MORE THAN THE MOON

by A Rosendale

  He smiled gently. “I love you, too.”

  “More than the moon?”

  “More than the sea!” With a final kiss, he left the room.

  Chapter 55

  The taxi dropped Dirk at the curb and he approached the house cautiously. The front door was locked and appeared undisturbed. It was aggravating to sneak around his own home. Slipping inside, he listened carefully. Nothing but the furnace sounded in the building.

  He started by going to Cooper’s room. He stuffed a binder of baseball cards into a backpack, followed by a couple favorite DVDs, an iPod, and a Gameboy. Satisfied with the cache of pre-teen entertainment, he crossed the house to the office.

  As he stooped over a desk drawer to dig for their passports a soft knock made him flinch and straighten. A stranger stood in the doorway, gun aimed at Dirk’s chest. Dirk’s fingers curled around an old, metal letter opener.

  “I’m sorry about this, Travers,” the younger man said. “I must admit, I respect you and your reputation quite a lot. But, as you know, a job is a job. And-”

  At that instant, Dirk threw the letter opener. It twirled through the air to strike the man on the wrist. The gun went off as the man’s hand contracted in pain. Dirk staggered against the far wall, his fingers going automatically to the wound in his side. Sticky, warm blood stained his shirt. With the backpack slung over one shoulder, he charged the assassin, who retreated to the far side of the house to nurse the open slash on his wrist.

  Dirk didn’t give chase. He stumbled through the dining room, fumbled with the lock on the sliding glass door, leaving streaks of bright blood on the glass, and staggered into the backyard. A sudden cough brought him to his knees and a trickled of blood ran down his chin. Hand shaking uncontrollably, he dug his phone out of a pocket and pressed speed dial. Alma picked up on the first ring.

  “Dirk?”

  “Alma, it’s time.” He coughed again and heard the man moving through the house. Grunting at the effort, he rose to his feet and started across the yard toward the back gate. “I waited too long. You have to go. Get Cooper and go now. Stay safe. Don’t…” Another hacking cough stole his breath and splattered blood on the phone. “Don’t trust anyone.”

  “Dirk, no!”

  “Be careful. I’m so sorry, Alma. I never meant to hurt you and Cooper. I’m so sorry.”

  “Dirk Travers, you listen to me!” she shouted.

  Dirk loved the sound of his name on her lips. It distracted him momentarily. “I love you both. Make sure he knows that, okay?”

  “Dirk!”

  The killer’s heavy footsteps came down the porch steps. Dirk staggered another few feet.

  “Alma, I love you! Please forgive-”

  Alma screamed when she heard the gunshot. There was a crash as the phone fell to the ground. She heard the unmistakable sound of a ragged breath being expelled. There was no second breath.

  “Dirk!” she screamed. She was sitting in the car in the baseball field parking lot. The vehicle vibrated with her exclamations and Bailey cowered in the backseat.

  There was muffled fumbling on the line. Then a strange, teasing voice said, “Dr. Decker? I’m coming for you!”

  Shock and anger combined in an instant. She replied in a growl, “And I’m coming for you!” She hung up and collapsed against the steering wheel in sobs.

  * * *

  “Mom?” Cooper got in the back seat. He’d seen her rise from the bleachers and hurry away in the sixth inning. She hadn’t returned. Bailey nuzzled the boy.

  Alma didn’t reply. She started the car and drove to the hotel. The black notebook glared at her from the passenger seat. Something told her returning to the same hotel two nights in a row was listed under things not to do.

  “Mom? When is Dad coming back?”

  This question clouded her vision and her chest constricted so tightly she couldn’t have responded if she wanted.

  A blanket of dread settled over Cooper. He’d never seen his mom like this, despondent and silent. Even when his grandparents passed away, she’d continued being herself, lighthearted and energetic. But now it was like she was empty. He wove his fingers through Bailey’s coat and pulled the dog close.

