Family in Hiding

by Valerie Hansen

  They had merged into heavy, afternoon traffic before she started to question him further. “Okay. Let’s have it. What’s going on and why did you say you didn’t know what had happened to you? Were you unconscious or something?”

  “I sure could have been,” Dylan replied with a grimace. “I was doing my job and minding my own business. The next thing I knew, Mac and a couple of other guys were yelling and there was a stack of merchandise falling over on top of me.”

  “You weren’t hurt? Honestly?”

  “Honestly, although I should have been. The cases that fell had been piled high on an upper shelf and were packed with canned goods. As heavy as they were, I should have ended up with a concussion, or worse.”

  “What saved you?”

  “Teddy bears.”

  Grace snapped a glance his way. “Teddy bears?”

  Smiling, Dylan nodded. “Yup. Great big stuffed ones, taller than Brandon and real fluffy. I dived into a big bin full of them when I saw the stack of cases swaying and starting to fall. By the time the avalanche was over, I was buried, all right, but some of the bears were between me and a world of hurt.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  “I thought so, too.” His smile faded and he leaned closer to whisper to her, “You haven’t broken the rules and called your mother, have you?”

  “Of course not. I was told she could lose her nest egg if I did.”

  “Okay.”

  When he shrugged, Grace saw him wince. He might not have received life-threatening injuries but he was still banged up. “How about your arm?” she asked. “Did you hurt it again?”

  He displayed and moved it to demonstrate. “Nope. Almost good as new. Didn’t even disturb the little bandage I stuck on it this morning.”

  “That’s a plus, at least.” She knew she had the steering wheel in a punishing grip but her nerves refused to let her relax. “I don’t think you should go back to work there, Dylan. Not after today.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’ll give the marshals a call tonight and advise them, as we’d promised, but I don’t intend to quit over what was probably just an accident.”

  “Probably?” Grace made a dour face. “If it’s at all likely that the falling cases were aimed at you, you have to walk away. While you still can.”

  He huffed and started to smile more broadly. “No. Not yet. It might surprise you to know I actually enjoy going to work there and not having to sit behind a desk or face judges and juries.”

  “You’re happy? Like this? Having to wonder if the next stranger you pass might turn around and try to kill you? What kind of life is that?”

  “Right now it’s mine and I’ve decided I might as well own it,” Dylan said, ending with a noisy exhale.

  All Grace could do was sit there, stunned, and force herself to concentrate on her driving while her emotions roiled and seethed. The man was impossible! Initially he’d acted as if his sins were justifiable. Now he was accepting dire threats as though they were inevitable. Did he think he deserved to die? Was that what had scrambled his thought processes?

  “That does it. You do need your head examined. I’m taking you to the emergency room.”

  Dylan’s strong grip around her closest wrist was startling. So was his guttural “No.”

  “Give me one good reason why not. Just one.”

  “Okay. Because anybody who wants to find us may be able to hack into electronic medical records. And that’s just the beginning. Would you like to hear more options?”

  She failed to come up with a clever retort. There was a good chance Dylan was right, at least in part. Or maybe it had already happened. If they’d been tracked down and she failed to tell him about the incident in the parking lot, it could make things even worse.

  “You can let go of my wrist,” Grace said, resigned to confessing the near miss. “Something else happened today, too. While I was waiting for you to get off work, an idiot in a hot rod almost took out the van.”

  “What! Where were you?”

  “Same place I always am after I pick up the kids. That’s probably a mistake, I know, but there’s so little shade I didn’t see the harm.”

  “Are you sure he targeted you?”

  “No. The only thing I’m positive about is that he missed us.”

  “Mom drove like a race car driver.” Kyle piped up from the backseat. “It was so fun.”

  Dylan was shaking his head. “All right. Let’s go home. If our contact advises me to quit my job, I will.”

  “And we’re telling the marshals about both near misses,” Grace insisted. “That way, if you take a turn for the worse due to some hidden damage, I can call paramedics without breaking any rules. Which reminds me,” she added, picking up her phone. “There must be something wrong with the battery in this thing. I noticed it was almost dead when your boss called me a few minutes ago. I know I had it plugged into the charger all night.”

  “You haven’t used it much since then?”

  “Only to talk to you during lunch,” Grace said.

  She saw her husband carefully studying the screen that showed usage, battery life and stored numbers. Then he took his cell out and compared them.

  “You sure you haven’t used this for anything else?”

  “I did call St. George Place Elementary to double check the times for after-school activities. Why?”

  Dylan displayed the two phones side by side. “Assuming we started out with an equal number of available minutes, you’ve used a lot more than I have.”

  “Maybe the music teacher talked longer than I thought,” Grace explained. “I contacted her to confirm what the kids needed to wear to the recital.”

  “That must be it. It’s this coming Friday night, right?”

  “Yes. The program starts at six. You’re still going, aren’t you?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” he said with a smile in his voice.

  Grace used the rearview mirror to check on her passengers, assuming they’d be delighted to hear that their father was going to come through for them.

