by B. J Daniels
“Yes, thoughtful,” Marc said sarcastically and shot his wife a warning look. “You shouldn’t be up,” he snapped.
She was pale and a little unsteady on her feet, but she had a determined look on her face. Behind her, he saw her open suitcase—the same one he’d found in the overturned car’s trunk. The scene looked like any other married couple’s motel room.
Even before Marc spoke, Austin realized they were about to pack up and leave.
“We were just heading out,” Marc said.
“I won’t keep you, then,” Austin said, still holding the purse. Rebecca Stewart looked weak as she leaned into the door frame. He feared her husband had gotten her out of the hospital too soon. But that, too, was none of his business. “I didn’t want you leaving without your purse.”
“Great,” Marc said and turned to close her suitcase. “We have a long drive ahead of us, so if you’ll excuse us...” Austin stepped aside to let him pass with the suitcase. “You should tell him our good news,” he called over his shoulder.
“Good news?” Austin asked, studying the woman in the doorway. He realized that even though her suitcase had been open, she was still wearing the same clothing she’d had on last night. That realization gave him a start since there was a spot of blood on her sweater from her head injury the night before.
“We’re pregnant again,” Marc called from the side of the Suburban, where he was loading the suitcase.
Austin was watching her face. She suddenly went paler. He thought for a moment that she might faint.
“Marc, don’t—” The words came out like a plea.
“Andrew Marc, our son, is going to have a baby sister,” Marc said as if he hadn’t heard her or was ignoring her. “Isn’t that right, Rebecca? I think we’ll call her Becky.”
Austin met her gaze. “Congratulations.” He couldn’t have felt more like a fool as he handed her the purse.
She took it with trembling fingers, her eyes filling with tears. “Thank you for bringing my purse all this way.” Her fingers kneaded the cheap fabric of the bag. He saw she was again wearing the wedding band that her husband had put on her finger at the hospital. That alone should have told him how things were.
“No problem. Good luck.” He meant it since he knew in his heart she was going to need it. He started to step away when she suddenly grabbed his arm.
“Wait, I think this must be your coat,” she said and turned back into the room.
“That’s okay, you should keep it,” he said.
She returned a few moments later with the coat.
“Seriously, keep it. You need it more than I do.”
“Take the damned coat,” Marc called to him before slamming the Suburban door.
Austin shook his head at her. “Keep it. Please,” he said quietly.
Tears filled her eyes. “Thank you.” She quickly reached for his hand and pressed what felt like a scrap of paper into his palm. “For everything.” She then quickly pulled down her shirtsleeve, which had ridden up. He only got a glimpse of the fresh red mark around her wrist.
Austin sensed Marc behind him as he helped her into his coat. It swallowed her, but the December day was cold, another snowstorm threatening.
“Well, if we’ve all wished each other enough luck, it’s time to hit the road,” Marc said, joining them. “Hormones.” He sounded disgusted as he looked at his wife. “The woman is in tears half the time.” He put one arm around her roughly and reached into his pocket with the other. “Forgive my manners,” he said, pulling out a crinkled twenty. “Here, this is for your trouble.”
Austin stared down at the twenty.
Marc thrust the money at him. “Take it.” There was an underlying threatening sound in his voice. The man’s blue eyes were ice-cold.
“Please,” Rebecca said. Austin still couldn’t think of her as this man’s wife. There was pleading in her voice, in her gaze.
“Thanks,” he said as he took the money. “You really didn’t have to, though.”
Marc chuckled at that.
“Have a nice trip, then. Drive carefully.” Austin turned and walked toward his rental SUV.
Behind him, he heard Marc say, “Get in the car.”
When he turned back, she was pulling herself up into the large rig. He climbed into his own vehicle, but waited until the Suburban drove away. He caught only a glimpse of her wan face in the side window as they left. Her brown eyes were wide with more than tears. The woman seemed even more terrified.
His heart was already pounding like a war drum. That red mark around her right wrist. All his instincts told him that this was more than a bossy husband.
He tossed down the twenty and, reaching in his pocket, took out the scrap of paper she’d pressed into his palm. It appeared to be a corner of a page torn from a motel Bible. There were only four words, written in a hurried scrawl with an eyeliner pencil: “Help me. No law.”
Chapter Seven
Austin looked down the main street where the black Suburban had gone. If Marc Stewart was headed for Helena, he was going the wrong way.
He hesitated only a moment before he started the engine, backed up and turned onto the street.
Bozeman was one of those Western towns that had continued to grow—unlike a lot of Montana towns. In part, its popularity was because of its vibrant and busy downtown as well as being the home of Montana State University.
Austin cursed the traffic that had him stopped at every light while the black Suburban kept getting farther away. What he couldn’t understand was why Marc Stewart was headed southwest if he was anxious to get his wife home. Maybe they were going out for breakfast first.
He caught another stoplight and swore. The Suburban was way ahead and unfortunately a lot of people in Bozeman drove large rigs, which made it nearly impossible to keep the vehicle in sight. He was getting more nervous by the moment. All his instincts told him the woman hadn’t been delusional. She was in trouble.