  When they reached the parking lot, he silently took the dog on a walk to the small grassy area behind the building. Alma watched from the sidewalk. Probably allowing the boy such distance wasn’t advisable too, but she was staring at him raptly. From this far away, his traits were clouded. She could see the gleam in his blue-green eyes, but his boyish facial features were shadowed by his baseball cap. Bailey picked up a stick and they played a brief tug-of-war game. The smile on Cooper’s lips and the wag of Bailey’s tail made Alma think back two days to Dirk playing with the dog in a different hotel parking lot. The thought crippled her and she staggered to lean on the hood of the car, tears welling in her eyes yet again. Suddenly, she wished the assassin would just sweep out of the sky and kill her, too. She didn’t know how to do this without Dirk. She wiped the tears away unfallen and followed her son inside to their suite.

  After feeding Bailey, Cooper sat down at the dining table in the same seat he’d occupied the day before, across from Alma. Dirk’s seat between them remained empty.

  “When is Dad coming back? Where’d he go?” he asked again.

  “Dad…” Alma finally met those familiar eyes, begging for an answer. The first hints of fear were starting to edge in on the boy. “Dad isn’t coming back.”

  “What?! He left us! How-”

  Alma took his hand forcefully. “Don’t you ever say that! He did not leave us, not like that.”

  He swallowed. “Then where is he?” Something told him Dirk wasn’t on another of his business trips, which were taken so suddenly and sporadically through the years.

  “He went home to get some things and…and someone killed him.”

  Cooper gasped and his entire world tilted. After a long moment of silence and stillness, he slowly took his hand from his mother’s and retreated to the bedroom.

  * * *

  Alma had sobbed herself into an exhausted doze when a weight on the mattress brought her awake. ‘Dirk!’ she thought instantly. Hope swelled as she rolled over. But the body cuddled under the covers next to her was much too small and still smelled of baby shampoo. ‘Denial,’ she thought to herself.

  “Oh, Cooper,” she whispered and pulled him close. Bailey jumped on the bed and the three of them snuggled close.

  * * *

  “Mom?”

  “Yeah?”

  They were in the car, Cooper occupying the front passenger’s seat while Bailey stretched out in the back. It was a dreary, rainy day to match the mood in the vehicle.

  “How do you know Dad’s…gone?”

  ‘And Cooper is in denial, too. Stage one of grief, check,’ she thought bitterly. Dirk’s strained words, coated in pain and regret ran on repeat in her memory. She wondered if her mind would ever be still again with those moments casting an overbearing din over every thought. “Because he called me and was…” She gripped the steering wheel tight to keep from crying. “He was talking to me when…when he died.”

  Cooper swallowed hard and stared back out the window. “Can we get hot chocolate?” he asked quietly.

  “We can get anything you want,” Alma replied.

  It wasn’t until they walked into the coffee shop that she regretted the offer. The scent reminded her of countless mornings with Dirk. A couple sat in the corner of the shop, talking and laughing quietly over mugs of coffee.

  “Mom?” Cooper followed her gaze. He’d stopped holding his mom’s hand in the fourth grade, but now he took her hand and tugged her forward. “Mom, the line’s moving.”

  Alma shook herself and gave in to his pressure.

  “Hot chocolate and coffee with two sugars, please,” Cooper ordered.

  She paid in a trance, impressed with Cooper’s memory and manners and reeling from how similar his voice had sounded to Dirk’s.

 
“Thank you,” the boy said and led the way back to the car. “What are we going to do now?”

  Alma stared at the steering wheel at a loss. Then her eyes were drawn to the black notebook on the dash. ‘Find Agent Ramsey,’ she thought. ‘Read the book and find Ramsey.’ “We’re going to Seattle.”

  “Why?”

  “What better place to hide than in a city filled with people? And I know Seattle pretty well. We’ll be able to use the library computers.”

  “Why do we need a computer?”

  “To find a friend of your father’s,” she answered quietly.

  Chapter 56

  They thought sending him to the middle of nowhere would be punishment after his wife’s death. But he was perfectly comfortable here, away from everyone. The odd call from the sheriff kept him occupied, but for the most part he was free to spend his days away from people, thinking, remembering, writing.

