Family Ties

by Joanna Wayne

  “Ain’t that sweet?” He flashed her a smile. He hadn’t lost it. Even years in prison hadn’t taken away his appeal. If anything, he’d gotten better at the swagger and the whogives-a-damn-smiles. Cool, loose and good-looking, the women dug it every time.

  He pocketed the address and started out the door.

  “See you later,” she said, grinning at him.

  “Yeah. Later, baby.” Unless he found what he was really after first. For now, it was back to the streets. He’d already driven around for hours, searching every parking lot he could find for Dillon’s car. Find Dillon and he’d have Ashley. It sounded a lot simpler than it had become.

  Dark clouds were rolling overhead when Lester exited the café and headed for his truck. A summer storm was brewing. He didn’t mind. He’d always enjoyed a good storm. The violence of the lightning, the fury of the wind. It made things exciting, like life should be.

  Pulling the truck door closed, he looked at the map the girl had drawn. It led to an area he hadn’t searched yet. Down about a mile and then another half mile to the north.

  Settling into his ragged seat, he gunned the engine. He’d check the rest of the high-rent places on the beach first and then head to the waitress’s place about midnight, snooping around every possibility along the way. Ashley was out there somewhere, and he would find her, he hoped tonight.

  Chapter Three

  The wind picked up, moaning as it swept around the corners of the apartment building, ghostly cries that only added to the desolation that pervaded Ashley’s senses. It was nearly midnight, but she hadn’t closed her eyes. Her mind rocked with fears and impossible plans for fighting Dillon. He was the tyrant, strong and heartless.

  And she was weak, so weak she’d let the memories sneak in and play with her mind. But this time it would take more than memories of long-ago passion to make her give in to Dillon’s demands.

  Rolling over, she took Petey’s picture from the table by her bed and hugged it to her chest, the corners of the frame pressing through the thin cotton of her gown and nudging her breasts.

  Petey. It was amazing how one small boy could have made her life so complete. Years of loneliness washed away from the moment she’d first held him in her arms, red and squiggly and looking for all the world like his father.

  Her heart constricted. His father sat outside right now, planning to steal Petey away from her. She gritted her teeth, the muscles in her body tightened like coiled springs. It would be easier to give up her right hand, her very breath, than to lose Petey.

  But then, of course, there was Dillon’s option. She could move to the ranch. Not as his wife. Oh, no. He’d never touch her. That had been his promise, and she was sure he would be all too happy to keep it.

  The last time he’d held her had been the night before their wedding. The night before they would bind their lives together, repeating vows she’d foolishly believed meant something. Her fingers roamed to her chest, stroking the smooth gold of the heart-shaped locket Dillon had given her that night. A symbol of their commitment.

  That night they’d loved and laughed and planned their dreams into the wee hours of the morning. Dillon’s hands, his mouth, his burning tongue had caressed every inch of her. Even now traitorous warmth suffused her, like a fever that wouldn’t cool.

  Kicking away the sheet, she threw her legs over the side of the bed. She couldn’t lie here and become trapped by these crippling thoughts. The dreams were over, and the memories would have to die, too. And they never would if she was anywhere close to Dillon Randolph. With trembling fingers, she unclasped the necklace and dropped it on the bedside table.

  She walked from her bedroom, stepping across the narrow hall to stand in Petey’s door. His knees were tucked into his stomach and Bear was cradled against his chest. He loved that slightly lopsided teddy bear as much as she had when she’d gotten him for Christmas a few months after her brother Peter’s death. Too bad. If it hadn’t been for the bear, she and Petey would have been long gone when Dillon arrived, even though they were running from the wrong villain.

  She tiptoed to the edge of the bed and listened to the quiet rhythm of Petey’s breathing and watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He was sleeping so peacefully, totally unaware that he was about to spark one huge custody battle.

