by Meg Tilly
“But you got out,” Mick heard Sarah say, her voice bringing him back to the present, to the feel of the desert air moving across his face.
“Yeah. I got out.”
“How?”
“When I turned nine, Jewel, one of the girls, had given me a Swiss Army knife. I loved that thing. Was always looking for ways to use it. I figured out how to remove the screw Flo had driven horizontally through the track that stopped the window from sliding open. Even with the safety screw removed, an adult would have had a hard time getting in or out. But I was a kid, so it was different. I had practice. At night, sometimes, I’d sneak out the window. It was a tight squeeze. Had to turn my head and body sideways. The first night I’d tried sneaking out, I landed on my face, got a bloody nose. But after a while I got it down pat. Over the next year, the ridges wore down. I didn’t have to use my screwdriver anymore. Could lift the screw right out with my fingers. Tucked it in my pocket, replaced it in the window frame when I got back inside. So that’s how I got out. Wasn’t thinking. Just ripped out that screw, yanked open the window, tumbled out, choking, eyes burning from the thick smoke.”
“And then what?”
“I ran.” Acid guilt ate the lining of his stomach as he spoke. “I should have stayed. Got people out, but I didn’t think of it at the time. Was so scared. I tumbled out that window, hit the ground, screaming ‘Fire! Fire!’ at the top of my lungs while my legs were running faster and faster. I ran and I ran, yelling ‘Fire! Fire!’ Didn’t stop until I reached my rock. Looked back and the whole ranch was in flames. Didn’t hear any screaming anymore. Just the roar of the flames shooting higher and higher into the night sky.”
Sarah had her arms wrapped around his waist. Holding him tight, as if he were still that little boy and she was keeping him safe.
“Your rock?” she said. Her voice was slightly muffled, her face burrowed against his chest.
Mick exhaled shakily. Dragged the back of his wrist across his damp eyes. “I had a rock.” He inhaled deeply and then exhaled again. “It was my safe place. My secret.”
“Tell me more.”
He knew what she was doing. Made the knot in his gut soften slightly. He swiped his eyes again, then wrapped his arms around her as well, holding her gentle as a springtime prayer of thanksgiving. “It was large and relatively flat.” He laid his cheek against the top of her head, her hair soft. He breathed in the beguiling scent of her, fragrant, womanly, and totally unique. As she filled his lungs, the thundering of his heart slowed to a gentle trot. “The rock was far enough away from the ranch that my thoughts were my own. The trailer and all its troubles receded and became a batch of fairy lights twinkling in the distance. I’d lie on it, cool and smooth, solid under my back. I’d look at the night sky and the millions and millions of stars and feel, for a moment, clean again. Sometimes I’d go there in the day, too. When school was out and my chores were done. It was a good place to read uninterrupted. Or to watch ants crawl across to obtain a few cracker crumbs. A good place to dream grandly as the clouds and the sun traveled across the wide-open sky.”
They stayed there like that, arms around each other, listening to the sounds of the desert, the whip of the wind, the beating of each other’s hearts.
“And then what happened?” she asked. “With the fire. Was everyone okay?”
He’d known it was coming. Had dreaded it. And yet now that it was on him, it was just one more segment of the story. “I was the only one who made it out.” He heard her sharp intake of breath, felt her arms tighten slightly around him.
“The only one?”
“Mm-hm.”
“God. That must have been tough.”
It had been. “They tracked my mom down, but she didn’t want me, so I was put in foster care.”
“Oh, Mick.” There was sorrow in her voice. He absorbed it by osmosis through all points of contact. Chest. Torso. Arms. Cheek.
“Wasn’t so bad.” It was. “Gave me drive and a determination to carve out a better life.”
“And you have.”
Mick laughed, the sound dry, almost bitter. “In some ways yes, in some ways no. In many ways I’m still trapped in the skin of that ragamuffin kid that ran away. I should have stayed. Should have shaken everyone awake. Should have dragged people out.”
Sarah pulled back. She looked him dead-on. There was a ferocity to her expression that he’d never seen before. “And you were how old? Ten, I believe you said. How were you going to manage that? Hm?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “It was a raging fire.”
“You don’t know that.”
She snorted dismissively. “You said you could see orange glowing through the panels of your door, and there was smoke seeping around the creases, so the hall. Was. Full. Of. Fire,” she said briskly. “Keeping that in mind, how were you going to save them all? Was there access to the rooms other than through the hall?”
“No.”
“You yelled, ‘Fire, fire,’ correct?”
“Yes.”
“What more could you do? You were ten. Years. Old.” She crossed her arms and looked at him sternly. “You wouldn’t have had the body strength to physically haul anyone out of that house. You were too small. If you had tried, you would have died, too. Do you understand? Are you hearing me?”
“They could hear you down in Vegas, woman.”
“Good. And I for one am glad that you found a way to save yourself.” Then she nestled into his chest again. “So very, very grateful.” She hugged him for a moment longer and then stepped back. “Now, you know I’m not going to be able to leave this godforsaken place without a visit to your rock.”
* * *
* * *
When they got to his rock, Sarah insisted they needed to clamber up onto it.
