Through the Evil Days: A Clare Fergusson/Russ Van Alstyne Mystery (Clare Fergusson and Russ Van Alstyne Mysteries) (38 page)

“Hadley? Are you okay?”

She straightened. “This is Dylan’s rental car. Hudson left one of his comic books in the backseat.”

“Good.” In the scatter from the flashlight, Flynn looked grim. Purposeful. “Let’s go get your kids back.”

14.

The young man who popped out of the office in response to Hadley’s bell ring looked at the two of them with dismay. “Oh.” He glanced at the door. “Um. We’re not accepting any new guests tonight.”

“We’re not—” Flynn began.

Hadley cut him off. “You’ve got to be kidding. On a night like this? People could die out there on those roads.” The receptionist sounded guilty, which was just the way she wanted him. She figured she’d have a better chance of getting what she wanted if he was off-kilter and apologetic.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, really I am. It’s just that we’re running on generator power, and the manager was worried we wouldn’t have enough if we let more…” He seemed to realize this was going to sound bad however he phrased it.

“My friend here gave me a ride all the way from Albany so I could meet up with my husband and children. I was going to stand him a night. Are you telling me he’s going to have to go back out into that mess?” From the corner of her eye, she could see Flynn arching a brow.

“Um … if it were up to me, ma’am…”

“I can’t believe this. You’re going to throw my friend out into the teeth of the storm just to ensure some spoiled brat on a ski trip has enough juice to blow-dry her hair? I promise you my family will
never
vacation here again.” She turned to Flynn. “I am so sorry, Kevin. So very sorry.”

“It’s all right, Hadley. It’s not that far to Millers Kill.” He looked toward the door and paused for a second, as if contemplating the likely fate he would meet out in the storm. Then he squared his shoulders, bravely overcoming his fears. “If I could just use the bathroom and maybe get a hot cup of coffee before I go…”

“Of course you can, Kevin. My God, it’s the very least I can do.” She pulled her wallet out of her pocket, slanting it so her badge remained hidden. She tugged out her ID and slapped it on the counter. “My husband is Dylan Knox. Please give me a room key and tell me you have enough electricity so the coffee machines work.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The receptionist peeped at her driver’s license, then slid it back to her. He looked regretfully at his computer—another victim of their energy problem, she guessed—then opened a file drawer. He speed-shuffled through some papers before pulling out a form. Hadley held her breath. She could feel Flynn tensing beside her. “Um … Mr. Knox is registered for one adult?”

She hit the desk with the flat of her hand. “The fact that you screwed up our reservation isn’t my fault! Or my concern! I’ve been traveling all day and I want to get to my family!”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll just … have to adjust the room rate?”

She leaned across the counter and spoke through gritted teeth. “I’ll discuss adjusting our room rate with your manager tomorrow. Along with your less-than-adequate performance”—she read his name tag—“Justin. Now give me my room key.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the receptionist squeaked. He fumbled a plastic card and some stiff pieces of paper into a sleeve and handed it to her. “I’ve put in four coupons for free admission to the breakfast buffet?”

Hadley plucked the sleeve out of his fingers. “Thank you.” She started across the expanse of the lobby, Flynn following.

“Ma’am?”

She paused.
Shit.
If he decided to call Dylan for verification …

“The elevators are out. I’m afraid you’ll have to use the stairs.”

She nodded without turning. She and Flynn mounted the wide carpeted staircase with its ornate wood-and-antler banister in silence. They didn’t speak until they had passed through the heavy fireproof door to the second-floor stairs. Then Hadley stopped and leaned against the wall. “Jesus.”

“You were amazing. I had no idea you were such a great actress. You ought to be doing undercover work. Vice or Narco or something.”

She pressed her hand against her chest. “I don’t think my heart could take it.” She opened the paper sleeve and read the room number. “Third floor.”

They climbed the next flight of stairs and pushed the door open. The long hallway was dim, lit only by emergency lights. “What’s the plan?” Flynn said quietly.

“We get in, we collect Hudson and Genny, and we get out again.” She started toward Dylan’s room. Her boots sank into the plush carpet.

Flynn trod close behind her. “What if he starts to get heavy?”

“We keep things as calm as possible and don’t scare the kids.” She glanced up at him, her mouth twisted. “Just like any other domestic.” She was at the door. She took a deep breath and inserted the key card. The light blinked green. She opened the door and walked in.

