Paternity Unknown

by Barrett, Jean

  The mother of your child.

  It was with a jolt that he reminded himself of that. A jolt that had a sudden tenderness welling up inside him. And with it came a ferocious urge to protect her, as he’d been unable to protect their baby. Hell, she looked so vulnerable like this, so damn defenseless lying there that—

  What are you doing?

  He was frustrating himself with emotions he had yet to understand, that’s what he was doing. Emotions he wasn’t ready to deal with. Not when his daughter, whom he had failed to protect—and never mind that it made no sense to blame himself for that—demanded his concentration.

  Was that why he was unable to rest? Why he sat here with the need to get her back gnawing at him? Or was it something else, which probably had no connection at all with the need, that kept nagging at him?

  The man who had answered the door of the private car. Ethan continued to feel there was something not right about that meeting. Something in the back of his mind…

  Lulled by the cadence of the train, he must have dozed. He didn’t know for how long. But suddenly, fully alert, his head jerked up from where his chin had dropped to his chest.

  It was not the way he’d been dressed.

  When Ethan had complained there was something funny about the guy, Buddy had pointed out the peculiarity of the business suit he’d been wearing at an hour when he should have been in a robe or pajamas. Ethan had agreed. But, as he now realized, this had nothing whatever to do with what had been bothering him.

  Familiar. That was it. There had been something vaguely familiar about the guy. Not a recognition with an actual identity but some kind of connection that had eluded him. Until now.

  He thought he knew where he might have seen him, but he couldn’t be sure. He needed a verification. Buddy. He had to check it out with Buddy. The cop ought to be able to tell him.

  Getting to his feet, he covered Lauren with a blanket. She didn’t stir. He left her sleeping and went along the corridor to Buddy’s door. Foley probably wouldn’t thank him for rousing him again, but this couldn’t wait.

  The cop answered his knock without hesitation. To Ethan’s surprise, he was still dressed.

  “You didn’t turn in again?”

  Buddy chuckled. “No, I’ve been waiting for you. I could see you weren’t satisfied when we got back here. I kind of figured you’d want to talk about it. Come on in.”

  He stood aside, inviting Ethan to enter the bedroom.

  “Lauren asleep?” Buddy asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s good. Have a seat.”

  Ethan settled in one corner of the berth and Buddy in another, both men turned to face each other.

  “So what’s bothering you?” Buddy asked.

  “The guy in the private car. I’m not sure about this, but I think I’ve seen him before.”

  “You have any idea where?”

  “Not until a minute ago, and then it came to me where I might have caught a glimpse of him. My grandfather’s legal firm back in Seattle. I had only a minimum of contact with the outfit, Donald Patterson mostly. But you’ve done work for a lot of the lawyers there. Could he be connected somehow with their offices? Maybe even be one of the junior lawyers?”

  Buddy didn’t answer him for a moment. He sat there watching him. “If he is,” he finally said, “then I’d be certain to know that, wouldn’t I?”

  “You would, yes, and you’d have said something straight off. Which I guess makes me wrong about the whole thing, except—”

  He didn’t finish. It wasn’t Buddy’s evasiveness that stopped him but the cool smile on his deceptively boyish face. That’s when the truth struck Ethan with all the impact of a fist in his gut.

  Sweet lord, he’s in on it with them.

  Ethan could see that Buddy was aware of his sudden cognition. What’s more, he must have been anticipating this possibility and was ready for him. That’s why he had remained in his clothes, why he had waited here vigilantly in case Ethan turned up.

  Before Ethan could act, the cop whipped his service revolver from beneath the pillow where he had concealed it and trained it on him.

  “You couldn’t just let it go, could you, Ethan? You had to chip away at it until it was out in the open.”

  He and Buddy Foley had never actually been friends. Ethan had known him only casually. Now he realized he’d never known him at all.

