by Linda Ladd
He turned away and stuffed the dirty clothes into an empty plastic grocery bag. She could tell a lot more about him now. He was leaner through the torso and hips than she'd thought, but his shoulders were unusually broad, his arms and back thick with muscle. He had a superb physique, and he looked as strong as an ox, his size still intimidating. He looked like a big, tough normal human being now. She wondered how long it'd been since he'd shaved last and made himself into a clean-cut College Joe. Why now? That was a better question.
“I'm sorry about what happened earlier.” She really was, felt she had to apologize. “I feel better now. The Tylenols finally kicked my headache."
“Listen, we need to talk.” Booker didn't look at her and she knew it was finally coming. He was taking off. She didn't blame him. She would too, if she was him.
“Okay."
He was toting his rifle everywhere he went, and she watched him walk around the room, lifting the drapes at each window, checking out the sunlit afternoon. He moved slowly, deliberately, like the experienced hunter he was, like a man who knew how to take care of himself. He just looked a lot better doing it now. He was actually handsome, in a rough, taciturn, serious sort of way, actually very handsome. She mocked her own thoughts. If anyone would've told her a few hours ago that she'd think John Booker was a cute guy, sexy even, she'd have called them crazy. But he was, he definitely was. She wondered if he knew it.
He sat down across from her, his eyes lingering on Joey an extra moment. When he raised them to her, they shone the intense pale blue as before, more startling now that she could see his face better. He had a square jaw that gave him a powerful look, but his features were clean and chiseled. She noticed again the crescent scar at the corner of his eye and wondered how he'd gotten it. She waited but she already knew what was coming.
“Look,” Booker said, “there's no way in hell you'll ever make it out of here alone. I think I can help you, but you'll have to start trusting me more than you do right now. You have to agree to do exactly what I say, all the time, without question, or both of us are bound to get killed."
Kate felt the burn of tears deep down at the back of her nose, but it was gratitude, sheer relief that he wasn't going to leave her alone. Despite her brave thoughts to the contrary, she was still petrified to step outside of the cabin, much less try to find a way back to Van Buren. And she didn't want to give Joey up. As bad as it was to want to keep him if he had been stolen out of his mother's arms, she didn't want to lose him, not if there was any way, any way whatsoever to keep him. He meant more to her than her own life.
“Okay,” was all she could manage.
Booker studied her face. He definitely looked skeptical at her easy acquiescence. “You sure?"
Kate nodded. “You've done so much for us already. I can never thank you enough, never."
“Save it until we make it out of here in one piece."
His remark brought the gravity of their situation down on Kate. She said, “I've got a friend. The sheriff of Carter County. You know, I told you about him. I want to call him and see if he won't intervene with the FBI. They'll be involved now, too, won't they? Since it's an alleged kidnapping?” She stopped because Booker was already shaking his head. “No?"
“I can't get involved with the cops, especially the FBI. Not even with your friend."
It was Kate's turn to search his face. His jaw and cheeks were unnaturally pale where the heavy beard had been so long. His hair was very dark, jet black, as were his eyelashes; maybe that's why his eyes looked so blue. She wondered how old he was. He looked younger now than he had before, by, say, about fifty years, but she now knew he couldn't be much older than she was, maybe in his late thirties. Why on earth had he let himself devolve into a hideous recluse who hid in a cave? What had driven him to such extremes? She waited for him to tell her why he couldn't involve the police but he didn't elaborate. She felt she had to ask.
“Why not?"
He didn't seem to want to fill her in and that made her nervous about him all over again. She got the definite impression he wasn't going to say anything else. Then he began to speak, but it came out hard.
“I'm wanted, that's why. Does that change your mind about throwing in with me?"
Kate had to admit it did give cause for alarm, but she tried to hide her uneasiness. “What for? Can you tell me?"
Again he made her suffer a long-drawn hesitation. “I broke out of a military prison. They never caught me."
Kate looked down at Joey, whose eyelids were drooping at half mast. He was in what she called his presleep daze, but then he remembered the nipple still in his mouth and resumed his sucking as hard as he could.
