Hide and Seek (9 page)

She pointed. “This must be it,” she said, thrilled that Shawn would finally have the freedom to run and play with Brian and Paul. “This is the house.” The home’s closed garage door reminded Caprice that she would soon have to borrow Grace’s car. The thought made her tense as she consulted her watch. She had one hour to make her meeting.

Holt braked to turn into the drive, but Caprice spied a movement from behind a low-growing, Hawthorn hedge. Two men in dark suits and mirrored sunglasses pushed away from the front quarter panel of a Cadillac sedan. She recognized Alan’s muscular build, the thick sandy hair, and the cruel jut of his chin.

“Holt, look!”

His gaze narrowed. “I’ve seen him. Is that…”

“Alan,” she whispered. A breeze blew his suit jacket open, exposing a leather gun holster as he jogged toward the camper. “Holt, go!”

Holt gunned the accelerator, and the vehicle lurched forward.

“Caprice, wait! Baby, let’s talk.” Alan pounded the unit’s metal siding. "Bitch! I’ll kill you!”

They roared down the residential street, and Caprice watched from the Freelander’s long, side-view mirror as the two men sprinted for their vehicle.

Holt's gaze snapped to hers. "Check on Shawn.”

Moving quickly, Caprice secured the doors then buckled in beside Shawn. She tightened his seatbelt then circled her fist over her heart in apology. "We cannot stay with Aunt Grace.”

He dipped his head. Crystal tears fell onto his wrists and lap. Caprice lifted his quivering chin. She kept her gaze firm when she signed, "We must stay in here."

With his lips compressed for emphasis, Shawn snapped the fingers of both hands, leaving his thumbs pointing toward the ceiling.

She nodded. “Yes. Holt is driving very fast."

Holt maneuvered a sharp turn, but despair melted over Caprice’s heart like thick candle wax. Holt would draw Alan's attention away from Grace and her family, but what had she been thinking? In her desperation to make her meeting with Agent Lyons, had she endangered Grace’s family as well?

****

Holt’s jaw clamped and his fingers curled over the wheel. Like an angry hornet, the Cadillac pursued them on a winding, narrow road toward Athens.

…watch out....someone could get hurt.

He recognized the blond-haired Montero from the Raleigh-Durham airport, but how the hell did the politician know their every move? On the other hand, he
was
driving a lumbering, thirty-two-foot, Class "C" vehicle. Montero attempted to draw his sedan beside the camper, but Holt commandeered the road's crest, forcing Montero to move behind him.

Seconds passed when he met Caprice's solemn expression in the mirror. After a split hesitation, she unbuckled and swept into the seat beside him. She checked the elongated mirror on the passenger's side. “Alan’s gaining!” She looked at him. “I don’t understand how he always finds me?”

“Did you call your sister today?”

“Twice. She often forgets her cell phone, so I left messages on her…” Caprice gasped and Holt glanced at her wide-eyed, incredulous expression. “Do you think Alan...”

“Yep.” He checked the mirror. “Had her home phone tapped.”

Caprice slapped a hand to her forehead. “I’m a complete
eejit
!” she cried and he suspected the word wasn’t flattering. “All along, I’ve left a trail of bread crumbs for Alan to follow.”

“You didn’t know,” Holt moved back into his lane as an oncoming car approached. "At the rest stop, you said something about handing
it
into the authorities.”

When Caprice looked as if she were contemplating another half-truth, he snarled. "No more hedging and no more lies, Caprice. What is so important about the plans that you want the authorities to see? Are they on a disk? Is it a flash drive?"

“What?”

“Don’t deny it. The guy at the airport said you had some plans. Are they building plans?”

“No. It’s a planner.”

“An appointment book?” His lips twisted. “You’re kidding.”

“No. Alan writes notes to himself rather than put them into his i-Phone. Earlier this summer, I received a car as a final part of our divorce settlement. I found his planner under the seat. I put the book and some other items into a box to package off to Alan's lawyer and forgot all about it. Then, a week ago, I was cleaning my coat closet and started flipping through the planner. That’s when I discovered coded notations in Alan’s handwriting. I’m positive those notes are linked to a plane crash that killed Alan’s contender for the governorship.”

Holt’s hands tightened on the wheel. "My father mentioned a gubernatorial candidate was killed when his twin engine crashed months ago.”

