by Diane Moody
“I think you’ve got a pretty bad sprain, but it doesn’t look like you’ve broken any bones. Which means a speedier recovery. But you’ll need to stay off it as much as possible. Try to keep an ice pack on it as much as you can stand it. If there’s not one in the freezer, just use a bag of frozen peas or corn. That’ll do just as well. I’m sure Mary Jean will be more than happy to come up and bring you a meal or two if you’d be open to that.”
“Oh no, I’m sure I’ll be fine, Dr. Wilkins.”
“Please—just call me Doc. Everyone does.”
She smiled. “Okay, Doc. Thanks for the offer. If I run into trouble, I’ll give you a call. I just need—” Her voice disappeared.
Doc leveled his gaze at her over the top of his glasses. “Young lady, I know I’m practically a stranger to you, and you have no reason whatsoever to feel compelled to talk to an old codger like me. Just the same, I’d be mighty blind not to notice you’re hurting pretty badly in here.” He tapped his finger on his heart. He smiled at her with knowing eyes. “A sprain like this may be a nuisance, but it’s not too serious. But if you keep whatever it is that’s bothering you all stuffed down inside you like some turkey all dressed for Thanksgiving, you’ll bring on all kinds of illnesses. Physical and emotional. The good Lord didn’t design these old bodies to cart around so much stress.”
“You’re a believer?” she asked softly.
“Good heavens, yes. Mercy, you don’t think I could understand the human body without knowing the One who made it in the first place? Yes, I’ve been a believer longer than you’ve been alive, I reckon’. Don’t know how people live without the Lord. Can’t imagine.”
Annie took a ragged breath before trusting her voice again. “I am too,” she responded, then added, “I’m also a pastor’s wife, but . . . I guess you’d say I’m . . .” She struggled to find the words. Nothing.
They sat in silence. The wind howled through the trees outside. Finally, the doctor finished taping her ankle and stood up. He reached down to pat her hand. “You just let me know if you need anything—and that includes an experienced listener,” he added, once again peering over his glasses. “You can ask anyone in this county and they’ll tell you that Doc Wilkins knows how to keep his mouth shut. It’s a rare quality, of course. But it comes in mighty handy sometimes.
“Now, I’m going to fix you a hot cup of tea before I go. I’ll build your fire back up, then look around for the crutches Christine keeps around here somewhere. Up here in ski country, everyone has a pair of crutches around the house. You just try and take it easy, okay? Doctor’s orders,” he added over his shoulder.
Annie relaxed. In a strange way, she knew her fall had been no accident. It was a “divine appointment,” as Caroline liked to call it. An unexpected mishap requiring an unlikely visitor. An angel disguised as a sweet, country doctor with plenty of time on his hands.
CHAPTER 13
Plainview, Texas
Michael groped for the phone. He started to lift the receiver until a pain shot through his arm, startling him out of his sleep. “Aaahhh!” He dropped the phone.
“Mr. Smith? Mr. Smith! Are you all right?”
A far away, muffled voice beckoned from beneath the bed. “Just a minute . . . I dropped the phone. Hold on.” With his good arm, he pulled the cord until the receiver followed it up the side of the bed. “Uh, yes, I’m here.”
“Mr. Smith, this is Peg at the front desk. You asked for a wake-up call at ten o’clock. It’s just a shade after ten now. Are you all right?”
“Sure . . . I’m fine, just knocked the phone off . . . no problem. Thanks. I, uh . . . appreciate it.” He hung up before another wave of pain rolled over him. He cried out, cradling his side, shocked at the continuing intensity of his pain. For a moment, he remained totally still. What am I going to do? I’ve got to get out of here.
He checked his watch. Five after ten. There was no time to baby himself, not another minute to rest. If he had any chance at all, he must keep moving. With bold determination, he inched himself up to a sitting position and waited for the dizziness to pass before opening his eyes.
A voice in his head badgered him. You’re never gonna make it. Give it up. Just crawl back in bed and forget about Elliot. Forget about your company. Who cares? Nobody gives a rip about you anyway.