From the beginning, she’d said the car wasn’t hers, the purse wasn’t hers and that her name wasn’t Rebecca Stewart. What if she had been telling the truth?
It was that thought that had him hitting the gas the moment the light changed. Determined not to have to stop at the next one, he sped through the yellow light and kept going. He sped through another yellow light, barely making it. But ahead, he could see the Suburban. It was headed southwest out of town.
That alone proved something, didn’t it?
But what? That Marc Stewart had lied about wanting to get his wife home to Helena as quickly as possible. What else might he be lying about? The pregnancy?
Austin used the hands-free system in the SUV to put in a call to the doctor at the hospital who’d handled the case. He knew he couldn’t ask outright about the patient’s condition. But...
Dr. Mayfield came on the line.
“Doctor, it’s Austin Cardwell. I’m the man who found Rebecca Stewart—”
“Yes, I remember you, Mr. Cardwell. What can I do for you?”
“I ended up with Mrs. Stewart’s purse after last night’s emergency.” He was counting on the doctor not knowing he’d already stopped by the hospital earlier. “I wanted to drop it by if Mrs. Stewart is up to it.”
“I’m sorry, but her husband checked her out earlier today.”
“I noticed she has prenatal vitamins in her purse when I was looking for her identification.”
A few beats of silence stretched out a little too long. “Mr. Cardwell, I’m not sure what Mrs. Stewart told you, but I’m not at liberty to discuss her condition.”
“Understood.” He’d heard the surprise in the silence before the doctor had spoken. “Oh, one more thing. I just wanted to be sure she got her watch before she left the hospital. She was worried about it.”
“Just
a moment.” The doctor left the line. When he came back, he said, “Yes, her husband picked it up for her.”
Her husband picked up the watch with the name Gillian on it?
“Thank you, Doctor.” He disconnected. Ahead, he could see the black Suburban still headed west on Highway 191. Marc had lied about her being pregnant, but why?
Austin thought about calling Marshal Hud Savage, but what would he tell him? That Marc Stewart was a liar. That wasn’t illegal. Even if he told the marshal about the note the woman had passed him or about the diamond watch with the wrong name on it, Austin doubted Hud would be able to do more than he already had. Not to mention Rebecca had specified, No law.
Her name isn’t Rebecca, just as she’d said, he realized with a jolt.
It’s Gillian. Gillian Cooper. Rebecca’s sister? The thought hit him like a sledgehammer. That was the only thing she had reacted to last night other than the man who was pretending to be her husband. It was the name on the expensive watch. It was proof—
Austin groaned as he realized it proved nothing. If she was Rebecca, she could have a reason for wearing her sister’s watch. He thought of a woman he knew who wore her brother’s St. Christopher medal. Her brother had died of cancer a few years before.
So maybe there was no mystery to the watch. But the woman in that black Suburban was in trouble. She’d asked for his help. Even if she was Rebecca and Marc Stewart was her husband, she was terrified of him. Terrified enough to leave her child and run.
That was the part that just didn’t add up. Maybe Marc wouldn’t let her take the child. All this speculation was giving him a headache.
Austin saw the four-way stop ahead. The black Suburban was in the left-hand turn lane. Marc Stewart was turning south—back up the Gallatin Canyon where Austin had found her the night before. So where was he going if not taking her home?
Instead of taking the highway south, though, the Suburban pulled into the gas station at the corner. Austin slowed, hanging back as far as he could as he saw Marc pull up to a gas pump and get out. The woman climbed out as well, said something to Marc and then went inside.
Austin saw his chance and pulled behind the station. He knew he didn’t have much time since he wasn’t sure why the woman had gone into the convenience store. If he was right, the man would be watching her, afraid to let her out of his sight. All he could hope was that the Suburban’s gas tank was running low. He knew from experience that it took a long while to fill one.
Once inside the store, he looked around for the woman, anxious to find her since this might be his only chance to talk to her. There were several women in the store. None was the one he’d rescued last night.
It had only taken a few minutes for him to park. Surely she hadn’t already gone back out to her vehicle. He glanced toward the Suburban from behind a tall rack of chips. Its front seats were both empty. Marc was still pumping gas into the tank, his gaze on the front of the store. The glare on the glass seemed to keep him from seeing inside. The woman was in here. Austin could think of only one other place she might be.
He found the restrooms down a short hallway. As she came out of the ladies’ room, she saw him and froze. Eyes wide with fear, she looked as if she might turn and run. Except there was nowhere to run. He was blocking her way out.
He rushed to her. “Talk to me. Tell me who you are and what is going on.”
She shook her head, glancing past him as if terrified Marc Stewart would appear at any moment.
“You gave me the note. You obviously are in trouble. Let me help you.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have involved you,” she said. “Please forget I did. You can’t help me.” She tried to step past him, but he grabbed her arm. She flinched.
“He hurt you again, didn’t he?”
