For a moment she was back.…
She turned away.
“Mommy?”
Harry’s face was confused. Uncertain.
She straightened up. This is make-believe!
“I’m okay,” she said.
He stared at her for a moment, then seemed to relax and turned back to the action.
She glanced around at the other tourists. Families. Children. All enjoying the fictional re-creation of an American legend. Did any of the others have cold, clammy hands?
This is for Harry.
She forced herself to stand through the rest of the performance. The sound of gunfire. Blanks. She knew they were blanks, but …
Someone reached out and she found herself jerking away.
“Are you all right?” someone asked.
An older woman with a kind face and an elderly gentleman stood there with three children.
“Yes, thank you. The heat …” It wasn’t heat at all. A flashback. It wasn’t the first time.
They insisted that she and Harry accompany them into a restaurant, where she ordered iced tea for herself and Harry a root beer. She held her hands in her lap so no one would see them shake.
Mr. and Mrs. Dan Weston were taking a two-week trip with their grandchildren. They chattered about their adventures as she finally managed to steady the fingers of one hand enough to bring a glass to her lips without dropping it. Harry eyed the western hats the grandchildren wore with envy but thankfully he was unusually silent, awed probably by the older boys.
Thirty minutes later, they were going their separate ways.
She went into a souvenir shop and purchased a cowboy hat and sheriff’s badge for him.
“Now I’m just like Sher’f Doug,” he said, his small chest puffing out.
“Yes, indeed, you are.”
“I wanna be a sher’f.”
“A fine ambition.” But her heart pounded a little louder. How would he feel if he ever discovered his mother was a fugitive? That some day she might even be charged with murder? She shuddered inwardly at the idea.
“I think we had better go home and see Caesar,” she said. “He’s going to miss us.”
“I miss him, too,” he said, putting his little hand in hers.
She looked down at him. He was bursting with excitement. He loved his blue jeans and his T-shirt that said “Little cowhand.” And now he beamed from under the new hat.
She was glad for her son’s sake that they had come here today.
But she hadn’t realized how much it would affect her, how it would be a vivid reminder of something she wanted to forget. She knew now that she never could.
She felt a sudden relief from the sun and looked up at the sky. Dark clouds were moving in, one eclipsing the sun.
A shiver ran through her body even though the air was still hot.
A sense of foreboding filled her.
Because of the mock battle she’d just witnessed?
Or something else?
twenty-one
NEW ORLEANS
Meredith put her pain pills in the medicine cabinet and took several aspirin instead. After all that had happened, she didn’t want to sleep too soundly.
Just before she went to bed, she tried to call Gage, but his cell phone was apparently off.
She left a message. “Thank you.” If it hadn’t been for him, she probably wouldn’t be alive tonight.
She took the phone off the hook to avoid reporters who had been calling. Her friends could still reach her on her cell phone. Then she made sure her revolver was next to her. She invited Nicky up on her bed; she needed the comforting presence of the dog.
Gage’s face was the last thing she remembered until the first light of dawn woke her. The moment she moved, Nicky started to lick her. He obviously wanted to go outside.
Meredith groaned as she moved and hit her wounded arm against the side of the bed. Then Nicky’s tongue reached out and licked her again.
“Okay,” she said reluctantly. She looked at the clock. Six A.M.
Then everything flooded back. Her father’s death. Mrs. Starnes. The funeral. Rick Fuller pointing a pistol at her. The crack of gunfire.
For a moment, she wanted to sink back into bed and close her eyes. But she had things to do today.
First, she had to see her mother and make sure that the private duty nurses knew their services were to continue despite her father’s death. She wanted to make sure someone was with her mother every second.
Then she would see Gage. She knew he would be exonerated from any fault but she also knew that suspension wouldn’t be his biggest problem. She would never forget that look of anguish on his face when he almost willed Fuller to breathe again.
She rose, carefully protecting her arm. She looked outside and saw a car in front. Someone was sitting in it. Whoever it was wasn’t trying to hide.
Meredith ran a brush through her hair, then pulled on a pair of jeans. She decided to forego a bra for the moment and put on a loose shirt. She went down to the front door, taking Nicky’s leash and snapping it on his collar.
Then she walked him out the door and to the car parked in front.
The driver got out and met her. “Ms. Rawson?”
“Yes.”
“Detective Gaynor asked me to look out for you today. I would have let you know earlier, but he said you’d had a bad night and I didn’t want to wake you.”
“And you are …?”
“Mack Thomas. Private investigator. Used to be a cop. Gage has helped us out several times. We’re only too happy to return the favor.”
“When did you talk to him?”
“Late last night. He told me to get my ass over here. He was stuck at headquarters.”
“Do you know what happened?”
“About the shooting? Yeah. Bad stuff when a cop’s involved on both sides.”
He looked to be in his fifties but his body was hard and lean, and she would bet her practice that he worked out daily.
“How long did he employ you to watch me? I want to pay it.”
