by Linda Ladd
Minutes later Kate made her reappearance. Booker glanced back and relaxed some when he saw the men still leaning over the road map, which probably meant they thought they'd lost them and were trying to figure out their next move. As Kate stopped beside his seat, her new auburn hair shone with all kinds of reddish highlights under the ceiling light. She looked good, but he liked her better blond.
Once Kate was seated the coach gradually grew quiet as people settled down to their Mary Higgins Clarks and John Grishams. Joey finally went to sleep in Louise's lap, and Booker kept his guard up, watching both lanes of traffic, front and back. The white Isuzu was not in sight.
“Did you see them?” Kate whispered.
“Uh huh, they parked right beside us while you were in the bathroom. They're driving an Isuzu Scout now, a white one."
“Oh, my God, no. Was it Dmitri?"
Booker nodded. He wondered again what Dmitri had done to Kate when he had her under his control. The fear was back in her eyes, the way it always was when Dmitri got too close.
“You're sure he didn't see us?"
“No, but I was sweatin’ it there for awhile.” He lifted the blanket and showed her how much he'd sweated it.
Kate was leaning against the window, trying to see the cars parked at Hillbilly Junction. When she turned back, she looked pale and frightened. It had obviously occurred to her what a firefight aboard Hinkley's bus would have been like. “Thank God they didn't see us."
Booker examined her face, frowning at all the scratches and bruises. She had really gotten roughed up during her ordeal.
Kate leaned her head on the soft cushion, as if she was exhausted, and Booker checked out the back for pursuers. As far as he could tell, they were still parked where they'd left them. There was chitchat going on around him, and it was getting on his nerves. But he might as well get used to it. That's what normal people did. They talked to one another. Ate fudge. Traveled. Laughed together. Enjoyed themselves. He had a bad feeling it'd take him a long time to relearn those things, much less interact with other people. He'd been uncomfortable merely accepting a piece of candy.
Kate was staring out the window at the passing scenery, looking a little more relaxed. They'd had a close call at the truck stop, too damn close for comfort. Joey was sleeping, and he hoped Kate would get some rest, too. Hinkley continued to watch him for the felon he was through the rearview mirror. Aviator sunglasses still on, Booker furtively slid his weapon back into his ankle harness and snapped it in place. He leaned back and shut his eyes. He was tired. Maybe he should try to get some sleep, too, when he knew he wouldn't get jumped. He had gotten himself into quite a mess this time with Kate Reed. He just hoped he could get them both out of it alive. Now Mac was their only chance. Their only one.
Twenty-Four
ALTHOUGH SHE KNEW Dmitri was somewhere behind them, coming, always coming, Kate felt relatively safe as long as the motor hummed and Louise and her friends cooed and cuddled Joey. Surprisingly, she was able to relax, even doze, grateful for a respite when her head didn't ache and muscles weren't knotted in a constant fight-or-flight dilemma.
Later, about the time they hit a sprawling cloverleaf outside Springfield, Kate sat up and looked around as the bus took an off-ramp in a long curve to 65 South and Branson. In front of Kate, Joey was still being adored by the kind ladies. He seemed to feel better, had even been coaxed to take a bottle from Louise. Kate leaned back, deciding that the more crooning voices he heard, the more gentle hands that touched him, the better. He'd been through a hellish ordeal that nobody should have to endure, much less an innocent baby. Kate hoped fervently the worst was over now that they'd evaded the Russians at Hillbilly Junction. How could Dmitri possibly deduce their destination was Branson? There were hundreds of other towns in the area.
Her head resting on the velour cushion, she turned and studied Booker. He looked halfway relaxed for a change but sat so perfectly still she thought he was asleep. Dark sunglasses covered his eyes, and his face was turned to the window. Momentarily he shifted a bit, awake after all, and Kate wondered how he continued to make do with so little rest. She recalled his night terrors and thought how awful it would be to fear sleep every night.
John Booker was such an enigma. She was grateful, owed him an unbelievable debt, but he was turning out to be a completely different man than she'd first thought. He'd shown strength and courage, of course, in a hundred ways, but it was his kindness that intrigued her, the small, thoughtful things he'd done for Joey and for her. She had never met a man like him, and she certainly didn't understand why he had decided to become their protector.