  Brandon had nodded off in his booster seat, his head flopped to one side. Beth was curled up in the far corner with her nose in a book. And Kyle? Kyle was staring at his father’s back as if he’d just discovered that Dylan was really the boogeyman in disguise.

  Grace made a face. Terrific.

  TEN

  The more Dylan mulled over the details of their so-called accidents, the more he was certain they’d been targeted, so that was the way he decided to report the incidents.

  His call was answered on the second ring.

  “McCall’s office.”

  “Marshal McCall, this is Dylan—I mean John Appleby.”

  “McCall’s out in the field,” the voice on the phone said. “But I know who you are. This is Burke Trier. I escorted you to Houston. What’s up? Problems?”

  “Maybe,” Dylan said. “There were two suspicious accidents today.” He went through the stories, step by step, concluding with, “There’s one detail that really bothers me and makes me more suspicious.”

  “Go ahead,” the marshal said evenly.

  “It was the way the shipment came apart when it fell on me. We don’t remove the plastic wrapping around each pallet of goods until we’re done shifting them. Those cases should have been held together so they couldn’t possibly tumble down the way they did.”

  “It’s not the first time something like that has happened, I’m sure. Did you ask about it?”

  “Up to a point,” Dylan said. “I didn’t want to sound paranoid or come across as a disgruntled employee thinking of suing the store. You guys said to keep a low profile.”

  “Right. Well done,” the marshal told him. “And nobody was hurt?”

  “No. The only d
amage inside was some dented cans and busted-open cardboard cartons. Grace was able to outmaneuver the reckless driver. He never touched the van.”

  “In that case I wouldn’t worry, Mr. Appleby,” Trier said. “I’ll advise Summers and McCall about the incidents but I don’t expect them to suggest any changes in your placement at this time. Just keep your wits about you and call again if you find out that somebody actually has it in for you.”

  Dylan heard a soft chuckle before the marshal added, “You haven’t made any of your coworkers mad, have you?”

  “Not that I know of. Although there is a motorcyclist in my neighborhood who seems to have a chip on his shoulder where I’m concerned. He almost ran me down right after we moved in.”

  “Is he harassing you?”

  “Not anymore,” Dylan explained, raking his fingers through his tousled hair and sweeping it back. “Come to think of it, we haven’t seen him in a week or so.”

  “Sounds like normal suburban life to me.” He chuckled more noticeably. “Tell you what, the next time you see something that bothers you, get all the details you can and write them down so you won’t forget. If you start to see a pattern instead of coincidences, McCall will want to know.”

  “All right. Thanks.”

  Dylan ended the call and turned around to find Grace watching. She had obviously been listening, too.

  “What did they say?” she asked, frowning.

  “That both were probably accidents.”

  “But you’re not so sure, are you? I can see it in your face.”

  “I’m not totally convinced, no. The cases that fell should have been wrapped together and secured to the pallet with heavy plastic. One of the first things I was taught was to never raise an unwrapped load too high.”

  “Maybe the plastic tore.”

  “You have to cut it with a razor knife to get it off, and even then it clings to all the square corners. I can’t see how it could have just fallen off.”

  “So, maybe one of the guys you work with goofed. He made the mistake of loosening the wrappings, then discovered he was supposed to stack the load for storage instead of delivering it to the floor. He didn’t want to get in trouble, so he went ahead in spite of the safety rules. Isn’t that a likely scenario?”

  “Actually, it is. We have a few younger guys who are a couple steers short of a herd.”

  She grinned. “Is that so? Sounds like you’re spending way too much time with Texans, Mr. Appleby. You’re starting to talk the way they do.”

  “We could do worse,” Dylan said, returning her grin and putting upsetting suspicions behind him. “The folks I’ve met here are really nice.”

  As he watched he saw his wife’s smile wane. “I hope you’re right. I’m not looking forward to walking into a crowd of unfriendly strangers at the kids’ concert.”

  “They’ll be teachers and parents just like us,” he countered. “There’s nothing to worry about. Besides, as you said, we’ll be in a crowd. There’s safety in numbers.”

  Dylan could tell that Grace wasn’t convinced. Truth to tell, neither was he. After all, the bullet that had passed through his arm had been fired while they were in a public place. If someone was bent on murder, having a few witnesses standing around was not going to stop them from trying again. And again.

  Right now, though, he was less worried about visiting the school than he was about returning to work. He would have to be doubly vigilant from now on. And it didn’t hurt to be a little lucky.

  That notion stuck in his mind like a thorn until he was forced to admit his error. If there had been divine intervention at work when those cases had fallen, he’d better not make the mistake of crediting a random twist of fate. He knew his wife had been praying for everyone’s safety. It was a lot more likely that they’d both been recipients of God’s protection because of her prayers than it was that they’d simply escaped injury by chance.

  At least that was the way he chose to view the situation. Hopefully, he added, the good Lord would approve.

  * * *

  St. George Elementary School was state-of-the-art and still fairly new, judging by the smaller size of the trees planted on the grounds. Single-story blocks of classrooms were shadowed by an imposing auditorium.

