Hunted (13 page)

Mike had moved a lot faster than her, and he was nearing the third cabin—the last cabin before the woods. She pushed herself to catch up to him. He stopped. She thought he was waiting for her, but when she reached his side, she saw he was looking at the deck of the cabin.

Sam was standing there, toward the back of the deck, looking at them. The sound that came out of her was a strangled cry of relief. She tried to run to him, but the damn snow held on to her boots and her legs. Mike moved ahead of her, and just as she reached the steps, he grabbed Sam and hugged him to his chest.

She had a moment to register that Sam had his backpack on.

“Where were you going?” Mike asked. “You scared the hell out of us.”

She reached Mike’s side. She wanted to hold Sam herself, but she saw that he had a death grip on his dad, and she contented herself with touching him to make sure he was really there.

A muffled sob told her that Sam wasn’t in great shape. She pulled back his hood, and saw his face was tear-streaked and pink. His eyes were swollen, and he looked absolutely miserable. Her heart lurched in her chest. She wanted to hold him. He needed her comfort.

It was a tremendous effort to let Mike console the boy. She’d grown so used to being the only one there for him. His father was here, now, and she couldn’t bring herself to interrupt this moment. They both deserved it.

“What happened, Samson?” Mike asked.

Sam couldn’t talk yet. He was still crying too hard.

Mike looked at Becky. “Let’s take him home.”

She nodded. She knew he meant the cabin, but she wanted to take him to their real home. Back to their real lives. Mojo was gone. He was in Canada by now. She wasn’t going to wait any longer. They would go home today.

She followed Mike down the steps, back into the heavy snow. It was easier going back, using their old path as a road. Halfway there, she finally felt the cold. Her nose burned with it, and her hands ached. The worst of it was her head. Her hair had been damp, and now it felt as if it were turning to ice.

She moved ahead of Mike when they reached their cabin. She opened the door, and stood back to let them in. When she closed the door behind her, she bolted it, then rested her head against the cold, hard wood. She didn’t know whether to curse or cry. He was safe, and that’s all that mattered to her. There was no way she would have survived if something had happened to him. Her heart wasn’t strong enough.

“I'm taking him upstairs.”

Mike’s voice made her turn around. He was already at the staircase.

“Put him in his pajamas. With socks. And give him some more blankets. I'm going to put on some water to boil, then I'll be up.” She didn’t want to go to the kitchen. She wanted to be with Sam every second. But he needed warmth from the inside, too.

She watched Mike climb the stairs, Sam still clinging to him for all he was worth. What had made him leave? It was so unlike him.

As they turned to go into the bedroom, she put the gun on the coffee table and hurried to the kitchen. It took only a minute to fill the teakettle and light the burner, but it felt too long. She needed to see that Sam was all right.

On her way to the stairs, she unzipped her parka and shrugged it off, leaving it right where she dropped it. She ran up the stairs and into Sam’s room.

Mike had him on the bed. His backpack was on the floor, and his down parka was halfway off. She hurried over to him, and tugged the other arm free.

Sam’s face was still pink, but the tears seemed to have stopped. He sniffed, and she touched his chin so he would look up at her. His eyes broke her heart. So big and round and filled with sadness. “What is it, honey? What happened?”

Sam just stared at her, blinked his eyes, and sniffed again.

“It’s all right. We'll talk later. You just get into your pajamas, okay? Let Daddy take off your boots.”

Mike worked quickly and efficiently. He had Sam’s boots and socks off, and before he put the new socks on he took Sam’s feet in his hands and rubbed them briskly. Becky helped Sam put on his pajama tops, but her gaze was on Mike.

The way he was touching Sam was as tender as anything she’d ever seen. He rubbed those little feet with infinite care. His eyes were filled with concern and with so much love it was palpable. She hadn’t been wrong to ask Mike to be with Sam more often. They needed each other so much.

It didn’t take long to finish dressing Sam. She pulled back his blanket and he crawled in.

