by Karen Leabo
“Keep it. I have others.”
“Well ... thanks.” Her voice was still shaky, and she cleared her throat. “You might have just saved my life. I owe you:”
“Might have saved you from getting carved up, too,” he said, touching her cheek with one finger. He quickly pulled his hand away, as if realizing he really shouldn’t have touched her. “You don’t owe me. Just promise me, if that ever happens again, you’ll give the guy your purse.”
She nodded. “Done.”
He saw her safely into her truck, tapped twice on the window as a farewell, then turned and headed away—to his own vehicle, Jenn presumed.
As she switched on the ignition and the reluctant truck motor turned over, she thought about how she’d treated the guy when she’d brought him his beer, and cringed. All right, so maybe she was paranoid. Maybe the guy was just an ordinary Joe who’d taken an interest in her, and she’d scared him off with her rudeness.
Would she behave differently next time? No, probably not, she realized. The next stranger might really be after her, and she couldn’t afford to take chances—even if that meant driving away the first man she’d found attractive since her husband’s death almost a year ago.
Joe Andresi walked back to his car as nonchalantly as he dared. He’d found her. He hadn’t been sure when he’d first seen her in the bar with that punked-out black hair, so different from the long blond mop in the pictures Judge Palmer had given him. But the Southern accent, which had slipped through when he’d provoked her, had tipped him off. And just now, when she’d been walking so close to him feeling surprisingly small and fragile, the overhead streetlight shining on her hair had revealed her minuscule blond roots.
The cold drizzle had turned to rain by the time Joe reached his chocolate brown Monte Carlo, a high school graduation present he had lovingly preserved and babied. He shook his head to fling the excess moisture from his hair.
It was excruciating to just let Jennifer Montgomery walk away when she’d been literally in his grasp. But he couldn’t take her without the little girl. Above all else, the judge wanted his step-granddaughter back safe and sound. If Joe took Jennifer into custody now, she would never lead him to Cathy—she was too smart for that.
Palmer didn’t seem to think Jennifer was smart. In fact, he insisted that the death of her husband, along with her own devastating injuries, had emotionally handicapped her so severely that she was unable to care for her own daughter. Perhaps, but she was also a consummate fugitive. She’d eluded authorities for more than six months, and it had taken him three to track her down. She’d been damn careful not to leave a paper trail behind her. She’d paid cash for the piece of junk she drove, and she’d apparently destroyed her driver’s license and credit cards, because she hadn’t used them.
But she wasn’t invisible, and Joe had painstakingly followed her route in his own car, relying on witnesses at gas stations, motels and restaurants to piece together her actions. A couple of times the trail had gone cold, and more than once he’d acknowledged that the reward money would never be enough to compensate him for the time he’d worked on this case. But he’d become so intrigued with Jennifer’s flight that finding her had become a personal quest.
His best break had come when he’d found the truck stop waitress who’d taken pity on Jennifer when she’d claimed she was fleeing an abusive husband, and had given her an extra driver’s license to use as ID. Joe had tracked Jennifer to Seattle and her place of employment when she’d used Brandi Shales’s ID to cash a couple of paychecks. But he didn’t know where she lived. She apparently hadn’t signed up for a phone or utilities or a bank account, at least not under any alias he was aware of.
He had her now, though. All he had to do was follow her. She was probably heading straight home for that bubble bath she’d mentioned—the thought gave him a pleasurable shiver—and he was betting her daughter would be waiting for her.
He’d be waiting for the both of them, and Jennifer would never ever suspect she’d been caught until the noose was around her neck.
He watched as she pulled out of the parking lot in her ancient brown truck. Then he put his own car in gear and followed her at a discreet distance.
She took a series of turns through some small back streets, and Joe found it harder and harder to hide his presence. He didn’t really think she would notice him. He was an old hand at tailing, although right now he was wishing for a partner, so they could take turns keeping the truck in sight and avoid suspicion.