Michael snapped his head from side to side. “No. No! I won’t give up,” he whispered. He crawled out of bed and began to make his way to the bathroom. The sight in the mirror was even worse than before. His skin looked pale and pasty. Dark puffy half-circles hung below his eyes. When he peeled the bandages away from his wounds, the sight took his breath away. His work was cut out for him.
An hour later, he emerged from his room carefully scoping out his surroundings. The hot shower had given him renewed hope, soothing his tired body and washing away the dirt and grime and dried blood from the nightmare he was living. Even with only a couple hours of sleep, he felt at least partially refreshed and eager to get on the road. He recognized the elevated adrenaline in his system and knew he had to ride it out for as long as it would last. It was his only hope.
Michael pulled through the motel parking lot and back onto the road. He spotted another fast food restaurant with a drive-thru and pulled in. As he approached the window, a freckle-faced teenage boy gave a long, admiring whistle to Michael’s SUV. “Nice wheels, dude!”
Michael smiled and placed his order. After evading the barrage of questions and comments about his car, he reached out for the bag containing his breakfast and pulled out onto the highway. He popped the lid off the tall Styrofoam cup of coffee and carefully took a sip. The fresh, hot flavor of the coffee instantly revitalized him.
He tried to remember Peg’s directions to the local bus station. Fifteen minutes later, he walked out of the noisy complex, coughing from the diesel fumes of idling buses. He folded a piece of paper with a locker number scribbled on it and wrapped it around a key. Tucking both into his pocket, he felt a noticeable weight off his shoulders and hurried to his car. The flash drive with evidence of Elliot’s involvement in the murder of Christopher Jordan was safely out of his hands now. He would call Grady the first chance he got and give him the number off that paper. Now he had backup.
Life insurance.
Setting his coffee in the console holder, he turned on the radio and began to search for a news station as he pulled out of the parking lot. He skipped through an array of country love songs, indistinguishable rap music, a radio preacher’s blistering sermon, and a station playing an old Captain and Tennille song before he found what he wanted.
“And now a look at today’s weather. Expect increasing snowstorms for much of the panhandle today as this second front, which looks to be much stronger, continues to bear down from Canada. By this evening we expect a traveler’s advisory to be issued as this storm moves into our area from the northwest. Stay tuned to KCOL for your weather report every hour on the tens.”
Michael unwrapped his sausage and cheese biscuit and took a bite. “Once again, here are the stories we’re following for you here on 990 KCOL . . .”
As the reporter rambled on with the news of the hour, Michael’s mind raced back to the questions that still plagued him. Where were Elliot’s hounds? Elliot wouldn’t give up this easily. Where was he right now? And what about Amelia? Surely she’s called Daddy by now complaining about my absence. I wonder how Elliot covered that one?
Michael took another sip of coffee and looked at his cell phone. He had kept it turned off, avoiding anyone’s efforts to trace him. But he had to call Grady. He would find a pay phone in the next town. His eyes were drawn to the green sign along the side of the road.
Edmonson—13 miles
Amarillo—89 miles
Pueblo, Colorado—409 miles
While calculating how much longer his drive would take, his pain reminded him of the immediate need for more medication. Suddenly, it dawned on him.
Why didn’t I think of it before?<
br />
He had always kept a supply of prescription muscle relaxers in his gym bag, his desk at the office, his brief case, and the bedside drawer at home. For years he had used the pain medication for relief from a knee injury he suffered back in his last days with the Astros. It didn’t bother him all the time, but when it did the pain could be intense. He scolded himself for not remembering the meds earlier.
With a bum arm, he knew he couldn’t dig through the bag while he drove. He pulled off on the side of the road, grateful for the cover of an old, abandoned stretch of wooden fencing. Awkwardly, he reached across his body with his good arm to pull the black vinyl bag up to the front seat beside him. His clumsy movements frustrated him until he finally jerked the bag around the seat. In a split second, the bag tipped the edge of his coffee cup sitting on the console. Automatically his other hand reached to stop it from spilling. Pain shot through the arm as the reaction tore through his bullet wound. He screamed in agony only to be answered with a steaming splash of coffee still hot enough to burn his right hand.
