Running Scared

by Linda Ladd

  “That serves him right for killin’ poor Pete and tryin’ to take Joey away from you. Hurry up, Miss Kate, before the rest of ‘em come back!"

  Once she gained the upper room, Kate slammed down the trapdoor and threw the bolt tight, hoping Dmitri never saw the light of day again. She hoped he rotted down there for the rest of his life.

  “Where are they, Millie Mae?” she asked, quickly strapping Joey's sling across her chest. “Are any of them down at the trailer?"

  “No, they're all out huntin’ you. Don't know exactly where but they're lookin’ everywhere. I think I know how you can get away if you run like the wind."

  Kate made sure Joey was secure, then weighed Dmitri's gun in her hand. It felt heavy and unnatural. She'd never fired a gun with a silencer but she'd use it if anyone else tried to get her. She wanted to use it, still felt unclean from Dmitri's hands on her body.

  “There, see that fence row that runs off down behind our trailer house. It'll lead you to the river, and if you can get ‘cross it before they see you, you can get away. Run, run, before the dogs pick up your scent!"

  Kate took off running, down through the tall weeds along the fence posts, heading straight for the most tangled part of the undergrowth. She held tightly to Joey as she flew along but nearly panicked when she saw an old wire fence crossing through the trees and blocking her flight. She stopped and held it down with her good hand while she climbed over, not wanting to risk falling with Joey in her arms. She was looking behind her now, and thank God, she didn't see anyone. But she did hear the dogs. Close, too close. She could hear the men yelling back and forth at each other.

  Clutching the gun and Joey, she ran as fast as she could, zigzagging in and out of trees in case they were sighting in on her with their rifles, all the while knowing she had very little chance to escape. The other Russians would kill her if they caught her this time, especially after what she'd done to Dmitri. He might even be dead; the blow on the head had been brutal. Even with a gun, she'd have no chance against so many armed men. The thought sent her ahead faster, her heart thudding like a jackhammer, her breath heaving in and out and burning her lungs. Joey was crying now, struggling in the sling, but she didn't stop, didn't slow down, and barely caught herself from falling when she suddenly burst out of the tangled bushes at the very edge of a cliff overlooking Current River. A sheer, rocky drop-off.

  She turned around and heard men coming in the woods behind her, converging on her. Panic stricken, she thought only that she had to get away from them. She stuck the gun in her skirt pocket and started down the rocks of the bluff, grabbing hold of the roots of a mimosa sapling growing out over the edge. She kept herself as flat against the side as she could, inching down slowly, thinking she had to get across the river again to thwart the tracking dogs. It was either that or hand Joey over to them and die.

  She got about five feet down from the top when her toe slipped off the narrow ledge where she'd gained a foothold. The vine she was holding ripped out of the ground, and she began to slide. She twisted as much as she could so that she'd go down on her back, clutching Joey against her with one arm, trying to grab something with her other hand. She cried out as the jagged edges of the granite cut into her back like sharp razor blades. Her weight carried her faster and faster until she was shooting toward the water below in a raining torrent of dirt and rocks. She struggled to protect Joey, flailing with her arm to stop herself as she reached the bottom and slid out onto the narrow sandbar. The back of her head cracked down hard atop a flat rock at the base of the cliff. White light imploded behind her eyes and everything faded to black.

  Fifteen

  KATE HEARD A NOISE, faint, faraway, beyond her ability to reason. She felt trapped on the bottom of a swimming pool, tons of murky water holding her down. She couldn't seem to breathe, couldn't see, couldn't move her limbs. Sheer helplessness plunged her into panic and she flailed upward out of the darkness, spurred by an acute sense of danger.

  Jerking up her head she paid an immediate price as a concrete softball crashed around inside her skull. Groaning, disoriented, she focused bleary eyes and realized she lay on her stomach on a narrow cot. The room around her was nearly dark, only a smoky oil lantern flickering on a nearby table. She blinked hard, forcing down fear rising in a vile taste at the back of her throat.

