by Dana Mentink
She held up the kitten. “You saved a kitten, so I choose to see God’s goodness in you.”
He grimaced. “That’s a mistake. You won’t find any more. If I was good, I would have tracked Wade, stayed on his trail, and those women wouldn’t have died. I didn’t, because I wanted to be free of him. I wanted it to be somebody else’s problem. That isn’t goodness. It’s selfishness.”
She stilled. “Your past doesn’t define you, Mitch. Your God does.”
He blinked, scrolling through a score of thoughts. “He’s not my God, and frankly, I can’t understand how He can be yours, after what’s happened to you.”
Those metallic eyes regarded him with a calm she had no right to, it seemed to him.
“God is the only thing in this whole wide world that cannot be taken away from me,” she said.
Another inexplicable sentiment from a woman who perplexed and confounded him.
After a moment, she pulled a paper from the back pocket of her jeans. “I need to tell you something.”
The door jerked open, and Foley came out. Jane put the paper back in her pocket.
“I’ve got a safe house ready,” Foley said. “You just need to say yes. You have to trust me.”
Mitch didn’t say anything as Jane’s eyes shifted from Foley to him and back again.
She was weighing her decision. Go with Foley. It was the most logical, reasonable way to protect herself and her son.
Or ally herself with Mitch, bank on keeping herself hidden and trust that Mitch would once again put the biggest evil in her life behind bars.
She would be smart to choose Foley, of course, and he didn’t blame her. Once Foley arranged for protection, Mitch would probably not see her again. He looked down at his boots.
Jane Reyes deserved protection, and she would get it with Foley. He had nothing to offer her but more empty promises.
“No, thank you,” he heard her say to Foley.
Mitch jerked his head up and found her looking full on at him, head cocked as if she was seeing him for the first time. Then she walked toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Foley asked.
She did not even shoot him a look over her shoulder. “I need to take care of my cat,” she called as she left.
FOURTEEN
Jane could only make her body follow one direction at a time. “Get into Mitch’s truck,” she told herself. The jolt of cold air gave her just enough energy to make it. He joined her after a few moments, starting the engine without a word.
They drove a half mile or so before he brought the truck to a stop and cleared his throat. “I...I’m not sure this is the right timing, but I wanted to...” He looked at the night sky and then at the steering wheel. “I mean...like I said back there, I judged you wrongly. I understand now that you were Wade’s victim, not his ally, so I want to say I’m sorry.”
She swallowed hard. “Thank you, but you don’t need to apologize. You never did me any harm.”
“I heaped plenty of hate on you when you didn’t deserve it.” He offered a wry smile. “I figure that rates a sin in your book.”
“It’s your book, too, even though you don’t read it.”
“I read it plenty in my lifetime, looking for something—answers, I guess—but I never found anything in there that could take away from the mess.”
“‘Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God.’ That’s what I found there, Mitch, a pure love that lasts.”
“My problem with that...” He sighed. “Aw, never mind. Not the right time.”
“No better time,” she prompted.
“Well, if you believe that, then the same applies to Wade, doesn’t it? If nothing separates him from God, then there’s no justice. Wade doesn’t deserve the same kind of love. He’s evil—that’s the bottom line.”
“God invites everyone, even Wade, but He doesn’t compel anyone to take the invitation.” She looked at Mitch. “So Wade has declined...and so have you.”
He frowned. “My choice.”
“Yes.” She stroked the kitten, feeling the vibration of his purring under the delicate lattice of ribs. The sweetness of the innocent creature kindled the flames in her belly. “I have to get my son.”
“It’s almost three a.m. You can’t go now. We’ll go back to the ranch, sleep, talk to Aunt Ginny and Gus and be sure they understand the risks of having you and Ben there.”
“No, Mitch. I’m sorry. I have to get him right now. If you don’t want to take me, I understand. I have to send Nana Jo home.” She struggled to swallow down a lump in her throat. “It’s just too dangerous to ask her to stay after what’s happened. I need to go it alone now.”
“Not alone.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. It had been a very long time since anyone had stood by her side except for Nana Jo. Certainly not a man. It made her nerves pulse with uncertainty. But it was a mission for Mitch, a means to both assuage his guilt and quench the burning desire for justice. How difficult it must be for him, she thought. A lawman who had witnessed the worst injustices life could dish out. The kitten mewed, and she wished she had some milk for it.
Finally, he shrugged in resignation. “All right. We’ll get Ben and go back to the ranch.”
“I can’t allow that until Ginny and Gus understand the risk. They don’t know about Ben. I can’t ask them to become unwilling targets.”
He huffed out a breath through his nostrils. “Okay. I’ll get a hotel room somewhere. You can sleep there tonight.” He shifted. “I’ll keep watch in the truck.”
She reached a hand and grasped his forearm. “Mitch, I want to be clear about something. I don’t blame you for anything that happened to me, so don’t blame yourself, either. Don’t risk your safety or your family’s out of a sense of guilt.”
He looked as though he would answer, his eyes drifting over her face as if he was searching for something—a way he’d lost, a truth he’d forgotten. Then he closed his mouth into a thin hard line, put the truck into gear and began to drive.
