Amanda's Child

by Rebecca York

  He looked at her, and she knew he was trying to see past the fear shadowing her face. “How good an actress are you?’’ he asked in a voice edged with steel.

  “I get the feeling I’m about to find out.’’

  Matt’s eyes bored into hers. “Hewitt’s mad as hell at me for getting away and tying him up. Probably he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to go one-on-one with me, in case we found the escape hatch. But he won’t hurt you.’’ He clamped her by the shoulders, the pressure of his big hands making her feel both fragile and strong at the same time. “If I could think of some other way…’’

  “Just spit it out!’’

  “Okay.’’ His fingers eased the painful pressure on her shoulders. “If you go out there screaming that I’m under a pile of dirt and beg him to help you, then run back this way before he can grab you, I can take him before he realizes what’s happening,’’ he said in one long exhalation of breath.

  He looked as if he was hoping she would protest. But she wasn’t about to let him see her fear. Instead she raised her chin, her gaze challenging his. “You think that will work? What if he doesn’t realize it’s me before he starts shooting?’’

  “I shouldn’t have asked you to do it. I’m sorry. Not after I just gave you a lecture about protecting your baby,’’ he said in a low voice.

  He took a step back, but she grabbed his arm. “No. I can’t think of any other way to keep Logan from getting his hands on my child.’’ She closed her eyes, gathering her courage before turning to face the tunnel entrance. For a moment she stood poised on the balls of her feet. Then, like a madwoman, she started down the tunnel, picking up speed as she went. Waving her hands, she screamed, “Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot. It’s Amanda. I need your help! Please, help me!’’

  When he spotted her, Hewitt jerked upright, pushed himself away from the vehicle and took a step forward, his weapon ready but pointed at the ground, she was glad to see. “Miss Amanda, what is it? What’s happened?’’ he called out, taking several strides forward.

  PRESSING INTO THE SHADOWS at a slight bend in the tunnel, Matt watched the spectacle, thinking that she surely deserved the Hitchcock Award for Best Actress in a Suspense Drama.

  “Please! Help me.’’ She gestured wildly into the darkness. “The roof fell in, and Matt is under all that dirt. I can’t get him out!’’ she gasped, barely avoiding the foreman’s hand as he snatched at her arm.

  As she sped back into the tunnel, Hewitt leaped after her, stumbling as he entered the darkness. But Amanda moved quickly, sprinting back in the direction from which she’d come, forcing Hewitt to follow before his eyes had time to adjust to the dim light.

  When the foreman reached the bend in the tunnel, Matt stepped into his path and brought his fist up—straight into the man’s jutting chin. He went down like a wounded moose. Matt brought a rock down on Hewitt’s skull—for extra insurance. Then he bent to search the man’s pockets for the second time in less than twenty-four hours.

  Hewitt’s wallet yielded more cash, which Matt stuffed into his pocket, along with a set of car keys. He also took the foreman’s portable phone.

  “Come on,’’ he said, steering Amanda toward the entrance again. He gave her extra points when she didn’t spare Logan’s henchman a backward glance.

  They reached the vehicle, and Matt climbed into the driver’s seat.

  “Do you feel well enough to drive?’’ she asked.

  “Yeah,’’ he answered, making a quick evaluation and realizing to his relief that the headache had receded to a background roar.

  As soon as Amanda was buckled up, he made a U-turn and started down the narrow road, picking up speed as he went. Beside him Amanda clutched the hand grip, but she didn’t ask him to slow down.

  Three miles later he braked at the highway and looked at her. “Which way?’’

  “Where do you want to go?’’

  “Where there are other people. Strangers.’’

  “Left,’’ she told him. “Toward Casper.’’

  He nodded, stepped on the gas, taking a chance on exceeding the speed limit because he knew that they were sitting ducks in this vehicle.

  “What do we do if the helicopter starts sweeping the area?’’ she asked.