“You don’t understand. He has my sister.”
“Your sister?”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Rebecca. If I don’t go with him—” Her eyes widened in alarm again and he realized a buzzer had announced that someone had entered the store. Fortunately he and the woman couldn’t be seen where they were standing, though. At least not yet.
“Your name is Gillian, isn’t it? The watch—”
“Where are your restrooms?” he heard Marc ask the clerk.
Gillian gripped his arm, her fingers digging into his flesh. “If you tell anyone, he’ll kill her.”
There wasn’t time to reassure her. “Where’s he taking you?”
“A cabin in Island Park.”
“Here, take this. If you get a chance, call me.” He pressed one of his business cards into her palm and then pushed into the men’s restroom an instant before he heard Marc’s voice outside the door.
“It took you long enough,” Marc snapped. “Come on.”
Austin waited until he was sure they were gone before he opened the door and headed for his SUV. He had no idea what Island Park was or how to get there. All he knew was that he had no choice but to go after her.
Chapter Eight
As Gillian climbed into the Suburban, she could feel Marc watching her, his eyes narrowed.
“It took you long enough in there,” he said, studying her. “You didn’t try to make any calls while you were in there, did you?” he asked, his voice low. She knew how close he was to hitting her when his voice got like that.
“How would I have made a call? You have my cell phone, I have no money and, in case you haven’t noticed, there aren’t pay phones around anymore.”
He narrowed his eyes in warning. She knew she was treading on thin ice with him, but kowtowing to him only seemed to make him more violent.
Marc was still staring at her as if searching for even a hint of a lie. “I figure if anyone could find a way, it would be you. I’ve learned the hard way what you’re capable of, sister-in-law. Let’s not forget that you’ve managed to get some local marshal sniffing around—not to mention a deputy from Texas.”
“I told you that wasn’t my doing. The deputy was merely worried about me.” She looked away, wishing he would start the engine. He was looking for any excuse to hurt her again.
“Worried about you? That Texas cowboy took a shine to you after you told him you weren’t my wife. You take a shine to him, too? The patrolman said the cowboy had you in some cabin handcuffed to a chair. He have his way with you?”
“You disgust me,” she said and turned to look out the side window. A pickup had pulled up behind them, the driver now waiting for the gas pump.
“Gave you his coat. How gallant is that?” he said, his voice a sneer. “You must have done something to keep him coming back.”
She wished he would just start the engine. “You know I didn’t know what I was saying. I have a concussion. Or don’t you believe that either?” She turned to face him, knowing it was a daring thing to do. He was just looking for an excuse. He hated everything about her and her sister.
“Right, your head injury from an accident that would never have happened if you hadn’t—”
“Been running for my life?”
His face twisted into a mask of fury. “You—”
She braced herself for the smack she knew was coming. The only thing that saved her was the driver behind them honking loudly.
Marc swore and flipped the man off, but started the engine and pulled away from the pump and onto the highway headed south toward West Yellowstone.
Gillian breathed a small sigh of relief. All she’d done was buy herself a little time. She’d be lucky if Marc didn’t kill her. Right now, she was more worried about what he’d already done to Rebecca.
“What are you looking at?” Marc snapped.
“Nothing,” she said as she turned toward him.
“You were looking in your side mirror.” He hurriedly checked his rearview. “Is that cowboy
following us?”
She realized her mistake. “What cowboy?”
“Don’t give me that what cowboy bull. You know damned well. That Texas cowboy. Did you see him back there?”
“In the ladies’ room?” She scoffed at his paranoia. “I was only looking out the window.” It was a lie and she feared he knew it.
He kept watching behind them as he drove. “If you said something to him back at the motel—”
“You were there. You know I didn’t say anything. Why did you say Rebecca was pregnant with a baby girl?” She held her breath for his answer.
Marc let out a snort. “I figured it would just get the guy off my back once he thought you were pregnant.” He chuckled as if pleased with himself and seemed to relax a little, although he kept watching his mirror.
She hated that she’d involved Austin Cardwell in all this, but she’d been so desperate... Now she prayed that if he really was following them, that he didn’t let Marc see him. There was no telling what Marc would do.
“What did you tell him last night?”
Gillian didn’t need to ask whom he was talking about. “I didn’t even know who I was last night, so how was I going to tell him anything?”
“That was convenient. But you recognized me when you saw me, didn’t you?”
She’d been so confused, so terrified and yet she hadn’t known of what or whom. But once Marc had come into her hospital room, she’d remembered, even before he’d whispered in her ear, “I’ll kill your sister if you don’t go along with what I say.”
It had all come back in a wave of misery that threatened to overwhelm her. When Marc had slipped her sister’s wedding band onto her finger... She hadn’t been able to hold back the tears. She’d made matching rings for her sister and Marc when they’d married. Marc had lost his almost at once, but Rebecca... She felt a sob try to work its way up out of her chest. If Marc was carrying Rebecca’s wedding ring in his pocket, was she even still alive?
