At ten o’clock, they walked out to the garage. Joe unscrewed the lightbulb mounted on the overhead garage-door opener so he could make his exit in darkness. Then he punched the button to open the door and embraced Mr. Morgan.
“I wish I could tell you to call me and keep me posted,” Mr. Morgan said, “but don’t even think about it. No postcards with cryptic messages. The next time I see you I want you to have hair on your head and Miss Jamie and little Billy at your side.”
Joe had waved out the window as he drove away. And now, an hour later, he was less than fifteen miles from Mr. Morgan’s home, but the roadwork was behind him.
Finally he reached the Freeport turnoff, and shortly he was driving through Neptune Beach, with its darkened stores and restaurants. He parked the RV near a picnic area, locked the vehicle, shoved the key deep in his pocket, and made his way across the beach. When he reached the hard, wet sand by the water’s edge, he broke into a run. He ran with joy in his heart, each step taking him closer to Jamie.
A thin sliver of moonlight reflected on the water and provided sufficient illumination for him to avoid stranded jellyfish and pieces of driftwood. When he reached familiar terrain, he cut inland and wound his way through the dunes for the last couple of hundred yards—just to be on the safe side.
Finally the cabin, silhouetted against the night sky, came into view. He dropped low behind a clump of beach grass to survey the scene and make sure that all was well.
The cabin was dark, which didn’t surprise him. Then he noticed that the trash container had been moved from its former position alongside the building to a place by the back porch. Which hardly would enhance the view. And besides, the thing smelled like shit.
Maybe the trash container had been pushed over by a stray dog or an armadillo in search of leftover food, Joe speculated, and Jamie had simply turned it back over and not bothered to drag it back to its original position.
He was still pondering the trash container when he noticed that the only vehicles in the entire enclave were two identical black vans, each parked by a different cabin.
As much as he wanted to go dashing up to the cabin and tap on the door, Joe decided to hunker down and watch things for a while. For fifteen minutes, he would do that, he decided, and looked down at the glowing dial of his watch.
He watched. Everything was peaceful. The only movement was the waves on the beach.
At the end of fifteen minutes, he decided to stay put for another fifteen. Just to be sure.
And then he saw something out of the corner of his right eye. Just a glint of reflected moonlight from up there on higher ground.
Or had he imagined it?
Joe waited, trying not to blink as he watched to see if he saw whatever it was again. His eyes began to water and finally blinked of their own accord.
Then he saw it again. Or thought that he had.
He backed out of his hiding place and crawled through the clumps of grass angling toward the road. When he was certain that he would be out of the line of vision of whomever might be up there watching the cabin, he dashed across the road. On the other side, the vegetation began to change. Within a few yards, kudzu vines were everywhere, impeding his progress as he climbed to a place that would put him directly behind the area from which the mysterious reflection had come. A reflection from the lens of binoculars, perhaps. Or night-vision goggles.
When Joe neared the top of the incline, he dropped to his belly and scooted over and through the vines, trying not to think about the possibility of snakes and scorpions. When he calculated that he was getting close, he stopped and simply listened for a time.
At first he thought it was just the rustling of leaves he was hearing. But there was no breeze. It was voices. Very soft voices.
When he lifted his head, he saw them. Two men dressed in dark clothes, surveying the quiet scene below, waiting for something to happen.
Joe considered the possibilities. They could already have apprehended Jamie and the baby and were waiting for him to return. If that were the case, Jamie could already be dead and the baby already delivered to the Hartmanns.
But since that particular scenario was unacceptable, he tried to imagine one in which Jamie would have gotten away.
She had seen them coming and went racing out the back door.
But they would have had the back door covered. He tried again.
She had gone for a walk on the beach.
He imagined her leaving by the back door, locking it behind her, and strolling up the beach for a couple of miles then heading back. She saw the men before they saw her. And she turned tail and ran. She would have her escape bag with her. That was what they had decided. Anytime she left the cabin.
He liked that version better. Much better.
Okay, if that was what had happened, Joe reasoned, those two men and probably others who were watching from different vantage points would have no way of knowing that he wasn’t with Jamie and the baby. With their possessions still in the cabin, the men were probably waiting for the three of them to return.
Joe made his way back down the slope through the maze of vines, which were like living things from some horror movie. His feet became tangled in them, slowing his progress.
Where would Jamie have gone, he asked himself. With all that talking and planning they had done, deciding that he should go to Houston for the RV and where they should go when he returned, they had neglected to include a scenario like this one. He didn’t have a clue as to where she would go.
Or did he?
Once he had made his way back to the beach, he took off his shoes and ran full out on the wet sand. As fast as he had ever run in his life.
Chapter Thirty-seven
JAMIE STOOD AT the perimeter of the tarmac and looked longingly at Flossie’s Truck Stop and Diner. It was a frame building that hadn’t seen a paintbrush in decades, but business was brisk. At least a dozen vehicles were parked in front, and several others were being fueled by their owners.