So he did.
They lay down with the hard, smooth stone under their backs, their arms outstretched, hands clasped. They stayed that way, words having fallen by the wayside as they let the sounds and healing scent of the dry desert air wash over them, gently caressing their bodies. He shut his eyes but could still see the glowing outline of the afternoon sun shining so bright and fierce overhead, could still see it through his closed eyelids. He heard Sarah shift before he felt her, rolling onto her side to nestle into his body. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, tucked her in close. The beat of her heart, the warmth of her breath fanned against his chest, filling him with contentment and a bone-deep gratitude.
35
Kevin watched a middle-aged woman enter the room. Her hand rested on the doorknob as she glanced up from the clipboard in her hand. “Lieutenant Hawkins?”
He stood. “That’s correct.” This was the fifth employment agency he had visited thus far.
She waved a hand toward his chair. “Please have a seat.” She left the door ajar and strode to the chair behind the desk, sat, and folded her hands. “What can I do for you?”
“I am working on a missing person’s case. The woman is extremely unstable and is a clear and present danger to herself and others. We have reason to believe that this fugitive is living and working in the Los Angeles area.” Kevin snapped his briefcase open and slid several photos of Sarah across the woman’s desk, along with the news clipping photo from Solace Island. “You’ll need to look closer than surface details as she has changed her hair color, cut, et cetera. She has been using an assortment of aliases. Her most recent identity is Mary Browning—”
He had been watching the woman’s hand pick up the photos. Her gasp drew his focus to her face as it drained of color. “Rachel Jones,” she croaked. The woman’s gaze flew from the photos to meet his, her expression slightly wild. “Rachel Jones,” she repeated, her voice louder, almost strident in the bare-bones office. “Oh, shit. What have I done?”
36
Mick was behind the wheel. He and Sarah were tearing down Highway 95. The windo
ws of his car were open wide, desert air rushing past. He felt lighter, cleaner somehow. He glanced at Sarah, who had been pretty quiet since they’d left Desert Rose. “Yesterday you mentioned you’d tried to get a divorce. What happened with that?”
“Once I was safely away, I contacted the family lawyer who was handling my parents’ estate.”
“Phillip Clarke?”
“Yes. I asked him to prepare the paperwork for a legal separation. I rented a post office box so I could receive the paperwork. Phillip told me he’d sent the documents by express post. However, when I arrived at the post office to pick up the package, my ex was waiting for me.” She shrugged, feeling the betrayal fresh in her belly. “The only person who could have given him that information was my lawyer.”
Mick nodded, deep in thought. “So that’s why you never filed.”
“Yeah.”
“You believe your lawyer sold you out. That he’s in cahoots with Kevin.”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to believe he would do something like that. He was an old, deeply trusted family friend, but how did Kevin get that information?”
“This Phillip Clarke, he’s not the only lawyer in the world. Why didn’t you ask another lawyer to file for you?”
“You think that didn’t cross my mind? I would have loved to get this whole mess over and done with. Unfortunately, in order to file divorce papers, one needs ID. Phillip has copies of everything: my birth certificate, social security number, copies of every single passport I’ve had since I was a baby. Someone new?” She shrugged, feeling weary. “Why would they believe me when I have no ID proving I’m who I say I am?”
Sarah saw something flicker across Mick’s face. “Why don’t you have ID?”
She felt heat rising up her neck, flooding her face. “After we married, Kevin purchased a safe. He said it was to keep our important documents secure in case of a fire or a robbery.” Her stomach hurt just thinking about it. How gullible she had been. “He had me gather my jewelry, passport, driver’s license, credit cards, birth certificate. We put everything inside. He shut the safe door, latched it, and spun the lock. I asked for the combination. He told me I didn’t have to worry, that he had the number sequence stored in his head. I could feel the panic rising as he exited the closet, me standing there with all my valuables locked up tight. I heard the TV in the living room switch on to the football game. I had hoped that he’d left the safe combination in the top drawer of his bedside table along with his gun, ammo, and stuff, but it wasn’t there. I followed him into the living room and asked again. He accused me of not trusting him and he kinda”—she swallowed hard—“flipped out . . .” She smoothed her suddenly damp palms along her thighs. Shrugged. “I learned to stop asking.”
“Why didn’t you tell your parents? Ask them for help?”
It was a good question. One she had repeatedly turned over in her mind. Sarah looked Mick straight on. She was done cowering from the truth. “I was ashamed,” she said. One of Mick’s hands left the steering wheel and covered hers, warm and solid, giving her courage to keep talking. “My parents took an instant disliking to him. Said they didn’t trust him. They felt he was a player, a manipulator. At the time, I thought they were being unfair. I was young, foolish, and headstrong. We got into a terrible argument. I accused my parents of being elitist snobs.” She shook her head. “But my greatest stupidity was, once I learned how very right they were, I didn’t back down, ask for their help. The arrogance of youth and pointless pride made it impossible to admit I had made a mistake, to ask for help. Instead I made a multitude of excuses for Kevin, to myself and to them.”