  He should have been worried about the gun, but he was too angry for that. “It’s no coincidence you turned up here on this train, is it? None of it is a coincidence. So where did you hide the bastard and the blonde who stole my kid until they were able to sneak on board while you kept us busy? In your van parked somewhere near the station back in Ida, maybe?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Rotten luck though, huh, that Lauren and I ended up in the bedroom right next door to theirs?”

  “You could say that.”

  “And even worse luck that my daughter, bless her, should start crying in the night. You’d have heard her through your own wall on this side. And if you heard her, you must have figured either her mother or I could hear her from our own bedroom on the other side.”

  You were right all along, Lauren. Forgive me for doubting you.

  “That meant the three of them had to be moved out of there immediately. They must have left while Lauren was trying to convince me she wasn’t imagining things. It happened just like she said. Right, Foley?”

  “You’re doing just fine, Ethan. Got all the answers, haven’t you?”

  Buddy was still smiling at him. Ethan wanted to smack that smile off his traitorous mouth. And would have, if Foley wasn’t holding the gun on him.

  “You sent them back to the private car where the lawyer—he is a lawyer, isn’t he?—took them in. Probably didn’t want to hide them there, but he wouldn’t have had a choice about it if he’s one of you. And he must be.”

  “Smart guy.”

  Buddy had been smart, too. Smart in a cunning way when he had offered to join Lauren and him in their search of the train in order to make certain they didn’t find Sara. A friend who was on their side, offering his services, flashing his badge. Sidetracking Ethan with that bit about the lawyer in his suit.

  “The car attendant,” Ethan remembered. “Don’t tell me he—”

  “Knows nothing about any of it. Dumb, if you ask me, or he wouldn’t have accepted my bribe to lie about the compartment not being occupied. I mean, think of the risk he was taking.” He shrugged. “But then, look at all the risks I’ve been taking.”

  “Why, Foley?”

  “Come on, Ethan. You know why. Money, of course. Hell, a cop’s salary doesn’t go very far. Not when you want all the extras and a chance comes along for you to get them.”

  The whole thing stank. He knew that much, even if he had yet to fully understand this conspiracy or exactly how involved it was. It had to be pretty complicated if so many people were a part of it. Hilary Johnson, the couple whose identities he and Lauren still didn’t know, the lawyer and Buddy Foley. All after what?

  “Jonathan Brand’s fortune, of course,” he said aloud. “Only now the plan’s all gone wrong, hasn’t it?”

  “Maybe not. Maybe it could be revived by eliminating the one major obstacle. That would be you, Ethan.”

  Foley was going to kill him. He had no other choice.

  He can try, anyway, but I’ll be damned if I just sit here and let him shoot me.

  He had to get the gun away from Foley. And until he could determine just how to manage that, he needed to stall him.

  “You’ll never get your hands on that money, Foley. You and the others have made too many mistakes.”

  The cop didn’t answer him. Keeping both his gaze and the revolver fixed on Ethan, he groped for the shade at the window. It lifted with a whoosh. The sky outside was no longer black. There was the glimmer of daybreak over the mountains massed on the horizon. The train couldn’t be very far now from Windrush.
Ethan could see Buddy was worried by that.

  “We’re finished here,” he said.

  “What now?” Ethan challenged him. “If you kill me, there’s a good chance someone on the car will hear the shot. And even if they don’t, a body in your compartment is going to be a bit awkward.”

  “There’s a better way to get rid of you. No muss and no fuss.” He rose from the berth and moved toward the door. When Ethan started to get to his feet, he waved him back with the gun. “Just stay where you are.”

  Foley cracked the door open wide enough to check the corridor outside with a quick glance in either direction. Satisfied, he stood back, motioning with the revolver for Ethan to precede him into the corridor. All the while, he was careful to keep enough distance between them to prevent Ethan from lunging for the gun.

  The corridor was silent and deserted when they emerged from the bedroom. No help there.