She could almost smell the coffee. But she hesitated to go inside. She was filthy and had cuts and scratches all over her arms and legs. She could imagine people turning to stare. What if there was a highway patrolman seated at the lunch counter? He might ask if she had been in an accident or take an interest in Billy’s welfare. He might want to know where she was going and how.
She had Billy over her shoulder with a blanket over his head to protect him from sunburn and was trying to jiggle him to sleep while she tried to decide if she dared go inside the diner.
An elderly rig with the words “Phillips Hauling” painted on the side rolled past her and came to a stop by a diesel pump. She watched while an aging couple emerged from the cab. It took her a few seconds to realize that an opportunity might have just presented itself.
The man headed inside the station, while the woman lifted the nozzle from the pump. Jamie started toward the truck, mentally composing her story.
The woman watched her approach with a wary look on her round face. She was a formidable-looking woman with broad shoulders, wide hips, and her graying hair in a no-nonsense ponytail.
“I suppose you want a ride?” the woman said, her tone challenging.
Jamie nodded. “The baby’s father pushed us out of the car last night down by Freeport,” she said. “I’ve been walking ever since, putting as many miles as I can between him and me, except for a couple of hours early this morning when I just had to get off my feet.”
“You heading home?” the woman asked.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve been afraid to accept a ride in the middle of the night from just anyone who might pull over so I kept off the road. It’s been tough going.”
“How old is the baby?” the woman asked as she inserted the nozzle into the truck’s gas tank.
“Almost two months. My boyfriend decided that he wasn’t the father. But he is. I doubt if I’ll ever see him again, though. I’ve got family up in Washington County. If you’re heading that way, I’d be eve
r so grateful if you would give us a ride. I’m pretty much walked out.”
The woman cocked her head to one side as she regarded Jamie. Then, with a nod she said, “I reckon. We’ll be pulling out in about ten minutes.”
Jamie thanked the woman then went inside. Her first stop was the restroom, where she cleaned herself up as best she could and put on the clean T-shirt from her backpack. In the diner, she bought an apple-cinnamon muffin and a cup of coffee to go.
The couple was waiting by their truck.
“My name is Beverly,” Jamie said.
The woman nodded and got behind the wheel. Her husband crawled into the bed in the rear of the cab. Jamie climbed aboard.
“You ought to have that baby in a car seat,” the woman said.
“It’s in my boyfriend’s car along with all our clothes,” Jamie said.
Billy had drifted off to sleep after just a few minutes. Jamie ate the muffin and sipped the coffee. She was grateful that the woman didn’t want to chat. Lying was so exhausting.
She wondered where Joe was at this moment. Would she and Joe ever lead a normal life?
Would she ever see him again?
Once he was back behind the wheel of the RV, Joe waited a few minutes for his heart to slow and his nerves to calm. Jamie was physically strong and had the will to do what needed to be done, he told himself. She had escaped before. He would go on the assumption that she had done it again.
He drove with great deliberation, keeping his speed well below the speed limit. He knew that Jamie would stay out of sight as much as possible, which meant that he probably wasn’t going to spot her walking along the side of the road. But he looked anyway, hoping to catch a glimpse of her walking along one of the country roads that paralleled State Highway 36. And he carefully scanned fields and groves of trees. Maybe she had managed to catch a ride with someone. An old farm couple, perhaps. Every elderly vehicle he passed he looked to see if Jamie was inside or riding in the back.
In Brenham, he stopped for coffee. Then he drove slowly along the winding road, looking for Jamie.
He passed Old Baylor Park and paused to get his bearings.
He pulled into the Independence Cemetery and stood on the running board calling her name, but there was no response.
He drove to the back corner of the cemetery, fixed a sandwich and grabbed a bottle of water, then walked up and down the rows just to make sure that Jamie wasn’t there. He sat in front of a monument marking the grave of a man named Abner Martin, who, according to the inscription, was a veteran of the Texas War for Independence. From this vantage point he could see anyone approaching the cemetery.
He ate the sandwich and drank half the water then settled in for a wait. With no sleep the night before, he kept nodding off, and would wake with a jerk then look around frantically to see if Jamie had arrived while he was asleep. To keep himself awake he would walk up and down the rows, ducking out of sight when an occasional vehicle went by, reading the inscriptions on the headstones then returning to Abner’s grave until he started nodding off once again and would force himself to take another walk.
At dusk, while he was taking a walk, he realized that someone on foot was walking toward the cemetery. But in the fading light he could not tell if it was someone out for an evening stroll or a woman carrying a baby.
The person was hunched over and walking with a lagging step. He or she was either elderly or very tired. He watched as the walker stumbled and almost fell. When he started walking toward the road, the person stopped and stared in his direction. And lifted a hand.
It was her. It was Jamie!
Joe took off at a dead run. “Jamie,” he called, waving his arms in the air. “Jamie.”
