by Alice Sharpe
“But his main power base is here. I just want you to have a life where you’re not always looking over your shoulder.”
“I know, Whip. But remember after the first hit man, when you asked me how they found me? I’ve been thinking about it. There was this one US Marshal, name of Ron Ballard, a real puffed-up jerk who threw his weight around whenever he got the chance. About a week before everything hit the fan, Ballard showed up where I worked, which was pretty odd in and of itself. He made a point of making sure I noticed his new tricked-out truck. A week later, Holton’s guy tried to kill me.”
“So you think this Ballard guy sold you out?”
“It sounds kind of flimsy when I say it out loud, but yeah, he might have. At least four of Holton’s men have been involved in trying to get rid of me. Doesn’t that sound like overkill? Maybe I know something I don’t realize I know.”
“Like what?”
“Like, well, I don’t know.”
Whip sighed. “Keep thinking. It’ll come to you. Meanwhile, I’ll see what I can find out about that guy you mentioned, what’s his name, Ballard?”
“Yeah, but don’t put yourself in jeopardy.”
“I won’t. You’re still headed to Florida?”
“Yeah. From there I’ll make arrangements to leave the country,”
“Good.”
The room felt empty after he hung up. Adam pocketed the phone and got to his feet, then made himself stretch his arms over his head and then bend over and touch his toes. To his relief, the knife wound didn’t restrict his movements too much. As far as the pain went, he’d just have to ignore it. Every second in this house put Doc Fisher and his wife in jeopardy and increased the possibility Holton’s men were getting closer.
His growling stomach reminded him it was time to eat something and then figure out how to secure another vehicle to continue their trek. Tomorrow by this time, Chelsea would be safe. That was all that mattered.
Chapter Seven
“I can’t believe you made all of this out of what was in our kitchen,” Val Fisher said as she nibbled on a vinaigrette salad with pomegranate seeds and toasted cashews.
“Your fridge was full of yummy things,” Chelsea said.
“You can thank our daughter, Morgan, for that. Whenever she visits, she cooks up a storm. Can you imagine preferring to cook over eating at one of the casinos?”
“Yes,” Chelsea said, and Val and Doc both laughed.
Chelsea glanced over at Adam, who held himself carefully. It was going to be up to her to help him, a thought that strangely pleased her. She’d hated being wounded and afraid. For some reason, both taking control of the situation in that alley and then fooling around in a kitchen had given her a glimpse of the person she must really be.
Adam seemed to sense her scrutiny, for he looked up and smiled.
“You were deep in thought,” she said.
He put down his fork. “I’m sorry to bring this delicious meal down a notch, but I need to go buy a different car so we can get out of here. If those guys find the Jeep, they’ll put two and two together and concentrate on Spur.” He looked at Val and said, “We really appreciate your hospitality but the sooner we leave, the better off for everyone.”
“I already thought of that,” Val said, “Our son is in the army. You can borrow his truck.”
“No,” Adam told her. “I don’t want anything traceable to this family.”
“Okay then,” she continued, apparently undaunted. “Dorrie Simpson is selling her late uncle’s truck. What about that?”
“It’s kind of old,” Doc Fisher said.
“Old is fine as long as it’s got enough miles left in it to get to Florida,” Adam said.
“Florida?” Chelsea squeaked. This was the first she’d heard of going to Florida. On the other hand, maybe Florida was a red herring, just a destination to appease curiosity. Why hadn’t she stopped to wonder about where they were ultimately going before this?
“He hardly drove the thing the last five years,” Val said, pushing herself away from the table. “I’ll just check to make sure it’s still for sale.” She grabbed the cordless phone off the drain board and punched in a number.
Doc Fisher cleared his throat as he met Chelsea’s gaze. “While she does that, how about you humor an old semiretired doctor and let me give you a once-over, young lady?”
“That’s not necessary,” she said.
“It pays to be cautious after any head injury, let alone a helicopter crash,” he insisted. “And I bet both of you would like a shower and some clean clothes before you head out.”
“I don’t have any other clothes,” Chelsea admitted.
Val hung up the phone. “The truck is still for sale. And Chelsea, you’re about the same size as our Morgan and I know she left all sorts of things in her bedroom after she got her own place. There’ll be something in there you can have. In fact, help yourself to anything you want. She’s made it pretty clear whatever she left here isn’t important to her anymore.”
“Thank you,” Chelsea said. “That’s very generous.”
“Let’s go,” Doc said, getting up from the table.
Chelsea met Adam’s gaze. He smiled and she shrugged. He’d finally gotten his way—she was going to see a doctor.
* * *
IT WAS AFTER six o’clock by the time the truck was legally Adam’s and they’d loaded it with their gear. Chelsea looked clean and refreshed in a blue T-shirt and jeans, her long hair braided down her back. They said a grateful goodbye to the Fishers, who were off to the local casino.
“What did Doc say about your head?” Adam asked as his gaze darted down every side street, eyes peeled for a glimpse of a dark blue van with three men inside.
