In Seconds

by Brenda Novak

  “So does my uncle Virgil. He’s huge!”

  Myles froze while picking up the Swiss Army knife he’d left on the nightstand. “Virgil? Is that your mother’s brother or your father’s brother?”

  “My mother’s.” He pointed at what Myles was holding. “Is that a knife?”

  “With a few tools attached. Want to see it?”

  “Sure!”

  Hoping it would preoccupy the boy enough that he could learn a bit more about this Virgil person, Myles handed it over. “So where does your uncle live?”

  “My mom hasn’t told me.” He held up some needle-nose pliers. “What do these do?”

  Myles showed him how they worked. “How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”

  “Uncle Virgil?”

  “Yeah.”

  Jake hesitated. “A long time.”

  “You don’t have any contact with him?”

  “No.”

  “Look, here’s a little screwdriver.” Myles pulled that out to show him.

  “Cool!”

  “What about your father?”

  Enthralled with the small pair of scissors he’d discovered, Jake didn’t seem to be listening. “Can I have one of these someday?”

  “We can certainly suggest it to your mother. Or maybe your father. Do you ever see him?”

  Instantly wary, Jake looked up and Myles tried to mask his eagerness to hear the answer. He had to act as if this discussion was no big deal, as if he was just passing the time, or the boy would clam up. “No. He never gives me anything. He doesn’t even call.”

  The heartbreak in those words hit Myles like a right hook, made him realize how much Vivian had been coping with. “Where does he live?”

  “Don’t know, or I’d go see him.” He kept opening various tools on the knife.

  “How long has it been?”

  “Since before I saw Uncle Virgil.”

  Myles helped Jake close a serrated blade. “Why’s that?”

  He returned the Swiss Army knife. “I guess he doesn’t love me anymore.”

  His response showed how badly he missed his father, which was sad. Had Vivian’s ex been as abusive with the children as he’d been with her? If not, why weren’t they allowed to see him? Was she that scared of him?

  From all indications, she was. But what was that business about someone being shot that he’d heard from Chrissy? “Are you named after your father, Jake?”

  He scuffed one sneaker against the other. “Sort of.”

  “How can you be ‘sort of’ named after someone?”

  “My dad’s name is Jacob. But everyone calls him Tom,” he said without lifting his head.

  This was the first time the boy had shared the smallest detail about his father. Myles had tossed out a few questions in the past, but they’d met with monosyllabic answers, or shrugs where monosyllabic answers weren’t possible. “So your dad’s name was Jacob Thomas Stewart?”

  Jake glanced at the door. “You ready?”

  The question had made him uncomfortable; Myles had pushed too hard. “I just need to brush my teeth.”

  “Okay.” He headed toward the hall. “I’ll wait on the porch.”

  Myles muttered a silent curse as he watched the boy go. He’d been so close to a full name. It couldn’t be Stewart. Vivian wouldn’t be able to hide very easily if she’d kept her ex-husband’s name. And Stewart didn’t match the initials on her arm. Myles had merely been hoping Jake would correct him.

  At least he knew more than he did before. Vivian had an uncle who was in prison, an ex named Jacob Thomas or Tom H, and a brother named Virgil—not a very common name. She also had a gun that might have a serial number he could trace. And since he’d caught her carrying a concealed weapon without a permit, he had the legal right to do it.

  It wasn’t a lot, but it was a start.

  Besides all that, thanks to the ungodly hour, he’d have a bit more time with Jake. Who knew what the kid might say? Especially with a few more carefully constructed questions…

  12

  When Vivian opened her eyes, she wasn’t staring at her bedroom ceiling, as usual. She was looking up at the high plaster ceiling of her living room. Why? She never slept anywhere except her bedroom. Not unless she dozed off at her design table downstairs. That happened occasionally during her busiest season. She wasn’t quite as far along as she wanted to be. There was a lot to do, but she had a few weeks before she had to finish her designs for next spring. They didn’t go to the wholesalers until September.