“Why don’t you get in there with him?” Mike said. “Maybe that will stop your shivers.”

Shivers? She looked at her hands. She was shaking. A quick tremor raced up her spine, and she realized her teeth were chattering. “Move over, kid,” she said. Sam made room for her, and she slipped off her boots, then crawled in beside him. It was a bit cramped in the twin bed, but she didn’t mind at all. Having Sam tight against her, safe in her arms, was the best possible medicine.

“The water is probably boiling,” she said. “Mike, would you mind fixing some hot chocolate for the Popsicle next to me?” She looked down to see if Sam was smiling, but her tiny joke didn’t even elicit a grin. He still looked sad and weepy.

Mike stood over the bed near Sam. “You want to tell us what you were doing out there?”

Sam turned to his side and curled up next to Becky.

“I think we should wait to talk about this. He needs some rest now.”

“Did you talk to anyone? See anyone out there at all?”

“Not now Mike.” She glared up at him. Was he trying to make things worse?

“I'm sorry. I have to know.” He bent over and touched Sam’s shoulder. “You need to tell me if there was someone out there, son.”

Sam shook his head, but didn’t say anything. Becky could tell Mike wanted to press the issue, but she held up her hand to stop him.

He didn’t go on. He turned and walked out of the room, and she heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs. She closed her eyes, and snuggled closer to Sam. She wanted him warm and safe. Her shakes had not all been caused by cold. The adrenaline from her terrible fear was still coursing through her.

She vowed again that she would take Sam home today. Without a doubt, Mike would argue, but she wasn’t going to acquiesce on this one. It wasn’t clear to her why Sam had left the cabin. But with all the talk of killers and hiding, she had a pretty good guess. If they stayed here any longer, she didn’t know what would happen to him. She wouldn’t take the chance.

When she looked down at him again, she saw his eyes were closed. His even breathing told her he’d fallen asleep. She closed her own eyes, but not to sleep. To say a silent thank you to the Fates for keeping her boy safe.

“Is he sleeping?”

Becky opened her eyes and looked up to see Mike standing by the bed. He had two mugs in his hands. She must have dozed off herself; she hadn’t heard him come in. She nodded.

“You want some hot chocolate?”

“I don’t want to move,” she whispered. “I don’t want to disturb him.”

Mike put the mugs on the dresser, then came back to the bed. “I'll let you two get some rest. I'm going out to check the snowmobiles and the truck. I want to make sure no one’s touched anything.” He turned to leave.

“Wait,” she said.

He stopped and came back to the bed.

“I want to go home,” she said, careful to keep her voice low.

“So do I. But until I hear from Cliff—”

“No,” she interrupted. “I don’t care. I want to go home today.”

Mike’s lips pressed together and his eyes narrowed. “I told you before. It’s too dangerous.”

“And this isn’t? Don’t be ridiculous. Being up here is scaring him to death. I won’t have it anymore.”

“I don’t think we should talk about this now. He might wake up.”

“You're right. We won’t discuss it. We'll just leave. I want to be out of here by sundown. I won’t back down on this. If you don’t take us, we'll go by ourselves.” She saw his jaw muscle tense, a sure sign he was furious, but she didn’t care. Not anymore. She couldn’t hide here any longer. Not just because of Mojo. But because it was too hard to be here with Mike. She needed to be home, where she could think. Away from his anger and his tenderness and his voice. All she felt now was confusion, and a weariness that went all the way down to her toes.

She closed her eyes again. As soon as she woke up, she would pack. For now, though, she would sleep.

* * *

Mike stared at Becky and Sam for a long time. All he wanted was to keep them safe. That’s it. He had no other purpose in life. Just to keep them away from harm.

He’d almost lost it earlier. When he’d realized Sam was gone, the terror had been overwhelming, blinding. He’d only known that kind of fear once before. When Amy had died.