She nodded. "Vincent Murphy. The National Transportation Safety Board ruled foul play, but the story faded from the news because they couldn’t pin a thing on anyone…including Alan.”

“How did Montero discover you had the planner?”

She exhaled, raking her fingers through her hair. “I was so incensed that I told him I fully understood his notes. Of course, he denied it. I contacted the authorities, but before I could keep a meeting with an agent, Alan came to my house and demanded the planner.”

The Cadillac's horn blared as Montero tried pulling alongside. Once again, Holt jerked the wheel, seizing the road's crest and effectively forcing the other vehicle back. “Go on.”

She rubbed her wrist. “Alan left only because my neighbor knocked on the door. The next day, I came home to find our mattresses and my living room furniture had been slashed and flipped.” She shook her head. “Even the kitchen cupboards were searched.”

“Did you report the break-in?”

“No. I should have, but all I could think of was protecting Shawn and getting to Georgia. I threw anything I thought would be useful for us into the duffle and picked him up from school. We started driving for Georgia, but my Mustang broke down, so I rented the Escape.” She released a brutal string of hex-like incantations. “And now I’ve missed another meeting with Agent Lyons.”

As she swept a hand over her head, chills jigged down Holt’s spine.
Did this woman have any more surprises?
"The FBI?"

"Yes. I am supposed to be meeting with him now.”

“That was the big rush for Commerce?” He leveled her with a hard look. “Hell, you could have told me.”

“Lyons can’t be his real name, can it?” she said, glancing in the mirror outside her door. “I don’t know whom to trust anymore. Because Alan is so well connected, now do you understand why I didn’t want you involved?”

"Sweetheart, I'm involved up to my ears in a boiling cauldron of your troubles."

An eighth of a mile ahead, a yellow light flashed from a semi’s roof. It lumbered forward, entering the road and started a wide turn, hauling the giant half of a sixty-foot, pre-fabricated home.

He accelerated and Caprice visibly stiffened. “Holt, don’t. We’ll never make it."

His fingers flexed on the wheel. With precise timing, some luck, and a four-sixty big block engine under the hood, he could veer left around the semi’s front before it and the home blocked the entire roadbed.

His jaw clamped as he considered his speed and timing. He would set the driver’s side tires into the swale while keeping the passenger side on the road’s smooth surface. “Hold on.”

Caprice looked at him. “There's a ditch. You'll lose control."

His lips compressed. He relished control, but since he had met Caprice, she had jinxed him with sheer chaos.

Holt pressed the accelerator. Like a superb cutting horse, the camper gathered speed, tearing the earth with every lengthening stride.

Sixty, sixty-five...seventy
. The pedal touched the floor and the engine responded.

"You'll wreck us!"

“Go sit with Shawn and buckle in.” When she remained, he snarled. “Move! Now!”

Eighty. Eighty-five. Eighty-seven.

He glanced in his mirror. Montero had fallen behind.

Ninety
. As a warning to the semi-driver, Holt flashed his lights and laid on the horn.

The Freelander’s tires struck the rough shoulder. The unit shook. Windows rattled. A light fixture shattered and cupboard doors banged. Red dirt clouds blinded his view, and his eardrums reverberated from Caprice's shrieking.

"Mom!"

Aware of the confusion in Shawn’s voice, Holt gripped the wheel and swerved back onto smooth asphalt. A quarter mile behind them, the trailer blocked the road, leaving Montero cooling his heels on the other side. Holt flexed his shoulders to rid himself of muscle-bunching tension.

He glanced in the mirror as Caprice moved to the sink. "What happened?” he demanded.

“Shawn vomited.”

“Hey, I’m sorry.”

“He’s resting now.” She twisted a wet rag and wiped her shirt. "But I’ll have to change my clothes."

“You’re okay, though?”

“I’m fine. Just shaken.”

Ahead, rush hour traffic congested the Athen's business district, and he stopped at a lighted intersection. The sun's heat radiated, shimmering in waves off the cars and trucks beside them.

Caprice returned to the passenger's seat. “Fortunately I had the curtains closed, so Shawn never saw Alan.”

Holt checked his side-view mirror. Montero’s sedan crept through traffic and came to an idle several cars behind them. The street was too populated for Montero to try anything, but they needed a plan to shake him.