  Then the reason everything was so different came to her—Rex. He’d been in her house, waiting for her last night.

  She rolled off the couch and landed hard on the floor before she woke up enough to move with any coordination. But the thump brought no reaction from anyone else and that made her frantic. Where was he? She hadn’t dreamed that he’d shown up, had she?

  After the stomach-churning worry of the past few days, she thought maybe her mind had been playing tricks on her. Maybe it’d fooled her into believing he was okay, that they were all safe for the time being, so she could get some rest…?.

  Only when she spotted the blanket she’d given him, cast aside near the easy chair he’d sat on while they talked, did she know it’d been real.

  “Rex?” she called.

  No answer. Surely he hadn’t left without saying goodbye.

  “Pretty Boy?” She switched to the nickname he’d had while he belonged to The Crew. That was how she preferred to remember him because it hailed back to the good feelings they’d had for each other before everything fell apart. Besides, his nickname fit him well. He didn’t look anything like the other members of the gang, most of whom prided themselves on their tattoos and over-muscled physiques, even their scars. Rex was on the tall side—and thanks to a metabolism that ran like a turbine engine, he was lean and lithe. He had trouble keeping weight on even when he wasn’t using drugs. He had no tattoos or injuries that hadn’t healed perfectly, despite all the fighting he’d been involved in over the years. But he had other scars, on the inside. And they were deep, so deep Vivian didn’t think he’d ever be completely whole, which was why she couldn’t be part of his life.

  The muted sound of someone speaking elsewhere in the house reached her ears. He was here, all right. On the phone. Probably talking to Virgil. Although her brother hadn’t picked up, they’d tried to call him last night.

  Following Rex’s voice, she located him in her basement. He’d left the living room so he wouldn’t wake her. But she needed to get up. They had some decisions to make before her children came home.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  His green eyes shifted toward her. Those eyes could be so vulnerable, so innocent despite all he’d been and done. But they were simply matter-of-fact now. “I’m sure…?. Yeah, your sister’s here…?. I’ll tell her…?. Got it…?. Right. Bye.”

  “My brother didn’t want to talk to me?” She sat in her work chair but swiveled to face him.

  “He said he’d catch you later. He’s got stuff to do.”

  “Like…”

  “Researching what’s happening inside The Crew.” Slouching on the small secondhand couch she’d placed in the corner, along with some toys and a TV for when her children joined her down here, he rubbed his bloodshot eyes. Had he slept at all last night? Didn’t look like it. Didn’t look like he’d slept in days. But he’d always lived on the edge, as if he could outdistance the ghosts that chased him merely by running his ass ragged. Vivian felt certain that the past few years would’ve killed a lesser man. She was afraid his choices would take him yet. The past week hadn’t been easy on him; she could see it in his rawboned, hollow-eyed face.

  “You’re using again,” she said.

  He regarded her from beneath half-lowered lids but didn’t respond.

  “You have to stop. You know that. You have to pull your shit together, or…or you’re going to die, Rex. You’ll get in a shoot-out in some bar, or scre
w the wrong man’s woman, or go back to prison. Or overdose.” Her voice went low on those last two words because an overdose was what she feared most. She guessed there were times when he considered death a better alternative to living. That had to be the case, or he wouldn’t have spent so much of the past few years trying to destroy himself.

  “I’m not using. But that’s beside the point.” Lying back, he slung an arm over his face. “You lost the right to bitch at me when you blew up our relationship.”

  If it wasn’t drugs, it had to be alcohol. He claimed they hadn’t been able to reach him since he left for L.A. because he’d lost his phone charger, but if he’d been sober, he would’ve remedied that problem. “I blew up our relationship?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You broke up with me just as many times as I broke up with you.”

  “But you knew I loved you.”

