Run to Me (22 page)

It was too late now. They couldn’t go back. She’d just have to get him some more. But how? The doctor’s office was a good ten miles. He’d be struggling to make
it another ten yards!

She held him closer as an idea spawned. A mile west of the doctor’s office was Heron Pond – the body of water into which her trout stream eventually fed. It was still ten miles. But if they used her canoe, followed the stream . . .

She changed direction.

‘Can we stop again?’ Jesse said weakly.

‘Not yet, honey. Just a little further. Then you can have a good long rest.’

‘Tragg? It’s Vanessa.’

‘Where the hell are you?’

‘On my way back. I just crossed the border into New Hampshire. I’ve got two of the boys with me.’

Tragg felt a curious mix of feeling. Relief that the intel he’d got through Farrell had proved correct, anger that he’d had to go to such lengths to get it, and a touch of admiration for this woman’s shrewdness in escaping a no-win situation.
‘Any problems?’

Looking away from the sporadic traffic, Vanessa shot a glance at the sleeping figures on the car’s back seat. ‘Nothing major. One’s still recovering from that accident you had, and I had to sedate them both for the drive. They’ll need a day or so to recover.’

‘And which two boys are we talking about?’

‘The youngest ones – Ingles and Dennings.’

‘What about Ballinger?’

‘Nolan’s
bringing him.’ A second’s pause. ‘Isn’t he back yet?’

Tragg couldn’t help a begrudging smile at the polished innocence of her surprise. Nor had he missed her subtle reference to the accident
he
had had. Just how deep would she dig herself in? ‘Should he be?’

‘I would’ve thought so. It’s what we arranged.’

‘What time did the two of you leave Deadwater?’

‘Well, we didn’t actually leave together.’

‘No? Why not?’

‘I didn’t see a need. I had my kids ready so I left and figured Nolan would follow.’

Tragg’s smile broadened. So far she’d carefully skirted the issue. Time to raise and see if she’d fold. ‘How were the roads?’

Son of a bitch!
Vanessa straightened after jerking the wheel, sweat instantly beading her lip. All this time Tragg had been baiting her. Somehow he’d learned she’d walked
out on Nolan. She had maybe three seconds to make a decision.

She made it in two. ‘The roads were fine. Nolan lied. He told you they were flooded to buy himself time.’

‘Time for what?’

‘To catch Ballinger. He lied about that, too. He didn’t have all of them when you talked to him last.’

‘But he did when you left him.’

She worked to speak but no words would form. The laughter issuing from
the other end made her skin crawl.

‘Not a real team player, are you, Nessa?’

She cringed at his use of her uncle’s pet name for her. ‘I brought back two of them. Was it too much to expect him to bring the third?’

‘You left before the job was done.’

‘I did my part. Nolan was supposed –’

‘He’s your playmate. You were responsible!’ Tragg let her writhe in silence a moment. When he spoke again
his voice was controlled. ‘Luckily the situation is being resolved even as we speak. I sent someone up to give Nolan a hand. Someone reliable.’

‘That’s a relief.’

Another laugh. ‘I’m sure it is.’

‘So what do you want me to do with these two?’

Tragg gave her the name of the motel where his men were staying. ‘Keep ’em out of sight and first thing tomorrow get down to the warehouse and find that
stash.’

‘You mean you want
me
. . .?’

‘That’s right, I want you to do it. You did such a fine job of playing mommy. You bonded with those brats. They trust you now.’

She felt a shiver climb her spine. Did Tragg know the rest? Her moment of weakness, her brief insanity. Had Nolan told him?

No, he couldn’t have. Nolan didn’t know himself.

It had happened coming out of the hospital, carrying
the little one in her arms, his soft curls warm against her throat. With the alarm still wailing she’d had the sense she was rescuing him, his noble protector.

But once in the car she’d started thinking about where they were going, what was in store for them – him and the other one – the true role she had played in it all. Whether they knew where the money was or not, it would end the same way.

She’d got as far as buying them clothes, little backpacks in bright colours, planning their escape route into Canada. Reality struck as she’d stood at the checkout, a large stuffed alligator under her arm, and watched a kid in the next line throw a tantrum on the floor. She’d walked outside, ditched what she’d bought in the nearest dumpster, turned the car around and headed for New Hampshire.
She wasn’t cut out for that sort of life. And yet . . .