She tore her gaze from his fishing hat and sunglasses, both donated by Doc for the purpose of disguise. The bleached hair that had been Adam’s camouflage before was now hidden. “He says he sees no sign of a concussion.”
“That’s good news,” he said.
“He sure asked a lot of questions, though,” she added.
“Like what?”
“Oh, you know. Was I bleeding anywhere, cramping, in pain, did my back hurt...all sorts of stuff.”
“Well, he’s a doctor,” Adam said.
“True.” She was quiet a second, then added, “You told the Fishers you needed a vehicle that could get us to Florida. Why are we going to Florida?”
This was a conversation he’d hoped to avoid until they were at her brother’s house. “I have to leave the country for a while,” he finally said. “Florida’s a good launching spot.”
“But I don’t have any ID, to say nothing of a passport,” she mused. “How am I going to travel outside the country?”
“We’ll talk about that later,” he said.
“How about we talk about it now? I’m beginning to read you like a book, Adam Parish. When you get all tense like this, I know you’re spending more time thinking about what not to say than what to say.”
He shot her a quick glance. “Okay then, I’ll be blunt. You’re not leaving the country, at least not with me. You need to get your memory back, you need to get well. I’m taking you somewhere safe. It’s what you wanted this morning. Despite my misgivings, it was a good idea then and it’s a good idea now.”
“I thought I informed you I’d had a change of heart, that I have signed on as your designated sidekick.”
He smiled. “You are that in more ways than you know, Chelsea. But today when those goons grabbed me, all I could think of was you. I’ll be honest. It scared the hell out of me.”
“Hmm...” she said. “So where are you going to park me?”
“Your brother’s place.”
“You do recall I don’t remember having a brother, don’t you?” she said.
“That I do. But Bill and Jan are both
survivalists.”
“So you figure they’ll know how to protect me?”
“I know they will. As much as I want to be the one who keeps you safe, I can’t right now, not when I’m on the run.”
“How about your family?” she asked. “Can’t they help you?”
“I’m an only kid and my folks are both dead,” he said.
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
He checked the rearview mirror, his nerves on edge as he watched for a dark van to pull up behind them.
“How did they die?” she asked.
“What?”
“Your folks. They can’t have been that old. What happened to them?”
“My mother was killed during a break-in,” he told her after a lengthy pause. “She taught high school, one of those dedicated teachers everybody loves. She’d taken a personal day off work for a meeting with my father’s boss, something we found out after her murder. The car keys were in her hand when I found her—”
“You found her?”
He nodded. “Anyway, someone had broken the glass in the back door. I guess she surprised them by being home instead of at the school. And, well, he shot her.”
“Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry,” Chelsea said softly. “How terrible for you. Was it a burglar?”
“The house was torn apart and Dad said a few minor things were missing. He figured Mom surprised the culprit when she walked into the room. A neighbor reported seeing a white male in blue jeans and a dark hoodie. That didn’t narrow the field much. Despite the fact Dad was a cop, he was, of course, top suspect on the list. The department said he messed up the house to make it look like an intruder. Remember these people were Dad’s colleagues. Dad felt the police department’s scrutiny of him blinded them to broadening their investigation.”
“The poor guy,” Chelsea said.
“I know. See, the thing is that mysterious appointment with the chief of police.”
“Any idea what it was about?”
“None, but the obvious conclusion everyone reached was that she was going to ask for help getting Dad’s drinking under control.”
“It was that bad?”
“Yeah, it was. It didn’t help that Mom was involved in some situation at the school where one of her students ran off with some guy. The kid’s parents had just given up ever getting through to the girl but Mom started asking questions, trying to find her and get her back in school. Dad demanded Mom stop ‘poking her nose where it didn’t belong.’ She refused, they argued, he drank and yelled...it was pretty awful.”
“Do you think your dad did it?”
He stared at her a second, then looked back out the window and sighed. “The drinking got worse after her death. Sometimes he’d start reliving the investigation, running through the leads that had led nowhere, the disappointments and all, then he’d segue into the good old times. Once he told me that life was just a string of choices and the trick was to be able to live with the ones you make. The comment didn’t seem relevant at the time, but he died that night from a barbiturate overdose. The coroner said it was accidental, but I’ve always wondered if he said that to protect Dad’s insurance claim—for me, you know—and if the truth was Dad just couldn’t face his guilt another day.”
“That’s so sad, Adam. I’m sorry.”
He took a deep breath. “I was about eighteen by then. It was hard...living in that house alone.”
“You stayed there?”
“I had nowhere else to go. My dad’s best friend and former partner, a guy named Whip Haskins, helped me out.” Adam smiled at the memories. “We repainted every square inch of the place, rebuilt the attic stairs, wallpapered, installed appliances—you name it, we did it. It wasn’t until later that I realized all that work kept me grounded. Anyway, long story short, I finally sold the place to a friend during the Holton trial, when I knew I was going to have to cut my losses and leave Arizona forever.”