Nothing would happen to Sam. He swore it as an oath, and he hoped that God was listening, because there would be no bargaining this time. He didn’t give a damn what he had to do—take them to another country, change their names, kill Mojo with his bare hands. Whatever it took, no one was going to harm his son. Or his wife.

No, she wasn’t his wife. He’d given her up, just like he’d given up being a real father to Sam. He couldn’t turn back the clock or make up for his mistakes, but he could keep them safe. And when Mojo was dead or locked away for good, he would try again with Sam. He would change his schedule, and he would be there in person when Sam wanted to talk. He would take him sledding or to the ball game or anywhere he wanted to go. He would learn to be a father, instead of words on a computer screen. All he needed was the chance.

He reached out very carefully and touched Sam’s cheek. He had to swallow hard a couple of times. “I promise, Samson,” he whispered. “I won’t let you down again.”

He turned quickly, and headed to the staircase. When he reached the living room, he pulled his gloves from his pocket. He still had to check the vehicles. As he zipped up his parka, Becky’s words came back to him. More than her words, her determination to leave this place.

Maybe they should go home today. Maybe Mojo was in Canada, and they had nothing to worry about. He wanted to believe that, but he didn’t. His gut told him it wasn’t over yet. Even if Cliff could prove that Mojo was out of the country, it wouldn’t make a difference. For all he knew, Mojo hadn’t been able to trace them to this cabin, and he was waiting for them to go back home so he could strike.

That’s the scenario that was most logical, but it also made the future difficult to plan. He couldn’t keep Becky and Sam here forever. But how long should he wait? A day, a week, a year? If Mojo was waiting until they got home to make his move, maybe the best course of action was to accommodate him. Set a trap for him in Boulder.

If only he knew how Mojo had gotten his information. If there was someone in the bureau who was feeding him, it would be incredibly dangerous to take them back home.

He slipped off his right glove, then went to the phone and dialed the office. Cliff wasn’t there, so the operator put him through to the cellular. His partner answered on the second ring.

“Good news, amigo,” Cliff said, after Mike’s brief hello. “We found the son of a bitch.”

“Where?”

“Jackson Hole.”

“And?”

“He’s got hostages.”

“The nurse?”

“Yes, and a kid, a teenager who’d been working at a convenience store. I've got backup coming, and I've called in the sharpshooters. I would say your man will be dispatched in a few hours.”

“We had him trapped once before, remember? And all we ended up with was a dead family.”

“Mike, we've got him. He can’t get out. I'll call you the minute it’s over.”

“Hey, what did you find out about the phones up here?”

“Oh, yeah. Witherspoon was right. There are four different lines going up to the mountain. If one goes down, it only affects a quarter of the service. So don’t sweat it.”

“Right.”

“I'll see you soon.”

The line disconnected, but Mike didn’t put the phone down right away. He was thinking about the banker’s family, and how Mojo had dumped them so unceremoniously on the highway. They’d had the bastard cornered that day, and he’d gotten clean away. Would this time be different?

He put the phone on its cradle and pulled his glove on once again. Mojo was in Wyoming. He couldn’t possibly have touched the truck or the snowmobiles. But Mike was going to check them out just the same. The one thing he knew was that until Mojo was certified dead, until his heart stopped beating, he couldn’t let down his guard. He would keep Becky and Sam here until he was absolutely certain they were safe. With Mojo, there was no risk worth taking. None at all.

T
he wind howled again. Becky opened her eyes and listened to the trees scratch against the window. She had no idea how long she’d slept. It was dark, but she didn’t think it was night. She couldn’t have slept the whole day away.

Sam was still next to her. She looked at him now, and was surprised to see that he was awake, too. “Hi,” she said.

“Hi.”

“How you feeling?”

“Okay,” he said listlessly.

She didn’t buy it. Tossing back the covers, she scooted up the bed until she was sitting up. Sam didn’t seem inclined to move, so she grabbed him under his arms and pulled. Once he realized she wasn’t going to let him be, he cooperated. They sat shoulder to shoulder.