  “When they don’t hear from Hewitt, they’ll think we got blown up in the cabin,’’ he said, as much to reassure himself as her. “They won’t know we escaped until they can examine the wreckage. And it’s still too hot to handle.’’

  As he drove, though, he kept listening for the sound of rotary blades. Slowing, he tossed Hewitt’s phone into the trees and he forced himself to stay within the legal limits. Now that he had the luxury, his thoughts turned back to the conversation with Amanda after he’d kissed her. He still wanted to know what the hell she’d meant, but he wasn’t sure how to phrase the question. Finally, after he’d eaten up about twenty-five miles, he flat out asked, “Are you going to explain that crack back there—about the story of your life?’’

  “No.’’

  There was a finality in her voice that grated on his nerve endings. But he knew that pressing her was the wrong thing to do. So he tightened his hands on the wheel and kept driving.

  AMANDA WATCHED him drive, maintaining the silence until she couldn’t stand it anymore. It was ten miles later by the odometer when she asked, “Are you going to tell me why you’re not married?’’

  “I’m an ax murderer. I chopped up my wife and buried her in Druid Hill Park.’’

  “Oh, please.’’

  “It was a nosy question.’’

  “So was yours.’’

  Briefly he swung his head toward her. “You gave me some reason to ask.’’

  “So did you.’’

  “Mind explaining that?’’

  “I think it’s fair for me to ask why you’re not married.’’ She swallowed. “Why you’re fixated on me.’’

  “I wouldn’t call it fixated.’’

  “What would you call it?’’

  “Attracted. And your predicament brought out my protective instincts,’’ he growled.

  When she didn’t comment, he sighed. “Okay, if you really want to know, I was married after I got out of the army and joined a private intelligence service. Janice didn’t like the uncertainty of being hitched to a guy who was always away on assignments and couldn’t talk about what he was doing. After a couple of years she asked me for a divorce. The marriage didn’t seem worth fighting for, so I gave her what she wanted,’’ he said in a weary voice.

  “There must have been more to it than that,’’ she probed.

  “I picked her for the wrong reasons,’’ he snapped.

  “Such as what?’’

  “Looks. Sex. She was a damn sexy woman.’’

  “You don’t have to worry about that with me,’’ she answered.

  “You think you’re not sexy?’’

  “I know I’m not.’’

  When she snorted, he continued. “Not in a flashy way. You don’t flaunt it, but it’s there, wrapped up with a lot of other appealing qualities.

  “Like what?’’

  “You’re self-reliant. You’ve got more guts than most guys. You’ve got the courage of your convictions—or you wouldn’t have gone to that clinic and gotten yourself a baby.’’

  She thought about that, wondering if she dared believe him, dared let him get any closer to her than he already was. Before she could challenge him with another question, he turned off the highway into a rest area, and she watched him scan the parked vehicles. He seemed particularly interested in a battered minivan parked near a picnic table that sat in a field dotted with wild daisies. The man and woman sitting at the table drinking beer and eating from an ice chest looked as if they’d stepped out of the hippie era. The guy had long hair, a headband and a tie-dyed T-shirt. The woman’s generous body was covered by a long flowing purple dress that set off her wild red curls.

  Matt cut the engine and turned to her. “Wait here
.’’

  Unwilling to let her curiosity show, she answered, “I’m going to use the ladies’ room, while I have the chance.’’

  Exiting the Jeep, she marched off along the gravel path to the facility. As she turned into the doorway of the rest room, she could see Matt ambling toward the couple at the table. When she returned, he was deep in conversation with them.

  Not knowing whether to join in, she leaned against the bumper watching from a distance.

  A few minutes later, Matt and the guy shook hands. To her amazement she watched as the man produced a key ring screwdriver and began to take the front license plate off the van. Matt stooped, doing the same to the Jeep. In five minutes they’d switched plates on the two vehicles. Then Matt unbolted the vinyl top from the Jeep, and he and his new friend carried it into the underbrush.

