Christmas Vendetta

by Valerie Hansen

  Clay yawned. Yes, he was weary. And, no, he wasn’t going to stop to rest. One quick glance told him that Sandy Lynn had dozed off leaning against the locked door. As long as her seat belt was fastened she’d be safe enough.

  Miles roared by. Springfield was far behind them. Before daybreak, Clay knew he’d have to locate a secure place to hide the car, which pretty much excluded motels and hotels along any of the interstates. A B and B might work, providing it was far enough off the beaten path. And small. It had to be so small they were either the only patrons, or two out of no more than four or five. The fewer people who saw them, the less their chances of being reported.

  Driving while Sandy Lynn slept gave him thinking time, and he began to wonder if he’d been wrong about the origin of those bikers. They were just too accomplished, too good at tracking. When she’d asked how Hood would know where she was, she’d triggered a response in Clay’s brain that refused to be dismissed.

  “How did they know?” he muttered, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in a rhythmic cadence as a seasonal tune ran through his mind and purred in his throat.

  Sandy Lynn stirred. “Um. Tell me you’re not humming ‘Jingle Bells.’”

  “Sorry.” Clay smiled over at her. “Want to sing along?”

  “Not in a million years,” she drawled.

  “It is almost Christmas Eve, you know.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  He chuckled softly. “It’s a little hard to avoid with every town we pass blinking in colored lights.”

  “Yeah.” She straightened and stretched. “Where are we, anyway?”

  “My GPS runs off a cell phone so I’m not sure. Somewhere southeast of where we started.”

  “Do you want me to take over driving so you can sleep?”

  “Not unless we can’t find a place to stay. I was thinking a bed-and-breakfast. Someplace off the beaten path. Maybe in a small town?”

  “Well, we can’t go knocking on doors before dawn or they’re liable to call the police.”

  “Always sensible. You’re right. I think I’ll turn off at the next opportunity and start traveling back roads. We’re bound to find opportunities that way.”

  “Well, maybe. Don’t be surprised if we don’t.”

  “Cynic.”

  “Realist. The economy has been pretty rough on small businesses lately. I imagine a lot of them have closed.”

  “Then we’ll open them up again,” Clay insisted.

  “You don’t trust me to drive your car?”

  “I do. We just don’t have time for me to teach you defensive driving and I’d rather be behind the wheel if somebody spots us.” As he’d intended, that sobered her.

  “You still think we’ll be a target? Even this far away?”

  There was just one fair way to answer her and he took it. “It’s only a matter of time.”

  FIFTEEN

  Sandy Lynn yawned and made a face at him as they passed a brightly lit truck stop with a café. “Coffee. I need coffee more than anything.”

  “You need a decent breakfast. Both of us do. We have to keep up our strength.”

  Cynicism tinged her thoughts and her reply. “Sure. We’ll be the healthiest victims in history.”

  “Stop talking like that,” Clay said with emotion.

  “You’re right. I wasn’t thinking. I either trust God or I don’t. I can’t have it both ways.”

  He was wheeling into the truck stop lot. “No, but you can become disillusioned. Any of us can. It’s human nature. And you have been through a lot in less than two days.”

  “Is that all it’s been?” She was flabbergasted. “It seems like weeks, if not months.”

  “Or just the blink of an eye,” Clay countered. “When I look at you it’s as if no time has passed at all since we were kids.”

  “Dumb kids,” Sandy Lynn said with a smile. “At least I was. I think you were mostly clueless.”

  “No argument there.” After parking, he circled the silver sedan and opened her door. “The place smells okay from out here.”

  “Okay.” Pushing past him, she led the way to the double glass doors of the entry. “If it’s half as good as it smells I may eat myself silly.”

  “You can stand it,” Clay said, following her in. “My mom is still fighting with her weight, especially since retirement. They moved into a gated community in Florida and seem to love it there.”

  “I’d wondered. I did mean to ask before I got so distracted.” She led the way to an empty booth and slid in, turned over the waiting coffee mug and laid a paper napkin in her lap. A waitress was quick to fill the mug and hand them menus before bustling off with the steaming glass pot.

  As Sandy Lynn added sugar and cream, Clay continued. “Your old foster parents moved away, too. I’m not sure where they went, but my mom probably knows. I can ask her.”

  “Don’t.” A chill shot along Sandy Lynn’s spine and made the tiny hairs on her arms stand up.

  “Why not? They were pretty torn up when you ran off. I’m sure it would do them good to learn how well you’re doing now.”

  A lopsided smile accompanied a lift of her eyebrows. “Oh, yeah? Shall we start with the news that my ex is trying to kill me or save that for later?”

  “I didn’t mean right away. This fiasco won’t last forever, you know. The authorities will nab Hood. And now that he’s escaped he won’t be eligible for parole as soon as he would have been before.”

  “There is that, yes.” Sighing deeply, she sagged against the back of the booth and felt the knot of a wayward spring poke her in the ribs through the vinyl covering.

  By using both hands she was able to sip her hot coffee without letting any telltale tremors show. On the outside, she was putting on a performance for Clay to convince him that she wasn’t scared. Inside, the butterflies in her stomach were clog dancing like the performers at the Ozark Folk Center, when they weren’t trying to flutter up into her throat or pirouetting in circles around her heart.