‘You hesitate, Nessa?’ Tragg’s voice hissed in her ear. ‘I’m giving you the chance you’ve always wanted. Prove to your uncle you’ve got what it takes.’

She clamped her jaw to staunch a response. There was no way he could know what she’d almost done and yet he seemed to be
mocking her for it. The absurdity of her compassion. The notion she
could have such feelings at all.

‘What if they don’t know where Giles hid the case?’ she said through her teeth.

Tragg paused to consider her words. Yes, there was that possibility and he wouldn’t much relish informing Lazaro if it came to it. In the days his people had been searching the warehouse they’d turned the place upside down and not found a thing.

Then again, there was still the chance
Farrell would bring Ballinger back alive, though getting him to cooperate might be a different story. The kid wasn’t just smart, he was gutsy. Not only had he arranged the accident that had allowed him and the others to escape but also he’d managed to evade recapture, making Nolan and Vanessa look like fools.

With a grim smile Tragg saw again the look of challenge in the boy’s eyes back in the
‘safe house’.
Must be hard to get laid with a face like that
. The kid had been shitting himself at the time yet he’d still found the balls to spit in his eye. In fact, looking back, the only weakness he’d ever shown . . .

‘Keep ’em alive,’ he said into the phone.

‘But if they don’t know anything –’

‘They could still be useful.’ His smile broadened when she didn’t respond. ‘Don’t worry, Nessa,
when the time comes, the job is yours.’

Chase pulled the Land Rover into his driveway, shut off the engine and rested his head against the seat.

Ten thirty-five. He’d planned to be home well before this. Even at nine, when he and his father had left Presque Isle, he’d hoped he might still look for Shyler’s cabin tonight. But he had to accept it was too late now. He couldn’t just happen to show
up
at her place at this late hour. He pulled the key from the ignition and rubbed his eyes.

‘Anything wrong?’ Allen said from the seat beside him.

‘Just tired.’ He took out his mobile and checked missed calls. Shyler’s ex-husband hadn’t called back yet, despite the several messages he’d left.

He was starting to wonder if he’d ever get his answers. He’d gone to Presque Isle thinking Shyler’s
mother wanted nothing to do with her. But after talking to her he realised he had gotten that wrong. Whatever estrangement existed between them, Patricia O’Neil cared about her daughter. So what was keeping her from coming to see Shyler? If she knew her daughter was having trouble –

‘You break all land speed records getting back here and now you just plan to go to bed?’

Chase sighed and slipped
the phone in his pocket. There was no point in arguing. ‘I was hoping to see someone tonight, that’s all.’

‘First I hear of it.’

‘I know. Don’t worry, it’s no big deal.’

‘I bet
she
thinks it is.’

Despite his frustrations he managed a smile. ‘It’s too late now. I’ll see her in the morning.’ He climbed from the car, hefted his father’s chair out of the back, wheeled it round to him and opened
the door.

‘You should’ve told me,’ Allen said as Chase helped him out. ‘I wouldn’t have suggested we stop for dinner.’

‘It’s okay, Dad. It was good to get a decent meal for a change.’

‘Oh, is that so?’ Allen grunted. ‘Wait till you see what I cook you tomorrow night.’

Flashes of light danced on the water. The nearly full moon skimmed the tree tops, bringing objects on shore into colourless relief – boulders, bushes, a toppled pine. And a single large silhouette standing in the shallows as they rounded a bend.

Shyler stopped paddling. The current continued to carry them along; there was no way she could halt their advance. She could head for the
farthest side of the stream but doubted it would make any difference now.

They’d already been spotted.

Slowly she lowered the paddle to the floor and picked up the rifle.

‘You’re not going to shoot him, are you?’

She jumped at the words but kept her voice low. ‘Jesse, you scared me. I thought you were asleep.’

Yeah, right. Curled up on the bottom of a boat with his hands and feet numb and
something digging into his back. ‘You’re not, are you?’

‘Not unless I have to. Just keep very still.’ She braced the gun stock against her shoulder.

‘But why would you have to? It’s just a moose. It’s not like a grizzly bear or a wolf.’

