All The Stars In Heaven

by Michele Paige Holmes

  Right about now he would have given his whole paycheck for a bottle of aspirin.

  And a warm bed. A roof over our heads. A hamburger. A normal life again.

  Instead, he tried to be grateful for getting off the road, for making it safely this far.

  Sarah, at least, seemed to be sleeping peacefully now. Earlier she’d tossed and turned in her seat, making whimpering sounds every time he thought she was finally in a deep sleep.

  Jay had wondered which nightmare she was having. The one where Carl nearly ran them down, the one where a man attacked her in a dark alley, or the one where she shot and killed a man who was trying to kill them. And dozens of others I can’t even imagine. He felt bad he’d pressured her to let him call Kirk. Who could blame her for shutting down this afternoon?

  The exit came into view, and he felt overwhelming relief. Slowing the Jetta to twenty-five, he drove down the off-ramp to the roadside rest stop—a tiny brick building, a historical marker about the Seneca Indians, a rectangle of grass and some trees. A parking lot—heaven.

  Pulling into the stall farthest from the single light, Jay killed the engine, checked the door locks, and reclined his seat. Aside from a truck parked near the on-ramp, the rest stop was vacant. He hoped it would stay that way for a couple more hours, though tomorrow the roads would likely be heavy with holiday traffic.

  A bit of sleep could only help him think through their dilemma with more clarity. That they were on the run from Sarah’s father and some drug ring, both the Summerfield and Cambridge police departments, and now possibly the DEA, was a reality he couldn’t quite process. That the gas tank was low, they needed to eat, and the car was quickly dropping to a temperature below freezing were the more immediate concerns.

  Turning his head, Jay studied Sarah, curled in a ball on her side. It was difficult to reconcile the woman who’d wielded a semiautomatic this afternoon with the girl asleep beside him. With her halo of blond hair spread across the seat, he could only envision her as the angel he’d heard singing in church not so many weeks ago. And though he’d witnessed her kill a man, already he wondered if he’d imagined it. The Sarah he knew didn’t shoot to kill. The Sarah he knew didn’t shoot at all—or did she? He knew the loaded gun was still beneath her seat.

  Sarah shivered in her sleep, instinctively tucking her arms closer to her body. Jay looked in back, hoping to find a blanket or something to cover her with. The only thing he found was an old newspaper on the floor of the car. He reached for it, then hesitated, thinking of Sarah’s germ phobia. Being covered with newspaper would only add to her misery, but the jacket she’d brought this morning wasn’t warm enough for spending the night in a car without heat.

  Feeling helpless and frustrated and totally inadequate as a protector, Jay removed his own coat. This he placed carefully over Sarah, flipping the collar up over her neck and draping the sleeves down her back. He took the old paper, opened it wide, and laid it over him. He leaned back in his seat, eyes closed a second later. Sleep came almost at once.

  * * *

  Two hours, he’d told himself before drifting off. Just let me rest for two hours and I’ll be able to figure out what to do. Now the dashboard clock read 5:27. “Shortest four and a half hours of my life,” Jay muttered as he raised the seat and the newspaper slid to his lap. If anything he felt more tired than when he’d laid down a little after one. He doubted he would have woken up so soon if not for the fact that he was freezing.

  Choosing to ignore the near-empty gas tank, Jay turned the key in the ignition. Cold air whooshed from the vents. He closed them, glancing at Sarah to see if she’d awakened, but it didn’t appear she’d moved at all.

  “Must be nice,” he whispered, “to be able to sleep through all this.”

  Sarah didn’t respond, and Jay returned his attention to rubbing his hands together briskly in front of the heater. He glanced at the gas needle, hovering slightly above the E. He knew he should start driving—using what little gas they had left to put as much distance between them and the dead man they’d left behind, but Jay couldn’t force himself to move just yet. There really was no point in running until he knew where they were running to.

  Leaning the seat back again, he looked up through the window at the stars overhead. Out here, away from the lights of the city, they were much clearer. If Sarah were awake, she’d be thrilled with the view.

