“Yes, sir,” he said into the headset. “Forty-five minutes. I’ll get them settled and be ready when you arrive to relieve me.”
“Was that your boss?” Grace asked, more for something to chat about than out of curiosity.
The agent nodded and replied as he unbuckled Brandon and handed him to her before freeing Beth. Kyle undid his own seat belt. “Yes, ma’am. Marshal McCall will be here shortly.”
And that meant...? “Him and who else?”
“Mr. McIntyre and Marshal Summers, I believe.”
Grace mumbled, “Peachy,” belatedly noting that Kyle had observed the telling reaction. Well, too bad. She had tried more than once to explain to the children why she’d filed for divorce and had basically failed, or so it seemed. Of the three, Kyle remained the most antagonistic, which figured, since he was the oldest. The boy was ten going on thirty, thanks to having mentally tried to assume the responsibility for the family that his father had neglected for so long.
“Kyle, honey, I’ll need your help with Brandon,” Grace said, hoping that assigning him a task would help her son cope. “Would you please take him to the bathroom and get him ready for bed while I look after Beth?”
“Yeah, sure. Where is it?”
“Just head down that hall and you’ll find everything you need,” the young marshal said, pointing. “Clothes in a lot of sizes are in the closet and bureau drawers of the first bedroom. Just grab whatever you think you’ll need.”
Grace had progressed as far as the kitchen. It was neat and clean, but so very tiny. There wasn’t even a dishwasher! How in the world was she supposed to keep house properly in a place like this? And who was going to tend the yard for them?
“How long can we expect to be stuck here?” she asked.
The officer shrugged. “Beats me. I’ve seen these protection programs go on indefinitely. But you won’t be staying here. This is just a halfway house. A place to stage before you disappear for good.”
“That kind of thing really works? I can’t imagine that a determined criminal couldn’t track down just about anybody he wanted to, especially if he had enough money. What are the chances we’ll be found?”
“Small, as long as you follow the rules.”
Picturing Kyle in particular, she asked, “What happens if somebody cheats?”
He appeared to be weighing his answer carefully before he sobered and said, “Sometimes they die.”
* * *
Getting the incriminating flash drive into the right hands had definitely been a relief to Dylan. It was going to feel even better to be reunited with his family—the sooner the better.
Recorded questioning at headquarters didn’t take long and he was finally given something to help dull the pain in his arm. As he had hoped, turning over the computerized files had led the authorities to halfway trust him. Besides, considering the grilling he’d received in the past few days, there wasn’t anything more to add. Evidently, law-enforcement officials had realized that and were cutting him some slack because he was hurt. Now, if he could just get Grace to do the same....
As the pain subsided and he started to relax, his eyelids grew heavy and closed. He was half-asleep, slouched in a chair and cradling his arm, when he heard his name in the background.
One eye eased open enough to peer at the marshals who had been watching him. The woman, Serena, was obviously upset and not shy about letting on.
“What do you mean it’s gone? I gave it to you.”
“I know you did. And I put it into an evidence bag and tagged it right away. You saw me.”
“Then where is it?”
Dylan noticed her sidelong glance in his direction before she said, “You’ll have to search him again, just in case.”
“He didn’t take it. He can’t have. He hasn’t moved a muscle since you gave him his meds.”
“Just the same, it can’t have gotten up and walked off.”
“Around here?” McCall snorted in derision. “I’m beginning to wonder. Too many witnesses have died in custody for me to believe that all these setbacks are coincidental.”
“You think there’s a mole in the office?”
“Don’t you?”
Dylan saw her shrug before she said, “I don’t know what to think. Look what happened to my brother, Daniel.”
At that, McCall stiffened and turned away from her. Strange, Dylan thought, peering at the others and wondering if his confusion was due to the pain meds or if the situation was so convoluted he couldn’t have made sense of it if he’d had his wits about him. Either way, their personal squabble was none of his concern. He had enough problems of his own at the moment.
McCall crossed to him and stopped, his arms folded in a stern, defensive manner. “McIntyre. Stand up,” he ordered. “Sorry, but I need to search you.”
“I don’t have that drive anymore and you know it,” Dylan said, dismayed to hear his words slurring as an effect of the medication.
“Well, I know I put it on my desk and it’s not there now, so you’re our best guess.”
“Why would I take it back? Think about that for a second.” Wincing, Dylan managed to stand although he was wobbly and had to use his good arm to steady himself on a nearby file cabinet.
“Yeah, I know,” McCall told him, sounding truly regretful. “This search is just so we can rule you out.”
“You should ask some of the people I saw milling around in here while you were fighting with your partner.”
“We weren’t fighting.” He started to methodically check Dylan’s pockets. “Who did you see near my desk?”
“Um, can’t say. Sorry.” Dylan rubbed his good hand over his face, trying to clear his mind of cobwebs. “Everybody was kind of blurred, like they were in a fog.”
“Did you see uniforms? Badges? Jackets with U.S. Marshal printed on the back?”
