Family in Hiding

by Valerie Hansen

  “Point taken,” Dylan said, assuming a seated position balancing on the narrow rim of the tub and rolling up his sleeve. “Do we have a washing machine or are you going to have to beat the clothes on a rock in a river?”

  “We have a washing machine. And a dryer. Right uptown, aren’t we?”

  Dylan sobered and held out his arm for her. “I’m so sorry, Gracie.”

  She thought about chastising him for using the nickname again, then changed her mind. The man was bleeding. The least she could do was to allow him a little latitude.

  Her fingers gently removed and discarded the previous bandage. It was hard to look at the hole piercing his arm without wincing. Not only was it reddened, there was a nasty bruise surrounding the injury, as if he had been hit with a baseball bat after being shot. Although he wasn’t complaining, she knew it must hurt. A lot.

  “I’ll try to be gentle,” she said, filled with trepidation and moving slowly, deliberately.

  The sight of Dylan’s wound was doing funny things to her equilibrium and making her wish she had not insisted on doctoring him. It was the thought that the bullet could have ended his life that was tearing her up inside. Instead of changing a bandage, she could just as easily be arranging his funeral.

  This relocation had to work, she reminded herself sternly. Because if it failed and they were tracked down, Dylan would very likely die. And that would kill a part of her heart and soul as surely as if she’d shared his fate.

  * * *

  Dylan couldn’t take his eyes off his wife. Although her slim fingers were trembling and beads of sweat were glistening on her forehead, she persevered. He’d always known she was an extraordinary woman but her strength and resilience during this current ordeal was absolutely magnificent. The worst aspect of that realization, for him, was knowing he didn’t dare tell her how much he admired her. Not yet, at any rate.

  Their questionable future was one of the things stopping him. Dylan was far from certain that he would live through this dire testing of his wisdom and his spirit. Therefore, if he did coax Grace into forgiving him enough to want to try again, she might be hurt even worse in the long run. The best thing for everyone concerned was to maintain the status quo; Grace and the children must be kept separate from him as much as humanly possible until they were all in the clear. Or until he was out of the picture for good.

  Thoughts of permanently parting from this tender-hearted woman were painful, poignant. They hurt him far more than the wound in his arm. And were going to be harder to see healed, too, he imagined.

  As Grace finished taping the dressing and backed away, Dylan looked up at her. “You do understand why I was so cross with you for leaving the kids alone, don’t you?”

  She nodded and pressed her lips into a thin line before answering. “Yes. I didn’t stop to think the attack on you might have been a diversion. Actually, it was good that nothing bad happened because it served as a warning. I’ll be more suspicious from now on.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  The moment the carelessly spoken words were out of his mouth, Dylan knew he’d made another big mistake. Rather than stay long enough for Grace to react negatively, he quickly left the room and headed for the kitchen where she had placed the file they were planning to study.

  She followed. Although she didn’t chastise him, there was a definite chill in the air that had not been there earlier.

  “All right,” Grace said, choosing a chair directly across the table from him. “Let’s get started.”

  When he opened the folder, Dylan found three sections. One was his, one hers and the third pertained to their children, primarily the older two. Grace claimed all but Dylan’s and arrayed their contents in front of her.

  “It says here that the kids still have a month of school before summer vacation starts. That’s going to go over like a lead balloon.”

  Dylan chuckled. “Beth will like the idea. Kyle, maybe not so much.”

  She made a face and drawled, “You think?”

  “Yup. He’s going to be ecstatic.”

  “Yeah, right. It also says they’re both enrolled in the gifted and talented program so they already have some after-school activities scheduled.”

  “That’s probably good. It’ll keep them occupied and maybe they can make a few friends before school is out for the summer.”

  “Do we want them to?”

  “For their sakes, I assume so,” he replied. “We can’t keep them locked in the house all the time and make our family seem normal at the same time.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Normal?”

  “I didn’t say we were normal, I just meant we need to look the part.”

  “Okay. I suppose that does make sense.”

  Dylan reached for her hand and laid his over it. “Grace, I...”

  She withdrew. “If you’re planning to apologize again, save it. We all know you’re sorry and we all know you wish you could go back and do everything differently. I’ve got it, Dylan. Dwelling on your faults isn’t getting us anywhere. We need to stick with these files until we know them forward and backward, then start testing the kids to make sure they understand everything, too.”

  Nodding soberly, he sat back in his chair and cradled his arm. “It says here that I start orientation at work first thing Monday morning.” He used his good hand to display the set of keys Marshal Trier had given him. “These are for the house, as you already know, and for a car. We’re now the proud owners of our very own reconditioned minivan.”

  When he saw her jaw drop, he had to laugh. “I imagine it gets better mileage than the fancy SUV you left behind.”

  “One car? That’s it? That’s all?”

  Dylan made a show of inspecting his file and even shook it as if he expected more keys to fall out. “Looks like it. You’ll have to drive me to work and drop me off if you want to keep the wheels for yourself.”