  “I loved you, too. You—” Biting back the rest, she counted to ten before continuing. “I don’t want to argue about who’s to blame for what anymore. You have to come to terms with what happened to Jack or you’ll never have any peace.” Vivian couldn’t believe she’d just said that. Jack was such a taboo subject. His ghost had stood between them all along, because it stood between Rex and happiness. But maybe the time had come to speak the truth, no matter how painful.

  He raised his arm so he could see her, his eyes taking on that glittery look she’d seen only when he was at his angriest. “Don’t start on Jack.”

  “Pretty Boy, look—”

  “Don’t call me that,” he said with a grimace.

  He couldn’t identify with his old gang persona, or his new legitimate persona, either. He was lost in between, which was almost worse than being in prison. At least then he’d had some structure in his life.

  She took a deep breath. “Fine. Rex. But someone has to get through to you. Your little brother—what…what happened to him—is at the root of all your problems.”

  “Stop with the psychoanalysis. Prison’s enough to screw up anyone’s life.”

  Virgil had gone to prison, too, but he’d been able to recover. Pretty Boy could’ve made good, if not for what was eating him up inside. He had a brother who was a doctor, another who was a chemical engineer. It wasn’t as if he came from a poor or underprivileged home. He would’ve ended up with an education and a good job if not for that one afternoon at the river, cliff diving with his youngest brother. “You didn’t mean for him to get hurt.”

  “I challenged him!” The veins in his neck stood out as he shouted. “I told him I’d made that jump.”

  She refused to allow her voice to rise with his. “You were just a kid.”

  “So was he! Barely twelve years old. I knew he thought I could walk on water, that he’d believe me. I just…” Tears filled his eyes as he fell back. “I never dreamed he’d do it, and I never dreamed it would really hurt him even if he did.”

  “Exactly. It was one of those freak accidents that happen sometimes. You screwed up, but you didn’t mean for him to die. Had he landed differently, he would’ve been fine. You have to let it go. You’re out of prison now, yet you’re throwing away any chance you have.”

  Except for the anguish reflected in his eyes, he seemed to grapple with his emotions, finally gaining control. “Give it a rest, will you?”

  She didn’t want to give it a rest. She wanted to rant and rave and stomp her feet just to relieve the tension. “I’m worried about you!”

  “After what I told you last night, you should be worried about yourself.”

  She hadn’t forgotten. He’d come to Montana because he’d heard she was in danger. He claimed he’d run into an old friend at a party in L.A., someone loosely affiliated with The Crew, who’d confided that Horse had been bragging to everyone who’d listen that he was about to get even with Virgil and his sister.

  But Rex couldn’t tell her any more than that. And she suspected at least part of the reason he’d come was that he was hoping for some peace where she was concerned. Hadn’t she been hoping for the same thing?

  “So…are you going to start packing?” he asked.

  Did he expect a different answer than the one she’d given him last night? “No.”

  “You’re joking, right?” He sat up. “I came all this way to warn you, to convince you, to help you get out of here before it’s too late.”

  “You haven’t told anyone where I live—”

  “You think I’d do that?”

  She felt bad for offending him, but he had a substance-abuse problem that made him suspect. She still couldn’t imagine how The Crew could’ve traced her here without him. “They’d have no other way of finding me.”

  A dark scowl etched lines in his face as he got to his feet. “How can you say that?”

  After everything he’d done for her, she felt guilty enough to avert her eyes. “Or maybe Horse was drunk when he said he was poised for revenge. Maybe it was idle bullshit.”

  “Horse doesn’t drink. He’s a serious man, a businessman. He’s methodical and thorough.”

  “That doesn’t change my mind,” she insisted. “I won’t leave here, won’t let them chase me from place to place for the rest of my life. Don’t you understand? That would mean they’ve won. We want to stay put.”

  He studied her for several seconds. “You’ve met someone.”

  Her thoughts reverted to the sheriff, to his naked body moving against hers, and she felt…she wasn’t sure what she felt. Embarrassment? Remorse? “That’s not it. I want a life. And this is where I’ve chosen to live it.”

