Family in Hiding

by Valerie Hansen

  That was how Dylan ended up back at his apartment to change clothes and shave before being escorted to his office at Munders and Moore, L.L.C., via taxi.

  In retrospect, he felt it was possible that at least some of the clues might lead back to Frederick Munders’ wife, Matilda, who ran Perfect Family Adoption Agency. The puzzle was how an overtly open and honest woman like her could have gotten involved in baby stealing. It didn’t make sense. That was a big reason why Dylan hadn’t suspected the risks to his own conscience until he was in way over his head.

  Thoughts of his three children brought somber reflection. How devastated those other parents must feel to have lost custody of their babies! When he’d believed that the adoptions were voluntary, he’d had no trouble bending the rules to expedite transfers of guardianship. Now, however, he knew better.

  Straightening his tie and running a palm over his dark hair to make sure he was presentable, he left his plainclothes escort and entered the modern high-rise containing the law offices where he was ostensibly still employed. As long as nobody asked him what he’d been doing on his recent days off he figured he’d be okay.

  He mopped his brow with a linen handkerchief before tucking it back into the breast pocket of his custom-tailored blazer, stepping onto the elevator and pressing the button for the fourth floor.

  Everything seemed quite ordinary when he disembarked. The firm’s prim receptionist merely nodded to him as he passed, while clerks and paper-pushers overlooked his passage the way they usually did when they were busy.

  Dylan’s private office was bigger than a cubicle but far smaller than that of his boss or the other senior partners. He paused in the doorway, taking care to avoid attracting undue attention, then sidled through and quietly shut the door behind him.

  Nothing seemed to have been disturbed until he crossed to a filing cabinet and opened it. Everything pertaining to the adoptions the police had asked about had been removed. It hardly mattered that the files were gone, however, because it wasn’t the actual paper copies the police needed, it was the private background information they contained. That, he could provide.

  Going quickly to the golfing trophies atop his bookcase, Dylan unscrewed the base of one of them and withdrew a USB flash drive from a hollow space. His hands were shaking so badly he had trouble reassembling the award properly but he managed to cobble it together enough to withstand a cursory inspection.

  Pocketing the drive, he wheeled and headed for the door. All he could think of was getting out of there ASAP.

  He’d almost reached the elevator when he heard someone shout a gruff, “Hey!”

  The doors slid open with a whoosh. Ignoring the urgent-sounding summons, Dylan stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the lobby.

  His last glimpse through the closing doors was of a uniformed security guard. The man had a hand on the butt of his holstered gun and was hurrying toward him.

  It didn’t matter why the guard was alerted or who might have questioned his presence. All Dylan could think of was escaping. He punched other buttons, hoping he hadn’t been too late to override his original selection.

  Slowing, then coming to a smooth stop, the elevator doors opened onto the third floor. The number two was still lit on the panel, so Dylan paused rather than disembark on three. A normal person who was being chased would get off as soon as possible and take to the stairs. Logically, so would the guard who had missed the elevator. Therefore, he had to think of some other way to elude his pursuer.

  By the time Dylan reached the second floor the answer had come to him. There was a back entrance to the building’s barber shop with a stairway leading to and from the street. It was meant for tenants only, particularly for attorneys who wanted to avoid lurking reporters and other nuisances. This time, it would be his escape route.

  He pounded down the concrete steps and burst out onto the busy sidewalk, quickly moving away. Made it!

  When he thought about delivering the flash drive, however, he realized he had inadvertently ditched his covert police escort when he’d fled from the guard. There was no way he dared backtrack at this point. Worse, he looked every bit the professional man that he was. If someone from Munders and Moore really was after him it would be hard to hide. Not only were the police going to be looking for him soon, lots of people around there knew him on sight, too.

  Reaching for his wallet, he wished the police had seen fit to return his cell phone so he could at least call for help. He ducked into a drugstore to buy sunglasses and whatever else he could find that would alter his appearance. He was paying for the glasses and waiting for the clerk to cut off the tag when he spied the answer to his unspoken prayers.

  A young man wearing a tattered red St. Louis Cardinals jacket and cap stepped up behind him at the register with a bottle of soda in hand.

  “A hundred bucks for the jacket,” Dylan said, flashing a bill as proof and shucking his navy-blue blazer.

  The youth began to grin. “Twenty more gets you my hat, too.”

  “Done.” Dylan handed over the money as well as his own expensive coat and tie. “Here. Take these. I won’t need them.”

  “How about my shoes?” the guy asked.

  Dylan ignored him and told the salesclerk, “Keep the change,” donning the silky red jacket as he raced for the door. By the time he was outside he had put on the sunglasses and pulled the bill of the cap low over his forehead.

  Now what? He knew he should immediately hail a cab and return to the authorities so they wouldn’t think he was trying to pull a fast one and get away from them.

  Yes, he would go back. Soon. But there was something even more important to do first. He had to talk to Grace in person. To explain why he’d done what he’d done—and how he was determined to make amends. Somehow.