  Groggily she tried to remember what had happened, where she was, until suddenly the whole nightmare crashed down on her like a hurricane wave. The little girl, Millie Mae, had hidden her in a root cellar, and then the man named Dmitri had come. She shivered all over, reliving the feel of his hands touching her bare flesh. But she'd gotten away from him, had run away with Joey. Oh, God, where was Joey? Only then did she pull herself together enough to recognize the sound that had roused her, that still came from somewhere in the darkness, the frightened cries of her baby.

  “Joey, Joey!” She lunged up, terrified, and that's when she realized her wrists were bound to the bed. She really got hysterical then, jerking her arms, the stone softball wreaking havoc inside her head.

  “Stop yelling."

  The voice came out of the dark, masculine, deeply pitched, the demand uttered quietly. Oh, God, no, Dmitri had her again, had her tied up and helpless. He wouldn't be merciful this time, wouldn't give her options, not after what she'd done to him. Frantically she searched for him but it was too dark; she couldn't see anything but she could hear Joey crying, and she sobbed, pulling desperately at the ropes. Her body tensed when a tall figure loomed out of the shadows, and she braced herself to suffer Dmitri's wrath. But it wasn't the Russian killer who stepped into the light. Paralyzed with horror, she gaped at the big bearded man who'd accosted her in the woods, and oh God, oh God, he had Joey. Joey was screaming and squirming in his arms.

  “Don't hurt him, please, please—” Kate choked on the words and couldn't continue, helplessness overwhelming her. She was at his mercy, and so was Joey. She went rigid, straining back against the wall behind her, as the old man squatted down very close beside the cot. Up close he looked even more terrifying, his camouflage shirt and pants covered with mud and rusty stains that looked like blood. His eyes shone sky blue in the flickering light.

  “Look, lady, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to hurt your baby so you can relax. Jerking around like that isn't going to help that head wound."

  Relax? Tied to a cot at his mercy? The man was crazy. The Joneses had already told her that, so Kate tried to avoid eye contact with him. Hadn't she read that somewhere? Never lock eyes with a maniac, or had that been growling, rabid dogs? She kept her eyes riveted on Joey who was waving his arms and kicking vigorously in baby rage. She had to stay calm, had to keep her head. God only knew what this wild man wanted with her. How did she get here? What did he want with her? Nausea skittered inside her belly, making her stomach lurch and roll. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a couple of deep breaths, desperate to calm herself.

  “Why did you tie me up?” she croaked out in a raspy voice so filled with fear she could hear it herself. Her lips were dry, painfully cracked. She moistened them and tasted blood but forced herself to lie still when every nerve and fiber wanted to pull hysterically against the ropes, to grab Joey out of his filthy hands, and run for her life.

  “I was afraid you'd take off if you woke up before I got back."

  Oh God, oh God, Kate thought, trying to control the way her chest was bucking. She was shaking, limbs trembling, and she'd never in her life felt so vulnerable. Not even in the root cellar with Dmitri. This man, this horrible-looking, grotesque, filthy creature had tied her up, had her baby. Oh, God, he could make her do whatever he wanted. She nearly went to pieces but Joey's cries ended in pitiful little whimpers, and Kate willed herself, steeled herself to remain in control. Stop, stop and think, think about Joey. He said he wasn't going to hurt them. He had no reason to lie. Cooperate, she told herself, do whatever he says. He didn't kill her the first time in the woods; he let her go then, didn't he? Okay, okay, tak
e a breath, act unafraid, find out what he wants.

  Kate opened her eyes and stared at the big hunting knife in his right hand. All the gumption she'd scraped together, all her bravado crumbled into dust. “Please, please don't—"

  “If you promise not to do anything stupid, I'll cut you loose."

  Kate was so relieved her entire body went limp. She nodded mutely but her breath caught as he thrust the sharp blade under the rope on her right wrist. One sharp jerk and her arm was free. When he cut the other, she scooted back against the wall as far away from him as she could get.

  Never taking her eyes off him, she chafed her aching wrists and tried to ignore the pounding in her temples. She raised her fingertips to the back of her skull and found a gauze bandage wrapped around her head.