By the time she’d made the seventh or eighth tiresquealing turn, Joe decided she knew he was following. So much for not arousing her suspicions. Whether she’d figured out who he was, or merely thought he was a persistent masher, she wasn’t about to lead him to her home.
He turned onto a side street and headed back to the main thoroughfare, hoping he would fool her into thinking he’d given up. Then she would return to the busy, trafficked street, where he would hide his presence more effectively.
His patience was rewarded. Five minutes later he caught sight of her old truck emerging from an alley and pulling into traffic. He followed, putting a whole herd of cars between them. Surely she wouldn’t notice...but apparently she did.
At the next intersection she sped through a yellow light where he had to stop because of cross traffic, giving her a small lead. But the moment the light traffic cleared he floored it. Two blocks later he caught sight of her taillights turning right onto another side street.
He followed, laughing softly. He had to admire her spunk.
The laughter died when he saw her reverse lights go on. What the hell was she up to now? But her plans soon became apparent. She had that damn truck floored, in reverse, and it was heading right for him.
Joe tried to swerve, but she swerved with him like a demolition derby pro. The impact was explosive. His shoulder harness prevented him from diving through the windshield, but his head still snapped forward with alarming violence. He shook his head to clear it, and when he looked up, Jenn’s truck was speeding away.
He hit the gas, then realized his car had died. When he turned the key, the engine didn’t respond.
Joe let loose a colorful string of oaths. The little vixen had outsmarted him. But this wasn’t their last round, not by a long shot. He had her vehicle description and her license plate, and she’d just participated in a hit-and-run. He hadn’t wanted to involve the local authorities, but now he had no choice. Someone had to apprehend her before she left Seattle, which was undoubtedly what she would try to do. He had to report her and let the police do their thing.
Damn. Before, he’d felt a little sorry for her. Whatever crimes she’d committed, she’d done it because she didn’t want to give up her kid. But now he had no pity. She’d just declared war with him. No one smashed up his Monte Carlo and got away with it.
Chapter 2
By the time Jenn arrived at her apartment, she was shaking so badly she could hardly drive. First the stranger at the bar, then the mugger, then the brown Monte Carlo had completely unnerved her.
How absolutely stupid of her to discount the stranger because he’d saved her from the mugger. Those green eyes of his had seemed so trustworthy, looking at her with such concern, that she naively hadn’t paid any attention to his movements after he’d put her into her truck.
Even after she’d realized the Monte Carlo was tailing her, she hadn’t connected it to the stranger until she’d backed into the car and seen the surprised, angry expression on the driver’s face. It was a good thing she made it a habit to constantly check the rearview mirror or she might have led him right to her apartment.
She certainly wasn’t safe in Seattle anymore. Before, she’d always been able to rationalize skirting the law and running with Cathy. She’d have done anything to protect her child. But now she’d committed a real crime—a hit-and-run. She had to get out of this city before the cops caught up with her.
She hated leaving. She’d felt, if not completely safe
, then at least settled here. Cathy, who’d been so serious and withdrawn when they’d first hit the road, had started to smile again. She liked Mrs. Valenti, her baby-sitter, who was teaching her how to read, and she’d made friends with another little girl who lived in their apartment building.
Now the child would be uprooted again, submitted to questionable motels and fast food until Jenn could find another job where they wouldn’t ask too many questions. But what choice did she have?
They would head for Portland, she decided. Not that she liked cities, but they offered more protection, more anonymity, than a small town would. Now that she had experience as a waitress, she would have an easier time finding a job, and Rudy would probably give her a recommendation.
All these thoughts were flying through her mind as she unlocked the front door of her rundown apartment building, checked the mailbox—empty as always—then headed up the three flights of stairs to where she and Mrs. Valenti both lived. Janssen Place was no palace, but the building had seemed like one compared to the fleabags she and Cathy had shared on the road. Jenn would miss it. She would miss the neighbors who were friendly but not too curious, and Ernie the maintenance man, who was constantly underfoot fixing leaks, blown fuses and loose floor tiles.