“For what it’s worth—keeping in mind I don’t know the various parties involved—it is possible that you are correct and your lawyer and ex are in cahoots.” Mick’s cell phone buzzed, but he didn’t answer it. Kept talking. “However, there might be a couple of other possible explanations.”
Sarah tried to clamp down on the tiny seedling of hopefulness. “Really? Like what?”
“You mentioned Kevin was abusive. Has your lawyer ever done anything that made you feel unsafe or made you question his loyalty?”
“Other than giving Kevin the information about where I was hiding?” Her tone came out a little sarcastic, but he didn’t seem to take it personally.
“Yes. Other than that.”
Her mind flipped through memories. “No,” she finally said.
“Off the top of my head”—his phone buzzed again—“you told me Kevin was in law enforcement.” Buzz . . . Buzz . . . How could the man let his cell phone ring and not pick it up? Buzz . . . Buzz . . . Sarah was tempted to reach over and answer it herself. “Wouldn’t that give your ex the skills and know-how to do surveillance?” Sarah’s attention snapped from the sound of the phone to what Mick was saying. “It would be child’s play for him to bug your lawyer’s phone, to trace his incoming calls, emails, et cetera. So that would be one possibility.” He glanced to the right. A small cluster of gas stations and a coffee shop were fast approaching. “I’m going to grab a coffee. You want one?”
“Sure.”
Mick steered onto the off-ramp. Thankfully, his phone had gone silent. “Also, since your lawyer handles major estates like your parents’, he would have staff.” He pulled into a parking spot. “What’ll you have?”
Sarah opened her door. “I’ll come with you. Will be nice to stretch my legs.”
They headed toward Starbucks. “All Kevin would have needed to do,” Mick continued, “was convince one person in that office to assist him in obtaining information.”
* * *
* * *
Sarah grabbed Mick’s arm, tugging him to a stop. She was staring at him as if he’d announced that elephants could fly. “Do you think?” she whispered. There was a spark of vulnerability in her eyes, and hope, too. “Oh my, Mick. Kevin could have bugged the phones. He could have paid someone off in Phillip’s office.” Her clasped hands rose to her mouth, almost as if she were praying.
His phone started vibrating again. The only person Mick knew who was that persistent was Peterson, and he could wait. Mick watched as Sarah’s fingers extended to a form a peak, which she tapped against her lips. Her eyes flickered shut for a moment, as if she were absorbing these new ideas through the molecules of her skin, a plant converting carbon dioxide into oxygen. When she reopened her eyes, the internal metamorphosis was astounding. She extended her hands to cup his face. “Thank you,” she said. “Of course.” Her eyes were glowing, happiness and relief shining out. “I can’t even begin to tell you what this means to me. Thank you so much.” She leaned forward and placed her lips on his, soft, gentle, and warm. A kiss of gratitude, and the tenderness of it had Mick reeling. Never had he experienced the pure sweetness of a kiss like that. And then her mouth lifted from his, and her hands followed suit and returned to her sides. But her eyes, the glorious gaze of her beautiful glowing sapphire eyes remained fixed on his.
“Can you answer that now?” she asked.
“What?” His mouth was still tingling, and his brain was mush.
“Your phone,” she said with a laugh. “It’s been driving me nuts.”
“Oh. Right.” He tugged his phone out of his pocket and swiped his finger across the screen. “Yes?”
“Mr. Talford?” A woman’s voice, vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it.
“Speaking.” He kept his face and voice neutral.
“Thank goodness I got ahold of you. This is a very difficult phone call to make. I hope you won’t be too angry with me, but I’ve made a terrible mistake.” The woman sounded agitated. Mick wasn’t sure why, but internal alarm bells were ringing. He could feel Sarah’s gaze on him.
“Who is this?”
“Sorry. I should have—I’m a little unnerved, you see.” He heard her exhale heavily. “It’s Ellen Davis from the Windham Employment Agency, and I’ve
done you a terrible, terrible disservice. I didn’t check thoroughly enough the credentials of the assistant I sent to your house.”
Crap. This did not bode well. “I beg your pardon?”
“A Lieutenant Hawkins is in my office.”
Fuck.
Sarah raised her eyebrows. What? she mouthed.
Mick shook his head, tapped a finger against his lips. Sarah nodded, her eyes intent on his. Mick put his phone on speaker. “A who?” he replied, keeping his voice disinterested.
“Lieutenant Hawkins.” Sarah froze. Every cell in her body appeared to have revved to high alert. Mick captured her hand with his free one. Her fingers were cold. “Apparently, the employee I sent to you is—” Mick heard the woman on the other end of the line swallow hard. “She’s a fugitive. The police are looking for her. There is no excuse for not having vetted her more carefully. I am so sorry . . . Hold on a second.” He heard the woman from Windham Employment cover the mouthpiece of the receiver. Could hear the muffled murmur of voices. Could see a tremor course through Sarah, so he wrapped his arm around her and tugged her to his chest. The woman came back on the line. “I’m going to put Lieutenant Hawkins on the phone. He’ll be able to explain the situation more concisely.” A barely audible moan emerged from between Sarah’s lips. She slapped her hand over her mouth. Her eyes, which had locked on his, were dark and drowning in panic.