Hudson was sprawled on the far bed, chin in hands, watching a wide-screen TV. Past him, Genny sat with her feet crossed in one of a pair of high-backed chairs flanking a small table, her nose in a book. One of Dylan’s garment bags was lying unzipped and open on the near bed.
Two, he had gotten a room with two beds, he was preparing for this all along.
Dylan was nowhere in sight, but the bathroom door to her left was closed, the fan whirring.

“Mom!”

“Mom!”

She strode across the room and grabbed them both in a too-tight embrace. Behind her, she heard Flynn’s hands on the garment bag, unzipping, rustling through clothes. Search and secure possible weapons, the first rule when responding to a domestic.

“What are you doing here?” Hudson asked. He backed away and sat on the bed. Genny was still twined around her legs.

“I’m here to take you home, babies. Get your things.”

Flynn had moved on to the closet. She heard the ting and scrape of hangers sliding across the bar. She looked back toward him. He nodded.
All clear
. He held up a Hello Kitty suitcase. “Genny, did you borrow this from your mom?”

Genny ducked her head and giggled. The bathroom door opened. For a moment, they all stood in a tableau: Hadley with the children, Flynn holding the pink and white suitcase, Dylan staring at them, his dark eyes wide, his mouth working.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Dylan finally asked. He advanced a step toward Flynn. “Get the fuck out of my room!”

Hudson’s mouth hung open. Genny dug her fists into Hadley’s legs. Flynn shifted, blocking Dylan’s path. “Mr. Knox, you’re scaring your children.”

Dylan looked past Flynn. “You bitch. You think you can just waltz in here and take my kids away from me? After you denied me access to them for two years?”

“Mr. Knox.” Flynn’s voice was an iron bar.

“I never denied you access to the kids! I begged you to stay in contact with them!” She gulped.
Domestic.
She sounded like one of those pitiful women they pulled away from their husbands on Saturday nights. If she didn’t stay in cop mode, she was going to lose it completely. “Hudson, Genny, I want you to get your things back into your suitcases.”

“Hudson, Genny, stay right where you are,” Dylan ordered.

Flynn tossed the Hello Kitty bag onto the far bed, following it with Genny’s pink parka. “I didn’t unpack,” Genny whispered. “Just my blanket and my book.”

“I’m calling my lawyer right now.” Dylan pawed his cell phone out of his pocket and held it out as if it were a gun. “I’ll have a custody order by tomorrow, you bitch, and when I do we’ll see who has to come crawling and playing pretty just to spend an afternoon with her children.”

It was ridiculous. Stagey and overplayed. It made her realize just how much of Dylan’s threats had been bluff and bluster. He had relied on the old patterns of their marriage—that she would agree to anything for the sake of the children. Well, not this time. “I don’t think you will,” she said, her voice steady. “I think you’ll have to find a judge in California willing to write you an ex parte order. Then your lawyer will have to hire a New York lawyer, who will have to bring the whole thing to a New York judge, who will be hearing from
my
lawyer. The whole process will drag and drag and you’ll be paying out of pocket for every second of it.”

Dylan’s jaw hinged open. He stared at her with angry, frustrated incredulity. He had threatened her, and she hadn’t buckled under.
That’s right, you bastard. I’m not that easy-to-push-around girl you married. I’m a real live grown-up now.

Flynn bent down to retrieve Hudson’s duffel bag. Dylan let out an incoherent snarl and slammed into him, kicking and punching. Genny screamed. Flynn fell against the closet wall. Dylan swung his leg back for another kick, but Flynn lurched upright and rushed him, closing the space, making it impossible for Dylan to carry through. He flailed with his fists instead. Flynn blocked one blow, blocked another, and with a quick turn-turn-push he had Dylan pinned against the wall, straining upward on tiptoe, his arms drawn up tight behind his back. “Hadley, can you get Hudson’s things?” His voice was a little short of breath but calm.

“You son of a bitch,” Dylan snarled. “I’m going to sue you for police brutality! I’m going to have your badge for this!”

“I don’t even have my badge on me, Mr. Knox. I’m not here on business.” Flynn smiled tightly. “This is pure pleasure.”