  Dillon would never walk away from his son. The Randolph pride and sense of responsibility wouldn’t let him. And she’d never give Petey up, either. The love wouldn’t let her. So there was nothing to do but fight. And by hook or by crook, she would come out the winner. She was way overdue.

  Her mouth stretched into a weary yawn. Her only consolation was knowing Dillon probably wasn’t getting any sleep, either. He’d be out there in the dark, watching her apartment and her car, not even blinking, afraid she might outsmart him.

  Determination was definitely one of his strongest virtues. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to check, to make sure he hadn’t been bluffing.

  Padding across the worn carpet, she went to the kitchen and poured a glass of red wine. Her version of a tranquilizer. She sipped slowly, letting the liquid slide down her throat as she paced from the kitchen to the living room, finally getting the courage to pull back the shade and stare out the window.

  The first drops of rain pelted against the panes, and she squinted to see through the splotched glass. The spot where the Lincoln had been parked was now occupied by a blue Volkswagen. Heart pounding and hands clammy, Ashley rushed to the bedroom and pulled on her robe, stuffing her feet into the fuzzy animal slippers Petey loved her to wear. Maybe Dillon had left for a cup of coffee to keep him awake, or to find a pay phone so he could contact his lawyer.

  Turning, she glanced at the clock on the microwave. Five minutes past midnight. Pulling her robe tighter, she pushed open the front door and stepped onto the balcony.

  The wind raced down the side of the building, whipping her hair into her face and mouth. She clung to the railing and peered over the edge.

  An old truck rumbled into the parking lot, slowly cruising the rows of parked cars. She watched it round a corner. Damn. That’s where the Lincoln was, parked on the corner, a better surveillance spot. Dillon stuck a hand out the window and waved at her, no doubt gloating that he’d been right about her desire to run.

  She didn’t wave back.

  DISAPPOINTMENT trudged from the top of Dillon’s head to his cramped legs as he watched Ashley disappear behind her front door. He was sitting here like a cheap private eye, making sure Ashley didn’t take his kid and run. So why was he so irritated to have his fears confirmed?

  She’d checked out his threats, as he knew she would. If he hadn’t been sitting here when she’d hung over the railing just now, she’d be bolting like a skittish colt.

  Well, now at least she might give up any thought of escape and get some sleep. That way it wouldn’t be quite as critical if he dozed off. Slim chance he would, though, cramped up like this. He’d opted for the biggest thing on the car rental lot. Not that he gave a hoot about luxury. It was the head and leg space he needed.

  But even if he did fall asleep for a second, everything was under control. Ashley knew he was here. Not to mention the fact that he’d disconnected a couple of critical wires in her car’s engine for good measure.

  Tomorrow he’d get the best man he could find to take over his spying duties. He had other work cut out for him, namely getting to know his son and persuading Ashley to return with him to Burning Pear.

  He’d had a long talk with his lawyer before leaving Texas, just as he’d told Ashley. It was the results he’d lied about. He didn’t have a leg to stand on when it came to taking Petey away from Ashley. Not unless he could prove she was an unfit mother. After seeing her with Petey tonight, he knew that was out of the question. She was a perfect mother, and he was an out-of-state politician who hadn’t known the boy existed until a day ago. That’s why he had to get her to Texas.

  He didn’t trust her. If she had her way, he’d be heading to
the ranch right now believing Petey wasn’t his. He would have known, though, even if Petey hadn’t been branded liberally with Randolph features. Branson might have been right about Ashley on several counts, but not on everything.

  Ashley had loved him once. No one could have made him feel the way she had, could have driven him out of his mind with her lovemaking, if there had been another man. No, Petey was his. If he’d had green hair and freckles and warts on his nose, Dillon would have still known a child conceived by Ashley around the time of their wedding was his flesh and blood.

  And nothing Ashley or some Florida judge said or did could keep him from taking Petey to the ranch. He leaned his head against the headrest as the wind and rain picked up, driving against his windshield.

  It had been a long day, and he hadn’t slept a good hour stretch last night. Not after a family friend had come rushing to the ranch to show him the snapshot of Ashley and his son.

