“Blackwell?” Sheriff Davis called from his office. “It’s for you. Line one.”
Chris’s need to pick up the receiver for real this time and push the button for the correct line gave Lauren time to recover from her clumsiness, from her mortification. She crossed the floor to retrieve the chair, but Deputy Davis was already there, pushing the errant seat toward her.
“Maybe you should sit down, Miss Wexler.” He grinned at her. “You look tired.”
“I am.” She eyed the chair, drawn to the idea of sinking into its worn vinyl seat.
She shook her head. “If I sit down, I may not want to get up.”
“I know what you mean.” The deputy blushed. “I get off duty in fourteen minutes and then I’m all for my bed. After I eat breakfast.”
“I hope you make yourself a good one.”
Carrying on a mundane conversation with the young man kept her from eavesdropping on Chris’s conversation. Still, a few words seeped through, including “Donna Delaney.”
“I can get there faster...” Then, finally, “I don’t know... Thanks. That’s too easy.”
Lauren gave up trying not to listen and faced Chris.
“She needs some things from her house first...” Chris said to the person on the other end of the phone line. “Thanks. I can be there in less than an hour.” He replaced the handset into the cradle and faced Lauren. “Let’s go.”
“Want us to give you an escort?” Sheriff Davis asked. “If you can wait a few minutes, I’ll go with you on my way home.”
For some sleep, Lauren hoped for his sake.
“Thanks. Backup would be nice if we have trouble.” Chris nodded to Davis. “We can afford a few minutes.”
“Give me time to write some instructions for the head deputy coming on duty at seven. Five minutes?” Davis rubbed his eyes and yawned, looking like a sleepy child despite his size. “I’ve been here since seven o’clock yesterday morning.”
No wonder the man looked so exhausted. Then again, Lauren had been awake for almost as long, nearly an entire day. No wonder she felt so exhausted. She had closed her eyes when washing up in the bathroom, not wanting to see how awful her appearance was.
“I’ll be out in five.” Sheriff Davis retreated to his office.
Lauren ducked into the ladies’ room to avoid Chris. She still wouldn’t look at herself in the mirror. She needed a hairbrush and a toothbrush, and some lipstick wouldn’t ago amiss.
Vanity. Chris didn’t care what she looked like. Not now. Once he thought—or at least said—she was beautiful.
Enough time wasted in the ladies’ room, Lauren exited as Davis returned with a puffy jacket that gave Lauren a stab of envy over how warm it would be in the cold December air.
Soon she would have her own jacket, her gloves, her boots with the fleece lining so warm she could wear them without socks most of the time. Her toes tingled in anticipation.
She wrapped herself in the blanket Deputy Davis had lent her, figuring she could give it back at her house, then called goodbyes and thank-yous to the deputies and headed for the door.
“Wait.” Chris slipped his hand beneath her elbow. “Let me go first to make sure no one is in the parking lot who shouldn’t be there.”
Of course. Those men could be lurking with their snowmobile and guns.
Lauren nodded and waited for Chris and the sheriff to exit the building first.
The door opened on a blast of frigid wind. No more snow fell. The sky had cleared, promising a brilliant sunrise in an hour. That meant colder weather.
Did you find shelter, Ryan?
She doubted they would find him at his mother’s. Once his actions had endangered Lauren, he wouldn’t do the same to Donna. He would steer clear of those he knew. But where? Though she knew she would have to tell Chris if she thought of other locations or be accused of—and even prosecuted for—obstruction of justice, or something like that, Lauren wanted to know where her brother had gone to hide, to find warmth and protection. She held no faith that US marshals, unless they had access to search-and-rescue dogs, could find Ryan in the north woods. Maybe if they gathered a host of local law enforcement. She didn’t think so though. Ryan and she had grown up around there until Lauren’s mother left and their father wanted a change of scenery, a migration south.
Of course he went south to be near the border and the coast. It made his activities easier.
Criminal activities.
Chris waved to her from his SUV and she stepped into the parking lot.
“Wait,” he called. “I’ll come to you.”
Seeing the glaze of black ice shining in the lights, she was happy to wait, hugging the rough blanket closer. Across from her, Chris started his vehicle and the sheriff did the same to his. Headlights arced across the ice and piled snow as Chris pulled from his space and turned the Jeep so the passenger-side door would face Lauren. In the moments it took him to reach her, she began a list of what she needed from her house. Her cell phone and laptop, for sure. Boots, coat, gloves, most definitely. Comfortable clothes like jeans and sweaters, pajamas and slippers. She would grab a few books too. She didn’t know when she would be able to return. Probably not until Ryan was caught. And certainly not until the men who had chased her and Chris were caught.
The SUV pulled up beside her and Chris leaned across to open the door. She climbed in and yanked the door closed.
“Fasten your seat belt,” Chris said.
“Yes, Mom.”