  “I’ve been pulling through the bus lane to let the kids off,” Grace told her husband. “I guess it’s okay to park anywhere since school’s not in session tonight, but I’d rather leave the van on the street if you don’t mind walking in.”

  She noticed that her husband was grinning. “What’s so funny?”

  “You are,” Dylan said as he cruised slowly through the lot. “Why don’t you just admit you’re ashamed of this old heap and don’t want anybody to see us getting out of it?”

  “I’m no such thing.”

  “Oh, really? In that case, how about parking right here?”

  Frustrated and a little embarrassed, she fluttered her hands. “Oh, all right. Put it anywhere. It’s not as if I plan to try to join the country club.”

  “You never liked highbrow groups, anyway,” Dylan reminded her.

  “I liked my new SUV,” she countered. “But I guess this beats walking. At least the air conditioner works.”

  “It had better in this climate.” Pulling into an empty slot, he shut off the engine and looked over at her. “Ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Grace got out and waited while Dylan slid open the side door and helped the children down. To her relief, he hoisted Brandon into his arms and carried him while she herded the other two like a mother hen with her chicks.

  “Mrs. Wagner said you’re supposed to meet in her classroom,” Grace reminded them. “Daddy and I’ll walk you over there, then go find a seat in the audience.”

  “I can go by myself,” Kyle insisted.

  Dylan was clearly on her side when he said, “Humor your mother. We’ll pretend we’re not watching if that’s what you want, but we’re going all the way with you.”

  Grace smiled at him. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  It would have been a lot easier for her to deal with her muddled feelings for the man if he hadn’t started acting so supportive and understanding. Her unshakable contention that she’d been right about their marriage being over was starting to wane and she didn’t like the confusion that had arisen as a result.

  Following him as he carried Brandon on his hip and chatted happily with the three-year-old, Grace could envision a different father figure, a man whose priorities had changed for the better, who belonged in their little family as much as she did.

  That vision, of course, was totally unrealistic. She knew better. She’d lived twelve years with Dylan, watching him morph into a hardened person whose actions had ended up ruining their lives. He had not put her and his children first then, so why should she believe he would now?

  Because he’s seen the light? Because his life is in jeopardy and he knows he may soon run out of time to put things right? That conclusion seemed altogether too simplistic. There had to be more to the improvements she was apparently seeing in Dylan. There simply had to be. Because if he had really repented and turned his life around she knew she’d have to try to forgive him.

  God help me, she prayed silently, I don’t want to.

  There was so much raw honesty in that admission Grace was stunned. It shook her to the core to admit she secretly hoped her estranged husband was faking, because if he was, then she could stick to her decision to divorce him.

  If he wasn’t, however, she was going to be forced to rethink everything.

  Just when she’d thought she’d had her future figured out, Dylan had done something to shake her resolve.

  “Or God did,” she mumbled to herself.

  That idea was even har
der to swallow than her earlier notions regarding her husband!

  * * *

  Entering the auditorium with Brandon, Dylan paused long enough to assess the layout and make a mental note of all the exits, just in case.

  As Grace accepted the evening program, a piece of folded blue paper, Dylan directed her by inclining his head and saying, “Let’s go over that way. There are plenty of seats and it’s right by the side door.”

  “Is that a good idea?” she asked in a near whisper. “Anybody could pop in.”

  “And we can also get out in a hurry if we need to,” he explained.

  “Will the kids be able to see us way back there?”

  “You can stand up and wave if you want to, although I imagine Kyle would just as soon remain anonymous.”

  She smoothed her skirt. “Hey, I’m dressed well and you’re not too shabby, yourself, cowboy. I actually like the jeans and boots and that shirt with pearl snaps. It’s very...Texas.”

  “My point exactly.”

  “Well, don’t expect me to go native the way you have. I appreciate the Western culture but I still like my city-slicker clothes.” Dylan saw her sober as she added, “I do miss my Italian shoes and Gucci handbags, though. I hope whoever bought them at that sale we told the marshals to conduct before selling the house appreciates their quality.”

  “At least they brought you your jewelry box. I didn’t expect that.”

  “Neither did I, but I was very relieved. My mother’s cameo was in there.”

  “So were the gifts I’d given you over the years,” Dylan reminded her. “I didn’t skimp, you know.”

  “I know. I just wish...”

  “That I had shopped in a store like the one where I work instead of an expensive jeweler’s?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “No, but you were thinking it.”

  He led the way to a group of available folding chairs and took the one closest to the exit he’d already mentioned, positioning himself between Grace and any problems that might come through that door.

  Reminiscing, he admitted it had pleased him greatly to be able to buy nice trinkets for her. There had been a time, early in their courtship and marriage, when he hadn’t had the funds to spoil her. By the time his finances were in better shape, however, he realized he’d begun using expensive gifts as a way to keep her happy instead of spending quality time with her. That was one of the ways he’d set himself up for the divorce. Yet, at that time, he’d been oblivious to his blunders.