Running Scared

by Lisa Jackson

  “It’s—it’s about Jon.”

  “So what else is new?”

  “This time it’s different,” Kate said.

  “Then it’s not about kids calling him a freak and all that shit, right?” Laura asked, her aunt antennae on constant alert. Laura, with no children of her own, had always been Jon’s champion.

  “No…well, there’s that, too, but right now the teasing and taunts aren’t at the top of my priority list. What I want is for you to do some snooping—through the State of Massachusetts’s files.”

  “Snooping?” Laura said and the laughter in her voice faded.

  “Yes.”

  “Uh-oh, I smell something underhanded here. I’m not sure I can help you out, but hold on a minute, will you? I need to get to the desk so I can write this down.” There was a pause, muted conversation, and then Laura was back again. “That’s better. Jeremy and I just got back from the gym and I’m sweating like a pig even though it’s still snowing out here. Can you believe it? Before Halloween and six inches of fluff on the ground. Those trick-or-treaters are gonna freeze their little tushes off.”

  Kate could barely listen to Laura’s well-meaning babble and anxiously tapped her fingers on the phone.

  “Okay, now, what was it you wanted?”

  “I need all kinds of information on Jon’s birth, if you can get it, and I’m not talking about the phony birth certificate. I need the real thing.”

  Laura let out a long, low whistle and Kate could imagine her digging long fingers anxiously through her red brown curls. “I thought you were never going to try and dig up all that mess.”

  “I don’t want to, but I have to.” Deciding she had no choice, she quickly brought Laura up to date. Her sister, usually jovial, just listened and didn’t bother cracking one joke. “So,” Kate finished, “I want to find out Jon’s real birth mother and father, and if the father has a criminal record of any kind.”

  “I don’t suppose you have any names, any place to start?”

  “I’d tell you to check with whatever law office took over Tyrell Clark’s cases, but I doubt that he kept files on Jon’s case,” she said, glancing out the window in the direction of the old McIntyre place. She couldn’t see the house through the thick copse of pine trees, but wondered about her new neighbor. “And while you’re at it, maybe you can also check out the background of the guy who’s renting the ranch next door. His name is Daegan O’Rourke. He doesn’t look or sound like he came from anywhere near Boston, but then people can change in fifteen years. Just see if he’s connected to this in any way. He drives an old truck—a Dodge, I think—and at one time it was green. The license plates are from Montana, but I didn’t catch the numbers.”

  “Montana’s a long way from here.”

  “I know, but it’s a start, isn’t it?”

  “Just because you have a new neighbor—”

  “It’s more than that. Jon shook his hand and freaked out, accused the guy of getting into a fight and killing someone.”

  “Geez.”

  “Yeah. O’Rourke denied it, of course, said that he got into a bad fight with his cousin but he didn’t kill him.” Her insides were churning again. She couldn’t believe that she was discussing this—the fact that a possible murderer, someone connected with Jon—might be living next door. “I’d tell Sheriff Swanson, but he’d just laugh at me. His kid and Jon don’t get along—”

  “Calm down, Kate. Take a deep breath and tell me about him.”

  “Okay, okay.” Kate closed her eyes for a second and snatched at her rapidly fleeing composure. Losing it wouldn’t do anyone any good. She had to remain in control, keep her wits about her. “This guy is white—probably Irish, I’d guess if any part of his story is true—about thirty-five, give or take a couple of years. A little over six feet, six one or two maybe. He’s probably a hundred and eighty or ninety pounds. He’s lanky but has wide shoulders, clean-shaven, has gray eyes and dark brown hair, almost black but with streaks of red. He dresses and talks like a rancher or cowboy and has the lingo and swagger and faded Levis and cowboy boots down. But it seems more than a coincidence that he showed up when he did.”

  “He came to your house?”

  “Yeah, to borrow the phone. The telephone company hasn’t installed his yet.”

  “Sounds like a criminal to me,” Laura mocked.

  Kate counted to five in her mind. Her sister had never been as serious as she and more than once Laura had accused her of being melodramatic. “And he changed a flat for me.”

  “Now I’m really worried.”

  “Well, I am, Laura. I think he should be checked out.”