When he reached her she handed him the baby at the same instant her legs collapsed beneath her. He knelt and with his free arm embraced her, saying her name over and over again. She put her face against his shoulder and wept. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her cracked lips. “My Jamie, my poor darling Jamie,” he said.
“I was so afraid that I’d never see you again,” she sobbed. “Some men came while I was taking a walk. I was afraid that they would be waiting for you when you got back.”
“They were, but I saw them first,” he said. “I got the RV. It’s parked at the rear of the cemetery.”
“I can’t walk another step,” she said.
He left her sitting on the ground leaning against a fence post. Holding Billy tightly in his arms he raced through the cemetery. Billy began to cry. His lusty cries seemed quite out of place in the silent burial ground.
Once he was in the RV, he put the still unhappy baby in the center of the bed and drove back up the dirt track.
Jamie was sitting where he had left her. He helped her to her feet and into the vehicle. Billy was still crying. She lay down beside him, fumbling with her T-shirt. Joe bent over her and kissed her forehead.
“We’re together,” she said in a hoarse voice. “I’ll be all right now.”
Joe reluctantly returned to the driver’s seat. After a half hour or so, he pulled off onto a dirt road and went back to the bed.
Billy was asleep. Jamie looked like a rag doll. “Would you please take off my shoes?” she asked.
Joe did as she asked. Her feet were filthy, her heels and toes worn raw. He got a pan of water and a bar of soap and gently washed her feet. He prepared a simple meal for her, then helped her to a sitting position, propping pillows behind her. Billy was sleeping peacefully next to her.
She sipped tomato soup from a cup and ate several wedges of apple, then fell back against the pillow and closed her eyes. “We can’t keep living like this.”
Joe left her there.
He continued to head north, winding his way toward Bryan, where he caught 190 and headed northeast. It was dark when Jamie came to the front and stood beside the driver’s seat, her hand on his shoulder. “I’ve ruined your life,” she said.
“Well, you’ve certainly changed it,” he said. “Are you feeling better?”
“I’ll be all right as soon as I’m clean,” she said, caressing his neck and hair. “Does the shower work?”
“Yeah. Billy okay?”
“He’s asleep. Where are we headed?”
“We can talk about it after you have a shower.”
“Joe?”
“Yeah?”
“You are my hero. And you are the only man that I’ve ever loved and ever plan to love.”
“And you are the love of my life. We are going to get through this, Jamie. We have to.”
She stood there caressing his neck. He didn’t want her to stop.
“Are you going to drive all night?” she asked.
“No. I didn’t sleep at all last night and am running out of steam. That little dining area turns into a second bed. I thought we could put Billy there. I’d like to have you to myself back in the big bed.”
“That’s what I have in mind, too. I have never been so exhausted in my life, but I need you, Joe. I need endless kisses and to feel you inside of me.”
Joe reached for her hand and kissed it, then watched in the rearview mirror as she opened the narrow bathroom door.
In the town of Cottonwood, he stopped at a convenience store to buy diapers then parked the RV behind a boarded-up service station. He prepared Billy’s bed while Jamie nursed him.
Once the baby was taken care of, they stood clinging to each other. Joe relished the feel of her wonderful body against his and the scent of her. He couldn’t tell her enough times that he loved her. Could not kiss her deeply enough. He had thought they had reached some sort of pinnacle back at the cabin on the beach, but he realized that there were limitless pinnacles spread out in front of them, enough to last a lifetime. A long lifetime. Not one cut short by evil people who stopped at nothing to get their way.
He backed her toward the bed. Toward heaven. He wished that he were more clever with words, that he could say something more profound to express his feelings than simply �
�I love you” over and over again. But oh, how he did love her. And she loved him back with the same intensity.
Her body was wonderful. And she gave it so completely.
Billy slept until dawn. Jamie brought him back to the bed and nursed him.
Then the talking began. It continued while Joe drove, a coffee cup in his hand. Jamie read him the article she had clipped out of the newspaper. Joe nodded. Mr. Morgan had found the same information online. Amanda Hartmann would be holding a three-day crusade in Dallas.
For hours they tried to come up with a game plan, debating back and forth, sometimes arguing vehemently and having to take a break, during which they would sulk a bit and calm themselves, then begin anew, knowing full well that whatever scheme they decided upon would either save their lives or end them.
Chapter Thirty-eight
GUS CLIMBED THE freestanding staircase that curved its way gracefully to the second floor. He took the stairs slowly to accommodate the discomfort in his joints that had grown more pronounced with each passing year. For the last decade, his quarters had been located on the first floor. Gus seldom visited the second floor—until recently, when the babies came into his life.
Even though Victory Hill had been his primary residence since childhood, he had never loved it the way that he loved the ranch. But when he began his accession to power, it was necessary for him to be a limousine ride away from the nation’s capital. Now he seldom went into the city; if he needed to see someone, that person came to him. Only when he was extremely displeased did he put himself through the drama of strolling unannounced into the White House.
The Surrogate Page 33
