by Joyce Lamb
"Yeah, well, you might have to trust someone before this is over, Alaina."
"Maybe it's easy for you, but it's not for me."
"It's not easy for anyone." Going to the door, he lifted his jacket from one of the hooks arranged in a row on the wall. "I'm going for supplies. There's enough wood for the afternoon."
She followed him. "I want to go with you."
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"Well, I don't think it's a good idea for you to leave me in the middle of nowhere. What if something happens to you? I'd be screwed."
"Nothing's going to happen to me," he said.
"But aren't you a target, too? Does Layton know you're helping me?"
"As far as he knows, I'm still itching to get my hands on you." His lips quirked as if he'd just said something amusing, but then he shook his head. "He thinks I want to exact my own revenge. I doubt it would occur to him that I've switched sides."
"Have you?"
His face was expressionless as he zipped the jacket. "What do you think is going on here, Alaina?"
"For all I know, you're still working for Layton."
"Doing what?"
"Keeping me a prisoner here until he's done with whatever it is he's trying to do."
"He wants you dead. That's what he's trying to do."
She raised her chin a notch. "So you say."
"So say two hit men. So far."
"Both of whom could have been setups."
His jaw hardened, and a muscle flexed near his temple. "Setups for what?"
"Setups to make you look like the good guy."
"I am the good guy."
"And the day before yesterday you were working, quite wholeheartedly, for the bad guy."
"That employer was found wanting."
She wanted to believe him. It surprised her how much. "Who's employing you now?"
"I am."
"That makes no sense to me. What are you getting out of this if there's no paycheck?"
"Not everyone's motives revolve around money, Alaina."
"If that's the case here, then you're the exception."
"You're damn right I am."
His vehemence set her back a step, even as she realized he had made no move toward her. She couldn't form a response, not when his eyes burned with such intensity.
After a long moment, he gave her an easy smile. "Now that that's settled," he said. Digging a cellphone out of his backpack, he set it on the table. On a business card, he jotted a number. "You want a backup plan in case I don't come back, I'll give you one. This is my partner Julia's number. She knows how to get here." He gestured at his holster, which he had hung on the back of a chair, the gun strapped in. "And I'll leave that for you."
"This is silly when I can just go with you. I'll help carry stuff back."
"You'd only slow me down. And, frankly, you need to rest and regain your strength. I'll be back by dark. Any requests?"
She hesitated, wanting to argue more but knowing she wouldn't win. So the next logical step was to wait for him to leave, then try to find her own way out. She cleared her throat. "Can you find out how Rachel is?"
"I can tell you that now. Chuck had her moved after your position in Manassas was compromised. She's at a safe house in the area. Chuck took her there himself." At the door, he put his hand on the knob. "There's water and more PowerBars in the pack. I promise to come back with something a bit more gourmet."
"Don't go spoiling me."
His chuckle followed him out.
She let two minutes go by before, grabbing his gun and backpack, she eased out the door into the chill morning air.
Chapter 25
Mitch plugged quarters into the pay phone outside Wal-Mart in Front Royal, Virginia, hunching his shoulders against the cold wind. Luckily, it didn't take long for Julia to answer.
"Hey, it's me."
Her chair creaked in the background, and he imagined her sitting down fast. "Where are you? I've been worried."
"I'm fine. Can't say where I am. Your line might be tapped."
"Great. And I just made a 900 call to the pool boys line."
He laughed. "I told you to seek help for that obsession of yours."
"So you're sounding much less stressed than you were last time I talked to you."
"I am. Can you get to our secure phone?"
"I'm on my way."
"Thanks." He hung up and checked his watch. He had two hours to shop for supplies before calling Julia at the pay phone they had chosen to use in case of emergency, back when they'd first teamed up. This would be the first time they put it to use. It was only fifteen minutes from the office, but he'd used the code word "secure," which meant "people might be watching." They had decided on two hours to give either of them plenty of time to shake whoever might be watching.
Mitch doubted that anyone was. Keller would have no reason to have men still tracking him. And it was unlikely the feds would be watching with Chuck in charge now.
But Mitch wasn't about to take any chances.
* * *
"Have you heard from my mother?"
Addison looked up from the salad she was pretending to eat and gazed at her nephew. The circles under his eyes indicated that he had not slept well, if at all, in two nights, and his eyes -- so blue like Layton's -- betrayed his growing unhappiness. She also saw worry for his mother. "I talked to her yesterday," she said. "She's doing just fine."
He scowled down at his plate. "Why hasn't she called me?"
"I'm sure she wants to give you time to adjust to your new situation."
"I'm fourteen, you know. A friend of mine at school said that when he turned fourteen, he got to pick who he lived with, his mom or his dad. Is that some kind of law or something?"
She returned to her salad, wishing more for a soothing glass of wine. "I don't know."
"I'm going to find out," he said.
So much like Alaina. "Your father really wants this to work out, Jonah."
"Is that why he made me go to the doctor?"
She focused her full attention on him. "What did you say?"
"This morning," he said, slouching back in his chair. "They took blood." He pointed at the tiny bruise in the crook of his arm.
