Hunted (16 page)

“I think he feels better,” Mike said.

She laughed. “I think you're right. How about you?”

He seemed surprised by her question. “Me? I'm okay.”

“Really?”

The slight hesitation gave him away. He nodded, and said, “Sure.”

She got up, and went over to where he sat. “Stay right there. I'm going to check on the pajama situation, but I want to talk to you. So you sit still.”

He nodded without looking her straight in the eye. That convinced her further.

She hurried upstairs. Sam had managed to get his pajama top on before the lure of his book waylaid him. He only groaned at her twice while he changed the rest of the way. Finally, he was in bed, tucked under the covers. She sat down next to him. “It was fun tonight, huh?”

He nodded. “I wish it could always be like this.”

She reached over and ruffled his hair. “It can’t
always
be like any one thing. But we can sure try to have fun more often.”

“What about Dad?”

“He can try, too.”

“No,” he said, switching his gaze from her face to his hands. “I mean, can’t he come home again?”

She took a deep breath. No more secrets, she reminded herself. No more lies. “I don’t know honey. I'm not sure he wants to come home. Or even if that would be the best thing. We still have some things to work out.”

“But after you work them out?”

“It doesn’t happen that way. All I can promise is that everything will turn out for the best.”

“What does that mean?”

“That sometimes things happen, and we don’t understand the reason right away. But we have to have faith that whatever comes our way, we'll grow and learn, and be happy.”

His eyebrows came down and so did the corners of his mouth. “I still want him to come live with us. Why can’t that be the way it turns out?”

“We'll see.” She leaned forward and kissed his soft cheek. “Half an hour, then lights out.”

He nodded and grabbed his book.

Becky got up, reluctant to leave him, but knowing Mike was waiting downstairs. When she got to the door, he stopped her.

“Mom?”

“Yes?” she said, turning to face him once again.

“I love you.”

Warmth, like sunshine on a cold day, filled her all the way to the core. “I love you, too.”

She left him then, closing the door behind her. She doubted he would last ten minutes, after the day he’d had. In a little while, she would come back up and shut the light.

She took the stairs slowly. She wanted the glow from his words to last, and something told her that her talk with Mike would be anything but warm.

He had done as she asked. He was sitting in the chair staring at the fire. It was hard to believe just a few moments ago he’d been animated and dramatic, when he sat so still now. He didn’t even look at her as she reached the floor and walked back to the couch.

“Mike?”

He turned to her very slowly. “Yes,” he said.

The tone of his voice scared her. This was the real ghost story, she thought. That word was spoken by a dead man.

“I want you to tell me what’s wrong.”

He shook his head. “No, you don’t.”

The couch was too far away. She got up, and knelt by his chair. When she touched his thigh, she felt him flinch. “Haven’t we done enough harm? You said so yourself. We've kept too many secrets. It’s time to tell the truth.”

He looked at her then. The light from the fire reflected in his eyes, giving them life. But behind that, nothing. He had gone to that island, that fortress.

“Don’t throw this away,” she said, grabbing on to his hand. “Don’t you see we've been given a gift. We've got a second chance. If we blow this, if we don’t just plow ahead and face everything, then what was it all for?”

She wasn’t getting through to him, she could see that. “Please,” she said. “Don’t shut me out. Talk to me, Mike. If I ever meant anything to you, talk to me.”

“Second chance,” he said, as if the words hurt his mouth. “That’s funny.”

“Why?” Her heart was beating faster, and she had to fight the urge to get up and run away.

He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again she could see that something had shifted. It had gone from bad to worse.

“Mojo has escaped.”

The breath was knocked out of her. She sat down, hard, on the floor. The thought had crossed her mind earlier, but she’d pushed it away, refusing to think about the real reason they were up here. Now there was no choice. “But I thought he was surrounded. That they had him.”

“He killed Cliff. And the kid he kidnapped. I don’t know, maybe more.”

“Cliff?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“That’s right. And it’s not over. It’s just beginning for us. He’s coming. He'll be here. Tomorrow or maybe the day after. It’s just a matter of time.”

“Then we have to leave.”

“How? On the snowmobiles? In this?” He nodded toward the door, toward the howling wind.

“That’s right,” she said. “He can’t get to us. No one could travel in this weather.”

“No one sane.”

Still stunned, she got to her feet. Her heart was beating like a jackhammer and it was hard to think straight. She walked over to the curtains. She was afraid to touch them, as if they would burn her fingers, but she did. The night was as black as her fear, a swirling, screaming universe of cold and death. Sam would never make it out there. She let the curtain go, and wrapped her arms around her waist. “Are they sending help?”

“They're going to try.”

She heard the resignation in his voice. He didn’t believe help would come. He didn’t believe they would make it.

“Dammit, there has to be something we can do.”

“Like what?”