Caprice’s cool hand on his arm snagged his attention. She pointed to white vapor unfurling from under the camper's hood. One glance at the pegging water gauge and Holt switched off the air-conditioner.

Caprice opened the windows and traffic exhaust, heat, and steam soon billowed into the cab. All around them vehicles waited for the light to change. A white and navy cruiser marked Athens-Clark County Police rolled to a stop near Holt’s side of the motorhome.

Holt tapped his horn. "Hey! Hey, you!"

An officer in a blue uniform shirt pivoted to face him. His thick brows collided in annoyance.

The cruiser's window lowered, and Holt gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. "The driver in that black Cadillac damn near mowed over an elderly woman with a walker a few blocks back. I prefer minding my own business when I'm vacationing, but my wife claims he took several swigs from a silver flask." He shrugged. "In Florida we have strict laws regarding boozing and driving."

The lawman’s gaze snapped to the Cadillac, then blazed defensively. "So does the great State of Georgia. We'll check it out." He pointed to the curling steam. "Better see about that. There’s a decent mechanic on Broad Street, two blocks south."

"Thanks." The cruiser’s bar lights were activated. Over the PA system, the officer ordered Montero to turn into the nearby shopping center.

Holt was rewarded with a grateful smile. “That was clever, but don’t stop. Alan can be charming and persuasive. He'll have that officer asking for an autograph.”

Holt gripped the wheel. Like the radiator, his irritation threatened to boil over. “Lady, this is not your call. If the engine continues to overheat, it'll crack the block, and considering the storm off the Florida coast, I don’t have a week to wait for a replacement.”

He turned down another congested road and found concealment from traffic behind a gas station. Against the building’s sunbaked wall, Holt eyed a green, weather-cracked hose thrown over a spigot. Within seconds he was splashing the hissing radiator.

Holt continued to cool the engine as Caprice retained order in the unit. Cupboard doors snapped shut and glass shards tinkled as they were dumped into the garbage. From around the building’s corner, a slight man wearing tan overalls approached Holt.
Wayne
was embroidered in red over his top pocket.

"Why did you pull behind the garage?" Wayne wiped his grease-blackened hands on a red cloth. "It's shadier up front."

"I’ve got radiator troubles."

"I see you're from Florida."

The older man peered under the hood and Holt pointed. "Do you carry this hose size?"

"Yep, but I charge for parts and labor.”

"I'll pay cash. I'm in a rush."

"Sorry. I've got two flats and a fan belt before you. They're all Floridians too. Seems like everyone from the Sunshine State is in a rush to cool off in the mountains."

Wayne continued to talk, forcing Holt to tamp his temper. How the hell could he get this guy to see things his way?

"This weather's sinful as Satan,” Wayne said. “A man could collapse in this heat, so…"

The Freelander’s door opened. One long shapely leg appeared, then another. Wayne’s lips remained locked on his last word as Caprice emerged in a white dress, looking pale, but refreshed.

"Here, Holt. I thought you could use a cold soda,” she said, handing him a Coke, but it was the waver in her tone that pulled on his heartstrings.

Holt’s fingers gripped the icy can, and he found himself staring at exposed shoulders, the hint of soft, round breasts and enticing cleavage. Her dress hugged a narrow waist that tapered over her hips and a rounded bottom made for a man's eager hands.

Spellbound, he forgot Wayne.

Fanning a hand under her throat, the enchantress looked at Wayne. "Oh, my. I'll just melt without the air-conditioner."

"Yes, ma'am. Ain't this heat the Dickens?"

She angled her head to peer at his shirt then produced a soft smile. "You look thirsty, Wayne. Would you like an icy soda too?"

Wayne’s features turned ruddy. He inhaled and filled his chest. "Don't mind if I do."

"I'll get it this very second,” she drawled.

Wayne gazed after her, his expression incredulous. “Is she your…”

Holt peered at him from over the can’s rim. "Wife."

"Shucks. Some fellows have all the luck. My old lady could take lessons from your woman on how to treat a hardworking man with the respect he deserves."

His woman.
Holt grinned and felt sorry for Wayne. "About that hose. I carry tools. I can install it."

"Sure. I'll get the hose."