“You want to tell me what that was all about?” she asked.

He shook his head while he stared at his hands in his lap.

“I think you’d better, honey.”

“I was going to see a friend.”

“Oh?” She tread very carefully, wanting to make him feel safe enough to tell her the truth.

“She lives in Denver.”

“Were you going to walk?”

He shook his head slowly. “Only to the highway. I thought I would get a ride from there.”

“The snow was a little scary, huh?”

“Yeah.”

She let the silence come again. She wanted to know why he’d done such a foolish thing, but she held back. He would tell her. But she couldn’t help remembering that fit of panic when she thought Mojo had kidnapped him. She never wanted to be that scared again. Ever.

“I'm sorry I quit baseball.” His voice was so low, she barely heard him.

“Baseball?”

He still wouldn’t look at her. He was toying with a small rip in the blanket, working his little finger through the material.

“What do you mean, honey?”

“I know you wanted me to play baseball. I wasn’t any good. They laughed at me. That’s why I quit. I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“I wasn’t mad.”

He looked up at her then, turning his head so she could see his annoyance. “You were so.”

“I wasn’t mad because you didn’t want to play baseball. I was upset because you didn’t tell me. What if something had happened to you when you were at the library? I wouldn’t have known where to find you.”

He didn’t say anything. He just kept looking at her with accusing eyes. His lower lip quivered just a bit, but he didn’t cry. He turned suddenly, so she couldn’t see his face. “You promised you wouldn’t tell.”

He’d heard her talking to Mike. So that’s what this was about. She tried to remember what she’d said this morning, but the conversation was a blur. She touched Sam’s hand, but he pulled away from her.

“Daddy isn’t mad at you.”

“Yes, he is.”

“No, sweetheart. He cares about you. He worries sometimes, but all parents do that.”

“Why doesn’t he want to live with us anymore?”

She hadn’t expected that question, although she should have. Sam had never really talked to her about the divorce. She’d tried to explain many times, but he’d only listened in silence. She’d accepted that as understanding. “Do you think Daddy doesn’t live with us because of something you did?”

He nodded as he brought his knees up to his chest and hugged them close to his body.

“Sam, look at me,” she said. “Come on. Turn around.”

He moved slowly. She could tell he didn’t want to look at her, that he didn’t want to hear the answer to his question. The wrong answer, at least. Finally, he let go of his grip on his knees, and he turned enough so that she could see him. But he didn’t look at her.

“Daddy and I got divorced because we couldn’t live together anymore. It had nothing to do with you. We both love you very much. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“If I had died instead of Amy, he wouldn’t have left.”

Becky’s heart skipped a beat. Had he been living with that idea for two years? My God, how could she have missed it? She looked at him again, but it wasn’t enough. She got to her knees and grabbed him, pulling him tight against her in a fierce hug. “Oh, Sam. No. That’s not true at all. We didn’t want to lose Amy, but we never stopped loving you. Not even for a minute.”

She laid her cheek against his soft hair, and closed her eyes as she tried to transmit her love to him through her fingers and her hug, and to stop the guilt that had her stomach in knots. When she opened her eyes again, she saw Mike standing in the doorway. She hadn’t heard him come up the stairs, had no idea how long he’d been there. Had he heard Sam’s confession? She met his gaze.

He had. Her own anguish was mirrored in his face.

Sam held her tightly, and she felt his little body shake with his tears. She rocked him gently back and forth.

“You're so wonderful,” she said. “I wouldn’t trade you for anyone in the whole world. Not anyone. You hear me?”

Mike came into the room hesitantly. She watched him, still holding on to Sam for all she was worth. He needed to be here, too. Sam needed them both so much.

“Hey, kid.”

Sam grew still. Becky loosened her grip on him, and he turned to look at his dad.