  Pondering her emotional upheaval, she quickly concluded that only a portion of the symptoms were due to the threats on her life. A lot of her uneasiness, her sense of loss, was because of being thrust into close proximity to the man seated across the table. The handsome, gentle, sweet, intelligent, caring...

  “Oh, stop it,” she muttered to herself.

  “Stop what?” Clearly she had captured Clay’s full attention when she had not intended to.

  Sandy Lynn pressed her lips tightly together and scowled at him. “Stop being so nice, okay? I’d rather you were mad at me.”

  He laughed behind his raised mug. “I’ll try to be sterner from now on.”

  “Not funny.”

  “Oh, I think it is.”

  “Well, I don’t. I didn’t mean to say anything out loud in the first place.”

  “Why do you wish I was mad at you?”

  How to answer that? She wasn’t sure that the plain truth was best. Neither was a lie, of course, so she chose the portion of her answer that seemed to make the most sense. Deciding how to phrase it was another hard choice.

  “I don’t deserve kindness,” she finally said softly, speaking for only his ears.

  “Why not? Because you made a few little mistakes in the past?”

  “Big mistakes,” she countered, thinking of her unborn child and mourning all over again. Try as she might to attain forgiveness, her conscience always insisted she was partly to blame.

  “Nothing is too big for God,” Clay said tenderly. “If you really have renewed your faith, you should know that.”

  “I don’t doubt that He has forgiven me,” Sandy Lynn confessed. “I just can’t forgive myself.”

  Instead of laughing at her the way she’d thought he would, he reached across and laid a hand over hers. His touch was warm, the comfort genu
ine, a sense of peace palpable. “When you hold a grudge against anyone the Lord has forgiven, you’re elevating yourself to a position higher than His. Are you sure you’re that wise? That powerful?”

  “It’s not the same thing. You don’t know what happened.”

  “I don’t have to.” Clay’s hands now cradled both of hers. “I believe that Jesus took all our sins on Himself, once and for all. To me, that means that whatever you did, He forgives you as soon as you ask. There are no degrees of guilt, no grades like you give your students. It’s pass or fail. In or out.”

  Don’t you dare cry, she ordered herself. Just don’t. But it was useless. Not only did tears pool behind her lashes, they soon tipped over the edge. Rivulets began to glisten on her chapped cheeks.

  Before she realized what was happening, Clay had joined her on her side of the booth and opened his arms. That display of full acceptance loosed a flood that Sandy Lynn could not have stemmed if her life had depended upon it. Somebody cared enough to stay with her, to offer comfort without condemnation. If he knew the whole truth, would he feel the same?

  Taking shaky breaths, she managed to pull herself together long enough to reveal her darkest secret. “I—I was pregnant when Charles beat me that last time. I lost the baby.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”

  “It was my fault.”

  “How could it be? You were attacked.”

  “But—but, I wasn’t a good wife. I made him mad. I was always making him mad, making him lose his temper.”

  Keeping one arm around her shoulders, Clay handed her a spare napkin and waited while she wiped her face and blew her nose. “Is that what happened in your home when you were little? Is that why you thought wives were responsible?”

  “They are. I was. I should have protected my baby.” Once again, tears welled.

  “No, Sandy, you’re wrong. Every person is responsible for his or her own choices. The only mistake you made was choosing Hood for a husband. What he did to you later is all on him.” He shook his head. “A lot of abuse victims blame themselves. But you’re not to blame. You didn’t do anything to justify violence. He could have made a dozen different choices if he didn’t like what you did or said. A dozen different choices, and not one of them would have involved laying a hand on you.”

  Searching her mind for a rebuttal, she blotted at the streams of new tears.

  Their waitress approached with her order pad and pen poised to write. Thankfully, she paid no attention to the poignant scene being acted out in the booth. “Ready to order?”

  “We’ll take a number seven and a number three, everything well done, and two large coffees, all to go, please.”

  As soon as they were alone again, Sandy Lynn sniffled and looked to Clay. “What did you order?”

  The smile he gave her was sweet enough to melt her heart. “I have no idea. I just remembered those numbers and didn’t want to waste time looking everything up again.”

  She mirrored his expression. Sniffled. Straightened her spine and nodded. “Well done. And I don’t just mean the eggs.”

  * * *

  Their order was delivered to the booth in a white plastic bag holding foam containers. Clay stood to leave a tip, picked up their food and paid at the register while he waited for Sandy Lynn to return from freshening up.

  The truck stop diner was getting busier as the sun began to peek over the horizon. A couple of tough-looking guys pushed through the doors together, blocking Clay’s view long enough for other vehicles to pass. Next, came a black-and-white patrol car.

  Clay fidgeted. He’d parked his car around the back, so as long as the cops didn’t circle the diner he figured they could still get away. Providing Sandy Lynn hurried.

  He stepped back out of the way of the swinging door, looking for different ways out. There was an interior exit that led into the service station part of the building. If he could head Sandy Lynn off and direct her that way, they might have a chance.