“What were you in for?” Kate nearly held her breath while he spent some time deciding whether or not to answer her.
“I shot my superior officer.” His voice was extremely quiet, and Kate had a feeling he hadn't often uttered the words aloud. It occurred to her to wonder how often he talked to anyone, for any reason.
“Shot him?” she prompted, closely watching his face.
“He didn't die."
“So you were in for attempted murder?"
He nodded and waited, his clear eyes not showing much remorse.
Kate said, “I guess it's safe to say I don't have to worry about you shooting me, do I? You've had lots of chances to so far and haven't. In fact, you're the only man I've met in the last three days who hasn't tried to kill me.” Smiling, she wiggled her eyebrows and held an invisible cigar, performing her best Groucho Marx impersonation.
To her surprise, Booker grinned back. His teeth were surprisingly clean and even for a habitual cave dweller. “I'm always for the underdog in a fight,” he told her, his smile quickly fading into a somber expression. “And I reckon you're as much that as anybody I've ever known."
“Why?” she had to know, very serious again herself. “Why are you willing to help us? You might get caught again, sent back to prison, if anyone figures out who you are."
“Hopefully they've closed the book on me. It's been awhile.” He laid his rifle across his lap. “Why doesn't matter. It's what I'm going to do."
Kate bit her lip, thinking God had heard the flood of prayers she'd been sending up. He'd sent her a guardian angel of sorts, as unlikely a one as John Booker was. But he was the kind of man who made a woman feel protected, who knew how to handle a gun and could shoot people if he had to, and that was the kind of man she needed. She fought the growing need to get overly emotional and come all apart inside, knowing he also wasn't the kind of guy who'd like a woman to give in to a fit of weeping.
“They know what you look like so you're going to have to change your appearance,” he was saying now. “Got any problem with that?"
“I guess I could cut my hair some and dye it another color, or something like that. Does that mean we're leaving here?"
“Yeah, as soon as I can hitch us a ride west."
“We're going west?"
“I've got a friend in Branson who'll help us."
“Okay.” Kate was ready to leave everything in his hands. If he could get her and Joey to Branson and far away from the people trying to kill her, she was all for it. “Then what happens?"
“Then we try to decide what to do about the kid. You can call this guy Gus from Branson if you want. See if he'll intercede. Or I can take off and go home right now, and you can call him and let him come get you. If you do, he won't be able to keep them from taking the kid away from you. Maybe if you get outta here and have time to think things through, you can figure out what's going on, get a lawyer or something, if you need one. Turn yourself in on your own terms."
Kate automatically pulled Joey closer. He didn't seem to mind as he slurped out the last dregs of the milk. “I don't want to give him up."
“Yeah, I gathered that."
He'd said it seriously, but somehow the drollness of the remark struck Kate funny. She laughed. Booker gave a slight smile, as if unaccustomed to levity of any kin
d. He wasn't a jolly kind of guy. She wondered just how hard it was for him to step out of the woods and his Bigfoot persona in order to help her.
“I need to see if anyone's come in the café looking for you,” he said, scraping out his chair and standing up. “I'll try to find you some hair dye and maybe a hat and some big sunglasses that'll hide most of your face. I already bought some scissors. Anything else you want?"
Kate shook her head and followed Booker to the door. The minute he was outside, she shut and locked it, then moved to the back window to watch him fire up the four-wheeler and head up the road.
“I think we're going to make it, sweetie,” she whispered softly against Joey's black curls that smelled like Johnson's baby shampoo. “Booker's going to help us get away. He's gonna take us somewhere safe."
She lay down on the bed with Joey and closed her eyes, feeling better about her chances of escape than she had in a very long time.
Nineteen
JUMBO'S CAFÉ was busy with the hungry noonday crowd. Booker parked in back but entered through the restaurant front door as if he'd pulled off the highway. The tables and the red vinyl booths edging the plate-glass windows were full of loggers, state highway maintenance men and truckers, and the clatter of silverware and clink of glass mixed with the low rumble of conversation.