“I wish I’d known you then,” she said softly.
“No, you don’t. I was kind of a mess. Thought I had to make a point and become a cop, but Dad’s old workplace was poisonous for me. Then I went into bodyguarding and you know how well that turned out.”
“I still wish I’d known you.”
He stared at her a second. No matter that her memory wasn’t intact, the human being she was deep inside was exactly the same as ever: kind, loving, caring. Didn’t this mean that the essence of her character was set in stone and couldn’t one stretch that into believing that every feeling that had existed in her heart might still be rekindled?
Like love for him? Like forgiving him?
Adam shifted his weight in an attempt to get comfortable. His side throbbed and moving seemed to be getting harder rather than easier as he stiffened up.
“I know how to drive,” Chelsea reminded him.
He glanced at her and recalled their exit from Black Boulder. “I know you do.”
“Why don’t you stretch out in the back and let me take over? Are we driving straight through to my brother’s place?”
He’d expected more of an argument from her and in some perverted way was now disappointed she hadn’t fought harder to stick by his side. Man, he was a mess, one minute wanting her safe and sound and tucked away like the jewel she was, and the next wanting her by his side, where he could talk to her, look at her, troubleshoot any problem she might have although he understood he was the root cause of every current issue that plagued her.
“There’s a state park about two hours from here. It’ll be getting dark by then and it would probably be better to stop there for the night rather than risk being out on the road in a vehicle we know so little about.”
“Doc told me to remind you to fill the prescription he gave you,” Chelsea said. “According to the road signs, there’s a town up ahead. We can stop at a pharmacy.”
* * *
THE PHARMACY THEY found was homey and cute. Chelsea went in alone with a wad of Adam’s cash. By the time she came out twenty minutes later, she had his prescription and a Nevada Spurs sports hat.
As she walked to the car, she caught sight of him sitting with his head back and his eyes closed. He’d told her their relationship was friendly and no more, but her gut told her he wasn’t being entirely honest. If he currently appealed to every female gene in her body, and under these circumstances to boot, how could he not have appealed to her before?
More likely, she thought, they’d been lovers at one time, maybe estranged now. Maybe she was more in love with him than he was with her. Maybe he’d been running away from her. Egad, was she a stalker? Is that why she’d been flying in a helicopter to see him? But wait a sec, how did she know she’d been flying to see him and not flying to flee him? How did she know he didn’t somehow blow up the chopper and kill those two men?
She’d gone blindly back to accepting his version of everything and now he’d made the arbitrary decision to take her to her brother’s house and she’d agreed.
“There’s a puddle under the truck,” she said as she slid in next to him. “I don’t see a blue van, though, so I guess if they followed us they’re keeping their distance.”
He got out of the truck, took a look under the hood and got back in. “I think our water pump has a problem.”
“That’s not good, is it?”
“No. We’d better find a gas station.”
“Do you think they’re behind us?” she asked as they drove.
He took off Doc’s fishing hat and pulled on the Spurs cap. “Nice. Thanks. As for whether or not they are following us, well, who knows? It’s possible. Maybe they’ll show up when we make camp.”
“Something to look forward to,” she muttered.
At the gas station they found out the water pump was failing and no, their mechanic wasn’t working, nor did they have the part, anyway. Adam explained they would have t
o settle for topping up the radiator and buying a couple of gallons of water to stow in the back should it happen again. He took his first pill, then they were back on the road, hoping for the best.
Chelsea sat on her hands and stared out her window, scared about the possibility of a nighttime attack, and unsure if she wanted to stay with Adam or leave. All the strength and resolve she’d summoned to help her with the day now ebbed as the sun eked its way toward the horizon.
As the mountain terrain gave way to drier, desertlike conditions, the sky grew darker. They finally rolled into a sparsely occupied park, where they chose a spot, filled out a form, tucked a few dollars into an envelope and parked. They rolled the sleeping bags out in the back of the truck, ate without appetite, used the facilities and stopped to admire the plethora of stars in the night sky.
“Kind of nice to be out from under all those trees,” Adam said after smothering a yawn.
She was quiet for a few moments and then she spoke. “Adam, this morning you said we needed to talk before I got on a bus and left. You said there were things I needed to know. What things?”
He stared at her.
“You’re getting tense again,” she said.
“I know I am. Okay, I have a deal to make with you. I’ll tell you everything you want to know tomorrow when we’re at Bill’s house.”
“Is my life so awful you need reinforcements? What am I, a serial killer?”
“No, no,” he said, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead. “The truth is you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, inside and out, through and through. But you’re right, I do need reinforcements. Bill grew up with you. He’ll have memories of you I don’t have and hopefully pictures and letters and things that will help you rediscover yourself.”
She thought for a second. “Okay, I’ll wait until tomorrow but there’s a condition.”
“And what’s that?” he asked.
“Kiss me.”
The silence between them stretched on as the chirping of crickets filled her ears. He finally cupped her face and kissed her forehead.