She wondered wearily if she and Cathy would be nomads forever. No, she reminded herself. Someday they would return home—when Cathy turned eighteen or her step-grandfather died, whichever came first.
Jenn stopped in front of Mrs. Valenti’s front door and delivered the “secret knock”—three slow, three fast. Moments later she heard the scurry of small footsteps racing toward the door. “Who’s there, please?” Cathy’s high voice demanded.
“It’s Mama,” Jenn said patiently. She’d taught her daughter to use extreme caution when opening doors and answering phones. Two dead bolts slid out of their moorings, the knob turned, the door was flung open. And then Cathy was in Jenn’s arms, enveloped in a bear hug, her chubby legs wrapped around Jenn’s waist.
“Mama, you’re home early!” Cathy exclaimed, burying her face against Jenn’s neck.
Jenn smoothed back her daughter’s blond curls, so like her own had been at that age. “Yes, I am, punkin. Have you been good for Mrs. Valenti?”
Jenn’s neighbor and baby-sitter was standing in the kitchen doorway, a worried look on her creased face. “Of course she was good, like a little angel. She’s always good. Jenn, what’s wrong?”
Jenn sighed and set Cathy down. “The jig’s up. Some guy in a brown Monte Carlo came sniffing around the bar, then tried to follow me home.”
Mrs. Valenti’s hand fluttered at her mouth. “Oh, no, what did you do?”
“I, uh, disabled his car,” Jenn replied, taking no satisfaction in her ingenuity. “But if he doesn’t know where we live, he’ll probably find out soon enough. We have to go.”
“Go?” Mrs. Valenti repeated. “You mean, leave here? Leave Seattle?”
“We have to,” Jenn said miserably.
Cathy, watching the adults with solemn eyes, made no reaction to that news except to stare down at the floor. She was used to being on the move, even if she didn’t like it.
Jenn squatted to be at eye level with her daughter. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know you like it here. But there’s a bad man who wants to take us back to Rhymer, and we can’t let him find us.”
Cathy nodded. “I don’t want to go back to Grandma and Grandpa’s.”
“I won’t let that happen.” Jenn had to believe that. As powerless as she felt sometimes against the authorities and her stepfather, she had to believe that ultimately she would be able to protect Cathy from evil. And there was no doubt in her mind that something evil had been brewing in her parents’ house.
Jenn and Cathy packed up their meager belongings with a minimum of fuss—clothing, sleeping bags, camping supplies, food. They left the sparse furniture behind. Jenn knew it would eventually be reclaimed by the neighbors who had lent it to her. They exchanged tearful goodbyes with Mrs. Valenti, and then they were on their way.
Cathy sat quietly in the front seat, retreating to the solemnity she’d only recently begun to shed, and Jenn silently cursed the Monte Carlo man—whoever he was—for destroying the progress Cathy had made. Jenn also cursed the faulty legal system, her stepfather, her mother, the rain, and the rush-hour traffic, all without uttering a word. In her head, she knew life wasn’t meant to be fair and that she had to play with the cards she’d been dealt, but then again, it would feel so good to hit something, or someone, right about now.
The Seattle city limits sign was within sight when Jenn saw the red and blue lights flashing behind her.
Joe walked into the downtown police station feeling supremely victorious. He’d scarcely gotten his car towed to a repair shop and rented a car when he’d received the news from the local police that Jennifer Montgomery had been apprehended with her daughter in tow. Now all he had to do was drop his hit-and-run charges against her, and she was his. She would pay for banging up his car in more ways than one.
The brief vindictiveness he felt toward her vanished the moment he saw her pale, taut face through the bars of her holding cell. After seeing her stand up to that mugger, Joe had thought nothing would daunt her. But now she looked not only daunted, but scared to death.
He walked up to the bars. “Jennifer Montgomery?”
Instantly her mouth finned and her eyes flashed dangerously, negating her look of vulnerability so thoroughly that Joe had to question whether he’d seen it at all. “My name’s Brandi Shales,” she said.