No one reacted negatively and moved away from him as on prior occasions when he came in for supplies wearing camouflage and long hair. Now he fit in so well that he was ignored. He realized that for the first time in years it mattered to him what other people thought, not for himself but for Kate Reed. He walked to the back and pushed through swinging doors into the kitchen, immediately buffeted with savory aromas of fried chicken and cinnamon apple pie. Jumbo stopped whipping potatoes and stared at Booker as if he had just flown in from the rings of Saturn.
“Holy shit, that you, Book?"
Jumbo shook his shiny bald head, then gave a big, booming laugh. “I ain't seen you so spiffed up and shiny since you left Leavenworth for your court-martial.” Jumbo kept grinning as if fondly remembering the seven years they spent together as cell mates before Booker had climbed over the fence and said goodbye to prison for good. “Jesus, you know who you look like?"
“Clark Kent?” Booker glanced around but the cooks and waiters were too busy sweating over the stoves and deep-fry vats or clattering dirty dishes into the soaking sinks to pay attention to what he was saying. He was amazed at how easily associating with other people was coming back; he'd kept to himself a long time.
“Nope, I was thinking more on the lines of Lurch on that old Munster show we used to watch when we was in the pen.” Jumbo nodded sagely, then showed his huge white grin and great appreciation for his keen wit.
“Yeah, right. Listen, Jumbo, I need a ride outta here, pronto. Got any ideas where I can get one?"
Jumbo frowned and wiped floury hands down the front of his grease-stained apron. Both men had to step aside to let Mavis, Jumbo's bosomy waitress, squeeze out the swinging door with two heavy white platters of butter-drenched biscuits. She was pretty and petite, her hair braided with about a million white beads, her skin almost as black as Jumbo's. She and Jumbo'd been an item for at least five years running.
“Like your haircut, Book,” she called over her shoulder, then let loose with her piercing cackle. “'bout time, man. You was gettin’ a mite mangy there lately."
Booker waved a hand. He liked Mavis a lot, hoped she'd someday agree to marry his friend the way Jumbo wanted. Another girl walked by him with several hamburger platters, and Booker realized how long ago breakfast had been. He followed the food with hungry eyes until the girl disappeared into the front.
“I dunno. Where you headin'?"
Booker hesitated, reluctant to draw Jumbo into Kate's mess but having little choice. “Mac's place in Branson. I'm gonna call him in a minute outside at the pay phone."
“Hell, use the phone back in the office. So Mac the Knife's still pickin’ and playin’ up there, huh?"
“Yeah, far as I know. Anybody been poking around about the girl?"
Lowering his voice to match Booker's, Jumbo shook his head. “Not yet but I'm keeping my ears open.” He paused, thinking about it. “I tell you what, though, I got an old friend comin’ in here tomorrow morning. We used to ride bikes in the old days with the Fightin’ Tarantulas out of East St. Louis. He's droppin’ by to see me and score some pot, then he's goin’ on up to the Do-Duck-Inn, you know, the tavern up past the Mountain View Wal-Mart store. He might bring you along wit’ him, if I let him know you okay. He had some run-in with the law down in Nashville a few months back. Got a drug warrant out so he's movin’ out to Kansas City. Want me to say somethun to him, just say the word."
“Can he keep his mouth shut?"
“Put it this way, I wouldn't be barin’ my soul to him if I was you."
“Don't worry."
Jumbo guffawed as if amused by the idea of Booker running off at the mouth. He flipped over a couple of hamburgers sizzling on the grill and slapped squares of American cheese on them, and Booker told him to fix a couple of cheeseburger specials to go, with a carton of milk on the side. Jumbo nodded and plunged frozen french fries into hot grease with a huge hiss and spatter.
“My money still in the freezer?"
Jumbo nodded. “Safe as a flat-chested virgin."
“I'll leave enough to pay for all this stuff."
“Sure, I trust ya, Book."
Booker started off, but Jumbo stopped him and brought his voice way down. “Don't be comin’ out here ‘round closin’ time. Couple of state cops, friends of Mavis and me, like to come in and fill up their thermos jugs, y'know, to keep ‘em awake out on the road till mornin'. Another thing, Book, heard tell they was setting up roadblocks lookin’ for the woman and kid all up and down the highways outta Van Buren. Thought you oughta know."