  While they were busy, the woman approached Amanda. “Honey, I’m real sorry to hear about your troubles.’’ From a distance she’d looked as if she was in her early forties. Up close Amanda could see the lines in her face and the gray in her hair.

  “Name’s Crystal Bell,’’ she said, her voice as musical as her name, which was probably where she’d gotten it. “My man’s Lee Walters, and I know you’re Sally Mae Plunkett.’’

  Sally Mae Plunkett? Give me a break, Amanda thought. Aloud she said, “What troubles?’’

  “I get why you don’t want to talk about it. But Lee and I can dig it, and we’re glad to help.’’ She walked to the back of the van, pulled open the door and started searching through a large cardboard box, from which she pulled a dress similar to the one she was wearing—only in forest green and bright pink with voluminous sleeves. Along with it came a large, fringed shawl, which she handed to Amanda. “You put these on, honey, and Wayne won’t be comin’ after you no more.’’

  Amanda nodded, not sure what to do as the men returned from ditching the Jeep’s top. “You go on and change your clothes, precious,’’ Matt said, giving her backside a little shove in the direction of the ladies’ room. She stared at him for a minute, then hurried off.

  When she returned, she was carrying her own clothing over her arm and wearing the pink-and-green dress, which luckily seemed to be of the one-size-fits-all variety.

  The couple and Matt, who now sported a bright pink shirt, surveyed her with approval.

  “Go on and cover that blond hair,’’ Crystal said.

  Still too stunned to protest, Amanda dutifully draped the shawl over her head.

  “We’d best get goin’,’’ Matt said, touching the bandanna headband he now wore. “Much obliged to you kind people for your help.’’

  As he clasped Amanda’s hand and led her to the Jeep, she gaped in amazement. Not only had she and Matt been transformed into refugees from a San Francisco flower-child convention, but the Jeep seats were now covered with a couple of bright throws that made it look like a commune living room—or at least what she imagined a commune living room might look like.

  “What in the name of all that’s holy did you tell them?’’ Amanda asked as they pulled out of the parking lot.

  Matt waited until they were several hundred feet down the highway before replying. “I told them that your husband abused you. That you came to me for help and—’’ he turned his palm up “—one thing led to another, and you’re carrying my child. Now we’re escaping from Wayne, who is going to shoot us both if he catches us.’’

  “Your child!’’

  “They bought it,’’ he answered. “And for only two hundred dollars, they made the license-plate switch and gave you that sweet little outfit.’’ He fingered the bright fabric of her left sleeve.

  Amanda made a huffing sound and pulled the scarf more tightly around her head. “You paid them that much?’’

  “It was worth it. I think the Jeep is pretty well disguised. And so are we.’’

  She tipped her head and looked at him. “You must have done some pretty fast talking. I would have liked to have heard it.’’

  “Yeah, I’m a regular silver-tongued devil.’’

  “Are you bragging?’’

  “Don’t you think I’m entitled?’’ he asked, grinning.

  Against her will she nodded, impressed in spite of herself. Then another thought struck her. “If you can tell such convincing stories, why should I believe anything you say to me?’’

  He turned his head toward her, his eyes dark and fathomless. “I guess you just have to trust me, sweetheart.’’

  She swallowed, wishing she could give him the answer he wanted.

  When she didn’t speak, he turned back to the road, and they drove in silence until they reached the outskirts of Casper, where Matt slowed and began studying the motels.

  As if the previous conversation had never happened, she asked, “Don’t you want to put as much distance as you can between us and Logan?’’

  He followed her lead. “No. That’s what they’re expecting us to do. So I’ll stop here, where we can mingle with the tourists.’’

  “Won’t your security company friends figure you’ll do the unexpected?’’ she asked.

  He laughed. “Yeah. But then they’ll figure I’ll switch tactics to throw them off,’’ he added, turning off Route 20 onto a side road lined with motels and restaurants. He stopped at a slightly seedy motor court with individual log cabins set against a background of the Casper Mountains. The rustic theme was carried through by a stuffed grizzly bear holding a Vacancy sign.