"Why did they do that?" Addison asked.
Jonah straightened in his chair, and his face brightened. "Maybe he doesn't think I'm really his kid. If I'm not, I can go back to my mom, right?"
The hopeful note in his voice made her chest ache. "I don't think there's any doubt about who's your father, Jonah." All she had to do was look at his eyes.
Slouching again, Jonah pushed aside his unfinished tuna salad.
Addison set down her fork. "Do you not like your sandwich? I can put something else together for you."
"Not hungry."
"You haven't eaten much in three days," she said, noting that he looked like he might have dropped some weight already.
"I'm not hungry," he repeated. "You don't have to mother me. I'm a big kid."
A big kid with a breaking heart. "Hang in there, Jonah. I know it's hard right now, but it'll get better --"
"What do you know about it?" he interrupted, his voice rising. "Did your mother dump you on strangers without bothering to explain or say goodbye?"
"She didn't dump you --"
"No, but she sure hasn't shown up to get me, has she? She hasn't even called to talk to me. You'd think she'd be worried about me. But she's too chicken to face me now that I know about my father, isn't she?"
"She's been very brave --"
"Brave is facing your problems and dealing with them. That's what she told me. But I guess those rules don't apply to her." Shoving back his chair so fast it almost tipped backward, he jumped up. "Maybe she decided after I was gone that she didn't want me anymore."
"You know that's not what happened."
"No, I don't. I have no clue what happened. For all I know, you and ... him have been lying. Maybe you kidnapped me. How would I kno
w the difference?"
"Let's get something straight, Joe."
Addison flinched as Jonah whirled toward the door where Layton leaned, his hands pocketed. It was impossible to tell how much he had heard. As usual, his expression, his stance were pleasant, giving nothing away.
"Your mother's the one who did the kidnapping," Layton said, his tone level, even conversational. "Did you know that, Joe? She took you away from me when you were a helpless baby. A court of law decided she was unfit to be a mother, so she stole you. If she tries to come see you now, she'll be arrested and sent to jail. Do you know what that means? It means she's not coming. Ever. And you need to get used to the fact that your mother is more interested in saving her own ass than coming for you."
Jonah looked so stricken, his face so pale, Addison felt tears prickle behind her eyes. But she made no move toward him, fearing a show of sympathy would undo him in front of Layton, who would use any sign of emotion against the teen.
Crossing to the boy, smiling warmly, Layton squeezed his shoulder. "You don't have to worry about her, son. You're safe here, where you belong. This home -- the home you should have had all along -- is stable. You don't have to worry about anything."
"I don't want her to go to jail," Jonah said, his voice shaking. "I didn't get hurt. She took good care of me. I'm a good kid. I don't ask for much. I don't get into trouble. Doesn't any of that count?"
Addison thought her chest would burst at how much Jonah loved his mother.
"But you did get hurt," Layton said. "Just the fact that we're standing here having this conversation is proof that she hurt you. She can't be allowed to get away with that."
"But if I forgive her --"
"It's not up to you, Joe."
"Jonah," Addison said. "Why don't you go out back and shoot some hoops?"
Jonah hesitated, clearly not interested basketball or anything else that didn't involve keeping his mother from being incarcerated. Addison both admired him and envied her sister. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to have someone be so fiercely protective of her.
Layton clapped him on the back. "Yes, shoot some hoops. I'll take you on in a few minutes in a little one-on-one."
After Jonah slogged out the door, Addison turned on Layton. "Why did you take him to the doctor?"
Layton shrugged. "He seemed under the weather."
"He's depressed."
"Yes, and I wanted a doctor to check him out. Who knows how long it's been since the kid had a physical?"
"He's the picture of health, Layton."
"And sometimes kids who are the picture of health drop dead for no apparent reason. Forgive me for wanting to make sure that won't happen to my son. It'd be a cruel irony after being kept apart for so long, wouldn't it?"
"He thinks you're checking to make sure he's yours."
Layton shrugged. "Maybe I am."
"Of course, he is. Alaina was a virgin when you --" She broke off as his eyebrows arched sharply.
"When I what?" he asked.
She swallowed, looked away. Watch it.
He moved to her, lifting her chin with his forefinger and looking into her eyes. "I told you a long time ago what happened that night, Addy. Don't tell me you're doubting my word after all this time."
She kept her gaze steady on his, marveling at how he could lie so convincingly and hoping that she was as talented. "I don't doubt you," she said.
"She seduced me."
Bastard. You lying bastard. She gave him what she hoped looked like an apologetic smile. "Of course. I remember."
"I was weak then, and I admitted it. I'd had too much to drink that night, and that screwed up my judgment."
She nodded, even as her throat ached for what he had done to her sister. The ache grew with the knowledge of what she herself had done to Alaina afterward, the awful things she'd said, the accusations and condemnation. Oh, how it must have hurt.
Layton brushed his lips against her cheek. "Didn't I make it up to you, Addy? Didn't I spend the past fifteen years making it up to you?"
