Ransomed Dreams (29 page)

Tom walked to the kitchen and poured a shot of whisky. One or two wouldn’t hurt. He’d stay alert enough to listen for a way out of this nightmare. “I have nothing to tell.”

“Ah, but your flying away like a frightened bird says you don’t have enough invested to stay quiet when the FBI begins interrogations.” Joe reclined in a dining room chair.

Tom stood in the kitchen doorway. “So leave me to disappear.”

“Botching things up is not my way. Loose threads, even less. And besides, you’re worth more here alive than dead. For now.”

“What do you want?” Tom had so little bargaining room.

“I need you to gen up facts on the FBI’s search. Inform me of Victoria Kensington’s whereabouts.” Joe pointed to the kitchen. “Got any bitters for an old mate?”

Friend? Right. Tom escaped farther into the kitchen and poured another shot. Then he grabbed his last beer. If Joe had done it right the first time, Tom would have been flying to the Greek islands tomorrow as planned. If only. Armed with a little
liquid courage, he felt a new plan slipping into his hazy brain.

“By the way, mate.” Joe’s volume hit his ears with force. “You’ve no idea how to disappear. One call from me and you will be at Her Majesty’s pleasure.”

Tom gripped the gray countertop. Prison. For the rest of his life, if Joe was still breathing, prison was one phone call away. Gracie’s breathing meant the very same thing. Her going back to Georgia with all day to think about her family and time to do her investigator’s errands in person almost guaranteed his approaching arrest.

No. He’d come too far, tasted the aphrodisiac of freedom. If he played his cards right, his European relocation was still in his grasp.

One tiny, simple plan away.

Steven fought the traffic into Alexandria Friday afternoon, his thoughts trailing down one path more often than any other. Gracie. Her mother had kept him informed.

And even if Gracie would have rather he remained in the dark, the scraps of knowledge Marianne Thompson threw his way kept him sane. Knowledge was power. He needed every ounce of it.

Staying in good with Gracie’s mom wouldn’t hurt either. Neither would another trip to the hospital with James.

He drummed his fingers to one of Sara’s Irish instrumental CDs. Too many pieces of his life mismatched his hopes and dreams. Keeping his son, always at the forefront of his mind, proved the most troublesome. Angela had become friendly Too friendly No more peace offerings.

Now she was just killing him with kindness. Trying to earn points with the custody judge by way of his son and her former in-laws. Steven needed to go another round with his punching bag. If his ex kept up the charade until November eighth, he’d be seeing more of Angela than he had when they were married.

With none of the payoff.

Not that he wanted it. Not from Angela, anyway Holding Gracie had proven two things that he’d not soon forget. One: He couldn’t return to bachelorhood as easily as he had when Angela left and hate trumped desire. Two: When Gracie folded into his arms and fit like the last puzzle piece finishing the picture, it destroyed the illusion that God had forgotten him.

Clint drove home that point regularly Little comments about James’s survival when bullets ripped through his classroom. Reminders of past successes. Cases solved with one spark of an idea. Everything pointed to God’s active pursuit of a man on the run.

James and his bedtime prayers for Gracie accomplished the same thing.

And Gracie’s words about faith and forgiveness haunted Steven’s waking hours like her smiling face sweetened his dreams.

As he parked his Explorer in front of Charlotte Brown’s house, Steven shook his head to rattle things back into their assigned compartments. For now he had to be a master interrogator. One man—even former British Special Forces—couldn’t hide forever.

Steven had technology, manpower, and his team’s passion for tracking down and bringing to justice people who hurt kids. Most of his colleagues agreed with John Walsh from
America’s Most Wanted
. There was a special place in hell for child murderers.

He didn’t know the Bible’s answer to that, but he knew full well there were special places in jail that handled men who hurt kids. Justice came in all shapes and sizes.

Steven knocked on the front door. Charlotte opened it a crack. Her wide eyes met his and then studied the floor. “I suppose I have to speak with you?”

“Yes.” In almost three weeks, her sophisticated disguise with a stylish red bob had dissolved into a harried TV housewife. Minus the husband. He’d packed up the day she came home.
“Nice anklet. It goes so well with your bathrobe.”

