Hiding Jessica

by Alicia Scott

  “How much of this does Les know?” he asked.

  She was quiet for a long moment, her brown gaze soft and serious. “He knows,” she said finally. “I kept refusing his invitations, you see, and he began to obsess. So he had me followed and quite by chance learned about my mother.” She smiled weakly. “Can you imagine? I visited Rebecca only once a year, and it just had to happen the one week I was followed. At any rate, Les threatened to expose her and myself, and well...” She shook her head, not sure how to explain the strange bond between her mother and herself. “When I first saw my mother six years ago as Jessica Gavornée, she made me swear I wouldn’t go back. She told me I had built a new life now, and I deserved it. I wasn’t to talk about her, I wasn’t to tell anyone. It was what she wanted, so I agreed. But then Les had the photographs detailing my visit. I couldn’t let him expose her or myself, so I did what he wanted. Until the one night I crept down to his study, took the evidence I needed against him and burned the negatives and the photos.”

  “What about the trial?” he asked at last. “Weren’t you afraid all of this would come out then?”

  She frowned slightly, cocking her head to the side as she turned it over in her mind.

  “I was concerned,” she said slowly, thinking out loud, “but I had a feeling it wouldn’t. See, Les needed the threat of exposure to keep control over me. I realized one day, however, that the power lay solely in the threat. Once I walked away from him, exposing the information would also lead to the discovery he blackmailed me. Such a revelation would imply Les had to use blackmail to keep the blonde, that sort of thing. Think of it. That would mean Les was doubly incompetent. Not only had his ‘girl’ turned on him, but she’d beat him at his own game. Destroying his evidence against her while gaining her evidence against him. I gambled that given the nature of Les’s ego, he would want to keep a lid on as many of the details as possible. And by never talking of our relationship, well, that was my way of not provoking him.”

  Mitch nodded, the clarity of her plan once more earning his admiration.

  “Then here’s the deal,” Mitch said softly, looking at her with his intense brown eyes. “I have a plan, Mary Morgan, but for it to work, you have to trust me. I’m going to take you to my sister and her husband. There you’ll be called Sarah because everyone already knows about Jess and Les knows about Mary. What’s your father’s mother’s maiden name?”

  She was already following his line of thinking. “Brownstone. So I can be Sarah Brownstone.”

  He nodded, appreciating once more her quick mind. “Exactly. Morgan’s already known. Look, it’s the same drill. From here on out, I’m only going to call you Sarah and you’re only going to answer to Sarah. The first small town I can find, we’ll pick up hair dye. If we drive straight through, we can hit Connecticut late tonight. You’ll dye your hair then, and in the morning everyone will meet the black-haired, blue-eyed Sarah Brownstone. See how much fun this is?”

  The last words were only slightly sarcastic, and she managed a small smile. For one moment, she allowed herself to believe in his plan. Mitch Guiness was at work, and one way or the other, he would get them through. He said so.

  But then the vision of Jamie and Bill popped in her mind and her smile faltered on her face.

  “And you?” she asked softly. “What will you do?”

  As she watched, Mitch’s face settled into a grim, dark look that sent shudders up her spine.

  “I’m going to find the bastard that sold us out,” he said quietly.

  Looking at his face, she didn’t doubt what would happen to the man he found.

  Abruptly Mitch’s face cleared, his eyes becoming the calm ones she knew so well. He reached out his hand. “Come on, Sarah,” he said with his crooked grin. “We’ve got a lot of driving to do. It’s time for a new vehicle, too. What do you say? How about a limo this time? Let’s go out in style.”

  She almost smiled again—almost. But his words hit too near the fear inside her heart. This man could seem so invulnerable, and he did think of everything. But as he’d said before, Les seemed to be always one step ahead of them and neither one of them knew how.

  “Sarah,” Mitch said as she stood. She was a quick enough study to turn her head, and for the first time, she saw uncertainty on his face. “There’s one last thing I should tell you,” he said quietly. “Les was released yesterday. The federal court of appeals ruled it a mistrial.”