Hadley grabbed the duffel, Hudson’s coat, both the kids’ boots. Genny was crying. Hadley unzipped the duffel. “Where are your clothes, honey?” Hudson pointed to one of the drawers with a shaking finger. She opened it and began tossing things into the bag as quickly as possible.

“What did she do?” Dylan asked. “Open her legs for you? Believe me, that’s nothing special. She’s like a bitch in he—” His words were cut off as Flynn slammed him into the wall. Flynn put his face next to Dylan’s ear and said something Hadley couldn’t hear. Dylan shut up.

“Is there anything else?” Hadley’s voice sounded weird in her own ears, as if someone else were saying her words. Hudson shook his head. “Okay, then. Grab your boots and your coats.” She picked up the bags and herded the kids, stocking-footed, across the room. They slipped past Dylan and Flynn like skaters easing around a hole in the ice, Genny still weeping, Hudson with his head down, refusing to look at his father. She opened the door, ushered them out, then closed it again.

“All right, babies. Get those boots on.” Through the door, she could hear Dylan, not his words, just his tone, snarling and hateful. Probably giving Flynn a detailed description of her former career. Flynn, with his wholesome family and Catholic upbringing and Eagle Scout badges. Flynn, who had been a virgin until she had come along. She bent down to help Genny tie one of her boots. Later. She’d deal with it later.

The door opened as she straightened. “Let’s go,” Flynn said. She nodded. He picked up the suitcase and the duffel bag. She held out her hands. Genny hung on for dear life, and Hudson, who was almost twelve and too old for such things, squeezed her hand tight and didn’t let go.

Down the stairs. Across the lobby, past the receptionist, who stared at them as if they were insane. Out the door, into the cold air and buffeting wind and freezing rain. They slipped and slid across the parking lot until they reached the Aztek. They all tumbled in, and Flynn started the engine and cranked the blower. “Help me get the ice off?” he asked Hadley.

“Buckle up,” she told the kids, before tugging on her hood and hopping back out into the rain. She and Flynn met at the rear of the vehicle. “What did he say?”

Flynn chiseled a plastic scraper across the rear window. “He threatened me. Said he was going to get me fired, screw me up good, etcetera, etcetera.”

“You don’t sound too worried.”

“I’m not.” He bent down and rapped at the ice caked over the brake lights.

She bit her lip. He didn’t sound too happy, either. “Did he say anything about me?”

Flynn straightened. “I thought he said quite enough in front of Hudson and Genny. God! I wanted to—” He shoved the scraper into his parka pocket and took her shoulders. “Please tell me he didn’t treat you like that when you were married to him.”

Dylan didn’t tell him. He doesn’t know.
She hadn’t realized the weight of dread she had carried out of the hotel until it was gone. “No,” she managed to say. “Not usually.” She smiled up at him. “Can we go home now?”

15.

Could
they go home, that was the question. Kevin inched down the mountain in second gear, zigzagging across the road for maximum traction. Twice the tires lost contact despite the gravel spread along the drive. Both times the Aztek slid in a slow free fall downhill, gathering speed, until they caught a patch of still-rough stone and Kevin could wrestle the SUV back under control. After the second skid, he said, “Maybe we ought to rethink this.” He kept his voice low, hopeful the kids couldn’t hear him. “We could ditch the truck and hike back up to the hotel—”

“No.” Hadley shook her head.

“If we showed our IDs—”

“No.” There was an edge to her voice, the sound of someone pushed to the brink and left teetering there.

“Okay.” He downshifted to make another curve, holding his breath until he had swung the SUV through without slipping. “What about the Stuyvesant Inn?”

“You mean, stop there?”

“It’s just a couple miles up the road.”

“I dunno. Maybe.” She scrubbed at her face. “I really just want to get home. I think the kids need things to be as normal as possible.” She looked at him closely. “What about you? Are you too tired to go on?”

He was exhausted from the long fruitless day in Albany, and from the teeth-gritting intensity of the drive, and from everything that had happened at the Algonquin. But after all she had been through, he didn’t want to hand Hadley one more disappointment. “I can make it,” he said.

He lost control of the Aztek again when they hit Sacandaga Road. They bottomed out at the foot of the drive and slid across both lanes, stopping only when they wedged the right front quarter into the snowbank. “Are we stuck?” Genny asked. It was the first thing she had said since leaving the Algonquin.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart.” Kevin turned on the four-ways and reached for his parka. “I think your mom and I can push it out.”