"Yes." She closed her eyes, swallowing the revulsion that rose in her throat at his touch. It had been months since he had come anywhere near her, and she hoped he planned to go no further at the moment. She wouldn't be able to stomach having his hands on her ever again.
Drawing back, he was still smiling, and his gaze locked on hers as he gave her a sweet smile. "And just so we're clear, Addy: Your sister was no virgin when she fucked my brains out. Believe me, she could have taught you a thing or two."
When he walked out, Addison stood, paralyzed by disbelief.
* * *
Alaina lowered herself to a fallen tree, dejected. She'd lost track of Mitch almost immediately after picking up his trail through the woods. His strides had been too fast and long for her to match without giving away her presence. Now, she'd wandered around for at least three hours, searching for something, anything, that looked familiar. Nothing did, of course, because she'd never seen any of it before.
Frustration swelled in her chest, and she wanted to scream, to pound the ground with her fists. She was at Mitch's mercy, just like she'd been at her father's mercy so many years before.
Suddenly, she was seventeen again, six months shy of high school graduation, and her dream had come true in the form of a letter from Juilliard inviting her to audition for admission. She'd been sitting on her bed, her violin resting on her lap, the invitation on the bed beside her.
The thought of an audition at the prestigious school scared her to death ... and gave her chills of anticipation. If she was accepted, certainly her father would have to acknowledge that playing the violin, being a musician, was what she was born to do.
She was reaching for the phone to call her boyfriend, Michael, to tell him the good news when her father walked into her bedroom. It irked her that he never knocked, but then she saw the look on his face, and braced herself.
He didn't speak for a long time, just stared down at her with his dark, dark eyes, as if daring her to squirm. Everything about him screamed authority. His suit was expensive and tailored, its fit on his trim body perfect. His short hair, dark brown and only recently salted with gray at the temples, was combed the same way every day, very neatly to one side. She had never seen him run a hand through it. His teeth, straight and white, rarely showed in a smile.
"Your mother told me your news," he said in a deep baritone that resembled a rumble when he was angry.
She nodded, holding her breath, praying he wouldn't react the way she expected him to.
"You should have consulted with me before applying to that school."
Hopes dashed, she squared her shoulders and set her beloved violin aside. "I really want to do this, Dad."
"You don't deserve to do it, Alaina. Your grades aren't good. You're in trouble every time I turn around. What makes you think I'm going to let you go to school away from home?"
"You make it sound like I'm a delinquent, and I'm not."
Pocketing his hands, he rocked back on his heels. "How many girls your age do you know who've spent a night in juvenile detention?"
Her temper stretched taut, and she fought for control. "I spent the night because you left me there."
"You needed to learn a lesson."
"My friends and I got caught toilet-papering someone's house. It's not like we set it on fire. The cops didn't even arrest us."
"No, but perhaps that's next. Considering the kids you hang out with --"
"My friends aren't --"
She broke off as he held up a hand. "We've already had this discussion, Alaina. The bottom line is: I don't trust you to go away for college. You'll go to community college and live here at home." He turned to go, then paused. "I want you to think about something, Alaina. I want you to consider what kind of contribution violinists make to society."
She raised her chin. "I can answer that right now. Music is a --"
"I'll be blunt. Music is not a career choice. Not today. Not to
morrow. Your mother was wrong to encourage you. I'm going to make an appointment with your guidance counselor next week, and we're all going to sit down and decide what's an appropriate career for you."
"I'm a good violin player, Dad. Have you ever listened to me practice? I got an audition at Juilliard based on a tape that I sent them."
He waved a dismissive hand. "It doesn't matter. I don't care if you can dance a jig and recite Shakespeare at the same time. The arts are a waste of time. You might as well accept that now and get over it."
She clenched her jaw against the stinging behind her eyes. Tears, a sign of weakness, wouldn't be tolerated. "You can't stop me from pursuing my dreams. I'm not like Addison."
He smiled, and there was no humor in it. "You could learn a lot from your sister, Alaina. She's got a good man. She's an excellent role model."
"She does whatever you tell her. That doesn't make a good role model. That just makes a pretty little robot for you to order around. Just like Mom. When are you going to understand that I'm not like them?"
Blood suffused his face, and for a moment, she thought he might strike her. She almost hoped he would. A nice black eye to show her guidance counselor might work in her favor. As it was, no one would ever believe that her father was a merciless tyrant.
Instead, he stepped by her and picked up the violin off of her bed, where she'd foolishly left it unprotected. "You can't take that away," she said quickly. "I need it for class tomorrow."
He broke it in two over his knee and tossed the pieces to the floor at her feet.
Alaina stared in disbelief at the destroyed instrument, the scent of split wood filling her senses.
"You're dropping that class," her father said. "And I don't want to hear another word about music school." He stalked out, slamming her bedroom door behind him.
No matter how hard she tried, a few tears squeezed free. She vowed that he wouldn't break her spirit. She wouldn't let him. In four months, she would be eighteen. She would finish high school, and then she would run away. Her father wouldn't be able to control her anymore, and she would be free to pursue her dream of becoming the best damn violin player in the world.