  “You think he’s lying? About what?”

  “I wish I knew. Maybe he’s okay, just who he says he is, but the timing’s all wrong.” Winding the phone cord around her fingers, she tried to picture Daegan O’Rourke as a cold-blooded killer, as the father of her son, as a man bent on evil. True, there was something suspicious lurking in his steely eyes—a shadow of deceit—or was it her imagination. Lately, with all Jon’s defiant antics, she’d lost her usual cool head and perspective. “I’m just nervous,” she admitted. “All this is happening too fast. Way too fast.”

  There was a pause before Laura said, “You know, Kate, maybe you should do the checking personally.”

  “But I need—”

  “I mean just be friendly to him, instead of suspicious. Is he single?”

  “Damn it, Laura, I don’t know; I didn’t ask,” Kate shot back, unable to hide her agitation.

  “That’s the first thing I would have found out. From your description of him, the guy sounds…interesting.”

  “As interesting as a desert sidewinder!”

  “You don’t know anything about him except that Jon thinks he was involved in a fight.”

  “Not just a fight. Murder,” Kate said angrily. For years Laura had suggested that she start dating, seriously dating, that being single and raising a son on her own was too much for Kate. Which was ridiculous. It was time to set Laura straight. “Look, even if he was just a regular guy, the most eligible bachelor on the face of the earth, I don’t have time for a man—”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Kate, give it up,” Laura snapped. “When are you going to get off this guilt trip you’ve been taking and let go of Jim? He’s been gone for nearly sixteen years. He’s not coming back and it doesn’t mean you didn’t love him if you happen to find someone else.”

  “I’m not looking.”

  “Well, you should, for crying out loud! You’re young, Kate, not ready for spinsterhood. My advice is quit looking at this new neighbor as a potential threat and think of him as a possible love interest.”

  “I don’t want—”

  “Have you ever thought maybe that’s what’s wrong with Jon?” Laura demanded. “Look, I hate to be blunt, but you’re having a lot of trouble with him now, aren’t you? Fights? Ditching school? Out and out rebellion? Maybe he needs a father figure.”

  “And you think Daegan O’Rourke’s a good candidate,” Kate ventured testily. “You haven’t even met him.”

  “Okay, not O’Rourke—maybe this guy is bad news—but someone, Kate. If not for Jon, then for yourself. You’ve dedicated your life to that kid and he’s gonna be gone in a few years. What then?”

  “I don’t know,” Kate admitted. She’d worried about Jon’s leaving herself. Not only for her. But for her boy.

  “Quit trying to be such a damned saint and live a little.”

  Live a little. Laura’s personal credo. Where Kate had always looked to the future, planned her life, kept an eye over her shoulder hoping the past wouldn’t catch up with her, Laura had lived for the moment, unconcerned about the thunderclouds gathering in the distance.

  “This guy bothers me, Laura.”

  “You let him bother you. Because Jon had a bad dream. Slow down and take a deep breath. You’re borrowing trouble.”

  Kate ignored the jab. For years Laura had called her a worry
wart. “Okay, okay, but listen to this. I noticed something else about O’Rourke. One of his earlobes, his left one, I think, isn’t as big as the other.”

  “Geez, Kate, haven’t you noticed? No one’s perfectly balanced.”

  “I know, but this guy’s ear looks like it was sliced.”

  “Like in a knife fight?” Laura was clearly skeptical.

  “I suppose.”

  “So what? Was it bleeding all over your living room carpet?”

  “No, I mean it might have happened a long time ago.”

  “For the love of God, Kate, listen to yourself. So he lost part of his ear. Big deal. Remember, Dad was minus a couple of toes because of some accident when he was a kid. And O’Rourke admitted to the fight with his cousin, didn’t he? Maybe he was cut then. You’re beginning, no, I take that back, this isn’t the beginning, you’ve always been this way.”

  “Which is?”

  “Paranoid. For nearly fifteen years nothing has happened, and Jon’s been wrong with his premonitions before, hasn’t he?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “So don’t worry about the new neighbor and I’ll run some checks, see what I can find out. Luckily, he has a somewhat unusual name.”