“Hell, I wouldn’t take his money. I owe him big time.”
“I’d like to hear about it.”
“Maybe later. Will you be staying here or going somewhere?”
“I plan to see my mother at the hospital, then I’m going out of town for a few days. I appreciate your help, but the danger may be over now.”
“Gage doesn’t think so.”
In her heart, she didn’t think so, either.
“How can I reach him?”
“I imagine he’s tied up with his old friends in Public Integrity.”
She nodded.
“Nice dog you have.”
“He’s not mine. I’m just keeping him … for a friend.” She turned to go back in. “I’ll be leaving in about thirty minutes. You can take off then. I’ll be all right.”
She went through the door before he could reply.
She didn’t want anyone else involved with this. With her. Too many people were dying. She didn’t even want to go near Sarah.
But she had to visit her mother. She still hadn’t told her mother that her father was dead. Would she hear her? Would her mother care if she could hear?
She recalled what her father had said. The last words he had said to her. She never loved me. Why then had they married?
If only her mother could speak to her again.
If only …
She fed Nicky, then went into the bathroom. She brushed her teeth and awkwardly applied a touch of lipstick. She looked terrible. Her eyes were ringed with circles, and her face looked wan. Her arm still hurt like the blazes and she feared that anything she wore might soon be stained with the blood still oozing from the wound.
Not that it mattered. To even think about herself at this moment was self-centered. She was alive. Others had died.
She left the house and drove to the hospital, noting that Mack followed despite her dismissal.
At the hospital, s
he went directly to her mother’s room. She said hello to the private duty nurse who stood when she entered.
“Ms. Rawson. We didn’t think you would be in today.” She looked down at the newspaper she was holding.
Meredith hadn’t seen it. She hadn’t even thought about the paper this morning. She looked now. Spread over the front page were photos of herself, Gage and Rick Fuller.
Former Prosecutor Shot In Domestic Dispute. Renegade Cop Killed By Fellow NOPD Officer.
She read the story, which was fairly accurate.
She handed the paper back, seeing the curiosity in the woman’s gaze as it rested on her bandaged arm. “Should you be here?”
“It was just a graze.”
“Well, then, would you like some time alone with her?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
The woman started for the door. She turned. “By the way, someone stopped by here last night. I went to the desk and he was standing in the door when I returned. He left when he saw me.”
A new frisson of fear ran through her. “Can you describe him?”
“In his fifties. Dark hair with gray on the sides. Blue jeans but they looked good on him. I only had a glimpse of his face. It was … arresting.”
“Please don’t leave her alone again. Even for a few moments. She might be in danger,” Meredith said. She knew how odd that must sound. Her mother was dying. But she didn’t want what time she had left cut short. She still hoped her mother would know a moment of lucidity.
The nurse started to say, “I’m sorry—”
“It’s not your fault. No one told you or your service. But you know my father was killed by a hit-and-run driver. I don’t think it was an accident. Someone might have a grudge against this family. I just want to be extra cautious.”
The nurse nodded and left the room. Meredith sat next to her mother and took her hand. It was little but skin and bones now. Her pallor was more pronounced than ever.
“It’s just you and me now,” Meredith said. “Father died … was killed. I buried him yesterday. All your friends were there. They asked about you. You have so many.” She choked as she remembered Lulu Starnes and the photo of three young people who’d looked ready to conquer the world.
She leaned down and kissed her mother. Tears dampened her face as she laid her cheek against the parchmentlike skin of her mother.
She heard a knock on the door. She wiped her cheeks as the private duty nurse returned, followed by her mother’s doctor. She stood to meet him.
He gave her a look of concern. “I’m sorry about your father,” he said. “I had hoped to attend the funeral, but I had an emergency.”
“Thank you,” she said. She drew him to the door. “I’ll be taking over the responsibility for my mother’s care. What … where are we?”
“You have some decisions to make. She didn’t leave a living will. Your father ordered us to use all means to resuscitate.”
“How much longer does she have?”
“Her organs are closing down. No more than several days, if that much; as little as a few hours.”
“Is there any chance she will regain consciousness?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Can she hear anything? Feel anything?”
“I don’t believe so,” he said gently.
Meredith looked down at the shadow of her mother. She probably didn’t weigh more than eighty pounds now.
“Then no heroic means,” she said. “I don’t think she would have wanted it.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry, Miss Rawson. I liked her.”
She noticed he used the past tense.
She went back to her mother’s side. She hoped that on some conscious level her mother knew she was loved.
“I won’t leave you,” she whispered in a choked voice.
BISBEE
Holly watched the hawk circle above and thought life couldn’t get better than this. She wouldn’t allow the past to intrude. Not now.
She wished she could capture these moments and seal them in a bottle.
It was Saturday. Doug had arrived with his niece, who greeted Harry like a little brother. He basked in her attention.
When Doug had opened the Jeep door for Holly, his slow smile warmed her all the way through. Despite his office, she couldn’t help but feel comfortable with him.