He waited for her to click the buckle, then headed out of the lot and onto the road. The sky was still dark this time of year this far north. Chris drove with concentration. Though the road had been plowed, patches of ice were always a hazard. Even the best drivers could spin out on black ice if they drove too fast.
But the silence in the Jeep was uncomfortably dense. Lauren squirmed in her seat. She adjusted, then readjusted, the heater vents in front of her. She wished Chris would turn on the radio for a news or weather report, then thought how her brother might be in that news and was glad the radio remained off.
The silence, save for the roar of the powerful engine and whoosh of wind whipping past the windows, grew too uncomfortable within the first mile and a half.
“So did you get permission to babysit me?” Lauren blurted.
“If you want to call it that. You’re a witness. Part of my job is to protect witnesses.”
Lauren knew that. When he’d told her he was applying to become a deputy US marshal, she had looked up their duties—and known Chris and she had no future.
And maybe that was for the best. He had made a major decision without talking to her about it first. He had announced his decision; he hadn’t asked her opinion about it.
Because he knew she would say no way?
That hurt still. She hadn’t known it did until he’d collapsed on her deck the previous night.
She drew in a deep breath to ease the tightness around her ribs—
“I smell smoke.”
Chris sniffed. “It’s cold out. Everyone around here uses wood-burning stoves or fireplaces.”
“It’s too strong for that.” The tightness in her middle turned to nausea. She wanted to demand Chris drive faster but didn’t dare. He might, which wasn’t safe.
Ahead of them, she saw Davis lower his window, then lean forward as though talking. A radio? He must smell the smoke, as well. He must know this was too heavy, too intense.
No, no, no, it wasn’t what she feared. Fires happened to other people. She was too careful.
“How far?” She could barely squeeze out the two words through a constricted throat.
“A mile.”
A mile and the smoke was worse. Half a mile and they could see it against the lightening sky.
“I’m going to be sick.” Lauren spoke the words so softly Chris must not hav
e heard her, for he kept driving. A quarter mile. Two hundred yards. A hundred.
Davis pulled over to the side of the road where the monstrous truck had waited to pounce on them the night before. He lowered his window again to wave them over.
“Don’t stop,” Lauren cried. “I have to see.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Chris said.
He drove past the end of her driveway. Despite its length, that was close enough for Lauren to catch a glimpse of orange fire blazing against the still-blackened western horizon at the far end of the tree-lined lane.
* * *
Lauren’s cry filled the cabin of the Jeep like an explosion. Before Chris realized what she intended, she had released the buckle on her seat belt and flung open the door.
“Don’t—” Chris spoke to empty air.
Lauren plowed through the layer of new-fallen snow on her driveway, arms out for balance, legs pumping.
Chris flung himself from his seat and raced after her. “Lauren, wait.”
Though his voice rang loudly enough to be heard above the roar of the fire, she seemed not to hear him. The blanket slipped from her shoulders, and still she continued toward the fire.
“Is she nuts?” Davis joined Chris in pursuit, gaining ground with his booted feet. “Miss Wexler, stop. There could be someone—”
The drive was pristine. Not so much as a paw print marred the smooth white surface in the shelter from wind with woods on either side.
“Miss Wexler,” Davis tried again.
“Lauren, stop.” Chris didn’t know how she managed to move so fast in moccasins. He slipped and slid and nearly lost his balance despite his treaded boots.
Davis reached her first. “Stop.” He grasped her upper arm.
She turned on him, fist raised, then realized who held her and let her arm fall. “I have to get there. It’s my house. My beautiful, private—”
From a dozen feet away, Chris caught the sob in her breaking voice. His heart twisted. She loved that house. It was the closest thing she possessed to a connection to her mother, having inherited it from her grandmother. She had spent every summer of her life there.
Chris caught up with Lauren and the sheriff. He had to employ all his willpower not to wrap his arms around her and hold her close. She needed comforting, yet he no longer had a right to give her that human contact, that shoulder to cry on.
“I’m sorry.” Those words were inadequate and all Chris could think to say.
Lauren raised her head, and tears flowed down her face. “I suppose you think I deserve this.”
Chris flinched as though her raised fist of a moment ago had reached its mark in his gut. “Do you really think that little of me you’d believe I would wish this on anyone, especially you?”
“I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. I—I’m... Why would anyone do this to me?” She glanced from Chris to Davis and back to Chris.
“To hide any evidence they might have left behind,” Chris said. “Our guys couldn’t get here any quicker.”
“We got those two bullets out of some woodwork,” Davis said, “but that’s all we were equipped to handle.”
“At least there’s that.” Chris looked to the road at the sound of sirens. “Fire?”
“It’s a volunteer force, but they’re pretty efficient.” Davis headed back toward his SUV. “We need to get out of their way.”
“Why bother with a fire truck?” Lauren wiped her hands on her face. “There’s nothing left to save.”
“They need to make sure it doesn’t spread to the woods,” Davis said.