Charlotte sneered. “To ensure I won’t jump the drawbridge of this wonderland castle.”

Steven walked into the living area and sat on her stained couch. “I’ll make this short and sweet. I want your brother’s alias that he most likely used this last trip through Alexandria.”

“I’ll return your sentiment and keep it clipped. You jolly well know where to go.” Charlotte stood in front of the living room window with her back to him.

Maybe his crack about the electronic monitor on her ankle wasn’t the best way to start this conversation. “I already have your brother’s motive, timeline, and enough bits of evidence to put Gordon away for life. You too, when the courts grind into action.” He forced himself to stay seated. “You help us, and we’ll work a deal for you to watch Stewart grow up.”

Charlotte’s shoulders slumped. “I’m not handing my brother over to you.”

“Gordon missed his hit. Did you know that?”

She whirled around to face him. “You’re lying.”

“They say all criminals make fatal mistakes when they’re running scared.”

“Mum!” Stewart wailed from the back room.

Charlotte didn’t move. “Gordon is not running scared. You are. Why else would you be here bothering with me?” She pointed a finger toward his chest. “You have nothing. And soon enough, we’ll all walk away.”

Steven narrowed his eyes. “Clothing fibers on Olivia’s body put you with her at the time of death. No judge will let you off scot-free.” He leaned forward. “We have far more than circumstantial evidence, Mrs. Brown.”

“I’m a Landridge, married or not.”

“Either way. Your son will grow up without a mother if you have nothing else to say.” Steven stood. “You risked your freedom to see Stewart. Why throw him away now?”

She buried her face in her hands and collapsed into a brown
recliner. “Gordon told me nothing. You already know all I know.”

Stewart called again.

“One name, Charlotte. That’s all I need. Then you can comfort yourself with the fact that you only participated in murdering one child.”

She shook her tangled mass of reddish hair.

“You could help save a little six-year-old’s life. She’s just a little girl.” He waited. She was so close to breaking.

Charlotte disappeared into Stewart’s room and stayed for a few minutes. When she returned, her red eyes and tear-streaked face screamed her fear.

“I saw one of his passports the day I came home.” Her hands shook as she fiddled with her robe.

He sat still. Waiting. So close …

“Danny. Danny Johnson.” The fire in Charlotte’s eyes extinguished. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I intend to make the best of my last few days with my son.”

She’d just handed him Gordon on a silver platter.

Steven let himself out and spoke to the agents on-site. “Put her under suicide watch.”

He slipped into his Explorer and speed dialed Michael. With some of the rookie’s computer-genius elbow grease, they’d find Gordon Landridge before the weekend was out.

Olivia’s autopsy report slammed against Steven’s memory There were days he could walk away from this job and never look back.

But not until he’d slapped the cuffs on one more killer.

Unless something else went wrong first.

G
racie’s whole body hurt.

Two weeks and the endless bandage changes had grown old. Unlike the memory of metal ripping through her flesh or the smell of blood pervading her entire classroom. She glanced out the airplane window. The little toy houses and antlike cars grew larger as they made their final descent to Hartsfield International Airport.

Home.

In a few minutes she’d be back on Georgia soil. The flood of emotions, many she couldn’t even identify shook her body.

“You okay, sis?” Beth’s chocolate-colored eyes held a lifetime of concern. Her gentle caretaking the last few weeks bridged what was left of the gap between them. At least something good had come of the bullets that had shattered Gracie’s quiet life.

“I’ll make it.” She took a deep breath, pressing her hand on the healing wounds in her side. God had protected her just like James had said. But why it all had to happen in the first place still confused her. Add that
why
to all the others that would haunt her on this trip home.

She returned to the book on her lap and read a quote by Muriel Rukeyser: “However confused the scene of our life appears, however torn we may be who now do face that scene, it can be faced, and we can go on to be whole.”

Whole? How? Father, I need You. I feel so helpless and so like Victoria’s Humpty Dumpty. How will the pieces all get put back together again?

She closed her eyes and thought about recent conversations
with Maria and Victoria, James and Steven. Even Mrs. Hall had called often. Everyone kept assuring Gracie that her students were being well cared for, talking to counselors, and back at school in a cleaned-up and cheery classroom with a loving substitute teacher.