“Booker?"
Slowly he turned his face toward her. His jaw bristled black with a heavy five o'clock shadow. He studied her face questioningly, and she wished he would smile and reassure her. If nothing else, it'd make her feel better, even if it weren't true. She leaned close to him and spoke in a whisper.
“Do you think they'll figure out where we're headed?"
Booker shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe. If they find out who I am. Dmitri got a pretty good look at me at the tavern but I suspect they'll wanna check out Springfield first. They'll probably think we'd feel safer losing ourselves in the nearest big city."
“Do you think your friend will help us?"
“He'll help us. If he can.” Obviously done with the conversation, Booker turned back to the window and examined the cars passing on their left.
Kate wanted to ask him more about himself, about this unknown friend of his, about why he lived the bizarre life of a hermit until her own plight had flushed him out of his woods. The Joneses had called him Bigfoot but he wasn't anything like what Matty and his brothers believed him to be. Now the Jones family was after her, too, except for poor Millie Mae who'd saved Kate's life not once, but twice. She hoped nothing bad happened to the little girl.
Her thoughts turned to her husband and what he'd done to them. How could she have fallen in love with a man who could betray her so completely? With some guilt she wondered if she and Michael had ever been right for each other in the first place. He had tried to make a go of their marriage, she supposed, they both had, especially after they'd gotten Joey, but she wondered if they'd been kidding themselves. She doubted now their marriage could have lasted.
There had been something different between them, something wrong for well over a year. Michael had become withdrawn, had distanced himself from her emotionally and physically. She'd known it but hadn't been certain why, had ended up blaming herself for wanting to conceive so badly that their intimacy became nothing more than a chore to Michael.
But she wouldn't blame herself for his involvement with criminals. He'd put Joey and her in such terrible jeopardy. How could he have brought this down on her head? When he knew all along that everything he told her about Joey had been a pack of lies? What had gone so wrong that he would treat her in such a way? He'd been a good man when they married, kind to her, loving enough, and she'd thought he'd become that man again during the last month. But something had been terribly wrong; something had driven him to the awful things he'd done.
Their marriage had been doomed from the moment he'd begun defending thugs and gangsters, refusing to discuss his work and clients with her. She hated being lied to, wanted an honest man who'd treat her as an equal, a partner in life. She wondered if Booker would be such a man. She wondered how it would've been if she'd met him years before he hid out in the woods. She wondered if they'd met another way, another time, they would've gotten together, become more than friends. They were certainly friends now. She trusted him with her life.
Kate shut her eyes, wishing she had met him first, before he'd become embittered and isolated himself from the world. She wondered if he laughed back then, enjoyed little pleasures like everyone else. He loved Current River as much as she did, obviously loved the out-of-doors, the simple life. They'd probably have been good together, if they'd ever gotten that chance, but the truth was that Booker didn't seem
to need anybody in his life. He was doing just fine all by himself. And she supposed she didn't either. If she got out of this, got to keep Joey with her, she could make it on her own. Would have to make it on her own.
She blew out a sigh, wondering if Joey really had been kidnapped. Maybe it was a ruse made up by Dmitri to take the baby from her. Michael had plenty of faults but she couldn't imagine him kidnapping someone's baby. He'd been distraught that day at the Picketts’ cabin but he'd given his life helping her escape with Joey; at least he'd done that much for them. Surely at that moment he was too frightened to make up lies. Joey could be a black-market baby as he'd said, perhaps obtained outside the country, but illegally. And if he was, Kate would never give him up. She couldn't, just couldn't. She'd fight for him, go through every court in the land to keep him. Once she turned herself in to Gus or to the Branson police, she'd get herself a lawyer, the best one she could find. Or, if worse came to worse, maybe Booker could take Joey, keep him somewhere safe for her until the whole mess got straightened out before a judge.