“It was never your fault,” Mike said. “Mommy left because I couldn’t be the kind of husband she needed. It had nothing to do with you. I was always sorry I couldn’t be with you more. But that’s going to change. I promise. You wait and see—” His voice broke and he looked away quickly.

Sam scrambled out of the bed and ran to his father, who bent low and scooped him into his arms.

Becky watched the two of them and wished with all her heart that things could be different. That they could go back to the way they were before Amy had gotten sick. It was a foolish wish, she knew that, but she couldn’t help it. Life had been so very sweet then.

At least Mike was trying. She truly believed that he would be there for Sam. He’d changed in the last few days. This experience had been a nightmare, but at least Mike had had the chance to spend time with his son, to see how important it was for him to be a real father.

She should be happy. Her son was the most important thing in her life, wasn’t he? Seeing him connect with Mike should be enough. But it wasn’t. She wanted it all. She wanted Mike to love her again, too.

Mike eased his bear hug and leaned back. He looked into his son’s brown eyes and saw all the innocence in the world. Sam needed him to be strong, to be wise, to keep him safe. He wanted to be all those things, but wanting wasn’t enough.

He would disappoint his son. Maybe not today, but he would. Sam would look at him the way Becky had in those last months. The way Amy had.

The image of his daughter’s face came to him clearly. She was in the hospital. It was her last day. Her last moment. And she’d looked at him with such anger, such distrust in her eyes that he could barely stand from the weight of it. She hadn’t let him touch her. She’d died not wanting him near.

He put Sam down on the floor. “Go on,” he said. “Go to your mom.” He physically turned Sam around so he was facing Becky. It took no more prodding than that. Sam went back to the bed and climbed up. Becky’s arms went around him as he fell into her lap.

Mike couldn’t look any more. “I'll be downstairs,” he said.

“Wait,” Becky said. “Don’t you want to—”

He didn’t stick around to hear the rest. He needed to think. To sort out some things by himself.

The cabin felt cold and strange. He hated this place, the damn flowers on the couch and the ugly curtains. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at the kitchen. When he got to his room, he kicked the door open. It sounded as if he’d broken the lock. Good.

Too much was happening here. Memories he’d managed to bury for two years were surfacing with alarming frequency. Amy, the funeral, the look on Becky’s face when they’d lowered their baby into the ground. It was more than he could take. He wanted to go back to that place he’d found where he didn’t think and didn’t feel. He’d mastered his emotions once, he could do it again.

The closet door was already open. He gripped the chinning bar with both hands and stiffened his body. He lifted himself slowly, feeling each muscle in his arms and shoulders pull and strain.

He wanted it to hurt. He wanted to be swallowed up in physical pain, to blot out everything but the muscles and the sweat and the effort. Again and again he pulled up and down, forcing his breath to be even and rhythmic, his mind to go numb.

But this time, Amy wouldn’t go away. Becky was still there, too. Both of them accusing him with their eyes, with their thoughts, with their tears. His mind filled with ghosts of the past, and worse, the present.

* * *

“Is there something else you want to tell me?” Becky stood by Sam’s bed. He was sitting up with his computer on his lap. She was reasonably sure their reassurances had calmed him, but something was still bothering him. She could tell by the way his dark eyes seemed shadowed, and the tentative smile he couldn’t manage to keep steady. There was more to his story, she was certain.

“No. I'm okay,” he said, concentrating on his video game.

“Will you do me a favor?”

He nodded.

“Don’t scare me like that again. If something bothers you, you come and talk to me about it. Or you can talk to Daddy. Running away doesn’t solve anything.”

He nodded again, unconvincingly.

She turned to look outside. The winds had picked up sharply, and the snow was coming down hard and fast. If he went out in this weather, he would never make it to the first cabin. “Promise?”

“I promise,” he said.

She wasn’t going to get any more out of him now. Maybe tonight, when he was sleepy. He told her things in the dark that he didn’t have the courage to say in daylight. “All right. I'm going downstairs. If you need me, you holler.”