“Yeah, thanks."
Booker frowned on his way to the rear storeroom, thinking all they needed was roadblocks. He pulled open the lid of the big chest freezer. He kept his cash there, wrapped in tinfoil in a Folger's can. Back pay he'd earned and stockpiled in the service and never needed until now. He took out most of the thick wad of folded twenties and stuffed them in his pocket, then shut the top. He headed to Jumbo's private office and tried to get through to Mac Sharp but got no answer. He'd try again later.
While Jumbo cooked his order, he sauntered into the adjoining souvenir shop where he'd picked up Kate's sweats and baby stuff earlier that morning. There were a few customers browsing around but no one paid much attention to him as he idly swiveled the sunglasses rack and cased out the joint. He didn't see anybody he knew or who was chasing Kate Reed, so he picked out a wire-rimmed pair of green-tinted aviator's shades for himself and large, owl-eyed black plastic ones for Kate.
He also chose a couple of Kansas City Royals baseball caps, the kind with adjustable straps, got some more shirts and T-shirts for Kate and him both and a package of Hanes For Women cotton underwear and socks he thought would fit her. He browsed the grocery shelves until he found a box of hair color called Nice and Easy. He chose it in dark auburn brown. He turned to leave, hesitated, then went back to the pharmacy aisle and got a tube of red lipstick and some makeup out of the spinning Cover Girl display rack. Maybe Kate could use it to hide the bruises on her face.
Booker glanced up as a tall man moved up beside him and picked up a bottle of burn ointment. He recognized him instantly. The big blond-haired kid chasing Kate. Booker's first impulse was to get out of there ASAP but the guy paid no attention to him. Booker slid the Nice and Easy under the clothes he carried and backed up a step or two. He picked up a Sports Illustrated off the periodicals rack. There was no way the young Russian would recognize him or suspect he'd taken up with Kate Reed, but having their pursuers right on top of them did not bode well for Kate.
The boy killer was younger than Booker had expected, and Booker noticed how one side of his face was mottled red with a blistered burn. B
ooker watched him pick through the medicines, choosing a bottle of Caladryl lotion to go along with the burn salve, probably for the guy who'd blundered into the yellow jackets. Kate had left them licking a few wounds along the way. The boy was intent on choosing the medicine, giving Booker plenty of time to size him up. He had on a black windbreaker, unzipped and hanging loose, probably to conceal the weapon he had tucked at the back of his waistband. Booker could see the bulge underneath his coat.
Booker casually made his way to the next aisle but kept an eye on the kid who had stopped at the jewelry counter beside the cash register. He held up a dangly earring to his pierced right ear and bent down to look into the mirror. Booker realized the guy was vain as well as deadly, which would distract him from the hunt. A definite sign of inexperience. Pros did not draw attention to themselves, not with jewelry or anything else. Booker waited until the Russian finished checking out his purchases, then carried his own stuff to the female clerk.
According to the plastic nameplate pinned to her black uniform, the girl's name was Charlie. He remembered her from past excursions to Jumbo's but she didn't recognize him, smiling and chatting about what a nice day it was, warm and sunny with a cool little breeze to keep a girl from getting too warm. Unusually friendly, Booker thought, more interested, however, in where the Russian with the ponytail was headed.
The youth entered the adjoining restaurant, which had cleared out some, and sat down in a booth by the window with two other guys. Booker recognized them as the men who'd been tracking Kate in the woods. He'd not seen them earlier when he'd come in, so they must've just arrived. In the booth next to them, Matty Jones sat with two more men, both sporting welts from yellow jacket venom. Alarmed they'd picked up Kate's trail so quickly, Booker decided to see if he could find out what they were up to.
As Charlie bagged Booker's purchases, a young couple with two little kids got up from the booth beside the Russians, blithely unaware they'd just munched burgers next to a team of cold-blooded killers. Booker strolled across the restaurant and took the vacant table, sliding in with his back to the blond youth and a handsome man with a close-cropped goatee and ugly cut on his forehead.