  “What am I supposed to do with that?”

  “Whatever you want. You’ve warned me. You don’t have to stay. But I know the kids would like to see you. Now that you’re here, you can hang around for a day or two, can’t you?”

  “You want to treat this like a standard visit?”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re in danger, damn it! You’re all in danger!”

  “I’ve got a gun, Pretty—Rex,” she corrected. “And I’m not afraid to use it.”

  “You mean the gun I took away from you last night?”

  “You snuck up on me from behind!”

  “Because I didn’t want you to blow my head off! But if you think they’ll announce their presence, you’re crazy. They’ll come here with two, three, maybe more. Be realistic, for Christ’s sake!”

  She covered her face for a moment before dropping her hands. “I’m telling you, I can’t move. I can’t do it again. This is the end of the line for me, one way or another.”

  With a curse, he shoved his hands in his pockets and began to pace.

  “So what are you going to do?” she asked after he’d made a few passes.

  “Stay and try to take care of you, I guess.”

  “They could’ve followed you.”

  His razor stubble made a rasping sound as he rubbed his jaw. “They didn’t have to. They already know you’re here.”

  The beating of Vivian’s heart thudded in her ears. He thought she was making a mistake. Was he right? Would she die in this house?

  Jake, calling to her from upstairs, interrupted.

  “M-o-o-o-m? Mom, where are you? I have something to show you!”

  “Think of them,” Rex whispered.

  She thought of how much Jake loved it here, how close he’d become to Nana Vera. And Mia, so happy in her ballet class and elementary school, despite Chrissy’s catty little girl. This was home to them. It was home to them all. And home was a place worth fighting for.

  “That’s what I’m doing,” she said.

  There was a woman in the kitchen. Ink could see her through the window. When the tow truck driver couldn’t tell them where Laurel lived, said he didn’t know her, they’d had to decide what they were going to do until they could find her. And first on the agenda was securing a base. They needed regular beds, food, a shower. Hell, even a toilet seemed like a luxury after the past several days. He knew they
might have to resort to camping again at some point. If they didn’t collect the truck, and they couldn’t, the sheriff would know he had a problem, and he’d most likely start looking for them. But Ink couldn’t imagine his first thought would be to check all the cabins scattered in these mountains. There were too many of them, most of them rentals. Unless he got a distress call of some kind, he’d probably assume they’d hitchhiked into town, Libby if not Pineview, or left the area.

  “You think she’s alone?” L.J. whispered.

  They’d been watching the woman for more than thirty minutes, had cased the house and yard. This seemed like the perfect solution, just what they’d been searching for. It was within a few miles of where the truck had broken down, so they’d been able to walk here. It was remote, but not so far from Pineview that they’d have much of a drive to get to town when they wanted.

  There were other attractive features, as well. The extra refrigerator in the garage suggested the place was well-stocked. An SUV sat in the driveway, so they’d have the transportation they were currently lacking. And it looked comfortable. Since they couldn’t pay for a motel room, couldn’t show any ID even if they’d had the money, Ink was going to get what they needed another way. “I’d say so.”

  The grass rustled as L.J. crept a little closer. “But you never know. Someone could come home at any minute.”

  “Then we’ll kill them, too.”

  L.J. grimaced and shook his head. “I say we move on. This doesn’t feel right to me, and it must not feel right to you or we’d be inside that house already.”

  In typical L.J. fashion, he couldn’t stay put for long. “Don’t give up too soon. This place has promise.” Why walk any farther? His back hurt like hell. Besides, the other cabins they’d come across were empty, which meant there’d be very few groceries, if any, and definitely no car. If they weren’t empty, they were filled with the suitcases and backpacks of outdoorsmen. The last thing he and L.J. needed was to break into some place that would have five or six men returning to it at nightfall—most toting a gun or a knife.

  “There’ll be others,” L.J. muttered. But it didn’t hurt him to keep walking.