“The paper,” he said after a moment.
“What?”
“The paper in your pocket. What was it?”
She gasped. “I almost forgot. Reporters have been calling the police station to get information on me, one in particular named Elaine Barber. Danny didn’t tell her anything.” She swallowed. “But there was another call. She identified herself only as number four.”
She knew he was scanning his mental catalog of information about Wade’s case. He jerked her a look. “Number four? The woman who survived?”
“Bette Whipple.”
“She called you?”
“She called Danny, and he took her number.”
“Does Foley know?”
“I’m not sure what Danny told him.”
“Why does she want to talk to you?”
Jane shook her head. “She’s probably terrified to hear that Wade’s out. I don’t know how she discovered I was in Driftwood. I have to call her.”
Mitch’s mouth quirked as he considered. “Don’t call her until I’m with you.”
“She is a victim, too. I have to warn her.”
“Tomorrow, when we’re clearer, when I’ve had a chance to think it through.”
Jane sighed. “I’m too tired to argue.”
“Tell me where we’re going and then you can sleep.”
“I don’t sleep much, not anymore.” She directed him out of town and gazed out the window. “I used to sleep like a rock until one night I awakened to find Wade sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at me. I asked him why. He said he wanted to memorize my face while it was young and perfect.” She swallowed.
Don’t worry, Janey. I’ll always try to remember you this way. A bright smile. Pretty enough to paint.
>
Something had bloomed inside her that night, a creeping fear that Wade was not what he seemed to be. Her voice died away, and she shivered. “I never slept soundly after that. I started to snoop then.” She blushed. “I looked through some drawers, some files, but I couldn’t find anything incriminating except for a bundle of cash and a six-pack of duct tape. I asked him about it and he became furious, said if I ever rifled through his things again I would pay dearly. That’s when all the doubts crystallized, all the nagging things I’d ignored. Oh, how I wish I listened to my instincts sooner.” Even now the cold prickled her skin at the memory, her husband’s face transformed, as if a mask had been ripped off. “That’s when I started making plans to get away.” She looked at Mitch. “When did you first know? What Wade really was, I mean?”
Something like pain tightened his mouth, and she thought he would not answer.
“When I was seven, I stopped him from drowning a cat that had scratched him. I knew then.”
Without a word, she reached out. His hand was tough and calloused, strong, equally at ease holding a rope or a rifle, yet tender enough to save an orphaned kitten. She put her cheek to the long fingers and they stayed like that for a while, the connection sustaining her as she hoped it did for him.
After a few moments, he cleared his throat and gently pulled his hand away. “Rest now.”
The idea of rest was as enticing as an exquisite meal. Her heart was galloping ahead, craving to see her little boy, but fatigue burdened her body with lead weight. She looked at Mitch’s profile—stern, hard, steady and honorable, she thought. He might not know it, but he was a good man, she was certain.
Her conscience taunted her. But didn’t you think the same thing of Wade? Doubt crept in. Wade’s shadow stood as it always did, between her and any kind of trusting relationship. What was her heart playing at, urging her to trust her ex-husband’s brother? A man who had until recently thought her partner to a serial killer?
But Mitch and Jane had a common bond that no other people in the world could share—they’d both been close kin to the worst kind of evil, and survived.
Would they be able to do so again?
She wasn’t certain, but as she drifted off to sleep, she knew her only chance for herself and Ben was to trust Mitch Whitehorse. She resolved to draw a boundary around her heart. Trust...she told herself...was enough.
* * *
It was nearing 3:30 a.m. when Mitch pulled up at the trailer park where Jane had secured a place for Ben and his caretaker. He’d taken extreme care that they not be followed, but the roads were quiet. Here the trailers were set wide apart, with long swatches of grass between them. The unit they were headed for was dark, only the porch lights shining. The entire park was quiet, in fact, except for a dog that barked a few times as the truck rolled by. Jane awakened as Mitch slowed, and she phoned the woman called Nana Jo.
He’d gone to open the passenger door for her, but she was already out and hurrying up the gravel walkway. The trailer door was flung open, and Jane threw herself into the arms of a stocky, gray-haired woman wrapped in a fuzzy robe. He stayed back a piece, since it seemed as though there were tears and tender talk between the two. He took the time to peruse the grounds, but again, there was no sign of movement in the other trailers. Jane gestured for him to join them, and all three stepped inside the trailer. He closed and locked the door.
Nana Jo greeted him with a handshake while Jane immediately disappeared through the doorway into the tiny bedroom.
Nana Jo fixed him with a grave look. “He’s still at large?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Are you going to catch him?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her eyes narrowed. “The police have hung her out to dry,” she said. “As soon as they got their man, they didn’t lift a finger to protect her. She’s had to live like a stray animal, a fugitive.”
And two days ago he’d believed she’d deserved it. He shifted. “I’m not a cop anymore, but I’m going to bring him down.”
“He’s your brother.”
He wondered how much Jane had told her. He stayed silent.
“And she should trust you instead of the cops?” Nana Jo’s frown deepened. “Why?”