  The North Star shone brightly, and farther west Orion mocked him. A strong guy like that, with his sword raised, would certainly never get himself, and the girl he loved, in a situation like this. And if for some reason he did, he’d have a plan to get them out of it—even if it was through simple brute strength.

  Some chivalrous hero I turned out to be, Jay thought. Old Humphrey would’ve had a plane waiting to whisk his true love to safety. I can’t even keep the car going much longer. Jay closed his eyes, wishing all of it—the cold, his hunger, this situation, everything but Sarah—away.

  He fell asleep again, this time waking at 6:03. The car was warm, the red warning light on the fuel gauge lit. He switched the ignition off as the faintest hint of dawn began coloring the sky. While he’d slept, an RV had pulled into the lot and parked next to them.

  Would the DEA use a motor home? He shook off the sleep-deluded thought and sighed with relief when the door opened and an elderly couple emerged. Each held a poodle on a leash.

  From the corner of his eye he watched as they walked the perimeter of the narrow lawn. The man held his arm out for the woman, who leaned on him for support.

  Acute longing cut straight to Jay’s heart. I want to be that couple, he thought. I want to grow old with Sarah, have children, travel a little. But a simple life. Nothing spectacular, no complications. The kind where you appreciate each sunrise and sunset together.

  The elderly couple was doing just that. They stood at the edge of the lawn, enjoying the first rays of sunlight filtering through the leafless trees.

  Jay watched, mesmerized with yearning. On the seat beside him, Sarah stirred. Her lips parted in a worrisome frown. The temperature in the car was already dropping.

  Do something. I’ve got to do something.

  The couple returned to their motor home. He thought of the heater they probably had going, the bed they’d slept on, the hot cereal they might eat for breakfast. We could use a motor home right about now, but I can’t even fill up the car . . . He sat up so quickly the top of his short hair brushed the roof. RVs required a lot of gasoline. Maybe this couple would have a spare container. But if they left before he asked, he and Sarah might be stranded here for hours.

  Taking care not to make any more noise than necessary, Jay unlocked his door and got out. The cold took his breath away, and goose bumps sprang up on his skin. He hurried to the RV and knocked, hoping for a small miracle.

  * * *

  “These are fantastic,” Sarah exclaimed after holding the heat packs in her hands for a couple of minutes. “They’re actually warm.”

  “Too bad we didn’t know about them last night.” Jay bit into a granola bar. It was cold and stale and about the best thing he’d ever tasted. Unscrewing the top of his second water bottle, he took another long drink.

  Sarah set the heat pack on her lap and unwrapped a shiny Mylar emergency blanket. Jay finished off the water bottle, opened a pack of Life Savers, and popped three in his mouth. He felt like he’d discovered a gold mine. And it had been with them all along—in the trunk.

  He felt like an idiot for not looking there sooner. Most people just had a spare tire—and maybe a set of jumper cables. But Christa and Kirk weren’t most people. They were Mormons, and, like Boy Scouts, Mormons believed in being really prepared.

  Bless you, Jay thought. If we get out of this, I promise to listen when you talk about your church. I’ll come to the activities. Those guys who wear suits and ride bikes can even talk to me.

  “Look at this!” Sarah exclaimed. She held up a sweatshirt that was probably Christa’s, then dug through
the bag again. “They even have diapers in here.”

  “Don’t need those,” Jay said. “You have to admit, running out of gas where there’s a bathroom was pretty good.”

  “That old couple sharing some of their fuel was pretty good.” Sarah pulled a Snickers bar from the bag and looked at it reverently. “Chocolate. This is great.”

  “Peanuts—protein. I can almost hear Christa’s logical thought process as she packed.”

  “I love you, Christa,” Sarah mumbled through a mouthful of candy bar.

  “And Kirk?” Jay asked warily. “Do you still feel like we shouldn’t call him?”

  “No.” She sounded ashamed. “I know we can’t run away. I’m sorry I was so stubborn.”

  “It’s okay.” Jay took her free hand. “Yesterday was awful. But you trusted your gut, and it saved our lives. Let me have a turn at it today.”