Maria’s comments hit Gracie the strongest. “
Tori misses you but is glad to be back at school. She’s facing her fears. The shooting got her talking about Olivia. Its good
.”

Good. She only hoped she’d echo Tori’s attitude someday.

“Hey, daydreamer. Mom and Dad said they’d bring Peter and Rob with them to the airport because Dennis had to get back to work.” Beth sighed. “It’ll be so good to hold them again.”

Gracie bit her lip. Seeing her sister as a mom for the first time, watching their joyful reunion, would be hard to survive. But maybe holding her nephews would prove more healing than hurtful.

She missed Jake, especially when the tears threatened, which seemed often. But she couldn’t cry on his furry shoulder this trip, because he was staying with Steven and James.

Beth grimaced. “I’m so sorry I didn’t think about how you might feel seeing … well … watching me with my boys.”

She put a hand on Beth’s arm. “It’ll be good to see you in action with Peter and Rob, to finally meet them. You’ve been a huge help staying at my house when Mom and Dad had to get home. I appreciate everything you did for me—the time away from your family, spending your vacation waiting on me. Thank you.”

Beth grinned and nodded, tears in her eyes.

Time for a distraction. No weeping messes to meet Mom and Dad. Gracie handed Beth her book to put away. Two weeks had taught Gracie to let her sister do the bending and stretching work, along with just about every other chore.

After the plane landed, they waited till the other passengers disembarked. Less chance of getting jostled, and she could take her sweet time walking off the plane to the wheelchair Beth had
insisted on. Hartsfield was a huge airport in which to maneuver, even in the best of health.

Within minutes, Beth wheeled her through the crowd and down the elevator toward the awful train that barked orders like a military drill sergeant. They couldn’t talk much in the noise or with the press of the people surrounding them, so Gracie rested her eyes and let her mind travel back to last night’s dream. Lost in a dark cave, all she felt were cobwebs and a chilling wind. She hadn’t been able to undo the blindfold around her eyes, no matter how hard she tried. Fear paralyzed her.

Even now, in the middle of sweaty and heavily perfumed travelers, fear gripped her heart and squeezed tight.

But the dream hadn’t ended there. After she struggled with the blindfold for a long time, a hand reached down and led her through a maze of stone, along narrow paths, and up steep hills. She struggled against the hand too, but she soon came to realize it led her out of the cave and toward the warm sun. But she had woken up before she felt the fullness of the light that remained just beyond her reach.

Rather than forget the dream, the longing had grown, the desire to step out of the cave and fully into the light. Maybe Mom and Dad would help her figure out what it all meant. Not that understanding a dream would help her face the part of her trip she dreaded most.

A visit to the cemetery.

Gracie stood on her parents’ staircase looking at the photos lining the walls. She’d passed by them for days now, but today she had to stop. She needed to look, to store up all the good snapshots she could to help her face the afternoon’s trip.

Her parents’ wedding photos. Beth and herself as kids. Their thick silver braces and big hair brought a smile. The pictures of Mark, Elizabeth, and Joshua still caught Gracie’s breath and held it captive. She fingered her gold locket.

“What do you think of my family picture up there?” Beth stood on the carpeted stair below her. “I’m still shocked they put it up, with us not being married and all.”

Gracie took her sister’s hand. “I love you, Beth. So do Mom and Dad. No requirements for that.”

Beth studied the carpet. “I’m glad you’re my sister.”

“Me too.” Gracie wrapped her arms around Beth and gave a gentle squeeze.

Steady footfalls in the hallway above them prevented a further journey into mushiness. Dressed in a tailored business suit, Robert Thompson looked as handsome as he did in the wedding photos on the wall.

“Hey, princesses. How are you two this beautiful morning?”

“Ready for a nap,” Beth said. “The boys were up all night. I should have slept in with them.”

Gracie followed Beth down the steps, holding on to the rail and moving slow and steady. The less jarring the movement, the better.

Dad put one hand on each of their shoulders as they walked into the kitchen. “I’ve heard that little boys will do that to you.” His smile eased the stinging reminder of over two years without the happy exhaustion that a day with little children provided.