  “What name did you use to register?’’ she asked as Matt returned to the car from the office.

  “I guess I could have tried out Al Hewitt. I decided it was safer to stick with Cal Flint.’’

  “Who’s Cal Flint? Someone else you knocked out cold?’’

  “No. I generally carry a spare ID, just in case.’’

  “Oh, right. Of course.’’ She thought for a moment. “Aren’t your Randolph Security friends onto your alias?’’

  He shook his head. “I stopped in Denver on the way out here to test the underground-documents network. I was going to make a report when I got back.’’

  “Whatever you say,’’ she tossed out as he drove around to one of the units in the back. When he’d unlocked the door, she stepped inside. The cabin was plainly furnished but homey, with two narrow wooden beds, a dresser and a rag rug on the wood floor.

  “At least I get my own bed,’’ Amanda murmured as she surveyed the place.

  Matt closed the door and propped his shoulder against the wall. “I’m trying to be accommodating.’’ He cleared his throat. “We can play this any way you want, you know.’’

  She stared at him, trying to read the expression on his face, but his features gave away nothing.

  “So much has happened in a really short time that I’m not sure how to react,’’ she answered, being as honest as she could.

  “I know.’’ He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and she waited for whatever else he was going to say. It was only, “You get some rest. I’m going to go out to make a few arrangements.’’

  She should just let him leave, she told herself. Instead she raised her chin slightly. “What arrangements?’’ she asked, making it a test. If he told her what he had planned, he passed.

  After a brief pause, he answered. “I’ve decided our best bet is to have a talk with Tim Francetti, the guy who was researching Colin’s background for Logan. We may be able to get some information that will give us leverage.’’

  “By leverage, you mean blackmail?’’ she asked, folding her arms across her chest.

  “Yeah.’’

  “What makes you think Francetti will cooperate with you?’’ she challenged. “Logan’s paying him.’’

  “Remember, I can be very persuasive.’’

  “Of course.’’ She was pretty sure he was talking about his performance with Crystal and Lee. Probably he had other methods in mind.

  “I’ll bring back dinner,’’ he said. “What do you want?’’

 
; “Milk,’’ was her first answer. “Low fat. But not skim. I can’t stand skim.’’

  “And to eat?’’

  She thought for a moment. “Roasted chicken, if you can get it. And some side orders of vegetables. Mashed potatoes. Something green.’’

  “Okay. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Lock the door after me and don’t open it again unless you know it’s me.’’

  “And if it’s somebody else?’’

  “Use your discretion.’’

  “Uh, don’t you want to get the dirt out of your hair first?’’ she asked.

  He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging the sweatband. “Forgot about that.’’

  He crossed to the bathroom and closed the door, and she could hear him rustling around inside, hear him turn on the shower. As she listened to the sounds, it was impossible not to imagine him standing naked under the spray, not to picture lean hips and broad shoulders, and all the skin and muscles in between.

  She felt her face heat, felt her body react. And she might have bolted outside to fill the ice bucket and rub the cubes over her cheeks if she’d thought it was safe.

  Instead she sat down in the lumpy easy chair and picked up a booklet on the local attractions, because there was nothing else to distract her. She was reading about the Pioneer Memorial Museum and old Fort Casper when Matt emerged, his dark hair glistening with droplets of water. He gestured toward the bathroom with the wet shoes he was holding. “The tub’s a little muddy. I’ll clean it when I get back. But I need to talk to some people about transportation.’’

  “Another car?’’

  “Maybe something more efficient.’’ He paused by the door. “Are you going to be okay?’’

  “Yes’’ was the only answer she could give him, so she did. After she’d locked the door, she stood indecisively in the middle of the room. If she took a shower now, she’d be thinking about how he’d just been in there. But if she didn’t do it now, then she’d run the risk of having him on the other side of the door, imagining her undressed the way she’d imagined him.