She liked the affectionate but firm way he treated his niece and the easy manner he had with Harry. She liked the feelings he aroused in her. She longed to put her hand in his, just as she’d watched so many other couples do.
She’d always missed that kind of intimacy with Randolph. She couldn’t remember him ever just grabbing her hand or wanting her with him on any occasion other than a political or social event.
When they’d reached the ranch, Russ had cast her a rueful glance as Doug helped her mount the mare, his hand lingering a moment more than necessary. Her pulse quickened and she felt a jolt of electricity run through her.
She had to force herself to concentrate as he lifted himself into the saddle. She sensed Doug’s gaze on her as they rode toward the mountain. Harry was riding in front of Doug, protected by strong arms. It was always Doug now. Not Sheriff. She had tried to think of him as the latter, but it was hard to equate him with a gun or violence. She knew it was a cliché, but he was more gentle giant than lawman.
He was both. She had to remember that. He might not want to do anything if he learned the truth, but he would have to. She’d known him long enough to sense his integrity, his strong sense of duty.
She did not want to be responsible for making him choose between his job—his vocation—and her. She sensed she would destroy him if she did.
She should stay away from him. She knew he cared about her and that those feelings ran deep. She saw it in his face, in his eyes; heard it in the way his voice lowered to a husky whisper.
Hers did as well. She cared more than she’d wanted to admit. She relaxed with him. He liked her for who and what she was, and not for her looks. She’d certainly gone to a great deal of trouble to make herself plain.
She must never forget that she was married to someone. Someone who had tried to murder her.
“Liz?”
She looked at him.
“That was a heavy sigh. Something wrong?”
“Just thinking of the work I have to do. My garden creatures are doing well. I really shouldn’t be here, but Harry loves to ride. His ambition is to be a cowboy,” she added. “A sheriff like ‘Sher’f Doug.’”
“What about Liz?” he asked.
“Liz likes it, too,” she admitted.
He continued to look at her. “Marty says your sculptures have been flying off the shelves.”
Her stomach knotted. He had been talking to Marty about her. Had Marty mentioned her delay in giving a Social Security number or that the telephone was in Marty’s name? She struggled to get back to the subject. “She also says that once the summer season is over, sales go way down. I need to sell as many as possible before then.”
He didn’t say anything but she saw the puzzled look on his face.
He was probably wondering why she didn’t have insurance money from her husband’s death.
She didn’t explain. She couldn’t lie in front of a son who knew his father was alive.
Once more, she told herself to stay away from Doug.
If only she could.
But she needed the sense of belonging that he brought to her life. The companionship. Harry needed it even more. Randolph was not the person she wanted Harry to emulate.
Doug’s gaze kept coming back to her, though only in quick sideways movements. “There’s a great movie for kids tomorrow night. I promised Jenny that I would take her. Perhaps …” His voice trailed off as if he knew her answer in advance.
A film. She knew the one he referred to. Magicians and magic and wonder. Harry would love it, especially going with Jenny. An older woman.
“You’re smiling,” Doug said with surprise.
Did she really smile so rarely that when she did, it caused comment? And how to answer? She couldn’t tell him the reason—that her son had a four-year-old’s crush on Jenny. Not with Harry within listening distance.
But she saw Doug’s eyes light.
She nodded. “Harry would like that.”
“And Liz?” he teased again, forcing her to make an admission.
“Liz would like it, too.”
“I’m afraid to push my luck too far, but what about dinner as well? I make a mean steak.”
This was spiraling out of control, and Holly knew it. Eventually, he would be asking more personal questions. And the more he knew her, the more he would be apt to realize when she was lying. And yet the invitation was alluring. She had been frantic about saving money in the event they might have to run again. She and Harry had been living on hot dogs, cereal, tacos and fifty other recipes for hamburger. The cowboy hat had been a rare treat for Harry.
Harry looked at her longingly.
But this invitation would lead to another and another. Dare she start something she couldn’t end?
She couldn’t completely isolate herself and Harry.
But a lawman?
She nodded. “Thank you, we would like that.”
A broad grin spread across his face. Then he turned back to the trail they were following as if afraid she would take it back.
She should. She should call him tomorrow and cite a headache.
But she knew she wouldn’t.
NEW ORLEANS
Meredith left her mother’s side only when Gage appeared at the door. Mack must have told him where she was.
His gaze went to the bandage on her arm, then to her mother. He asked questions with his eyes.
“I’m all right. A little sore,” she said. “My mother …”
She didn’t have to say anything. The labored breathing, the color of her mother’s skin said it all.
He didn’t say he was sorry, and she appreciated it. She knew everyone was being kind but she’d heard the words entirely too many times lately.
Instead he held her for several moments, careful not to hurt her arm.
“I couldn’t find my sister,” she said. “Not in time.”
His arms tightened around her. “Perhaps it’s time to stop looking.”
Cold Target Page 26