‘It’s coming up to mating season,’ she whispered. ‘The bulls can get quite . . .’
Aggressive. Deadly
. ‘Unpredictable.’

She shuddered at the memory. Autumn
of the year she’d started high school, the poor lone fisherman caught off guard, she and her father trying to save him . . . trying to stop the bleeding . . .

Across the water the animal raised its head. No antlers. She lowered the rifle. ‘But this one’s a female so we don’t need to worry as much.’

As they drifted past it, Shyler laid the gun back at her feet and took up the oar again. She checked
the sky. They were getting close. Judging from the stars it was well past midnight; they had to be three-quarters of the way at least.

Her main concern now was that she wouldn’t recognise the spot when they reached it. Landmarks were hard to make out in the dark. The pond was small, little more than a widening in the stream. If she overshot the mark and had to go back, paddling upstream might
be more than she could manage with her injured arm.

‘Is it much further?’ His voice quavered slightly.

‘Why? Are you cold?’

‘A little.’

She slid off the seat and onto her knees. As she bent towards his face she could hear his teeth chattering, even above the murmur of the water. ‘My God, you’re frozen. Why didn’t you say so?’

She pushed back onto the seat and began paddling for shore. However
close or far they might be hardly mattered if Jesse caught pneumonia getting there. She’d light a fire, keep him as warm as she could for the night and go the rest of the way in the morning.

Zack sat against a moss-covered tree trunk watching the woman feed another branch into the fire she’d just kindled. Opening her backpack, she pulled out a water bottle and handed it over.

He accepted it
but took only a tentative sip. His stomach felt hot and tight as a fist – a symptom nothing to do with his infection. A thought had occurred to him in the hours they’d drifted along the stream and, like a worm in an apple, it was burrowing slowly around his guts.

The scene at the cabin kept playing over and over in his mind. He couldn’t stop seeing the man with the gun. The way he’d smiled when
their gazes met. The look on his face when the ladder tipped. The table leg sticking out of his neck.

He hadn’t recognised the man but knew without a doubt who had sent him. And that’s what had caused the worm in the apple. The realisation. Nolan and Vanessa had been trying to
catch
him, but the dude at the cabin . . .

He tried to block his next thought from forming but couldn’t stop it. Clearly
the situation had changed or he’d been wrong about their intentions in the first place. Either way it meant that Reece . . .

He stifled a groan. At least Corey had gotten away. He was safe in a hospital somewhere. Being looked after by kind doctors and smiling nurses, getting all sorts of food and attention.

Assuming he had survived his injuries.

Injuries sustained from . . .

Wincing at the
gut punch the thought delivered, he struggled to force his attention elsewhere. Beside him, the woman took back the water bottle and shoved it and the matches into her pack.

‘How did you know to bring all this stuff?’

‘I always stow a pack of emergency gear in the bottom of the canoe. First aid kit, insect repellent, matches, water bottle and
a blanket. Actually, there might even be . . .’ She
rummaged around. ‘A-ha! Here you go, have a granola bar.’

He felt his stomach rebel at the thought. ‘No thanks. You have it.’

‘Tummy-ache?’ Her voice sounded worried. ‘You haven’t eaten since lunch at the cabin.’

He bowed his head and gave it a shake.

‘Still cold?’ She moved closer, pulled the blanket up over the back of his neck and left her arm around his shoulders. ‘How’s that?’

Somehow
the gesture only worsened his pain. He bit his lip.

‘Jesse, what is it?’

He swiped at his tears. Now that they’d managed to squeeze from his eyes there was just no stopping them. ‘I did a bad thing.’

‘Oh, sweetheart, I’m sure it’s not as bad as all this.’

‘Yes, it is. It’s terrible, the worst thing ever.’

She hugged him tighter. ‘All right, tell me. What did you do?’

‘I was supposed to look
after somebody. They were little and I was meant to take care of them, but I didn’t.’

‘Who were you meant to take care of?’

‘My . . . friends.’ His stomach clenched as though someone had stepped on it.

Zack, where are you?
The voice from his dream. Reece and Corey screaming as he pushed them into the chamber of the idling truck.

‘I ran away and left them.’ He turned his face into her neck.
‘And now they’re probably dead.’