  For a long moment, all she could do was look at him. Then slowly, very slowly, she nodded her head. Les was free and there was nothing she could do about it. The dread was complete.

  She took Mitch’s offered hand and followed him downstairs without a word.

  * * *

  They paused long enough to grab two cups of coffee and a couple of muffins, then hit the road. Mitch stopped at the first pharmacy they came to, just a couple of miles away. He instructed Sarah to look for jet black hair dye while he used the pay phone. It took him a small fortune in change, but finally he connected with his sister in Connecticut.

  “Mitch!” Liz exclaimed upon first hearing his voice. “I’ve been trying so hard to get a hold of you!”

  Mitch frowned, instantly on alert. “What’s up?” he found himself saying. Her voice was concerned, but not panicked. “Is everything okay with Richard and Andrew?”

  “Oh, yes,” she assured him. He could hear a smile in her voice—no doubt reflecting Liz’s happiness with her husband and stepson. “It’s Cagney, Mitch. There’s been a shooting.”

  For a minute, Mitch didn’t say anything at all. He forgot about Capruccio and all the impending danger. He could just see the solemn gray eyes of his youngest brother, eight years his junior. Cagney—Cage—had always been the quiet one in the family. But then ten years ago he’d astounded them all by announcing he was going to follow in his big brother’s footsteps and join the police force. Of course, Mitch had gone on to the National FBI Academy while Cage had remained in the force.

  “Is he okay?” Mitch asked, the words harder to get out than he’d imagined.

  “Yes,” Liz replied, but the word was slow and dragged out. “His leg was hit, but not badly. He shot a kid, Mitch. A fourteen-year-old gang member.”

  For one moment, Mitch bowed his head. He never doubted for a minute that his brother hadn’t shot in self-defense. Cagney, with his serious gray eyes, was the last person in the world who would hurt a child. He’d coached a Little League baseball team as a senior in high school. But Cagney was also the last person in the world to forgive himself for such an act. And right now, when his brother needed him, there was nothing Mitch could do.

  “He’ll have to come to terms with it,” he said out loud, the words inadequate in his own mind and completely uncharacteristic.

  On the other end of the phone, there was silence. No doubt Liz wondered at her brother’s callous response. Mitch was always the first one to offer support, the first one to be there. He was the consummate older brother, and she loved him for it.

  “What’s wrong, Mitch?” she asked quietly. “Why did you call?”

  “Capruccio case,” Mitch said curtly, his sharp eyes looking around for possible eavesdroppers. He wouldn’t elaborate more, knowing his little sister could put the pieces together. “Late tonight, expect us.”

  “Of course,” Liz agreed quickly. She knew better than to ask for details. Mitch knew she’d come to terms with his chosen profession long ago, though she worried about him constantly. All of his brothers seemed to be driven to danger like moths to the flame.

  A recording came on, demanding more money, and Mitch knew it was time to go.

  “Look,” he added, one last bleak thought coming to him, “if we don’t arrive, get your hands on Garret—no, wait, you’ll never find him. Cagney. It has to be Cagney. I know the timing is horrible, but, Liz, if you don’t hear from me, you have to call him. Tell him I’m working on the Capruccio case, and tell him there’s no one else I can trust. He’ll figure out what to do.
”

  “Mitch—”

  The operator’s voice came back on, cutting Liz off.

  “Take care, Liz,” he said quickly, softly. “And tell that husband of yours he’s got the best woman in the world. At least the second best. I love you, little sis.”

  He was gone before she could say another word. She put down the phone with a small frown furrowing her brow. Second best? Now what was that all about?

  Suddenly she was very curious about her brother’s newest assignment. She went to find her husband to tell him about their impending guests.

  * * *

  Liz and Richard stayed up all that night waiting for their visitors, Liz’s head bowing against her husband’s steady shoulder as the hour grew later and later and later.

  But Mitch and Jess never did arrive.

  At 3:00 a.m., Liz picked up the phone and called Cagney in D.C.