  The rain beat monotonously on the roof of the car and splashed on the hood. Pictures, Ashley, son… He let his eyes close for a second. He was tired to the bone, but he wouldn’t let himself fall asleep.

  A CLAP OF THUNDER shook the building, stirring Ashley from the sleep she’d never thought would come. Rubbing her eyes, she peered into the darkness. The room was pitchblack, and rain hammered against the window. She reached for the light blanket she’d kicked to the foot of the bed, pulling it under her chin.

  A rattling noise started and then stopped. Creaks and groans, nothing unusual. The rattling sounded again, louder this time. Sliding from her bed, she tiptoed to the door. It wouldn’t hurt to make a quick check to see if she could locate the source of the noise. One of the windows might have been left open a crack.

  A shadow floated in front of her as she stepped into the hall. Her breath caught. She waited in the darkness, pulling in air and composure. It was nothing, of course. Just the wind blowing something by the window. The events of the afternoon had left her shaken.

  She flicked the hall light switch. Nothing happened. Evidently the storm had knocked out the power. She should have realized it. That’s why the house was bathed in total darkness. The night-lights in the hall and in Petey’s room were both out.

  Something shuffled, like footsteps on her kitchen floor. “Dillon.” The name fell tentatively from her lips. If anyone was in here, it had to be him.

  “This isn’t funny, Dillon. You can’t frighten me into getting your way. Quit playing these stupid games. Now!”

  Deathly silence answered her command.

  It was just the wind, she told herself again, but still she looked around for a weapon of some kind. Slinking through the apartment, she grabbed Petey’s dump truck from the floor by the sofa. A lot of good it would do. Not even a sharp edge to gouge with. Hands trembling, she let it slide to the sofa.

  She was probably afraid for nothing. But she’d take no chances. Dial 9-1-1. She reached across the end table and picked up the telephone. Something shuffled again, closer. Her fingers trembled as she felt her way across the phone buttons. Just dial the number. Her address could be traced even if she never got the chance to ask for help.

  She pressed nine.

  Nothing. The storm had knocked out the phone, too.

  Thunder clapped again, and the whole apartment seemed to shake. She sucked in a calming breath. It was probably only the storm that was spooking her. Still, Petey was in the next room. If someone was in the house, she had to protect him at any cost.

  She stood quietly and tried to think. The rain was all she could hear now, beating against the windows. No. There was something else, quieter. Like hushed breathing, low but distinct. She held her breath as the sudden smell of liquor and sweat accosted her senses.

  “Dillon.” She said his name again, but fear settled in her breast, stifling her voice. Dillon would fight for what he wanted, but not like this. Someone else was in her apartment. Tonight of all nights. She had to think clearly and fast. Dillon was right outside. He would come running if he heard her screams, but what chance would she have of yelling above the cursed wind and teeming rain?

  Hugging the wall, she eased into the kitchen and stretched to a top shelf, sliding her fingers inside the door to release the safety catch. The butcher knife was there. Trembling, she wrapped her fingers around the handle.

  A hand closed over hers. “I wouldn’t try that if I were you.”

  “Let go of me.” The words were almost lost in the shudder that scratched along her nerves.

  His grip tightened and he forced the knife from her hand. “Take it easy. And don’t try anything foolish. Not if you want that little boy in the next room to keep sleeping.”

  Terror erupted inside her, cold and paralyzing. This man had been in Petey’s room. “My purse is in the living room,” she murmured, her voice trembling so that she could barely speak. “Just take it and get out of here.”

  Her purse and her life savings. The money for her escape. But right now, the money didn’t matter at all.

  “Your purse? Pocket change? That’s not exactly what I have in mind.”

  “What is it you want?” His fingers were digging into the flesh of her arm, but she forced her mind to keep thinking. She had to have a plan. “My checkbook’s in the car. I could write you a check.”