“Of course they do.” Lauren started to follow Davis toward the road.
Chris fell into step beside her. “I wish I could have stopped this from happening, Lauren.”
“Thank you.” She kept her face turned away from him.
“Me saying sorry doesn’t help, does it?”
She didn’t respond.
“Let’s get you back into the Jeep and warm.”
He wanted to get her away altogether. Who knew if the men lurked in the trees or not. He needed to call his office. They would have to send a different kind of team, an arson team.
The Jeep was still running, doors open, heat spilling into the morning. Not looking at him, Lauren climbed into the passenger seat and pulled the door closed. Chris rounded the vehicle and grabbed his phone from the console, then closed the driver’s-side door. He thought Lauren might protest him shutting her into the vehicle and making a call out of her hearing, but she sat with her head down and her hands over her face.
His chest, his arms, his being ached to hold her, to remind her those were just things, that memories were what mattered, what lasted.
If he let himself, he could conjure up a hundred or more memories of visiting that house, visiting her after they met on the lakeshore, where his parents had owned a summer cottage before his father’s death. Barbecuing on sultry summer nights, reading together or playing board games on cold rainy days. His mom and sister had always been there, discreet chaperones. Sometimes his dad had been able to join them and the games had grown livelier, the gatherings boisterous.
The fire trucks screamed past him. Once they reached the house and the morning grew quiet enough for Chris to hear himself think, he made his call. Then he joined the sheriff. He and Lauren needed to be going, but Chris doubted ten minutes for her to grieve alone wouldn’t make much difference, and talking with Davis was preferable to Chris’s own painful memories.
“Is she all right?” Davis asked.
Chris refrained from snapping, “What do you think?” and instead shook his head. “This place was special to her.”
“I thought you two knew each other before last night.” Davis arched one brow.
“Just a little. We were going to get married five years ago.”
“I wasn’t expecting that one.” Davis looked like he wanted to say more, but was too polite to ask.
“My father was killed in the line of duty and I changed my career to the Marshals Service. End of engagement. End of story.”
“Some people can’t take the stress of their spouse being in danger.” Davis peered down the driveway. “If those men after you two went this far, they must know their DNA is in the system.”
“It’s gone now.” Chris glanced toward the Jeep. “I should get going. I need to check out every lead on the escaped prisoner’s whereabouts I can.”
“I’ll keep you informed on what we find here.” Davis scrubbed his hands over his face. “Usually the worst thing that goes down here is drunken teenagers causing trouble.”
“This isn’t in my usual day’s work either.” Chris shook hands with the sheriff, then jogged back to the Jeep.
Lauren didn’t so much as glance his way when he swung into his seat and released the parking brake.
“Where does Ryan’s mother live?” he asked.
“You got the address from your office, didn’t you?” Her voice was muffled behind her hands.
“I have an address. You can tell me how to get there.”
For a response, she picked up his cell phone. “Unlock your phone and I’ll put it into your map app.”
“GPS is terrible here.” Despite his claim, Chris held out his hand to unlock his phone with his fingerprint.
Lauren located a GPS map and inputted the address. From the corner of his eye, he noted it was the right one. Not that he expected her to lead him astray.
Which was a little odd. He should have expected her to misdirect him given the opportunity. Then again, he had taken ten minutes to realize she could drive off with his Jeep.
Fatigue or growing trust? He wasn’t ready to surrender to the former and still doubted the latter was possible.
“Drive south fifteen miles,” the bland female voice directed from his phone’s speaker.
All the while, Lauren said nothing. She had stopped crying for the most part. With her head against the headrest and her eyes closed, a sporadic tear rolled down her cheek, catching the glow of the rising sun, the flash of a headlight still on. Chris sought for the right words to say to comfort her, to give her hope. Nothing came to him but senseless clichés: It was just wood and glass. Things are replaceable. Thank the Lord you weren’t inside.
She knew that. To her, however, the house was more than wood and glass. It was something she had possessed too little of in her life—security, stability, family history she wasn’t ashamed of.
Appropriate words failing Chris, he thought up any words, ordinary small talk, anything to break the silence.
“Lots of people will be glad of a white Christmas.” He tossed out the first volley.
She remained unresponsive for so long he thought she was going to maintain her stillness. Then she raised her head and opened her eyes, the irises golden with their sheen of tears. “The snow is pretty.”
“Do you still cross-country ski?”
“I do.”
“I didn’t see any skis in the garage.”
“I left them in Grand Rapids. I was alone this trip and don’t like to ski by myself when this area is so empty this time of year.”
“Smart.”
With whom did she ski the other times?
He couldn’t ask. It was none of his business. But the pang of envy for her skiing partner took him by surprise.
Had she found someone else? He wouldn’t be surprised. She was smart and pretty and had always been great company.
“Do you ski with a group?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking.
“Your turn’s coming up in another half mile.”
Perilous Christmas Reunion Page 8