  Chapter 15

  Mitch knew they were in trouble after just four miles. At that point, their simple back road abruptly poured into a four-lane highway. He kept his eyes peeled for a place to turn in the truck for a less conspicuous vehicle. Every restaurant and gas station he passed, he expected to see a dark sedan pull out behind them. Damn it, they were too exposed on a well-traveled road in a known vehicle.

  The small strip malls that dotted the roadside, however, hardly offered car-rental opportunities. On the other hand, he considered grimly, he could always pull into one of the restaurants and hot-wire someone else’s car. Given all his other concerns, being chased by cops for grand theft auto hardly seemed relevant.

  But just as he was about to resort to such actions, a dark gray Cadillac Eldorado abruptly pulled out from a gas station behind him. It might not have been worth noticing except it caused four cars to come to sudden, screeching halts. The action wasn’t one of a prudent driver. More like a determined one.

  Mitch stepped on the gas, shooting ahead in the light traffic as Jess identified the danger in her side mirror.

  She looked at him for a long moment, her face composed but sober.

  “I’ll start looking for a turnoff,” she said quietly.

  Mitch nodded, watching the Cadillac accelerate to catch them. For once, Mitch wished there was more traffic. Anything to use as an obstacle. But instead, it was more like blatant speed against blatant speed. Given the Eldorado’s two-hundred-and-twenty-horsepower engine, Mitch didn’t have high hopes of their truck winning the race. To make matters worse, the guardrail alongside of the highway prevented him from going suddenly off the road and exploiting the truck’s rough-terrain advantage.

  He shot up to eighty miles per hour, and began to dash around the few cars he came upon. Eighty-two, Eighty-eight. They were flying by like thunderbolts, the strip malls and guardrails nothing but an indistinct gray blur. Ninety.

  “On your left,” Jessica warned.

  Mitch looked up in time to see the sedan making a bid for the open lane. Without slowing, Mitch slammed the truck over, watching with some satisfaction as the driver of the vehicle was forced to slam on his brakes. But the Eldorado recovered quickly enough, its powerful engine bringing it back up to speed. This time it dodged right, and once more Mitch swerved to counteract.

  A sign shot by. Jess’s head swiveled back to try and catch the letters.

  “An exit’s coming up,” she told him in a small rush. “On the right. Now!”

  He swung the truck over at the last possible minute, slamming on the brakes, dashing across two lanes and running over bumpy embedded road lights. The sedan slammed on its brakes too late to react, missing the exit entirely.

  Mitch was just about to congratulate himself when he heard Jess’s sudden gasp.

  Too late his eyes returned frontward, seeing the three cars waiting patiently for a green light at the top of the ramp. There was no time to come to a full stop, and at over forty miles per hour he didn’t dare hit them. He slammed on the horn with one hand, cranking the wheel to a hard left with the other as he pumped the brakes.

  They screeched around the last car so close, Jess could see the white-eyed horror in the driver’s face. Then they were bouncing along the side of the road, skittering toward the intersection. Jess braced herself with a hand on the dash even as she heard the warning honk of the oncoming vehicle. Dimly she was aware that Mitch was no longer slamming on the brakes but actually accelerating in a mad-dashed attempt to beat the approaching car through the intersection.

  For one moment Jess thought they might have made it. For one moment her muscles actually relaxed as a dreamlike quality took hold. Then abruptly the Volvo slammed through the back of the pickup truck, setting them into a hurtling cycle of spin after spin after spin. Abruptly the truck found the guardrail and the spinning stopped. She heard the sickening grind of metal against metal, heard a distant scream that might have been her own.

  Then there was only darkness.

  * * *

  Mitch pulled himself back together slowly, each instinct kicking in one by one. He was sitting upright, his forehead flat against the wheel. He could feel the trickle of something warm and wet down his face, and when he tried to open his eyes, the world refused to come into focus. He heard the sound of running feet, the faint hiss of a broken radiator.

  His door was thrown open, and for one clear moment he knew he should attack. But then he made out the shocked eyes of a truck driver staring down at him.

  “Are you all right, mister?” the stranger asked.

  Slowly Mitch tried to nod his head only to find out he couldn’t quite move.

  “The girl,” he whispered. “How’s the girl?”