  Granted, it probably wouldn’t make any difference to her at this point, particularly because he’d have to tell her he’d been in police custody, as well. Yet he desperately wanted her to know how penitent he was and that he was already aiding the authorities as best as he could.

  That kind of truth had to be conveyed face-to-face, Dylan decided. There was no way he could ever convince Grace of his change of heart over the phone. Even looking straight into her eyes was no guarantee of success. But he had to try. He simply had to. Her opinion of him mattered more than anyone else’s and if he waited until after he’d turned over the flash drive he might not get that chance to speak with her privately.

  Lacking an available taxi, he boarded a bus and took a seat. Just as the driver was pulling away from the curb, several more security guards burst from his office building and gathered on the sidewalk, talking into handheld radios and gesturing as if making plans for his capture. They might not know why he’d visited the office but they certainly seemed upset about it, meaning that someone must have an idea what he was after, despite not being aware of his secret files.

  Dylan lowered his head to hide beneath the bill of the cap and used his hand to block the rest of his face.

  His kids would be getting out of school soon and Grace would take Brandon with her to pick up Kyle and Beth. It was the only time he could be certain of catching her away from home—and away from the authorities who probably already had the family home under surveillance since he’d just given them the slip.

  Gripping the back of the seat in front of him he watched the downtown pass and the suburbs begin. Almost there. Almost to his Gracie.

  The thought of her pet name sobered him even further. He’d tried to be a good husband, yet his efforts had never seemed sufficient. It was just like when he was growing up. There was never enough of anything. Dylan had vowed that that would never happen to his family and it had not.

  What about now? His jaw clenched. Now, his greatest desire was to stay out of jail—and to see that his loved ones were safe and well cared for. Even
if his efforts to make amends were going to place him in jeopardy, he was certain his family would be safe. After all, he was no longer living at home or taking an active part in their daily lives so there was no reason for anyone to bother them, other than perhaps the police.

  If he hadn’t been positive that God had given up on him long ago, he might even have closed his eyes and prayed for divine help. It was hopelessness, and well-deserved guilt, that stopped him.

  * * *

  Grace parked in the shade across from the school and released her three-year-old from his booster seat. His pudgy little arms encircled her neck and he hugged her tightly, inadvertently pulling her long red hair as she lifted him.

  “Ouch,” Grace said with a smile and a toss of her head. “Easy, big boy.”

  “I love you, Mommy.”

  “I love you, too, Brandon. Just try not to pull Mama’s hair, okay?”

  “Okay.” He leaned back and pointed. “There’s Beth.”

  “I see her.” Toting her youngest, Grace crossed to the lawn in front of the elementary school where they joined her daughter. “Have you seen Kyle?”

  “Nope.” Beth reached into her pink backpack and pulled out a handful of papers. “I got an A in spelling. And look what I drew.”

  “Very nice, honey.”

  “It’s me and you and Daddy and the boys,” the girl said proudly. “See? I gave Kyle an ugly face ’cause he’s always so mean.”

  Grace did her best to ignore the child’s telling portraits. Not only was the family still complete in her daughter’s eyes, she’d noted the chip on Kyle’s shoulder.

  It wasn’t hard to spot her eldest. His red hair stood out like a lit traffic flare at an accident scene when he left the main building and started in her direction. Then he paused, pivoted and ran right up to a total stranger.

  The man crouched to embrace the boy, setting Grace’s nerves on edge and causing her to react immediately. She grabbed Beth’s hand and pulled her along while still balancing Brandon on one hip.

  “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

  The figure stood in response to her challenge. The brim of a cap and dark glasses masked his eyes, yet there was something very familiar about the way he moved, the breadth of his shoulders, the faint shadow of stubble on his strong chin.

  Grace gaped. It couldn’t be. But it was.

  “Dylan?”

  He placed a finger against his lips. “Shush. Not here. We need to talk. Where’s your car?”

  “Across the street. Why? Where’s yours?”

  “I took a bus. It’s a long story.”

  When he removed the glasses, Grace was startled to glimpse an unusual gleam in his eyes, as if he might be holding back tears—which, of course, was out of the question, knowing him.

  “If you want to speak to me, you can do it through my lawyer the way we agreed.”

  Dylan replaced the glasses and spoke decisively. “This has nothing to do with our divorce. It’s much more important than that.”

  Grace’s first reaction was disappointment, followed rapidly by resentment. “What could possibly be more important than our marriage and the future of our children?” She knew her raised voice was attracting attention but she didn’t care. “This is precisely why I filed for divorce, Dylan. You have always put other things ahead of your family. Why can’t you see that?”

  “I’m beginning to realize that my priorities need adjustment, but that’s not why we have to talk. In private.”

  “What could you possibly have to say to me that can’t be said right here?” She knew her husband well enough to tell that he was struggling with something and, in spite of her anger, she felt a twinge of pity.