  “You cracked it pretty good,” her bearded captor remarked. “Lost a hell of a lot of blood before I could get you here. You're gonna feel weak."

  Kate looked down at herself. Her dress had turned crimson and clung damply to her skin. She felt woozy as if she might faint. No, she couldn't, she couldn't do that. She swallowed down an enormous lump lodged in her throat and gathered all the courage she had left.

  “Please give me back my baby, please."

  Kate waited breathlessly, eyes locked on his filthy face, terrified he'd refuse and hold Joey as a bargaining chip to force her to his bidding. What in God's name did he want with her? Did he want a wife, or some kind of sex slave? Heaven help her, she'd read about men like him, men who lived alone in the woods and did godawful things to people they captured. Even Millie Mae's big, lethal hillbilly brothers thought he was crazy.

  The man said nothing, merely handed Joey over. Kate snatched the unhappy baby against her breast, her heart thumping wildly, holding Joey so tightly that he began to cry again. She laid him on the bed, opening the blanket and examining him for cuts or bruises. He seemed fine. He had on a cloth diaper now, made out of a thin white dishtowel held together with safety pins.

  Shocked to find he'd been changed, she enfolded him in the blanket and rocked him, relieved he was safe in her arms. Still wary of the old man's motives, she watched him scrape up a straight chair close beside the bed. He spun it around backward and straddled it. Then they stared at each other, long and hard, until Kate dropped her gaze from his penetrating pale eyes.

  “Who are those guys and why are they after you?"

  His words were soft, nonthreatening. He had a quiet way about him, the way he spoke, the way he moved. Deliberate, watchful. He spoke with correct English and no recognizable accent. Neither Russian, nor the hillbilly twang of the Joneses. He observed her steadily without expression. She wondered if she should tell him the truth, afraid if she did, he might believe her the criminal everyone else seemed to think.

  “How do you know about them?” she asked fearfully.

  “I make it my business to know what's going on in my woods."

  Kate examined his face but couldn't see much of it. The beard was long and wiry, very dark, nearly black. Crinkles at the corners of his eyes branded him as an older man, but maybe not as old as she'd first thought. He was big, even bigger than Matty Jones; she'd guess he stood at least six foot five. And he was strong, frightening to look at, especially so near. No wonder Matty and Little John and the others stayed clear of his side of the river. But Dmitri and his men wouldn't be afraid of him; they'd come after her, no matter where she was or who she was with.

  “You're trying to decide if you can trust me, I guess,” he said.

  “I don't trust anybody anymore."

  “I have no reason to harm you."

  “Neither do they but that doesn't stop them from shooting at me."

  Kate watched him cautiously. It suddenly occurred to her, with a sinking feeling, that he could be one of them. What if this was a trick? Maybe Dmitri was in the next room, waiting for this man to interrogate her before he killed her. But why would they do that? If this weirdo guy was in with the Russians, he could have shot her and taken Joey back to them.

  “I'm not one of them,” he said, as if reading her mind.

  Startled she stared at him a moment, not sure what to think. “I can't trust anybody,” she repeated.

  “I understand."

  They sat in silence for a few deeply uncomfortable moments. Kate couldn't hear any sound, neither inside nor outside the room.

  “Where am I?"

  “My place.” He paused, and Kate noticed he had a small crescent-shaped scar underneath his left eye, barely detectable. “Don't worry, they won't find you here. Not for awhile anyway."

  “What time is it? How can it be so dark?” She shook her head, trying to think through the jackhammer-thudding headache. “How did I get here?"

  “I carried you over my shoulder. You took quite a blow to the head. You're a lot tougher than you look, lady. I've been watching out for you and when I saw you go down, I got to you before they did. Headache?"

  Kate nodded, unable to grasp what he was saying. “Watching me? Why? Why did you bring me here when you let me go the first time?"

  Something moved inside his eyes, so fleeting she barely caught it. He looked down at Joey who was quiet now, snuffling and sucking on his pacifier. “You were outnumbered. Thought I better even up the odds some."