  The grimace she shot his way was contrite and comical. “I thought it couldn’t get any worse but it has. I not only am a soccer mom, I now have to look like one!”

  * * *

  With so much tension in the family and not long in which to coach the children on their new backgrounds, Grace decided it would be too chancy to go to church that Sunday and mingle with strangers. Instead they spent the day getting used to the house and setting rules about what was and wasn’t acceptable in their reconstructed lives.

  “I made a serious mistake yesterday,” she told her family as they unwrapped and distributed a take-out supper of burgers and fries that same evening. “When I thought your daddy had been hurt, I ran over to see. I shouldn’t have left you kids alone like that.”

  “I can take care of Beth and Brandon,” Kyle insisted, staring at his father as if Dylan were an adversary.

  It was the boy’s changeable moods that worried Grace the most. One minute Kyle was happy to see his dad and the next he was acting as if he wished Dylan would go away again. She supposed it was natural for the children to be confused and to act out, at least until they began to feel secure again. All her children would be safer with the big brother of the family on guard. Kyle might not be able to do much if there was an attack, but at least he’d be alert.

  It had occurred to Grace to take the eldest child aside and have a private talk with him about their situation. Instead, Dylan sent the other two out into the fenced backyard to play and spoke up himself.

  Her insides began to flutter while her outward persona remained stoic. Hearing Dylan express his innermost concerns was more unnerving than thinking about her own.

  “There are still plenty of bad guys running around wanting to shut me up,” Dylan said in conclusion. “That’s why we moved and why we have to hide this way.”

  “I hate it here,” Kyle muttered. “This house is lame and the people are worse. None of
the kids I saw even have decent bikes.”

  Grace was flabbergasted. Her son was the image of his father, all right, complete with Dylan’s social-climbing attitudes and focus on possessions. Come to think of it, she’d sounded like a snob, too, when she’d been discussing the minivan.

  She raised a hand as if asking for the floor at a meeting, then spoke without waiting for permission. “In case you haven’t noticed, Kyle, you don’t have a fancy bike anymore, either. And I don’t drive a luxury SUV. Maybe someday we can get those things back, but for the time being, this is how it is. Got that?”

  The glare he turned on her was even more irate than the one he’d recently used on his father.

  Grace refused to back down or to make excuses. “I don’t like this situation any more than anybody else does, but that doesn’t change it one bit. You, and the rest of us, are going to have to accept what’s happened and live with it.” Lowering her voice, she added, “Or we’re all going to be in deep trouble. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yeah.”

  She knew she could have stopped the boy with a harsh word when he rose and stormed from the room. Instead she let him go so he’d have a chance to cool off.

  Dylan leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “Well, that didn’t go very well.”

  “He’ll come around eventually. You’ll see. This is all too new for any of us to settle down yet. What do you say we fire up the old van and cruise by the school and your new job so we can find them easily tomorrow morning?”

  “I don’t know if it’s a good idea to leave the house for no reason. We can set the GPS to find them when we need to.”

  Grace laughed, waiting for her husband to realize what he’d just said. Finally she put an end to his puzzled expression by saying, “What GPS, Mr. Appleby? We have cheap burner phones with no whistles and bells, and I doubt very much if the car they gave us has those nice accessories, either.”

  “We’ve been returned to the dark ages,” Dylan said with a blossoming grin. “No wonder Kyle is so bummed.”

  EIGHT

  Dylan had been positive he wouldn’t sleep well and was surprised to find the opposite happening. Not only did he nod off almost immediately, he didn’t awaken on Monday morning until he heard familiar household noises.

  He went to join the others. “Morning. Something sure smells good. Did you all sleep well?” Dylan asked with a welcoming grin as he raked his fingers through his short, dark hair and yawned.

  “Fine,” Grace replied. She gestured at the table where their children were already eating. “Since you’re here, I suppose you may as well pull up a chair. We’ll have to leave soon, you know.”

  “Um. Don’t remind me. I have orientation today.”

  It was oddly comforting to hear Grace ask, “Are you sure you’re up to it?”

  “I’m okay. Nobody will suspect my arm is messed up.”

  “That’s exactly my point. If you don’t tell your new bosses what’s wrong, you may be asked to do things that hurt you.”

  “Well, since the marshals got me this job, I’m assuming somebody at work knows enough to cut me some slack. If not, I’ll just do what I have to do.” He paused for a sip of hot coffee before adding, “Like we all will.”

  When Grace didn’t comment further, Dylan took a place at the table and helped Brandon cut his pancakes into bite-size pieces. By the time the meal was over, they were almost out of time.

  Observing his family gathering their possessions and heading for the garage, he could see that they were all pretty nervous. So was he. It had been a long time since he’d had a job that required physical labor and he wondered if he was capable of switching gears like that. Oh, he was strong enough and in good health except for his arm, but his mind was always spinning, always thinking up better ways to do things, so he’d have to be careful. It was one thing to be the new guy on the job and quite another to waltz in and try to reorganize the business.