“Set a trap, barricade the house. I don’t know. Something.”

He laughed, but it was like no sound she’d heard before. Dark, hopeless, unspeakably weary. Not like Mike at all.

She went over to the wing chair, and stood in front of him. “I will not let you give up,” she said. “We can beat him. I know we can.”

“How can you even say that? Haven’t you learned yet that the good guys don’t finish first? That there’s no logic or reason to any of this?” He pushed himself out of his chair to face her. “Terrible things happen to innocent people. Or don’t you remember?”

He was so close, she felt his breath on her face. But she didn’t flinch or turn away. She made room, somewhere, somehow, for his anger.

When his breathing slowed and his face softened enough for him to listen, she said, “I know all that’s true. But I don’t care. I know with all my heart and soul that he can’t win. Not against us. We wouldn’t have gone through what we have in the last few days just to die. It doesn’t work that way.”

“Didn’t you hear anything I said?”

She nodded. “Every word. It doesn’t change a thing. I believe in you. I always will.”

“Don’t,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Everyone who’s believed in me has ended up dead.”

“Not me.” She grabbed his arms and forced him to look her in the eyes. “Not me and not Sam. We're going to get through this. Together. We have too much at stake to lose now.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped, and closed it again. He shook his head.

“I've done some thinking about what you said this afternoon.”

He looked up to the ceiling. “I should have kept my damn mouth shut. What good did it do except hurt you?”

“No,” she said, praying she could get the words right. “The truth may hurt but it’s not useless. The truth is, I did hate you. I hated the whole world because Amy had to die and I couldn’t stop it. I was so busy hating and being angry that I didn’t take the time to be grateful. That’s what I regret. We had four years with Amy. Four wonderful years. We got to know her laughter and her tears. Her sweet smell and the way she felt in our arms. We got to see her being born, and we got to be there when she left us. Every moment was precious. It still is precious. I have no idea how much time any of us have, but I'll be damned if I'm going to waste one moment of it.”

Underneath her fingers, she’d felt his muscles grow rigid. He was standing so stiffly that one strong wind would snap him in two.

She watched him, silently urging him to feel. To care. To fight. Slowly, like ice melting, the muscles of his face softened. “But Cliff,” he whispered. “Gordon.”

“It’s horrible and sad that they had to die. But it’s not your fault. You dishonor them by taking the blame. They were both good agents doing their job. They laid their lives down for something they believed in. Don’t take that away from them.”

He tried to hold it together. She watched him struggle to keep still, to not give in.

Then one tear broke free and fell on his cheek.

B
ecky wrapped her arms around his neck, gently guiding his head to her shoulder. She held him firmly, rocking him like a child as he wept. She felt his body tremble beneath her hands as he let go of months and years of sorrow. Whispering sounds more than words, she ran her hand down the back of his head. She didn’t know if he heard her voice or felt her touch.

All that mattered was that he was finally free, that his prison doors had opened. So much pain. Where was the justice, that this good man had to live with such a heavy burden?

Slowly, slowly, the trembling stopped. She heard him take deep breaths, felt his hands on her back, pressing her closer to him.

Then he straightened up and she was able to look at him. Grief still streaked his face, but inside his dark eyes she saw a glimmer of hope, of peace.

She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek, the taste of his tears moistening her lips. Then she touched his mouth with her fingers, learning again his soft contours. It wasn’t enough. She kissed him there, gently, like a whisper.

Taking his hand in hers, she led him away from the fire and all the way to his room. Still she said nothing as she closed the door behind them.

He didn’t move. He stood by the side of the bed, watching her, his chest expanding slowly with each deliberate breath. The light was too bright overhead, so she turned it off, leaving the small bedside lamp as the only illumination. It was enough, though, to see him clearly.

She grabbed the bottom of her sweater and pulled it over her head. Her bra was next, then her pants. Finally, she stood before him naked.

“Becky—”

She shook her head and moved toward him. “Shh, no more talk.”

He let her undress him. The sweatshirt first, then his jeans. As she moved down his fly to the lower buttons, she felt him swell beneath her fingers. She would attend to that in a minute.

Now, she sank to her knees, and untied his heavy boots, slipping them off, followed by his socks and jeans. When she stood, she did it slowly, rubbing her body against his, pressing her breasts to his legs, his thighs, all the way up to his chest.

There was no mistaking his desire. Her own tightened nipples and the heat between her legs made her want to rush, but she held back. This was a gift, and not to be hurried.

She touched his chest, tracing the hills and valleys of muscled flesh, the soft hair teasing her fingers. Leaning forward, she kissed his neck, tasting his sweet, faintly salty skin. She ran her tongue down, circling the hard nub of his nipple. He groaned but made no move to touch her.