  “No, thanks, Miss Ashley Jackson Randolph. I’ll take cash. A cool million dollars, give or take a few thousand.”

  “Lester.” His name shot from her throat as understanding washed over her in thundering waves. “How did you find me?”

  “With a little help from your hubby. Only you must not be too friendly anymore. You made the poor man sleep outside. Bad mistake on your part.”

  “So that’s how you found me. You followed Dillon here.”

  “You catch on quick. Peter always said his little sister was smart as well as pretty.” He stepped behind her, twisting her arm behind her back. “Now let’s see just how smart you are.”

  “I’ve told you before. I don’t have the money you’re looking for. My brother was shot the day after the robbery. He didn’t have time to get the money to me even if he’d wanted to. Even you should be able to figure that out.”

  “Yeah, I got it figured out, all right. That’s why what you say doesn’t cut it. You were the only person in the world Peter cared two cents about. If the money wasn’t with him, he got it to you somehow.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Would I be living in a place like this if I had that kind of money?”

  “Obviously, you would. You’re here, aren’t you?” He pushed, and Ashley felt something sharp dig into the flesh between her shoulder blades.

  “Listen to reason, Lester. There is no money. And if you kill me, you’re just going back to prison.”

  “Shut up!”

  He pushed her again, and this time a jagged edge tore at her flesh. A warm trickle ran down her back.

  “The party’s over, Ashley. And don’t try anything funny. My patience is mighty thin. I don’t know how much longer I can be a nice guy.”

  “Look, Lester. I don’t have the money you and Peter stole, but I can get you some cash. In the morning, first thing.”

  “I want the million, Ashley. All of it. Until then, you’ll be right by my side.”

  “No, you can’t stay here.”

  “I don’t intend to. Start walking, toward the back door.” He pushed again, this time sending her careening against the edge of the kitchen table. “Out the back way. Real quiet. So I don’t have to shoot a brave husband.”

  “No, please. Just leave and come back in the morning. I’ll meet you here and we can look for the money together. I promise.” She was grasping for any delay she could find.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Then try it your way. But you’ll never be able to kidnap me like this without Dillon seeing us. He’s watching the apartment like a hawk.”

  “Wrong again, sweetheart. We’ll move in the shadows, down the back steps and to the other side of the building. Bes
ides, the last time I checked, your hero’s head was slumped over the steering wheel of his big car, and the stupid jerk was fast asleep.”

  He grabbed the doorknob with his left hand and pulled the door open. “Keep close to the building, in the shadows, and don’t even think of causing a scene. One move and that boy of yours in there will be in big trouble. I promise you that.”

  His slurred threats strangled her hope. She was at his mercy, and he knew it. Lester would kill her without thinking twice if she didn’t meet his demands. And she could come about as close to handing him the moon as she could the million he wanted.

  Still, relief eased her movements as Lester shoved her into the driving rain and toward the steep back steps. Her son was sleeping inside, and Dillon was nearby. No matter what happened to her, Petey would be safe. And that was all that really mattered.

  Lightning shot a ragged streak across the sky as Lester shoved Ashley down the first step. Her foot slipped on the wet surface, and she lunged for the railing. But her grip didn’t hold. Instead her feet slipped out from under her and she fell hard, her body slamming against Lester’s chest. Mercifully, she missed making contact with the sharp knife.

  She staggered ahead, not daring to fight. Clinging to the rail, she stole a hurried glance toward the ground. There was no movement. No insomniacs out walking the dog or smoking a cigarette on the back balcony on a night like this. Only Dillon was out there, and apparently he was asleep, just as Lester had said.

  “Move it, girl. And don’t waste your time looking for the cowboy senator to help you.” A quiet laugh escaped Lester’s lips, sinister, like the rain that pelted her face and the wind that pasted her soaked gown to her body.

  “Faster, before I throw you down the rest of the way!”

  Protests clogged her throat. She swallowed them. Why waste her breath arguing with a lunatic?