  Ethan had a bad moment when Foley’s gaze rested briefly on the closed door to the bedroom he and Lauren shared. Did he intend to force Lauren to accompany them?

  The cop must have sensed his concern. “Don’t worry about her,” he taunted Ethan. “I’ll take good care of her. She’s going to need me when she finds out her boyfriend has mysteriously disappeared along with her baby. I can be very comforting.”

  “You bastard! If you—”

  “Move or you get it here and now. Not that way. Up front to the baggage car.”

  As long as he had that gun, Ethan had to obey him while looking for the opportunity to jump the cop. If only one of the occupants of the other compartments would appear just long enough to provide a distraction…

  But they met no one along the length of the swaying car or in the vestibule when they crossed it and entered the baggage car.

  “Unlock that door and roll it back,” Foley commanded him, gesturing toward the outside door closest to the engine.

  “Open it yourself.” He might be going to hell, but he wasn’t going to help Foley send him there.

  “Don’t be stupid. I couldn’t risk that. I’d have to put a bullet in you first. But doing what I tell you buys you time. That many more seconds to live. And hope.” He chuckled. “Not that you have any.”

  Though he wanted to shove that gun down Foley’s throat, Ethan recognized the wisdom of his advice. He went to the door, lifted the lever that locked it and slid the door back in its tracks. The cold morning air rushed into the baggage car.

  Taking a deep breath of that air, knowing it probably would be his last, Ethan turned around. If he had to die, it wasn’t going to be with a bullet in his back. He’d go down facing his killer, defying him to the end.

  He tensed, waiting for a burst of fire from the revolver, the heat of the bullet as it entered his flesh. But Foley had something else in mind.

  “You get a choice,” he said, lifting his voice above the roar of the engine that invaded the car. “Either I shoot you and throw you out, or you jump.”

  For a few seconds, Ethan was perplexed. What kind of trick was this? And then he understood. Yeah, Foley wanted him to take his own life. That way, when and if they found his body, there would be no bullet in it that could be traced to the cop’s revolver. It would look like a tragic accident.

  “I’m not going to make your dirty job easy for you. Go to hell.”

  “Hey, you never know, Ethan. You might just survive the whole thing.”

  Foley wouldn’t be offering him this choice if he thought that was remotely possible. At the speed the train was racing along the tracks, Ethan would be leaping to his death. And if by some miracle he did survive the fall, his body would be so broken that he’d end up perishing alone and helpless in the wilderness.

  Buddy moved toward him, squeezing him back until he was teetering on the edge, his hands clinging to either side of the opening. “What are you waiting for?” he urged. “Do it.”

  Ethan hung on stubbornly while knowing that at any instant now the cop would lose his patience. That a bullet from his gun would do what Ethan refused to do, tear him into him with such force that he would be punched out of the baggage car.

  It was then, leaning so far backward out of the gap that his arms ached with the strain of his grip, that he saw them from the corner of his eye. Steel rungs attached to the outside wall of the car within inches of the open door. They composed a service ladder that mounted to the roof of the car.

  An image of Lauren and what could happen to her without him fueled Ethan with a rage to live. With a swiftness born of desperation, and a skill that would never have been possible without his special forces training, Ethan released one of his hands and reached for the nearest rung. It eluded him until he stretched out his arm to its fullest extent.

  When the cold metal was within his grasp, he removed his other hand from the doorway and launched himself into space. For a few seconds he swung there above the rail bed that passed under him in a blur. Heard the bark of the revolver behind him as Foley realized he was losing his target.

  The bullet struck metal, not flesh and bone. By the time the cop fired again, Ethan had managed to exert enough strength to get both his other hand and his scrabbling feet on the rungs. Out of range of the gun now, at least temporarily, and with a solid surface under him, he swarmed up the ladder.

  Gaining the roof of the baggage car, he gave himself no time to regain his wind before he pushed himself to his feet. Only then, steadying himself in a half crouch and with feet braced apart, did he permit himself to consider his situation.