  He hooked the loops of the plastic bag over one wrist and dug in his pocket for change as he pulled a baseball cap off a nearby display and shoved it onto his head. Using the brim to shade his eyes, he lowered his head to hide his face and tossed the money on the counter for the clerk. What he wanted to do was leave the change, but he figured that might draw attention as he waited for her to complete the transaction and hand over the receipt. “Thanks.”

  She didn’t even look at him. The closed-circuit cameras would have captured his and Sandy Lynn’s images, of course, but as long as the authorities didn’t know where to begin looking they’d remain anonymous. Stir up any kind of a fuss, however, and there would be no doubt they’d been there.

  Clay sauntered past the drink coolers along the back wall and stationed himself close to the door where he expected to encounter her. It swung open. Her eyes were still red and a bit puffy above the smile she gave him when she saw he was waiting. “Sorry to take so long.”

  Clay cupped her elbow. “Not a problem. C’mon.”

  There was noticeable hesitation in her response, so he gave her arm a nudge and leaned closer. “A couple of cops just came in. If our enemies have put out a statewide BOLO they may have our descriptions.”

  “That’s why the hat?”

  “Yes. Pull up your jacket hood and don’t look around.”

  Thankfully, she followed orders, also keeping her head down, eyes focused on the path through to the service station section. It took her two steps for every one of his to keep up so he forced himself to slow his pace. “That’s it. Easy does it. We don’t want to look different than everybody else.”

  “We are, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know. The trick is to blend in.”

  “Okay. You can let go of my arm. I’m blending,” she said wryly. “There’s no need to hustle me through like a prisoner.”

  “Don’t even think that way,” Clay ordered. “You haven’t committed any crimes. You’re the victim.”

  “So are you, if you really think about it. We’re both innocent.”

  “And up the proverbial creek at the moment,” Clay added. “Just keep walking. We’ll go out this door and head for the car. If you see the police car or either of the officers, don’t break stride. We don’t want them to notice us.”

  “Gotcha.”

  He cast her a sidelong glance and marveled at her cool demeanor as they rounded the last corner between them and his car. Even to his trained eye, she looked innocent and unconcerned. “You’re very good at this. I wouldn’t dream you were trying to be sneaky.”

  “It’s a learned trait,” Sandy Lynn replied. “When I was a kid I had to pretend there was nothing wrong when teachers or neighbors asked about my parents.” She sighed. “And after I was married, I had to pretend I wasn’t scared witless.”

  “Like now?”

  To Clay’s surprise she shook her head beneath the hood. “No. I’m not really that frightened now.”

  “Because we’re getting away?”

  “No,” Sandy Lynn said quietly. “Because you’re with me.”

  * * *

  For a split second she wished she hadn’t been so candid. The gentle smile that lit Clay’s face changed her mind. There was nothing wrong with telling him she appreciated his help. Of course not. After all, they were old friends, and as current events were proving, they did need each other. It seemed, at times like the present, he was as happy to be with her as she was to be near him. Those instances might be fleeting, but they were plenty special and memorable.

  Sweet memories were all she’d have when this was over, she reminded herself, accepting facts as she saw them. That was okay. It had to be. Every choice had consequences whether a person felt forgiven or not. Just because Clay had insisted that God had erased her mistakes and still loved her didn’t mean her problems with her ex would vanish. Ever.

  Clay t
hrust the bag of food at her and clicked his key to unlock the car. “Get in slowly. Easy does it. We need to look nonchalant.”

  “I know, I know. I won’t forget.”

  “Sorry.”

  She set the bag on the console between them to free her hands for her seat belt, fastened that, and then pulled the containers into her lap so they wouldn’t spill if he ended up speeding again. “All set. What now?”

  “Now, we cruise on out of here as if we have all the time in the world.”

  “Maybe we do.” Sandy Lynn peeked out of her hood as they drove past a line of parked cars and trucks. “I don’t see anybody around the black-and-white. They were probably just hungry, like us.”

  “Speaking of which,” Clay said, “I’ll swing through the next little town we come to and find a place to park and eat.”

  “Okay. I hope it’s soon. It sure smells good.”

  “I guess it must. I can hear your stomach growling.”

  “Like a bear coming out of hibernation,” Sandy Lynn added, chuckling. In seconds, she’d pulled out the coffee cups and put them into the car’s built-in holders, then opened one of the breakfast containers. The aroma was too appealing to ignore. “Yum.”

  A slice of crisp bacon was calling her name. Manners caused her to first offer it to Clay. “Open up.”

  “I can’t eat. I’m driving.”

  “Excuses, excuses. I can see passing up pancakes and syrup, but this is finger food.” When he failed to reach for it, she held it closer to his mouth.

  The glance he shot her as he bit into the first decent food they’d had since yesterday was unreadable. Feeding him had seemed the polite thing to do when she’d begun. Now, however, it was starting to feel too intimate.

  As he nibbled closer to her fingers, she released the final scrap. Before she could reach for another strip of bacon, Clay had clasped her wrist and held her hand still. Her first thought was that he intended to lick her fingers, which was far too personal to allow. Nevertheless, she didn’t fight him.