distrustful? On the other hand…If you don’t show, I'll take that as resistance and that wouldn’t bode well for Shawn, would it?” He cut the connection.

“Alan!”

Caprice dropped the receiver and ran for Holt's den. At his desk, she rummaged through the drawers. She needed something to hold a planner-sized item. Her nails snapped, leaving ragged edges. She found an envelope and shook it, sending CD’s clattering onto the desk. She snatched the sign language book and slipped it into the envelope.

While trying to recall the roads Holt had taken from Elixir, she taped the envelope shut. They were deep in the country. She hadn’t left the house since they had arrived. Would she even remember how to find Elixir’s town circle?

Shawn. Oh, baby!
Was he frightened? Had Alan hurt him?

Back in the kitchen, she opened a cabinet. Her movements were frantic, jerky. Two glasses fell, shattering on the cool granite counter, but she found the keys to Holt's green Cherokee.

Finally she backed the vehicle out of the garage. The front gates split apart, and she jammed the accelerator, her whispered prayers for Shawn.

A black Cadillac approached and stayed close to the Cherokee’s bumper. Wasn't it just like Alan to send an escort? She clamped her teeth and considered the horrible irony. Usually she ran from Alan. Now she was barreling to see him and fight for her son.

****

A pregnant cow approached Holt, her large eyes filled with friendly curiosity. He scratched her poll then ran his hand along her swollen side. "Now, go stand in the shade with the others."

He headed for home and pulled his hat low, shielding his face from the sun's blinding glare. The blackening skies promised a drenching, a refreshing reprieve from the oppressive heat. After today, his home would once again become his burrow. The thought did not cheer him. He wanted to commit Caprice's face to memory. She was a beautiful, willing woman. He wanted her again and again, but she wouldn't have any part of something that didn't demand his whole heart.

He looked up at the house in the distance and saw the garage door had been left open like a gaping, black hole.
What the hell
? Holt lengthened his stride. Had Scott borrowed the Cherokee, leaving Caprice and Shawn vulnerable?

Inside the cool kitchen, his boots crunched glass shards. "Caprice!" Alarm snaked down his spine. He headed into the hallway. In her room he found her clothes folded in towers on her bed. “Shawn? Caprice! Dammit, answer me. Shawn!"

Half-aware of Armor trotting behind him, Holt strode to the den. His desk drawers were open. Papers littered the floor. A red light blinked on the answering machine. Holt punched the button, heard Caprice's panic-filled voice then Montero's taunting directions.

****

For Holt, downtown Elixir was eerily quiet. As steel clouds blanketed the sun, he recognized his Cherokee parked near two Cadillacs. Tall and steadfast, the uniformed Bill Lundy, a Whitworth rifle laid across his stone arms, guarded the park’s center.

Holt stepped from his truck, assessed the situation, and immediately hated the odds. Just inside the open, driver's door of his idling sedan, Montero held Shawn high in one arm, imprisoning the boy’s legs against his body. The politician’s other forearm was locked against Caprice’s windpipe, and in the same hand, he pointed a black Beretta at Shawn's stomach. Pale as bleached bones, the boy leaned away, pressing his palms to Montero’s shoulder.

Holt sucked a harsh breath.
Oh, God. I'll give my life. Just keep them safe
.

The politician jerked Caprice closer. "You involved LeBerger!"

“She didn’t,” Holt snapped, hating the sight of blood dripping from Caprice’s chin. "Level the playing field, Montero. Trade them for me."

Caprice twisted, clutching at Montero's arm. With her free hand, she gestured to the packet she had tucked under her arm. "We're okay, Holt. See. I've got…the planner. Alan's agreed to trade it for Shawn, so there's no…no need for you to stay."

Caprice’s tear-filled voice shook. Holt started forward, but a suited man who looked as if he had been constructed from cinderblocks stopped him. The guy slipped his hand inside the front of his suit jacket and spoke over his shoulder. "Want him detained, Mr. Montero?"

“No.” With an impatient movement, Alan briefly flicked the semiautomatic away from Shawn's midsection. "Leave, Johnson. This is a family matter. Besides, I can handle the cowman." He chuckled. "I've been doing it all along.” Johnson dipped his head in compliance then strode to his vehicle.

Holt met Montero’s chilling gaze as he raised his pistol. “One dumb move from you and you’re a goner.”

As Johnson’s car drew away, Shawn clutched his middle, and his features twisted. "Mom. Mom!"

"Shut him up, Caprice."

"Alan," she entreated. "His stomach is…”

Wide-eyed, Shawn’s shoulders hunched and he heaved.

"What's he..." Shawn vomited. A viscous, yellow fluid ran down the dark lapel and arm of Montero’s suit jacket and onto his hand. His features contorted, he dropped the sobbing boy. "Frickin’ creep!"

As Montero swiped at the slimy deposit, Caprice signed, shooting her hands toward Holt. "Run!"

When Holt knelt, Shawn ran and stumbled into his arms. Holt stood, lifting the shuddering boy. “We can forget all about this, Montero,” he said as Shawn’s arms wrapped around his neck. “Just release Caprice.”

Montero shoved the gun at Caprice’s head. “Tell him to come back. Do it!”

“Alan, stop,” she whispered hoarsely. “You have me and the planner. You don’t need Shawn.” Pleading flickered in her eyes. “Holt, take him.”

“Mom?” Holt turned toward his truck. “Mom! Come.” Panic and anguish heated Shawn’s small body. Holt opened the truck’s door and signed for Shawn to sit on the floor well out of view. “Mom, pleeeaase!”