“Brandi Shales is a truck stop waitress in Clayton, Colorado,” Joe said easily. “She felt sorry for you and gave you a duplicate license she had. Don’t look so surprised. I know a helluva lot about where you’re been and what you’ve done during the past six months, More than I ever wanted to know.”
“Who are you?” she demanded haughtily, walking up to the bars and facing him squarely.
He saw no reason not to tell her the truth. “Andresi. Joe Andresi. I’m a private investigator, and I’m also the one who went to the police about a hit-and-run. But I’m prepared to forget about that if you’ll come peaceably with me back to Rhymer, Alabama, for prosecution on custodial interference.”
Jennifer threw her shoulders back. “No, thanks. I’ll take my chances with the hit-and-run charge.”
“And once you’re convicted, you’ll be extradited to Alabama to stand trial there for your other crimes. What’s your point?”
She thought for a moment before answering. “I’m stalling. Legal stuff takes time. Meanwhile, I’ll look for a way to keep my daughter with me, where she belongs.”
“Why don’t you make this easy, Jennifer?” Joe said wearily. “Don’t you want to see your daughter? She’s waiting for you in the juvenile division.”
Jennifer’s eyes lit up just long enough that Joe knew he’d found her weakness. But immediately she smoothed a hard mask over her face. “Of course I’d like to see her, but not if you’re taking us back to Rhymer. She’ll be better off in foster care. That’s what they do when moms go to jail, right?”
“If there aren’t any relatives. In this case, Cathy has loving grandparents who’ll be on the first plane to Seattle the moment I notify them. They’ll—”
“No!” Jennifer clenched her hands around the bars. “Don’t call them. Look, I don’t care if you throw me in jail for the rest of my life. But don’t I get some say in who’s going to raise my child?”
“Everyone wants to do what’s best for Cathy,” Joe explained calmly. “No one wants her hurt. Your mother and stepfather are offering a safe, stable environment....” But he could see that she’d closed herself off to that argument. “Why don’t you want Cathy staying with your parents?” he asked, wondering for the first time if there was something about this case he hadn’t been told.
“She... she wasn’t happy there,” Jennifer said. “She wants to be with her mother.”
“If you’re so sure sh
e’s better off with you, then fight for her. Legally. The courts don’t like to tear families apart. They try to keep children with their parents—”
She made a noise that was either a hiccup or an expression of derision—Joe wasn’t sure.
“All you have to do,” he continued, “is prove that you can offer a safe and nurturing environment.”
“That’s all? Right.” She stepped back from the bars, shoved her hands into her jeans’ pockets and began pacing the small cell. “Now that I’m a kidnapper and a fugitive, I’m sure the court will be real sympathetic to me. I could have a dozen psychologists and social workers testify on my behalf, and they won’t let me keep Cathy.”
“I guess you should have thought of that before you went on the lam.”
She shot him a look that was pure venom. “Spare me the sermons, please. I did what I had to do—what any mother would do.” She turned toward the wall and murmured, “I don’t expect you to understand.”
Joe wasn’t in the habit of getting involved in the lives of the fugitives he apprehended. He didn’t listen to the hardluck stories, and he didn’t try to help every person in pitiful circumstances he came across. That was the only way to preserve his sanity. His work put him in contact with a lot of sad cases, and he’d learned long ago to stay detached. His job was to nab fugitives and turn them over to the proper authorities any way he could. But to his surprise, he found himself saying, “I’d like to understand. Others would, too. Come with me. I’ve got all the paperwork I need to simply walk out of here with you and Cathy. We’ll go get a pizza and you can tell me the whole story. Maybe I can help, or direct you to someone who can.”
He could tell she was tempted. He could almost smell her need to be reunited with her daughter, and he’d be willing to bet she hadn’t eaten dinner.
“It’s your best option, Jennifer. The sooner you start to cooperate with the law, the better your chances of recovering your legal rights as a mother. Surely you can see that.”