  Kate didn't know what to say. The civilized conversation was an encouraging sign, but Ted Bundy had been a hell of a good conversationalist, too. Still, she felt a little less frantic. She was alive after all. She wasn't in the hands of Dmitri and his cold-blooded killers. This guy had let her go once and he might again. She still had a chance. If she could convince this strange man to take her downriver to Van Buren, she just might make it. One thing she did know. He wasn't the Neanderthal monster grunting monosyllables that he looked like.

  “Who are you?” she asked, certain he wouldn't tell her.

  At first he hesitated as if he didn't want to answer, then said, “Name's Booker.” He held out his hand, the back of which was covered with black grease, the kind soldiers wore to hide their skin at night. Thinking the whole encounter too incredible for words, she tentatively accepted his handshake, not because she wanted to, but because she was afraid not to.

  “I'm Kate Reed.” She hesitated a few seconds, then decided to tell him the truth. “Those men think I kidnapped Joey out of a hospital in St. Louis."

  Kate waited. When he didn't answer, her muscles began to knot up. What if he decided to turn her in to the authorities?

  “Did you?"

  “No, of course not! I don't know what happened. That's what they're saying on the radio.” Her voice quavered as raw emotions bubbled up. “I don't know what's going on, I swear to God. We adopted him. My husband handled everything but it was all completely legal. We signed papers, had them drawn up in the courts. I thought everything was all right, I swear I did. Then these terrible men with guns and Russian accents burst into our house yesterday morning. I got away and hid in the woods but they shot Michael. They killed him."

  “Michael's your husband?"

  She nodded, catching her trembling bottom lip with her teeth. “They shot him in the head. I saw it. That's when I ran for my life, when I saw you in the woods."

  Kate realized tears were streaming down her face. She hadn't had time to mourn Michael yet. Even now her tears weren't just for him but for everything that had come crashing down around her, her marriage, the love they'd shared. All her dreams of being together, having a family, everything they'd been working so hard for, was gone. And she was shaken and emotional because she'd barely escaped the ghastly ordeal with Dmitri, and she was exhausted and injured and scared again, and the only person she had to trust was this horrible-looking dirty old hermit. Angrily, she wiped at her tears and gritted her teeth to prevent more.

  “They're going to kill you if they catch you. I guess you know that."

  “Yeah, I noticed."

  His eyes held hers. “Well, it's me or them. You don't have much of a choice."

 
; Booker was right. She had to trust him. “I need to get to the sheriff's office in Van Buren. If you take me there, I'll pay you anything you want."

  “Bad idea."

  Kate's heart sank like a barrel of concrete. “Why?"

  “You're wanted by the law for kidnapping. They'll arrest you and take the baby and you'll never see him again. Is that what you want?"

  “I know the sheriff. He's a friend. He'll help me, I know he will."

  “Those copters buzzing the trees are the feds. He won't have jurisdiction on a kidnapping case. The way I see it, you need to get as far away from here as you can before somebody catches up with you. Outside the area where you can find out what's really going on and make some decisions."

  Kate was incredulous. This was not your ordinary, hovel-dwelling, run-of-the-mill recluse. This guy had been around the block a few times if he knew about jurisdictions. Who the hell was he?

  “Who are you?” she asked again.

  “I'm all you've got, lady, and I'm willing to help you get out of here before they find you at my place and come down on me like a load of bricks. After that, you're on your own."

  “Why are you doing this?” she whispered hoarsely. “They'll kill you if you get in their way, just like they killed Michael."

  “I'm not Michael. They won't find me."

  The man named Booker seemed awfully sure, and somehow that made Kate feel more secure, too. She wanted to believe him, really, really wanted to believe him.

  “There's four or five of them, I think. They track me down every time I think I'm going to make it. The guy in charge is named Dmitri, and he caught me in the barn alone and tried to make me...” She stopped, swallowing down a sick feeling as she thought about the time trapped in the root cellar with Dmitri, what would have happened if Millie Mae hadn't come. “The little Jones girl helped me get away, but her brothers are after me, too. She said they offered them half the money so I guess somebody's put out a reward on my head."