  The coffee pot beeped and he poured black liquid into a mug. He opened a cabinet, splashed a dash of amber substance over the caffeine, and carried the concoction to the table. Outside the sliding glass door, brilliant morning sunlight glittered on snow-draped trees. The drip of winter’s demise sounded through the open windows. A creek a hundred yards behind the cabin was just starting to gurgle with life.

  He loved that sound. It lulled him to sleep when the liquor had no effect. The house he’d shared with his wife had a fountain in the backyard that sounded similar. He was able to imagine he was home when the creek was active.

  When the birds’ morning chatter was fading and the coffee mug contained only dregs, he pulled his laptop toward him. Just as the home screen loaded, the telephone rang.

  Taking his sweet time answering, he finally clicked ‘Accept’. “Yeah?”

  “Dead body on the highway. Wanna check it out?” Sheriff Barton had learned the FBI agent was a man of few words and preferred the most direct route to a problem.

  “Mile marker?” When the information was provided, he hung up without another word. He hadn’t always been this harsh. Experience had made him this way, cold, hard, painful experience.

  * * *

  Two squad cars and a van cordoned off a small section of the highway shoulder. Rest stop bathrooms were fifty yards away. The only vehicle in the dirt parking area was a white Toyota pickup.

  Deputy Ron Pierce got out of his car to greet him. The other deputy, Steve Harding, didn’t even bother to wave.

  It didn’t trouble him. Steve had rubbed him wrong from the start.

  “Young man. ME’s already been here.” Pierce motioned to the unmarked, black van by the squad cars. “He’s just waiting for you to wrap everything up.” They walked a few more feet to the body. “TOD four a.m. Scattered gunshots. Looks like a whole clip of 9mm pumped in this guy’s direction.”

  He took in the handful of bullet holes in the side of the pickup, then the bloody holes in the man on the ground. He squatted next to the body. ‘The shooter was at least fifty percent accurate,’ he thought. Five holes in the vehicle, five in the man, split between two to the left shoulder, one in the thigh, one in the hip, and one to the chest, obviously the kill shot. ‘Panic?’ he wondered at the sporadic aim. He noted the Ruger clutched in the man’s stiff fingers. Donning a rubber glove from his jeans pocket, he picked up the gun and checked the clip. Five cartridges were missing. ‘Good old-fashioned gunfight?’ he thought humorously and passed the gun to the deputy, who dropped it into a plastic bag.

  Standing, he turned to examine the rest of the scene. The bathrooms were empty and seemed to bear no evidence. When he stepped out of the women’s door, he noticed black skid marks peeling away from the dirt lot and onto the highway headed west, away from town.

  “Have Coggs get me an ID ASAP,” he ordered Pierce.

  The deputy nodded and watched him walk back to his Explorer. It disappeared over the western horizon a few minutes later.

  * * *

  Alma stared out the front window of the CRV at a dark blue lake. Reeds blew in the breeze twenty feet away from shore. All she could think was how much she wished she had a kayak right now; she’d like to part the smooth water with the hull of the red craft Dirk had bought her.

  Cooper’s sleepy mumble brought her back to reality. He slept in the back of the car. The seats were laid flat and Bailey lay stretched out next to him. She couldn’t blame the two of them for sleeping so late. They hadn’t arrived at the lakeside until nearly five this morning after a horrifying night.

  Her eyes fell to the pistol sitting on the passenger seat, the safety on, but the clip empty. She expected to feel more horror and self-loathing. But somehow, after all the things she’d seen with her husband, she felt content. A sense of strength wound through her. She’d succeeded in protecting her son. That was the only thing keeping her going and, so far, she was accomplishing her mission.

  At Dirk’s written request in the notebook, she’d bought a handgun in Spokane. This was the first time she’d shot a gun in over twelve years. She was somewhat pleased to find the skills still sharp.

  Her thoughts were of old memories when the sound of tires on gravel startled her. A Ford Explorer was pulling around the CRV. She quickly stuffed the gun in the glove box.