Quarter-sized rain drops plopped then spattered, coming faster and faster. Montero chuckled. "Folks, this is truly touching, but I don't have the time." He brushed Caprice's hair aside with the pistol’s muzzle and pressed his lips to her neck. "You're right, darling, I've got you. That's what matters."

Sonafabitch
! Once Montero discovered that the envelope did not contain the planner, he would kill Caprice. “Montero, wait.” Holt kept his tone calm despite his rising panic. “I have a proposition, but release, Caprice first. Let her comfort Shawn.”

“What’s your proposition, cowman?”

“I have contacts, powerful friends in the Senate who could boost your chances of taking office.”

A nuance of interest entered Montero's narrowed eyes. "Names."

"Gould, and Harris for starters. Adam Butler.”

“Butler? Really?”

“All it takes is a phone call.”

"Forget it. Butler’s with the wrong party anyway.” Montero grabbed Caprice’s hair. Like a marionette, she twisted under his control and lost a sandal as he shoved her into the car.

Aware he had to do something, Holt lunged, hoping to send Montero off guard, but the other man aimed over the roof and fired.

Holt spun and hit the wet asphalt.
Sonafabitch!
Dazed, stunned by the ugly fact that he’d been hit, Holt blinked against the red hot pain that seared his thigh.

As the Cadillac’s tires squealed on the pavement, Caprice’s hysterical screaming breached the windows.

****

“Alan! Oh, my God!” With the muzzle of Alan’s pistol jammed between her ribs, she looked in the passenger’s side mirror as Holt struggled to stand. “Alan, you fool! He could bleed to death.”

Alan gunned the engine. “I warned him to stay put. He didn’t listen.”

Alan drove too fast, taking her further away from Elixir. Unable to control her shaking, Caprice touched her swollen lip with blood-stained fingers. Her scalp throbbed, and broken strands of her hair continued to fall onto her lap.

“For God’s sake! Holt’s bleeding. And, what about Shawn?”

“Shut up, woman. Let me think.”

They traveled north on a county road, racing past lush corn fields, small farms, mobile homes, and battered signs directing drivers to the high school. The road was flanked with low-growing willows and broad, flooded ditches rimmed with cattails. Rain pelted the windshield, but Alan accelerated.

Imprisoned, Caprice pressed against the passenger's door.

Alan’s blue gaze chilled. “You should have called the boy back. The three of us could have returned to Charleston as a family."

“Alan, we are divorced.” She ached from the nightmarish pressure of the gun's muzzle shoved against her ribs. If his finger flexed on the trigger...

She clutched the envelope and prayed. She prayed for Shawn, for Holt, and for her sanity. Somehow she had to out-smart Alan.

"Listen to me,” she said, adopting a soothing tone. “The doors are locked. You've got me and the book. Please...put the gun away."

He shrugged and set the pistol in the corner of the dash, then reached to stroke her cheek. "Caprice, so hot and sexy. Baby, I’ve missed you.”

She jerked her head sickened by the cloying smell of his aftershave. “Don’t.”

"Why? You always pleased me. You’re a woman who knows her true value, anytime and anyplace." He worked at his belt buckle. "I'm hard, baby. Unzip my pants. You know what I like."

"No. Alan, I..."

He snatched the rain-dampened envelope. She yanked, but his hold was stronger. Using his teeth, Alan tore at the packet’s top. Her last ray of hope dimmed as he emptied the ASL book onto the seat between them.

“What’s this? You worthless…cunt!" With lightning swiftness, his doubled-fist rammed her cheek. Her head hit the window and silvery flashes filled in her vision.

His crimson face contorted, Alan seized her hair, and her hand shot up to grip his wrist. “Bitch!”

“Alan, stop!”

The Cadillac’s tires hit the shoulder gravel. He released her and righted the wheel. They drove for miles while she suspected he was stewing, planning.

"Where is the planner?” he demanded as she pressed a trembling hand to her swelling cheek. “Tell me, or you'll get worse."

Along with the car’s tremendous speed, rain blinded, sluicing the windshield. Caprice willed herself to remain calm. "It's safe...with a friend."

"LeBerger? Grace?”

"Neither." How she wanted to blurt the truth, yet it was important to keep him from becoming even more volatile.

"Something must be done, Caprice. You’ve become untrustworthy.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “All this excitement has made me hard. I’m tempted to find a secluded place in the woods around here, have some fun then be done with you.” He looked at her, unblinking. “Forever…unless you tell me who has my planner.”

She fought for her slipping composure. "Alan, you’re too smart for that. It's not the same as when you had Vincent Murphy killed. Too many people are involved now. Think of your career. You'll be ruined in political circles. If you..."

Alan’s sharp inhalation drew her attention to the road. Yards ahead, Holt’s battered pick-up rolled out from an old railroad bed and blocked the highway.

“Look out!” Her foot hit the floor in a braking action.

Chapter Eleven

Caprice inhaled sharply as Holt’s rain-soaked figure exited the truck. Alan gunned the accelerator, aiming for Holt.

“No!” Caprice released her seatbelt. Aware she could never muscle the wheel from Alan, she body slammed him, grasped the wheel, and sent the vehicle in another direction.

Tires squealed, locking and sliding on the wet asphalt. The world spun as Alan’s car slammed the truck’s side. The Beretta slid from the dash, striking her ankle.

Alan shoved her off and jammed the accelerator. The vehicle lurched and fish-tailed. Gravel spattered as the Cadillac plowed through dense, green foliage and into the gully. Brown water plumed over the hood and windshield and the car came to a stop.

Caprice saw an opportunity to escape. She forced her door open and started to dive into the murky morass, but Alan's fingers clamped her wrist.

“Stay with me, bitch.”

He reached on the floor for the Beretta, but Caprice kicked the pistol into the rain-pitted water.