His thumb moved furiously on the joystick and his gaze darted across the monitor. At least he was safe while his nose was buried in the computer.

She left him, and didn’t shut the door on her way downstairs. The events of the day had worn her out and even though she’d just gotten up, she longed to go right back to sleep. She couldn’t stop thinking about what Sam had said. He really believed that if he had died instead of Amy, Mike and she wouldn’t have split up. It was completely untrue, but he hadn’t known that until today.

How had she missed it? Where had she been?

She didn’t see Mike in the living room, and was a little surprised to find herself in the kitchen alone. She put up some water in the kettle, then went to the window above the sink and pushed the curtain aside. The storm had come back, and it seemed angrier this time, as if the lull had stoked its fire. So much for going home. They would never be able to drive in this, and she wasn’t about to put Sam on a snowmobile unless she absolutely had to. But, God, she wanted out of here. She needed time to herself, time to think about what she was feeling.

Sam wasn’t the only one bothering her. Mike confused the hell out of her, too. She didn’t understand him at all. Every time she thought she’d figured him out, he did something totally unexpected.

Why had he left so abruptly? He was this close to making a real connection with Sam and then, boom, he shut down completely. The only thing she knew for sure was that she didn’t dare keep her hope alive. It didn’t matter that she still cared about him; he was as deadly as the storm, as tricky as the wind. She needed a constancy and commitment that he could never give her, and wishing it could be different had accomplished nothing.

He would come through for Sam. That would be enough.

The kettle whistled, and she went to make herself some tea. As she poured the boiling water into the cup, she thought about her life back in Boulder. She’d been so busy filling up her days with work and school and meetings that she hadn’t even noticed that her son was crying for help.

The hot water spilled over the rim of the cup. After putting the kettle down on the stove, she poured a little of the water into the sink, then went to the table and sat down.

She stared at the darkening liquid, too tired to stir in a packet of sugar. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this weary. She didn’t want to think any more, or worry, or care. She wanted someone else to be the grown-up.

“Is he okay?”

She looked up. Mike stood in the doorway. His hair was damp and she could see that he’d been sweating. “You've been on the chinning bar I see.”

He nodded. “I was going to take a shower, but I wanted to make sure Sam was okay first.”

“He’s upstairs. Go see for yourself.”

Mike didn’t turn around. Instead, he came to the table and pulled out the chair facing her. He sat, ran his sleeve across his forehead, and sighed. “Poor kid. I had no idea he blamed himself for the divorce.”

“Takes after his father that way.”

His brows went down. “What do you mean?”

“Blaming himself then running away. It’s something of a pattern with you two.”

Mike stood up so quickly, his chair nearly toppled backwards. “Forget it.”

“No,” she held out her hand. “Wait. I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why not? It’s what you believe. It’s always been easy for you to point the finger, hasn’t it?”

“I don’t want to fight with you.”

“Why the hell not? Because we're focusing on you for a change?”

She looked up at him, really confused at his anger. “No, that has nothing to do with it.”

“Of course it does. You're damn good at holding the mirror up to everyone else, but you run whenever it turns to you.”

“Mike, it’s been a really bad day. Can we have this fight another time?”

“I'm not fighting. I'm just telling you the truth. You're always accusing me of hiding behind some mask. Well, I've got news for you. The only difference between you and me is the packaging.”

She stood up, too. “Don’t put your demons on me,” she said. “I'm not the one who runs off at the first sign of an emotion.”

“No?” He walked toward her. One of the dining room chairs was in his path, and he tossed it aside so roughly it clattered to the floor. He didn’t stop until he was right in her face. “Let’s look at some hard facts, shall we? When Amy was diagnosed, and I wanted to talk about it, what did you do? You joined three different cancer support groups. Three. When I didn’t want to go to a damn meeting every night of the week, you told me I didn’t love her enough. Or did you forget that?”