She took his arms and moved him backward until the back of his legs hit the bed. He sat. Giving him one brief kiss on the lips, she pressed his shoulders down. When he was laying flat, she climbed up onto the bed, straddling his legs.

She leaned forward to continue her journey. She felt him, thick and hard, pressing against her stomach. She brought her lips once again to his heated flesh, moving slowly down to his firm stomach. Her kisses followed the arrow of thick hair as it tapered off, and was replaced by thicker, denser hair near the junction of his thighs.

She closed her eyes, listening to his uneven breathing, smelling his masculine scent, tasting the light sheen of sweat as she went lower still. She touched him first, circling his heat with her palm. He was ready for her now, straining to be inside her, but first, she kissed him.

His deep moan told her of his pleasure. His hips lifted as she remembered this secret delight, but soon, it wasn’t enough. For either of them.

Mike reached down and grasped her arms, pulling her up in one smooth motion. He left her on her back, while he turned to his side. Resting on one arm, he looked down at her. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you for my life.” Then his mouth was on hers.

It was his turn to taste, to explore. His hands on her skin were reverent, his sigh was grateful and urgent. He nestled his thighs between hers, and then he sank inside her, filling her in the most intimate of embraces.

His head went back as he groaned his pleasure.

She reached around his neck and pulled him closer, only satisfied when she found his lips.

It was sweet and slow. She’d never made love like this before. Every part of her body was electric, every movement brought a new sensation, each one more intense than the last.

She gave herself with her whole heart, holding nothing back. No matter what happened, she would be safe in his embrace. Just as Amy lived on, so would their love. The world couldn’t touch this sacred space. When she looked into his eyes, she knew he was there with her, feeling the same connection.

She felt her pulse quicken as he thrust into her more deeply. She wrapped her legs around him and he kissed her over and over as he neared his climax. When the moment came, and he couldn’t hold back another second, she held on to him with all her might, straining right on the edge. His cry sent her over, and in that second they were one heart, one breath.

Mike felt her tremble from her core to her fingertips. He buried himself in her a little deeper, not willing to let go. He looked at her beneath him, sloe-eyed and shining. Her mouth opened slightly and her soft lips curved in a hint of a smile. Powerless to resist, he kissed her again. Her hands moved over his back in slow circles. He was where he belonged.

Not willing to break the contact between them, he rolled to his side, carrying her with him. He bent his leg and she curled hers around him, so they were still locked in their embrace.

This is how it felt to be reborn, he thought. He closed his eyes, and for the first time in over three years, he thanked God.

Becky moved her head, nestling against him with a sigh. He didn’t move for a long time. He tried like hell not to think, either. Just to feel her next to him was enough. When he finally did look down, he saw her eyelids flutter as she gave in to sleep.

“I love you,” he whispered. “Forever.”

He was sorely tempted to fall asleep beside her, but he couldn’t. There were things to be done, now, tonight, while he still could move in safety. He would wait, though, until she was sleeping soundly.

The wind howled outside as the minutes ticked by, and he struggled to keep his mind on Becky. But Mojo crept in between them, slithered into his brain. He was coming. Mike could feel it in his bones. It didn’t matter how bad the weather was, nothing as small as nature could stop him.

Then he felt Becky’s warm breath on his chest, and he let go. He didn’t want to think anymore. Not about that. He didn’t resist this time, when his eyes shut.

* * *

Mike awoke in Becky’s arms. A rush of memories, of countless days when waking up had been a pleasure because
she
was there, instead of the tortured mornings when the end of sleep meant just another day to get through. Her hair had come out of the tight braid and was wild on the pillow. He’d never seen anything more beautiful.

The room was lighter, but he knew it was barely daylight. Time for him to get up. To prepare.

When Becky shifted, Mike slipped out of her arms. Being alone had never felt colder. He looked at her for another minute, so lovely it hurt. She was his life.

He got up, careful not to rouse her, and put on his jeans. It was chilly, but the sweatshirt helped. He turned off the bedside lamp after donning his shoes and socks. He hoped Becky would sleep for a long time. He had the awful feeling she would need it.

He meant to leave then, but instead, he bent and kissed her cheek once more. “I love you,” he said, even though he knew she couldn’t hear him. He stole out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

It was cold in the hallway. They’d left the light on in the living room. The fire was dead, of course. He went to the front door and checked the lock. The dead bolt was engaged, just as he’d left it last night. He pushed the curtain aside and peered through the window. The snow was coming down at a sharp angle. It was up past the porch now; maybe three feet had fallen in the last twenty-four hours.

The truck would be useless, but the snowmobiles could travel. He wondered about the back route. Would he still be able to find his way? The thought of taking Becky and Sam out into that freezing hell made him grimace. He would do that only as a last resort.

He let the curtain fall back in place, then went to the closet beneath the staircase. His rifle was just where he’d left it, the boxes of ammo stacked neatly on the shelf.