  A haggard looking man climbed from the car. A week’s worth of unkempt growth made a brown jungle of his cheeks and chin. A red and black-checkered flannel shirt was untucked from his jeans. The cuffs were unbuttoned.

  He crossed the gravel to the CRV and started to knock on the window, but Alma opened the door before he could disturb Cooper. She silently closed the door behind her and leaned back against the car.

  “Can I help you?” she demanded quietly.

  The man glanced in the backseat and suddenly understood why she’d kept him from knocking. He waved her closer to his car where their voices wouldn’t disturb the child.

  Alma glanced between her son and the man. Suspicion made her wary of absolutely everyone, especially this ragged stranger who appeared so confident. But, besides being hidden out of reach, the gun was empty and she didn’t even have a spare clip. She didn’t think Johnson could have replaced his assassin so quickly. Biting her lip, she followed the man.

  He was staring back at the three bullet holes in the side of the CRV when she joined him near the hood of his car. There was another moment of awkward silence before he met her eye and said, “Where were you at four o’clock this morning?”

  The abrupt question caught her off guard. There was no way the authorities had already tracked her down, was there?

  “Here,” she answered confidently with a wave at the water.

  “Here?” His brows raised in disbelief. “Why?”

  “My son and I are travelling across the country. I was too tired to continue driving last night. I saw this park on a map and thought we’d sleep in the car.”

  The man scrutinized her, taking in the dark bags under her eyes and the rumpled clothing. “You sleep in the car often?”

  “These days, yes.”

  Just one brow remained raised. “You sleep often?”

  She scowled at the more personal question. “Who are you?” Her exhausted mind chastised her for not demanding identification sooner.

  “Who are you?” he shot back.

  Alma crossed her arms and glared at him. “You first.”

  With an aggravated roll of the eyes, he pulled his wallet from a back pocket and flipped it open to his ID. It surprised him when she swiped it from his hand to examine closely. Her eyes widened and he noticed their silver tint for the first time.

  “You’re Agent Wyatt Ramsey?” she asked faintly.

  “Yes.” He snatched his wallet back. “Your turn.”

  “My driver’s license is in the car, so you’ll just have to trust me.”

  He waved his hand to urge her on.

  “My name is Alma Decker-Travers.”

  His eyes narrowed. Something about that sounded familiar.

  “My husband was Dirk Travers.”
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  A slew of information returned to him. It took several moments to sift through it. In the meantime, he muttered, “’Was’?”

  Her pained expression told all. He knew the expression well. It was one that met him in the mirror every morning.

  “Dirk was killed two weeks ago,” she muttered, staring at the gravel.

  Ramsey took a step back in shock. “Killed?”

  “Murdered.”

  He sucked in a breath and leaned heavily against the Explorer. “By the man I just found dead a few miles from here?”

  The woman flinched and refused to meet his eye. “Yes.”

  The weight of the situation landed like a ton of bricks on Ramsey’s shoulders. It shifted only slightly at her next words.

  “Eric Johnson sent him.”

  He looked up sharply. “Johnson?”

  She nodded and examined his reaction. “You don’t know?”

  He shook his head with dread.

  “Johnson was pardoned. He came after Dirk within hours of being released.”

  ‘Wow,’ Ramsey suddenly thought at the strange emotion giving him a tingle down the spine. ‘This is what it’s like to feel again.’ Even the anger coursing through him now had become foreign.

  “How…” He waved vaguely at their surroundings. “Why…” Then he motioned to himself.

  “Dirk…” She swallowed hard at the name on her tongue. “He said you would help.”

  There was a sudden sound from the CRV and the door opened to expel a sandy haired boy and a golden retriever. Ramsey recalled Travers saying something about a son. The boy rubbed his eyes and walked to his mother in a sleepy haze.

  “Mom?” he muttered drowsily.

  Alma put her arm around his shoulders and drew him to her side before looking back at Ramsey. “He said he’d done you a favor.”

  He opened and closed his mouth like a fish for a moment. Of course, he remembered offering to help Travers and his family if he ever needed it, but never had he expected the proposal to bear fruit. “That was before…”

  “Before your wife died?” Alma finished.