Why? “Because he’ll kill her and take Ben if she doesn’t.”
Nana Jo watched him for several ticks of the wall clock. She was deciding, taking his measure, as his father would have said, letting her instincts have their way with that uncanny intuition women seemed to possess sometimes. He could see why Jane trusted Ben with Nana Jo.
Another few ticks of the clock, and she gave one small nod. “All right.” She went to the table squashed next to the lumpy sofa and pulled a paper from the drawer. “Then I’ll give you this.”
She handed him a paper with a phone number written on it.
“Whose?”
“Elaine Barber. She’s a reporter.”
Mitch’s stomach dropped. “She called here?”
“Worse.” Her mouth pinched. “She showed up this afternoon.”
FIFTEEN
Mitch stared. “What did she want?”
“She said she was looking for Jane Reyes. She’d heard from the locals that someone matching her description rented a trailer in town.”
Not a big leap. It wasn’t tourist season, and news of a newcomer in town wouldn’t be much of a secret.
“Of course I told her nothing and sent her away.” She bit her lip. “But...”
He braced for it.
“Ben knocked over his blocks and squealed just then, and I think Barber heard.”
“So she knows there’s a child here.”
“Maybe, but she doesn’t know it’s Jane’s.”
Mitch wished he felt as certain. “We need to leave.”
“Without me.”
She said it like a punishment, but while he searched for a response, she held up a palm. “I understand. It will be easier for her to disappear if she needs to, easier for you to hide her if she stands her ground.” Nana Jo sighed. “I’ll miss that little boy, but I will pray steadfastly that someday she and Ben will be able to stop hiding.” There wasn’t defeat in the older woman’s eyes, but a ferocious gleam similar to what he’d perceived in Jane. The power of prayer—he could not believe in it, but her passion made him regret that he didn’t.
She left him to go to the bedroom, returning a moment later. “Well, I just can’t. A couple hours won’t hurt, will it?”
When he raised a puzzled eyebrow, he followed her to the bedroom. The moonlight poking through the broken blinds painted Jane’s face as she lay on her side on the bed, her arms around a little boy curled against her stomach. One chubby hand was out-flung. Nestled above them in the hollow of a pillow was the sleeping kitten. The boy was round cheeked and smaller than Mitch had expected, and his mother... That was what twisted something around in Mitch’s insides. Her hair was loose and tangled, skin luminous, mouth curved in an almost smile of pure contentment. He could not identify the feeling that trickled through his senses when he took in mother and child, but it was the same sensation he got early in the morning as he absorbed the view from the saddle, the wide, sweeping green of the ranch land sloping down until it lost itself in the frenetic majesty of the Pacific. Perfect.
That love, that connection, that bond that was born from some sort of goodness he could not fathom. He didn’t understand it, or his own reaction, so he reversed from the room.
Nana Jo didn’t press. “I’m going to sleep in the other bedroom. Will you be okay on the couch?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. She padded away. After one more check out the window, he sat in the armchair, since he was a couple of feet too tall to sleep on the couch, and he did not want to shut his eyes, anyway.
Elaine Barber was getting close.
Wade was circling.
; Foley was working his own agenda. His jaw clenched.
None of them would get close enough to hurt Jane and her son.
It was his promise to the fragile little family that slept in the next room, a promise he would keep.
* * *
“Hi, Mommy. Potty.”
The words jolted Jane awake. She sat up, nameless fear quickening her breath until she remembered where she was. Joy took the place of the dread as she smiled at her tousle-haired boy and trailed a fingertip down his cheek, flushed from sleep. Her Ben, her son.
“Nana Jo told me you’ve been using the potty. Great job, Ben Bear. I’m so proud of you.” He put his pointer fingers up and she laughed. He never could repeat her thumbs-up gesture without using the wrong fingers. Such a cheerful child, with no sign of her ex-husband’s cruelty, she continually reminded herself. The kitten stretched and kneaded the pillow with tiny paws. Ben’s eyes widened at the sight.
“Cat,” he squealed.
“Yes, and you can see him after you go potty and have breakfast,” Jane insisted. She was surprised that it was almost six and Mitch hadn’t woken her. When Ben was finished, she settled him on her hip and went to find Mitch and Nana Jo, drinking coffee in the kitchen. The kitten padded on silent feet after them.
Mitch stood.
Perhaps his size made Ben go shy, because he put his head on Jane’s chest, peeking at Mitch with one eye.
“Ben, this is...” Her face went hot. How should she introduce Mitch? “Uh, this is...”
“Mitch,” he said, extending a massive palm. Ben surprised her by putting his minuscule hand in Mitch’s. “Nice to meet you, Ben.”
“You can call him Uncle Mitch,” she corrected, letting him down on the floor. Ben was too young to think about the familial connection, she’d decided, and by the time he was old enough to mull it over, they’d be elsewhere, far away from Driftwood, hopefully restarting their lives. It was too bad it couldn’t be here, she thought with a pang, in this town of gorgeous views and wide-open spaces.
Ben craned his neck to look up at Mitch and pointed at the kitten nosing around the linoleum. “Cat, Moo Moo.”