  “A turn killing someone?” Her voice cracked, and despair swept across her face. She swallowed hard and shrank against the door as tears filled her eyes. “I killed a man, Jay.” The candy bar fell to her lap, forgotten, as she buried her face in her hands and wept.

  He leaned forward over the console, pulling her into his arms as best he could in the awkward space. “Don’t do this, sweetheart.”

  “You don’t understand,” Sarah said in a choked voice between bouts of crying. “I keep seeing his body jerk when the bullet hit, the shock frozen in his eyes, the look in your eyes when you realized what I’d done.”

  Jay held her away from him. “Look at me. What do you see on my face now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Gratitude,” Jay said. “You see profound gratitude that you saved my life and yours. And you see regret, because I sensed something was wrong too, and I didn’t act on my instincts. I wish it had been me who pointed that gun and pulled the trigger. I wish with all my heart, Sarah, that I could spare you this.” His throat constricted. “Because even though the circumstances were different, I know what a burden it is to feel responsible for ending someone’s life.”

  Sarah’s eyes widened as more tears spilled from them. “Oh, Jay.” She leaned forward, throwing her arms around him as her body jerked with a heart-wrenching sob. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think of that—of your mother—that you’d understand how it feels.”

  He held her tightly, one hand stroking her hair as he whispered words of comfort—words he wished he’d heard himself after his mother’s death.

  After several minutes, he brushed a wet strand of hair from her face. “We should go. There’s still a chance our benefactors might have recognized us and call the police.”

  Sarah smiled through her tears. “I’m more worried about their abilities to recognize the road. They were so old.”

  “We’re going to be that couple one day,” Jay said. “Tooling around in our motor home with a couple of little dogs, maybe a grandkid or two.” He returned Sarah’s smile, but then his face grew serious again. “We can’t call Kirk right away. My phone’s dead. And we’ve got enough gas to get us to a town to fill up, but the question is, which direction are we going?”

  Sarah sat up in her seat and wiped her eyes. “East,” she said with conviction. “We’re going back. We can’t”—she took a deep breath—“run away from our troubles.”

  “Running away and staying safe aren’t necessarily the same,” Jay argued.

  “But ‘safe’ is only going happen when these guys are caught. Instead of running, we need to turn the tables and go after them. We still need to meet with the DEA,” Sarah said. “I’ll tell them everything, and maybe something I say will be the right thing, what they need to figure out who is after us and why.”

  “We’ll get Kirk to go with us,” Jay said.

  Sarah nodded her agreement.

  “And maybe,” Jay said, a faraway look in his eye, “this time we’ll have something to show them.”

  Chapter Sixty

  “We need to meet.” The voice on the phone was neither angry nor demanding, but Grant’s fingers shook nonetheless. Rossi had always been cool, calculating, and very persuasive.

  Grant hesitated before responding. “You have my daughter?”

  “She got away again. Perhaps if you’d given us the information about her meeting with the DEA agent sooner—”

  They don’t have Sarah! “I didn’t know,” Grant lied. Silently, he celebrated, feeling like he’d been given another chance at life. “And I still don’t know how Detective Anderson’s message made it to my inbox.”

  “Don’t let on that it did. I’ve got a man following him, and he may lead us to Sarah. We’ve already found his family in Worcester.”

  “Don’t do anything to them,” Grant warned. “I can’t cover up something that far away.”

  “It is far away, so you don’t have to.” A low chuckle sounded through the phone. “It’s good to know you still have a soft spot when it comes to a wife and kids. We’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

  Grant closed his eyes, fighting off panic as he sat in the nearest chair.

  “There’s going to be a funeral in three days. We’ll talk there.”

  “A funeral?” Sweat broke out along Grant’s forehead.

  “There was a casualty yesterday. Someone shot and killed Rick. We think it was the boyfriend. Since it’s your fault Sarah’s with him, the least you can do is pay your last respects.”