“I don’t think so. Everybody wore street clothes, like you and your partner.” He paused, taking a shaky breath and hoping to regain some of his equilibrium. “So, who’s Daniel and what happened to him?”
The ensuing pause was so long Dylan began to wonder if the man was going to explain.
McCall cleared his throat and continued with the search. “Daniel was one of us. Marshal Summers’ brother. He was killed in the line of duty. You probably read about it in the papers. The story was all over the news right after it happened.”
“If my mind was working normally tonight I’d probably remember,” Dylan said. “Sorry.”
“Yeah, so am I.” The marshal backed away. “You can sit down again. I’m done. You don’t have it on you.”
“That’s what I told you in the first place.” Sinking into the chair with an oomph, Dylan fought to catch his breath as the pain ebbed and flowed in time with his pounding pulse.
“I don’t suppose you made a backup copy.”
“Sure did,” Dylan said, shooting a disparaging look at the marshal. “And I gave it to you.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” McCall conceded. “Okay, we may as well take you over to the safe house since there are no files for our techs to examine right now.”
“I can’t remember all the adoption cases,” Dylan warned. “Don’t even ask me to. That’s why I kept those records.”
“Understood. But whether or not we find other evidence, you’ll still be needed to testify.”
“You are determined to get me into more hot water, aren’t you?”
“You’re already in up to your neck and plenty close to a boil,” the marshal gibed, helping him to his feet. “Come on. Summers and I’ll take you to your family.”
Dylan was medicated just enough to loosen his tongue. “I haven’t got a family,” he slurred. “I lost ’em. Lost ’em all, just like that.” A feeble attempt to snap his fingers fai
led and he staggered, nearly falling until the marshal righted him.
“Easy, man. I know how you feel but it won’t do any good to lose sleep over it. Some things are beyond fixing.”
“You sound like you know all about that.”
McCall nodded as Summers joined them. Dylan saw him look straight at her as he quietly said, “Yeah, I do.”
FIVE
If Grace could have slept she would gladly have done so. Unfortunately every time she tried to relax and close her eyes, she pictured her estranged husband, hurt and bleeding. That image did strange things to her stomach and actually made her a little queasy, much to her dismay.
Truth to tell, she still had a soft spot in her heart for that man. Correction. For the man Dylan had once been.
Those early years of their marriage had been the sweetest of her life. They had struggled together to get him through school and into a prestigious law firm that would jump-start his career. And they had succeeded, or so Grace had thought at the time. Now, it was beginning to look as if Dylan had dived into a tank of hungry sharks.
Grace still believed that upholding the law while striving for justice was a noble profession. The problem was that she could see now that Dylan had subverted it by bending the rules and had received hefty bonuses for doing so.
Perhaps, if he had merely acted out of a skewed sense of right and wrong, she’d find it easier to forgive him. Believing that his actions were predicated on financial reward rather than a desire to do the right thing pained her. There was no way she could allow her impressionable children to continue to be influenced by their father’s poor choices. If she had not already filed for divorce for far less drastic reasons, it would have undoubtedly come to that in the long run, anyway.
Muted voices reached her through the half-open bedroom door in the safe house. She had chosen to remain dressed and stay with her children, and was therefore occupying a rocking chair while the boys shared one twin bed and Beth slept in the other.
Her senses heightened. She listened for a few more moments before getting to her feet and tiptoeing to the door. It sounded as if the marshals might be discussing her situation. She had to know for sure.
Slipping into the hallway, she eased the bedroom door almost closed behind her and went to join the other adults. It wasn’t a surprise to see Dylan but his ashen appearance did startle her. So did the fact that he seemed only partially conscious.
“What did you do to him?” Grace demanded, approaching cautiously.
“Gave him a pain pill,” Marshal Summers replied. “He needed it.”
“He looks awful.” In spite of herself, Grace sidled up to her estranged mate and put one hand on his uninjured shoulder while she laid the other against his forehead. “Whoa! He’s burning up. You need to take him to a doctor.”
Before she could remove her hands she heard Dylan sigh with contentment and felt him relax beneath her touch.
“That’s my Gracie,” he slurred, alternately smiling and grimacing. “Always taking good care of me.”
She forced herself to ignore him and concentrate on the marshals. “I’m serious. He’s running a fever. Just look at him. You can see he’s sick.”
“The paramedics gave him an antibiotic shot when they treated him. He’ll be fine,” McCall said. Both marshals nodded.
Their attitude angered her. “I know you already got what you wanted from him but that’s no reason to let him suffer.”
It was the regretful expression on Marshal McCall’s face that led her to ask, “You did, didn’t you? I mean, I saw him hand you the flash drive with the files on it. What more can you want from him?”
“Lost it,” Dylan murmured, adding a chuckle. “They up and lost it.”
Grace was flabbergasted. “What?”