The drive to Branson took them through thirty miles of beautiful scenery. Great forested hills rolled into the distance as they journeyed deep into the Ozark Mountains. The billboards advertising Branson theaters appeared along the road. The first one was for the comedian, Yakov Smirnov. His huge red and white sign proclaimed: From Red to Redneck. She looked away; she'd seen enough Russians to last her a lifetime. The Laurence Welk show appeared soon with the logo: Bring the kids. Oh, heck, have them bring their kids, too.
Little more than a decade ago Branson, Missouri, had been a sleepy little resort town perched on the shores of Lake Taneycomo and Table Rock Lake, where fishermen rented rustic little cabins vintage 1950. Vacationing families swam in ice-cold lake water at places called Rockaway Beach, visited a tiny theme park called Silver Dollar City, and enjoyed the idyllic panorama of the wooded Ozarks.
Pop and Grandma had brought Kate when she was a little girl. They'd fished and swum and cooked cornbread-coated crappie in a kettle of crackling deep fat. She'd loved it then, the peace and quiet, the mist caught like cobwebs in the hill-tops, but now it seemed as if mighty Zeus had waved his hand from atop Mount Olympus and changed the sleepy hamlet into a virtual Hillbilly Las Vegas, minus the gambling. Now as she watched countless signs go by—Shoji Tabuchi, The Osmonds, Barbara Fairchild—she wished the gods could put it back the way it was.
On the right, a huge billboard advertised outlet malls, one with ninety stores. She hadn't seen those yet, hadn't been to Branson since she and Michael had driven down from St. Louis for a weekend not long after they'd wed. She bit her lip, remembering that trip. Now everyone believed she'd killed him, her own husband. How could any of this be happening?
The divided highway dove more deeply into valleys, leaving cars to scurry up the next high hill like ants in a trail. Kate's ears began to pop as they passed road construction sites with the giant yellow Caterpillars, bulldozers and dirt haulers covered with rust-colored dirt that devastated natural rock mountains in the name of progress. Rubble lined the road, tons of rocks from dynamite blasting that left the hills sculptured into what looked like the red mesas of Arizona.
More construction met them at the city limits, and Kate was shocked at how much the place had changed since her last visit. The first theater offering was already visible, The Promise, its religious content heralded by a gigantic picture of Jesus Christ, aglow in white raiment, arms outstretched. Dozens of vehicles were already in the parking lot, glittering like jewels as they awaited the three o'clock performance.
As the judge braked and took the exit to the main thoroughfare of Branson, she caught sight of a roadblock at the end of the ramp. Booker got out his gun, and Kate quickly retrieved Joey from Louise.
“If they do a search we'll go out the emergency exit,” Booker whispered. Kate nodded, ready. She was always ready now, for anything. She was not going to give up Joey.
The judge brought the bus to a stop, and she could see his eyes on them in the rearview mirror. A Branson policeman walked to the front door, and Henry swooshed it open. The officer gripped the boarding rail and stepped inside, and Kate sank down deep in her seat. So did Booker. The bus got quiet, everyone curious as to what was going on.
“Howdy, judge. How's it goin'?"
“Fine, Ken. Got some kind of trouble?"
“Kid was abducted outta St. Louis. Can you vouch for all these people?"
“You bet. I screen my customers before I accept them."
“Okay, have a good time. You got some good weather for it."
The doors shut again, and the judge glanced back at them before he put the bus in gear. Kate and Booker looked at each other, and Kate was glad Henry knew so many area law-enforcement officers from his time on the bench. They turned onto Highway 76 and soon found themselves moving at a crawl in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Everyone called the road the Strip, and the people on the bus stirred and readied themselves for fun in the Ozarks.
Silver-haired senior citizens walked along the sidewalks, and lots of young families holding tightly to the hands of their children, all swarming among a hodgepodge of T-shirt and souvenir shops that boasted Buy Two, Get One Free. Country crafts shops with names like The Gingham Goose or Apple Tree Mall lined the street, along with every conceivable fast-food place from Burger King to Pizza Hut. Quaint motels like the Rockin’ Chair Inn, Dogwood Inn, and Hillbilly Inn offered low rates, crowded along the curbs like viewers on a parade route.