  Good riddance, Grant thought. “There’s no way I can get anywhere near you right now. With that federal agent dead and a record on his cell phone that he’d called the station yesterday morning, I’m in enough trouble already. So say what you have to say right now.” Grant felt emboldened, realizing Sarah and her boyfriend had outsmarted—and outshot—one of Rossi’s best men.

  “All right.” There was a long pause. “You lied to me, Grant, told me Sarah didn’t know anything about our operation, and I really wanted to believe you. We’ve had a good thing all these years, and I hate to see it end badly.”

  It began badly, Grant thought.

  “You want to tell me why—if she knew nothing—she went blabbing to the DEA?”

  “I told you, I don’t know.”

  “But you did,” Rossi said. “You knew about it and didn’t tell us. Which means I can’t feel good about trusting you anymore. And I really don’t feel good about your daughter out there, where she might get to the right authorities.” Rossi chuckled again. “You know, the ones who try to uphold the law.”

  Grant was silent. Nothing he said would appease the man. Only one thing would satisfy Rossi now, and Grant couldn’t—wouldn’t—give it to him.

  “I believe in second chances,” Rossi said. “Sometimes even third, but I’d say you’ve about run out.”

  “You think a new police chief is going to look the other way and ignore your little operation?” Grant asked.

  “You were easy enough to persuade. Or you used to be.” There was a pause on the line. “Guess it’s like they say, all good things must come to an end.”

  Grant’s hand went to the gun on his hip as he rose slowly from his chair. He looked toward the open blinds.

  “Yes,” Rossi said, confirming Grant’s suspicions. “You’d be dead already if I wanted it.”

  “Go ahead,” Grant said. He raised the blinds, staring at the car parked across the street. Sarah would be better off without him. He’d failed her in every way possible, and maybe, just maybe, she’d gone far enough away that they’d leave her alone.

  “In spite of my better judgment, I’m going to give you one more opportunity to get your daughter back.”

  “I have no way—”

  “There are plenty of ways,” Rossi insisted. “And it’s time you found them. Sarah called her friend yesterday. We found out about the DEA. We followed her to the cop’s house. We found out where her boyfriend works. Those are all things you should have done, Grant. This is your mistake, not ours. And it’s your lucky day, ’cause I’m giving you another seventy-two hours to fi
x it.”

  Grant opened his mouth to protest, to tell Rossi he’d be waiting for him on the other side, where they were both going to pay.

  “It’s not just about you anymore,” Rossi said as if he’d read Grant’s mind. “You don’t deliver this time, Detective Anderson is out a wife and kids.”

  * * *

  “You’re sure your dad won’t be home?” Jay asked as he parked Kirk’s car a couple of blocks from Sarah’s house.

  “He’s had the same schedule for years,” Sarah said. “He’s the boss, works the best shift, and is always home by five. The only problem we might have is Carl, if he’s not in jail.” They got out of the car and started walking. “I’m still not sure what it is you think we’ll find. I’ve been cleaning that house for years, and I’ve never found anything that links my father to any sort of criminal activity.”

  “Maybe you weren’t looking in the right places—or at the right things,” Jay said. “We need to go through bank statements, cell phone bills, credit card receipts . . .” A car approached, and he crouched down, pretending to tie his shoe.

  Sarah kept her face turned away from the street. “Sounds like a needle in a haystack.”

  “It is—sort of. But there’s got to be something there. And if it’s there, we’ll find it.”

  They were silent the remaining block and a half to the house. Jay worried about Kirk and debated over the wisdom of calling him from Sarah’s house. Sarah appeared deep in thought too, and Jay could tell from the look on her face she was reliving yesterday—something she wasn’t going to get over anytime soon.

  They reached the house, and Sarah took the spare key from a broken piece of rain gutter hanging off the side of the garage.

  “I can’t believe your dad would be so careless,” Jay said. “He’s got bars on all the windows, and he leaves a key lying around?”

  “He didn’t,” Sarah said. “I hid it there a long time ago. So in case I ran away I could sneak back when my dad wasn’t home—to eat and do laundry.” Her mouth twisted and she looked down at the dried blood on her jeans. “While we’re here, I’ll definitely pick up some clean clothes and grab some food.”