  The stranger looked beyond him, and his eyes grew wider.

  “You have to get out,” the man said. “We can’t open her door. Can you do that?”

  Mitch thought that might be a silly question. If Jess needed him to jump out of an airplane at one thousand feet, he would do it. That was love, right? That’s what love was all about. He forced himself to sit up straight.

  The world spun crazily, his face turning pale then green as he fought not to pass out. Slowly, ever so slowly, he managed this time to turn his head. Jess was slumped forward, her door caved in until that side of the truck didn’t exist anymore at all. Her legs looked pinned by the wreckage, and for a moment, Mitch could no longer breathe. He’d killed her, or at the very least paralyzed her. The helplessness and horror that flowed through him was as numbing as it was foreign. Huge, capable Mitch, the oldest brother, the man who was always there to help everyone, had finally failed.

  “You’ll have to help me pull her out,” he heard a voice say. After a minute, he realized it was his own.

  The stranger spoke up. “Mister, if you don’t mind me saying so, you’re in no condition to do any such thing.”

  “I mind,” Mitch heard the voice say again. “I have to help her, I have to.”

  The truck driver opened his mouth as if to persist, then perhaps realized the futility of arguing with a man who had blood down his forehead and stubbornness in his jaw.

  “Can you undo your seat belt?” the man said instead. Mitch managed that after a bit, and the truck driver helped him down from the vehicle.

  “I’ll get her,” the driver said. “You just sit here for a minute.”

  Mitch sat, much harder than necessary. He could still feel the warm wetness trickling down his forehead, and he had to squint his eyes against the abrupt glare of the day. Dimly he became aware of all the people milling around. He needed to look out for Les’s men, he found himself thinking. He had to protect Jess from Les’s men.

  Two people were helping pull a woman from the Volvo and a jumpy-looking man was calling the whole thing in on his cellular phone, his hands waving in the air with his agitation.

  He heard a soft moan, and turned to find the stranger laying Jess out on the hard asphalt.

  “I think she’s just unconscious,” the man said, his voice concerned. “She hit her forehead on the dash, but at the least the seat belt
kept her from going through the windshield. Her right leg’s cut up. It may be broken. But then, I don’t know much about these things.”

  Mitch forced himself to focus on the man. He saw the pulled-down cowboy hat, the scuffed-up toes of working boots. He saw a sprinkle of freckles and dust, and earnest blue eyes. He looked like home, and the sunny, hardworking days of raising hell with his brothers in Maddensfield, North Carolina. Mitch didn’t question his instinct. He just knew he and Jess needed help, and this man was all he had to work with.

  But before he could say anything, two dark shadows fell across the ground. The stranger’s gaze shifted up, and Mitch followed it to find the very thing he’d been dreading. Les’s men smiled down at him.

  “FBI,” one of the men said crisply. “We’ve been chasing these two through five states. If you don’t mind, we’ll take it from here.”

  The stranger looked uncertain, and Mitch opened his mouth to argue. But then a faint breeze rippled the first man’s jacket back, revealing a 9-millimeter gun.

  They would shoot the man, Mitch realized in the last sane corner of his mind. They would shoot the truck driver and anyone else they had to if he pushed it. He clamped down abruptly, the movement making his head swim. Like a drunkard, his head swiveled back to Jess, lying pale and unconscious on the ground. She was still alive, according to the stranger. But from here, even he could see the blood staining her jeans. He had to do something.

  Think Mitch, think.

  But abruptly the stranger was gone, and the second man was leaning down.

  Move, just move, damn it.

  For one fierce moment, he bit down hard on his own tongue. The shock of pain racked his overloaded system, clearing his head for one mind-splitting moment even as the taste of warm blood filled his mouth. He came up like an animal.

  Two hundred raw pounds of anger and desperation surged to its feet. And the air filled with the low, savage cry of battle as Mitch’s first fist flailed out. He felt the solid satisfaction of connection and watched the man collapse at his feet as the world around him suddenly exploded into screams of fear and shock. He didn’t notice the yells, his fist merely balling at his side as his eyes narrowed. He had to fight, he had to kill.