The sweatshirt was a mistake. No pockets. The jeans, too, were no good. They were too tight. He needed to keep himself loaded for bear, and he didn’t want to put on a jacket.

The rifle felt good in his hands. Heavy, formidable. He would give Becky the .45, and he would stick to this baby. All he needed was to get Mojo in his sights. Just once.

He grabbed three boxes of ammo and put them on the table next to the couch. He started for the stairs, but then thought better of going into Sam’s room with the rifle. He didn’t want to wake him that way. When he was alert, the weapon wouldn’t be quite so scary. He put it on the couch, then took the stairs two at a time.

Sam’s door was closed. He opened it quietly, not wanting to wake the boy. The light was still on, and above the lump under the covers was an open book. He remembered Becky saying she meant to go back upstairs last night. He was glad she hadn’t. Stepping over some of Sam’s clothes on the floor, Mike went to the window first, and checked the lock. Nothing looked out of place. When he went to the bed, the lump moved a little. He smiled, and lifted the quilt.

His son was curled up in a tight little ball, sound asleep. An overwhelming rush of love washed over him. No one was going to touch a hair on that boy’s head. Not while he still had a breath in his body.

Anger swelled. Fury at the madman who dared threaten his family. He didn’t want Mojo back in jail. He wanted him dead.

He covered Sam again. No need to wake him. After he got up, Mike would put the food and water in the closet, just in case.

The clock on the nightstand said 6:20. Mike went to the door and turned out the light before he left.

The first thing he needed to do was get an update from Cliff. His throat constricted as he remembered he would never speak to Cliff again. He needed to call Sully. Irrationally, he hoped his boss was sleeping so he would have the pleasure of hauling him out of bed. He hurried downstairs and picked up the phone.

Nothing. No dial tone.

Mike’s muscles tightened.
Mojo.
He was here already. Maybe just outside that window. Behind that door.

But wait, the storm was a bad one. Witherspoon had said the lines went down a lot during the winter. Before he got all bent out of shape, he’d better check the wires.

He grabbed the rifle and opened up one box of shells. He stuffed a few thick cartridges into each of his pockets. Then he ran to the kitchen. His heart was beating fast, and he tried to consciously slow it down. He needed his wits about him now. No use getting excited until he had to.

The basement was much colder than the upstairs. He flipped on the light and scanned every corner and shadow as he descended. Everything looked still, just as it had the last time he was down here. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was Mojo, not the storm, who had knocked the phones out.

The coiled wire the caretaker had left was by the far wall. Why hadn’t he come down with the old man? Would he even be able to tell if the phone line had been cut?

He crossed the small room and moved aside some storage boxes until he had a clear view of the wall. There were wires there, all right. They all looked fine to his untrained eye. No missing pieces, nothing at all to make him think they’d been tampered with. Besides, if Mojo had gotten inside, they would all be dead by now.

He turned to look out the small window. It was totally blocked by snow so he couldn’t see a damn thing. Could he risk going out there? Mojo might be waiting just out of sight, hoping Mike would leave the safety of the house. No. He couldn’t take that chance.

He had to assume Mojo
was
out there, and prepare for the worst.

Just as he reached the staircase, a rumble stopped him cold. He froze, adrenaline shooting through his veins. The pipes. The noise was coming from the pipes.

He breathed again. Becky was up, that’s all. No danger. Yet.

He went upstairs quickly. She wasn’t in the kitchen. That meant she must be in the shower. God, he didn’t want to tell her about the phone. How would he be able to stand the look of fear on her face? He’d already done so much to hurt her.

He remembered the sweet ending to last night. How she’d made love to him, with him. They’d been given a chance for a new beginning by the same man who wanted to take it all away again.

The pipes quieted. She was getting out of the shower. A picture of her naked body, glistening with water, came to him like a snapshot. He wanted to make love with her again. Not just tonight, but a hundred nights—all the nights of his life.

It wasn’t wise to think about that now. His head needed to be clear, his senses on full alert. He went to the stove and got the kettle. While he filled it with water, he moved aside the curtain to look out back.

The whole world was snow. There was no horizon, only the furiously swirling white. Mojo could be ten feet in front of him, and he would never know.

He put the kettle on the burner. They would need coffee this morning. Lots of it. He intended to take every opportunity to fortify the house, and the three of them, before the confrontation. There was no doubt in his mind that there would be one—the only question was when.

* * *

After wrapping the towel snugly around her chest, Becky went to the sink. She used her hand to wipe the fog from the mirror. She didn’t look different. It was just her, just Sam’s mom. A little older, perhaps, and a lot wiser. She felt as though she’d aged a lifetime in just a few days.

She pulled the towel from her head, and combed her hair. All she wanted was a peaceful, quiet day. Was that so much to ask for? Lord, she needed a breather, some time to get her bearings.