  “Let me put it this way, Grace,” Dylan said quietly, cupping her elbow and leaning closer. “You can either come with me and listen to what I have to say or get ready to save a bunch of money because you probably won’t have to pay your divorce attorney.”

  “Why on earth not?”

  Dylan scanned the crowd and clenched his jaw before he said, “Because you’ll be a widow.”

  TWO

  It took only minutes for the McIntyre family to return to the family’s midsize white SUV. Grace secured little Brandon while Dylan made sure the other two were safely belted on either side of the toddler’s booster seat in the second row.

  “If you want me to drive, I’ll need your keys,” Dylan said.

  “Why? What happened to yours?”

  “The same thing that happened to my briefcase and cell phone,” he replied, holding out his hand.

  She pulled a ring of keys from her jeans’ pocket and tossed it to him. “Okay. But this better be good.”

  He nodded. “Get in and buckle up.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Someplace unusual. And public. Can you think of any nearby locations you and I have never visited?” He started the car and pulled into traffic, narrowly missing a passing motorist. “Preferably one with a crowd.”

  “You’re scaring me, Dylan.”

  “Good. That makes two of us.”

  With an eye on his mirrors as well as the road ahead, Dylan headed west on Highway 44. “How about the botanical garden? You used to say you’d like to go there sometime and we never got around to it.”

  “Fine. Whatever.” Grace set her jaw and folded her arms across her chest, clearly defensive. “I suppose you’re going to make me wait until we get there before you explain what’s going on.”

  He met her stare and angled his head back toward their children. “I think that’s for the best. Once I’ve told you everything, I know you’ll agree I’m doing the right thing.”

  “I’d better.”

  Continuing to cut in and out of traffic whenever it was safe to do so, Dylan remained on full alert. Not only were criminals probably after him, so was the law. He knew he shouldn’t have ditched his handlers but once he’d reached the street outside his office, his heart had insisted he go straight to Grace and his children while he was still free to do so.

  He caught sight of Kyle in the mirror and his gut clenched. If Grace was upset, their son was doubly angry. The boy’s brow was furrowed and he was glaring at his father as if he’d already forgotten how glad he’d been to see him.

  The turnoff on Shaw Boulevard took them straight to the Missouri Botanical Garden. “What section?” Dylan asked, attempting to keep the concern out of his voice. “I understand the irises are in full bloom right now.”

  “No,” Grace replied with an audible sigh. “Make it the Children’s Garden. That will give the kids something to do and we won’t have to stay long. I think they close early this time of year.”

  “Okay. You go buy the tickets and I’ll bring the kids.”

  Watching her shoulder her purse and slowly start toward the entrance, Dylan could barely breathe. Look what he’d had—and let slip away. Grace was one of a kind. A loving wife and a great mother. Of all the mistakes he’d made, and there were plenty, letting his work take precedence over his family had been the worst.

  It was more than that, his guilty conscience insisted. You let yourself be blinded by the promise of success and wealth beyond your dreams. And now look where you are.

  Straightening with Brandon on one hip and the older children close at heel, Dylan started for the entrance to the gardens. Judging by the number of cars present they had made a good choice. There were enough others there to provide anonymity without a crowd overwhelming them. And, if necessary, the gardens would provide plenty of places to hide.

  Dylan sincerely hoped it was not going to come to that. If he’d had the slightest inkling that they were being followed he would have driven straight to the nearest police station and turned himself in.

  However, since they seemed to be in th
e clear for the present he was going to carry out his plan. Grace was a sensible woman. She’d see why his future—and hers— depended upon the choices he was about to make. Given the lives those criminals had ruined and the children they had kidnapped, according to the police, he could hardly wait to help put them all behind bars.

  Finished at the ticket booth, Grace turned back to her family. Dylan saw her hair catch the rays of the afternoon sun and gleam like burnished copper, afire with highlights that gave her a haloed appearance and made him rue the poor choices that had led them to that moment.

  As much as he would have liked to appeal to his alienated spouse on a personal level, he realized that this wasn’t the right time to reveal how much trouble he was in and that he was preparing to face danger.

  The less she knew about all that and the more he nurtured their estrangement, the safer she, and his children, would be.

  * * *

  Hardly anything would have surprised Grace more than her husband’s presence at the elementary school. She could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times Dylan had picked up the kids. So what had brought him this time? And why was he dressed like a refugee from a Cardinals’ baseball game?

  She held up the brochure she’d been given with the tickets and pointed to it. “Let’s go to number ten. It’s an elevated pavilion. We can stand up there and watch while the kids check out the tree house and the frontier fort.”

  “Works for me.”

  Grace led the way, noting that her usually rambunctious children were clinging close to the daddy they hadn’t seen in weeks. Although she felt slightly abandoned she could understand their feelings. They’d missed Dylan. So had she. Not that she’d ever actually admit it.

  They started up a boarded walkway that was edged with a rough-cut rail fence and Grace wished she’d worn more substantial rubber-soled shoes rather than skimpy sandals.

  She faltered once, catching herself on the bordering fencing.