  That notion made him smile, then quickly sober. Too bad he hadn’t used more caution when he’d been asked to push those adoptions through. He’d convinced himself he was acting for the benefit of babies who’d had no homes. If he’d stopped to really consider, to question the validity of some of those claims, he’d have realized he was in the wrong. Sincere motives to do good didn’t count when a person broke the law. Black and white was not supposed to blur into a fog of gray that obscured the truth.

  Dylan stepped ahead of Grace and placed himself at the front door like a sentinel. “Wait. Let me go first and open the garage before you bring the kids out.”

  “Why don’t we use the side door?” She scowled.

  “Because the overhead is padlocked and has to be opened from the outside. Besides, it’s smart to be cautious,” he explained, trying to sound nonchalant when he felt as nervous as he would have if he’d spotted hungry, man-eating lions lurking in the untrimmed shrubbery.

  “Okay. We’ll stay right here until you tell us it’s safe.” She bent to lift Brandon into her arms on the side opposite the strap of her shoulder bag.

  Dylan saw Kyle sidle past his mother and come after him. “I said, everybody needs to wait inside.”

  The boy didn’t slow until he reached his father’s side in spite of Grace’s shout for him to stop.

  “You heard your mother.” Dylan said.

  “Yeah, but I figured you’d have trouble lifting that door with one arm messed up,” Kyle countered logically. “I came to help you.”

  “I hate it when you’re more sensible than I am,” Dylan quipped, ruffling the boy’s red hair affectionately. “Okay. I’ll undo the padlock and you can lift with me.”

  Even with Kyle’s help the door was difficult to handle. It was old and heavy, made of solid wood instead of modern, lightweight aluminum. If it had not been constructed in two sections, one for each parking space, it would have been unmanageable.

  When Dylan finally laid eyes on the brown minivan he almost laughed out loud. Grace was going to pitch a fit. He figured he had better not give voice to any amusement or it would make the situation a whole lot worse.

  “Whoa, Dad, what is that thing?”

  “It’s an old Ford but I’m not positive what model.” He approached the vehicle slowly, hardly able to believe this was to be their sole transportation.

  “Can we come out now?” Grace called from the porch.

  “Sure.”

  The sight of the dilapidated van had distracted Dylan enough that he had unknowingly relaxed his guard. The sound of a loud engine rumbling in the distance snapped him out of it.

  Instead of waiting for the rest of his family to join him, he hurried back to Grace, slipped his good arm around her and hustled her into the musty-smelling garage.

  Her eyes were wide when they met his. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know,” Dylan explained. “I just heard something that spooked me and realized I wasn’t paying close enough attention.”

  “That’s because we can only stay on high alert for so long before we shut down,” Grace offered. “I’ve noticed that the more scared I am in the beginning, the bigger the letdown at the end.”

  He kept his arm around her and tugged her into the shadows as the rattling, revving sound drew nearer and nearer.

  Grace leaned against Dylan as if she’d forgotten to be standoffish. When the motorcycle that was causing the roar cruised past, she gasped. “Isn’t that the same...?”

  “Looks like it.”

  He was about to reassure her that the rider probably lived nearby and was therefore no threat when the man turned the reflective faceplate of his helmet toward them.

  Dylan didn’t have to actually see his eyes to know the rider was staring right at them. The cycle slowed, its powerful engine putt-putting instead of whining the way a smaller bike wo
uld.

  Freezing in place, Dylan wondered if this was the end already. Had they been located this soon, this easily? The hair on the back of his neck prickled. He shoved Grace behind him and took a step forward.

  The rider managed to balance as the motorcycle nearly came to a complete stop. Then he raised his hand, pointed his index finger toward Dylan and bent his thumb with a quick jerk before laughing raucously and racing away.

  Dylan didn’t know anything about the man or why he’d apparently singled them out for harassment—if that’s all it was. The only thing he was positive of was that the helmeted figure had been pantomiming shooting a pistol. At the newly christened Appleby family.

  * * *

  Grace was the first to break and make a beeline for the van. She fastened Brandon in a booster seat before sliding behind the wheel and letting Dylan do the rest. To her surprise, the old vehicle not only started easily, it purred as if it were new.

  The maps in the marshal’s instruction packet showed that the warehouse store where Dylan was employed was on the way to the children’s school, so that would be their first stop. She let the dented, brown minivan idle in the driveway while Dylan closed and relocked the garage door.

  “I thought you’d pitch a fit when you saw this van,” he commented, joining her.

  “I didn’t have time to get upset. Who do you think that guy on the motorcycle was?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t get a look at his license plate, did you?”

  “No. It was too small to see from the garage. The next time he drives by I’m going to be ready. Do we happen to have binoculars? I didn’t come across any.”

  “Not that I know of,” Dylan answered, “but I can check at work and see if the store sells them. I understand their stock is impressive, everything from groceries to TV sets to lawnmowers.”

  “Well, I don’t think we’ll need to mow that stubble in the yard for a while, not as dry as it’s apparently been around here this spring.”