  “If it’s his real one.”

  “Well, if it isn’t, then we’re in trouble,” Laura said, “but let’s not think about that, not just yet, okay? I have a couple of friends in another department who have access to the prison records, but I bet this guy never set one foot east of the Great Divide. So take it easy. Have a glass of wine, take a hot bath, do whatever it is you do to unwind and I’ll call you back in a few days. Everything’s going to be all right,” Laura said as she hung up.

  “I hope you’re right,” Kate replied to the empty line. “Oh, Laura, I hope to God you’re right.”

  But she didn’t believe her sister for a minute. There was trouble brewing, big trouble, and Kate would bet her last dollar that it had something to do with Daegan O’Rourke.

  Jon sneaked through the trees and hiked his collar up around his neck. The moon was riding high and a jillion stars spangled the sky, but it was cold, colder than a well digger’s butt, as Eli used to say. At the thought of the old geezer, Jon gritted his teeth as he made his way through the trees and across a field of dry grass and weeds. He’d walked this way a hundred times before when Eli was alive, and now, since meeting O’Rourke, he couldn’t stay away. Oh, sure he’d promised his mother that he’d keep off the McIntyre spread, but he hadn’t. Three times since O’Rourke had first shown up, Jon had made a nocturnal visit. He’d sat in the shadows, petting Roscoe, watching O’Rourke through the shade-less windows. The guy read a lot, had himself a laptop computer that he used, talked on the phone, watched a little television, the news and Letterman, before turning out the lights after one.

  He didn’t do anything all that suspicious and seemed to be taking good enough care of Eli’s old hound. Yet…there was something about him, something that wasn’t quite right.

  He snapped on a twig and Roscoe let out a quiet “woof” before scrambling from beneath the porch and loping toward Jon.

  “Here ya go,” Jon said, digging in his pocket and giving the dog a biscuit. Carefully, he wandered around the house. The lights were on in the kitchen, and O’Rourke was pouring himself a beer. From the darkness, Jon watched him move from the kitchen to the living room, where, without bothering to snap on a light, he propped a stockinged foot on a battle-scarred coffee table, sipped his beer, and watched the tube. Bluish flashes illuminated his angular face, and if Jon were prone to believing in such nonsense, he would have thought O’Rourke looked like a devil.

  Why he kept coming over here, he didn’t understand. It was one thing when Eli was alive. They’d spent hours together talking, gazing at the ever-changing sky, playing guitar and harmonica, and telling stories—Old Man McIntyre had more stories about growing up poor on the Great Plains than anyone. Jon had confided in Eli, admitting that he had a crush on Jennifer Caruso and that’s why Todd Neider was always trying to beat him up. Because of Jennifer. Eli had chuckled, telling him there was no fool like a fool for a woman.

  God, he missed the old coot. That’s why he probably kept hanging out, that and the new colt that had suddenly appeared in the paddock two days before. Jon had always had a thing about horses, but his mother had refused to let him have one. Though indulgent in about every other way, she’d put her foot down when it came to buying a horse. They’d had plenty of arguments and he’d offered to buy one with his own money, but she’d been adamant, saying that he’d no sooner get the animal than want a car and that, he admitted, was probably true.

  But O’Rourke’s colt fascinated him. Jon knew enough about horses to tell that the chestnut-colored quarter-horse was worth some money while the other nag—a gray gelding—was just a work horse, sure-footed and easy-tempered, without the fire of the colt.

  Whistling softly, he reached into his pocket and found an apple that he cut into two pieces with his jack knife. The trusting gray ambled over, eagerly nuzzling Jon’s palm, but the colt shook his head and snorted nervously, his two white stockings flashing.

  “Come on,” Jon whispered. “Otherwise you’re going to lose out to Greedy again.” Extending a hand, he felt a smile play upon his features as the temperamental animal flattened his ears but reluctantly edged closer. “That’s it.”

  The colt stretched his neck and swept the apple from Jon’s open palm in one quick movement. Teeth grinding the apple, he backed away.

  “His name is Buckshot.”