  He wasn’t sure what Foley would do. If he was athletic enough, he would try to follow him up the ladder. And if he didn’t trust himself to risk that—

  Lauren! The bastard might go after Lauren in the sleeper! Use her as a hostage to force Ethan into surrendering himself!

  In the rapidly strengthening light, Ethan was able to see the entire train stretched out behind the engine. What were his chances of finding another ladder on one of those cars, of somehow getting himself back down inside the train and reaching Lauren before Foley intercepted him?

  Not great, he knew, but if he was to safeguard Lauren, it was his only option.

  In the taut moments that followed, Ethan learned that speeding on foot along the length of a train while enclosed by walls and ceilings was no challenge. Undertaking it on the open roof of a racing train, with an icy wind blasting at you and the metal surface rocking under you, threatening to tumble you into space, was a treacherous business.

  He swiftly discovered that the only way to keep his footing, especially crossing from one car to another, was to adopt a crablike gait. Every few yards, he would pause briefly to search for metal rungs over the side of the train and to look back over his shoulder for any sign of Foley.

  There were no rungs, but there was Foley. Ethan was on the third car when, turning his head, he saw that the cop had managed to ascend the baggage car’s ladder and was in pursuit.

  Deafened by the roar of the train, Ethan wasn’t able to hear the ping of the bullet from the cop’s revolver. But it sparked a warning when it struck metal near his foot. A hail of other bullets followed, ricocheting off the rooftop. Ethan was able to avoid them by dodging and weaving, keeping enough distance between himself and Foley to prevent the cop from getting a close shot at him. Until, that is, he started to leap across the joint between the fourth and fifth cars.

  It was in this second that the train swept around a curve, the cars angling with it so sharply and suddenly that Ethan was robbed of his balance and thrown down flat on the roof. Before he could scramble to his feet, Foley had overtaken him.

  The cop approached him slowly, his mouth twisted with a smile of triumph. He was wasting no more bullets now on a target that was impossible to hit at any distance on a rolling rooftop. Only when he was within a few feet of Ethan did he raise the revolver again and aim.

  Ethan was on his knees by then and aware of what Buddy was unable to see behind him. Not until the train rocketed into the tunnel and was swall
owed by blackness did the cop realize, too late, what was happening.

  Ethan smashed into him with all the determination of a linebacker, dragging him onto the rooftop. When the train shot out into the light again, both men were down and struggling for possession of the gun clutched in Foley’s hand.

  Though pinned under the cop, by exerting all his strength on the wrist he gripped, Ethan succeeded in smacking that hand hard enough against the steel roof that Foley released the gun. Before either man could recover it, the weapon went skittering across the roof and over the edge.

  The revolver was no longer a threat to Ethan, but Foley was. Heaving against his weight, he threw the cop over on his back. Buddy sprang to his feet, a murderous rage on his face. Even down as he still was, Ethan was ready for his attack, his hands clenched into fists.

  At that instant, the train lurched sharply as it thundered across a trestle spanning a deep river gorge. The jolt threw Foley down with such force that he went sliding over the curve of the roof. The cop tried to save himself, clawing frantically at the metal. But there was nothing for him to grab, and in the end gravity pulled him over the edge and sent him plummeting into the gorge far below.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ethan watched, stunned and helpless. He’d wanted to see the cop defeated, only not this way. No man deserved to die like that.

  But there was no time to regret Buddy Foley. A glance at his watch told Ethan that the train would be arriving at Windrush in less than half an hour. He had to act swiftly or they would lose Sara again.

  Climbing to his feet, he made his way rapidly back to the baggage car. Descending the ladder cost him little effort, but swinging back through the opening was a perilous business that required both strength and care.

  Managing to land safely inside the car, he slid the door shut and locked it. The conductor was on his rounds when Ethan encountered him as he entered the sleeper.

  “Is the train on time for Windrush?”