“Never mind. That’s our problem, not yours.” Serena Summers slipped into the open area that served as kitchen and dining nook. “Anybody hungry?” She opened the refrigerator and leaned to peer into it. “Looks like sandwiches are our only choice but the fixings are still in date. That’s a plus.”
Grace stood her ground. “I don’t believe you people. How can you eat when there are criminals out there just waiting for us to make a mistake? Look what they did to Dylan!”
She was aware that she still had one hand resting on his shoulder but decided to keep it there, as if her touch might somehow have a therapeutic effect. She might be so disappointed in him that she could scream, but that didn’t mean she was going to stand by and let him be mistreated.
“We all need to eat,” the female marshal said flatly. “Nobody is at his or her best when they’re hungry and tired. The hungry part I’m about to take care of. Sleep will be up to you, Mrs. McIntyre. I suggest you get as much rest as possible while Josh and I are still with you. Once you complete your permanent relocation we won’t be there to hold your hand.”
“I don’t want my hand held,” Grace said, unable to keep the rancor out of her tone. “I want my life back.”
The resolute looks both marshals gave her spoke volumes. They might as well have come right out and said, “That is never going to happen,” because that was what Grace was finally starting to realize. It was all over. She and her children were never going to be the same, never going to share that wonderful big house that she and Dylan had labored so hard to remodel, never going to feel totally well, totally secure again.
And it was all his fault.
Pensive, Grace reminded herself that her Christian faith required forgiveness. Perhaps, in the long run, she could have forgiven Dylan for neglecting his family and even for acting foolishly in regard to some adoptions. But he had also aided and abetted baby stealing and his criminal actions had cost his family literally everything.
That, she could never, ever forgive.
* * *
Dylan spent the night napping in a reclining chair because the more upright position eased the pain in his wounded arm. By morning he was feeling much better—as long as he didn’t forget and move too rapidly.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee brought him out of a fitful sleep. He opened his eyes and spotted Grace in the kitchen. Her back was to him.
The urge to stretch was strong in spite of knowing it would hurt to do so. Dylan raised his good arm and yawned. “Morning.”
Grace spun, her eyes wide. “You scared me.”
“Sorry. Why are you cooking? What happened to our babysitters?”
“They left early. There’s an unmarked police car parked down the street, just in case.”
He had to smile in spite of himself. “You let them go and leave us here together? I’m surprised.”
“Not as surprised as I was when they said goodbye,” Grace countered, scowling at him.
“So, what’s plan A?”
She picked up a blue prescription bottle and held it out to him. “You’re supposed to take one of these pain pills every four hours, with food, which is why I’m making breakfast.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. And don’t get any ideas, Dylan. This is only a temporary arrangement. They’re supposed to be back this afternoon with our new identities and instructions.”
Sobering, he drew a glass of tap water and downed one of the capsules before choosing a slice of buttered toast and taking a bite. “If my arm wasn’t in a sling I’d put jam on this.”
Grace’s movements were jerky when she grabbed the toast from him and hurriedly slathered it with blackberry preserves. “There. Anything else?”
He knew better than to bother telling her he had merely been making polite conversation, not asking her to wait on him. When Grace was in a snit like this, she wasn’t the most rational person in the world.
Then again, he mused, she had good reasons for being out of sorts. If he had been able to go back in tim
e and erase his errors, he would have. But there was no way to do that. And no way to get Grace and the kids out of the mess he’d created by making the wrong choices.
The worst part of this whole situation was that he’d known he was taking a chance by accepting paperwork that he’d not been totally comfortable with, yet he’d proceeded. Signed off on it. Sent it on to a judge who had then approved the shady adoptions.
Judge Simon Simms had handled most of those cases so he was probably going to be in hot water, too, although, like Fred Munders, the judge could always claim he’d trusted the information on the forms that had been submitted to him. Which pointed the finger of guilt right back at Dylan McIntyre.
“Looks like I was set up,” he muttered to himself. “And I walked right into the trap.”
“What did you say?” Grace asked.
Dylan shook his head and took a sip from the coffee mug she’d filled for him. “Doesn’t matter. I was just thinking out loud.”
“You sound a lot more lucid this morning,” she commented. “How’s the arm?”
“Tolerable. I’d like to cut back on my pain medication if I can, just in case I need my wits about me.”
He saw her shiver. “Do you really think someone is trying to kill you?”
Glancing at the bandage on his arm, he arched his eyebrows. “What does it look like to you?”
She pressed her lips into a thin line an instant before she turned away muttering.
“What? I didn’t hear that.”
“I said, it looks like your bad choices are coming back to haunt you, Dylan. I just wish I’d had the courage to leave you years ago.”
“You can’t mean that. We had some really good times, didn’t we?”
“I had a lot of dreams that you made come true,” she admitted, glancing at the hallway leading to the bedroom where their children slept. “But they sure didn’t include going on the run to escape murderers and kidnappers.”
“I said I was sorry. If there was anything else I could do to fix things, you know I would. I love...I love the kids, too.”
Family in Hiding Page 5