  Jon nearly jumped out of his skin! Heart pumping wildly, he whirled and found O’Rourke standing less than ten feet away from him. He’d managed to slide into his boots but hadn’t bothered with a jacket, and his arms were crossed firmly over his chest.

  “Jesus!” Jon whispered.

  “You like the horse?”

  Jon was thinking fast. Now that he was caught, what could he do? Run? But O’Rourke could call his mom. His mouth was dry as dust, his palms sweaty. “He’s…okay,”

  “You want to ride him?”

  “No!” Jon lied. He had to get out of here and fast.

  “Too bad. He could use the exercise.” Was this guy for real? Jon’s teeth began to chatter. “Cold?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You want to come into the house and warm up? I got coffee and maybe some of that instant cocoa.”

  “No…oh, no.” Jon shook his head vehemently. This guy was still the enemy; he knew it in his bones, and yet he seemed decent enough.

  “What’re you doing here?” O’Rourke asked, and any hopes Jon had of getting away with this without his mother finding out disappeared.

  “I, uh, used to come and visit Eli. And Roscoe.”

  Daegan glanced at the dog sitting obediently by Jon’s sneaker. “He likes you a helluva lot more than he likes me.” His gaze moved up to study Jon’s face. “You weren’t spying on me, were ya?”

  “What? No way!” Jon’s heart began to pump wildly again. Shit! Why hadn’t he heard the guy approach? He’d been so into getting Buckshot to respond that he hadn’t heard the door open, the screen creak, boots on the porch, or the snap of a twig. It was like the guy just willed himself out here like a damned ghost or something.

  “But you have been here before?”

  “No, I swear…” The look on O’Rourke’s face called him a liar. “Well, yeah, a couple of times.”

  “Your mom know you’re here?”

  “No!”

  “And you’d like to keep it that way?”

  Jon shrugged. “She wouldn’t like it.”

  “’Cause you called me a murderer.”

  “And she doesn’t like me sneakin’ around at night.”

  “It could be dangerous.” O’Rourke rubbed his jaw and stared at the moon. “You want your stuff back?”

  “Oh.” Jon shook his head. “If Mom found it, she’d kill me.”

  “I doubt it.” O’Rourke shook his head
. “I’d guess she’d do just about anything for you.”

  “’Cept buy me a horse.”

  O’Rourke’s laughter thundered through the night and Jon physically jumped. “Your mother’s a smart woman, Jon. These animals are nothing but trouble.”

  “You think?”

  “I know.”

  “But you have ’em.”

  “’Cause I’m a fool, I guess. They can’t go the miles of a pickup, need to be fed and groomed, kept healthy, and are general pains in the butt, but, yeah, I like ’em.”

  “I, uh, better get going,” Jon said.

  “Next time you want to see the horse, stop by and talk to me first.”

  “Sure,” Jon said, knowing there wouldn’t be a next time.

  “And Jon?”

  Here it comes. This is the part where he’s going to let me know that it’s his duty, hard as it might be, to call Ma and tell her that I snuck over here. “Yeah?”

  “You’re too young to drink.”

  “Oh.”

  “And cut back on the smokes.” His eyes were sharp and fixed on Jon. “You’d better get back home before your mom figures out that you’re gone. Then both of us will have a lot of explainin’ to do. I don’t know about you, but I’m not in the mood for a lecture.”

  With that he turned and headed back to the house, and Jon was left with the bad need for a smoke and the dawning realization that Daegan O’Rourke might not be so bad after all.

  Chapter 12

  Kate didn’t expect to see Daegan again, especially not at the local coffee shop where she usually stopped on her way back from the college, but there he was big as life, smiling at the waitress who was refilling his cup. One long jean-clad leg stretched into the aisle by the table and the sleeves of his cotton work shirt were rolled up, showing off tanned, muscular arms. A five o’clock shadow darkened his jaw, and he seemed at ease in the worn mock-leather booth.

  She nearly hesitated at the door, but as if he’d sensed her arrival, he swiveled his head at the sound of the door opening and sent her a crooked half-smile, one that suggested they shared a secret—a private secret. Her stupid heart fluttered and she called herself six kinds of fool. This was the one man—the only man in all of Hopewell—that she should avoid at all costs.