“Man,” said Booker, shaking his head. “What the hell hit this place?"
Kate laughed, surprised he'd been there before. “When were you here last?"
“In the eighties."
Good Lord, she thought, wondering if that had been the last time he'd been out of the woods. “Before you went in the army?"
“Yeah."
That dismissed that subject. Kate had a feeling he'd never discuss the military with her, or with anyone else. It'd scarred him enough to drive him underground. She wondered if the government was still looking for him. Surely not after so many years. She hoped to heaven that she wouldn't be the one to get him caught. She couldn't imagine a man like Booker caged up inside a cell. Her eyes lingered a moment where Booker's hand rested on the ankle where he kept his gun. She wondered what Louise would think if she knew Kate had a big gun affixed with a silencer in the sack with Joey's Luvs. Probably pretty much appalled.
The bus rolled slowly past a shopping center or two, one with a busy Wal-Mart and Consumer's grocery store. Bobby Vinton's theater was on the right, its marquee advertising the Glenn Miller Orchestra. A Shoney's loomed, a place called the Garden of Eatin'. You name it, Branson had it. Kate wondered which motel the judge had booked for his tour. The Strip ran atop a high hill, and she could see other massive white theaters and hotels on other green hills, with shopping centers and restaurants nestled in the valleys between. Ancient Rome must have looked similar on its seven hills crested with gleaming white temples and villas.
“Where's the Shoji Tabuchi show?"
“Down there somewhere.” Kate pointed downhill to their right, surprised by Booker's question. “At the end of the Strip, you take a right.” She smiled a little. “You want to catch his show while we're here?"
“Yeah."
Kate waited for further explanation but got none. She didn't demand answers, pleased to think Booker might have a plan. He'd gotten her this far. She sure as the devil wasn't going to nag him. They passed the Baldknobber's Theater, the Riverboat Motel shaped like an old-fashioned paddle wheeler, the Osmonds place, the Roy Clark Theater, and Lodge of the Ozarks before Judge Hinkley finally nosed the motor bus into a brand-new Hampton Inn, built in dark glass and sleek, contemporary lines. He pulled up underneath a gigantic front canopy.
Everyone was gathering their belongings. The ladies they'd met bid them a warm good-bye and filed toward the front. Kate was just glad she and Booker had not embroiled them in a gunfight. Booker let her precede him to
the front exit where the judge was helping the passengers to disembark.
“I sure wish you'd tell me more ‘bout what's goin’ on, Katie,” he muttered beneath his breath, his eyes keen on Booker. “C'mon inside. I'll get you and Joey a room and we can figure all this out. Whatever it is, it can't be that bad."
Kate wished it wasn't that bad. But it was worse. “Remember, Henry, no matter what else you hear about us, it's not true. I didn't do anything wrong."
“Dadgumit, Katie, let me help you."
“You did, more than you know. Just keep on trusting me."
Booker shifted impatiently, glancing around at cars pulling in and out of the parking lot. Diesel fumes hung thick in the air. She knew he wanted to get out of sight before somebody recognized her.
“Gotta go now, Henry, but thanks for everything. I'll never forget it, I mean that.” She gave him a hug and kissed his wrinkled cheek.
“Where are you going now? At least tell me that much,” Henry demanded, grasping her arm, still reluctant to let her go.
“Oh, Jack wants to see a couple of shows while we're here, you know, all the usual touristy stuff,” she said for the benefit of the nearby passengers. “Maybe we'll go out to Silver Dollar City or somewhere."
Henry didn't believe that for one minute. “Do you need some money? You don't even have any luggage, do you?"
“I'm fine,” she told him, hoping Booker did have more cash to throw around. “Gotta go now, bye, Henry."
“Call me as soon as you can,” he said, as she and Booker moved off toward the front sidewalk.
“Okay, tell me how to get to this Shoji place,” Booker said, as soon as they were out of earshot. “Can we cut down through this parking lot and get there?” Booker was gazing down the back of the Hampton. A theater called the Remington had been built behind the hotel, a beautiful building with lots of brown wood and arched windows.