He cursed until his anger gave way to the urgency of relief. He tore open the bag, digging out the first aid kit he’d bought the night before, then tended to his wound. After treating his injuries, he finally found the bottle of muscle relaxers. It wasn’t until he opened the bottle of pills that he allowed himself a glimmer of hope. He washed the capsule down with a gulp from his water bottle and turned the key once again in the ignition.
“He’s where?”
“I told you, Mr. Thomas—he’s just now leaving Plainview. Going north toward Amarillo. Could be he’s headed for Colorado. He got any friends up there? Family? You all got one of them chalets up there anywhere?”
“No, of course not,” Elliot snapped, changing the receiver to his other ear. “Our chalet is in Switzerland. If he has friends up there, it’s nobody I know about. Just keep your eyes open and whatever you do, don’t lose him.”
“No sir. We won’t let him out of our sight.”
“Make sure you don’t.”
“Only thing is, sir, you sure we can’t just grab him and haul him back to Houston? What’s with this cat and mouse game anyway?”
“That’s not your concern. Just stay on his tail but don’t let him see you, got it? And Gus—don’t you and Marcus screw this one up, understand? I’ll make it well worth your while as long as you follow my strict instructions. Are we clear on that?”
“No problem, sir. And don’t you worry none. We won’t blow it. You can count on us, sir.”
Elliot slammed down the phone. “Why does that give me no comfort?”
CHAPTER 14
Seminole, Florida
“Don’t even say that! How could you!” Jessie cried, shoving her chair back as she jumped up. She threw down the rest of her sandwich and bolted from the school cafeteria, shouting, “You’re not my friend anymore!”
She was halfway down the hall when she heard a stern, commanding voice behind her. “Stop right there, young lady!”
She turned around, quickly wiping her tears. Jessie kept her head down, afraid to face whoever belonged to that mean voice. As the footsteps approached her, the voice softened.
“Why, Miss McGregor! What’s wrong?”
Jessie looked up into a familiar face, recognizing the man from church. She sniffed a couple of times and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.
He dropped to one knee and put a hand on Jessica’s shoulder. “Now what could be so bad to send you running out of the cafeteria?” His tone was gentle and compassionate. “You can tell me, honey. My name is Mr. Harrison. Your daddy and I are good friends.”
“You are?” She looked up at him, studying his face.
“Why, of course we are! And I know that if my little girl was upset and your daddy was there, I’d want him to help her. Sure I would! Here now—here’s my nice clean handkerchief for you. You go ahead and use it to dry those pretty big blue eyes of yours. And then you can tell me what’s happened.”
Jessie wiped her nose and her eyes and began telling her daddy’s friend how she was missing her mommy.
“Where did Mommy go, sweetheart?”
“I don’t know. Gran just told us she had to go away for a while and she doesn’t know when she’s coming back.”
“Oh. Is that so?”
“Yes, and then Samantha said maybe my Mommy and Daddy are getting the Big D.”
“The Big D?”
“A di-divorce!” The tears erupted all over again. Jessica hid her face in the handkerchief with the fancy monogrammed initials. When she finally peered over the cloth at her daddy’s friend, he had a strange look on his face.
“Well, now, Miss McGregor, there’s no need for you to get so upset. I’m sure if your mom and dad were getting a divorce, then I’d know all about it. ’Course, I suppose your mama could have left for a while. She might have needed to get away for a little vacation or something. See, sometimes kids, and especially little kids, can just wear a mama out. You know how it is—a mama gets so busy with cooking and cleaning up and doing laundry and driving her kids all over the place. And then kids are always fighting and arguing and making even more messes for her to clean up—”
Jessica tried to keep her lower lip from trembling.
“—and I’m sure your daddy’s probably never at home hardly at all, is he?” Her head slowly nodded in agreement. “And of course, that just makes it extra hard for a mama. She feels all alone. Has to do everything herself.
“So it’s not so hard to see why your mommy probably just felt like she was all tuckered out. We grown-ups call it ‘burn-out.’ Happens all the time to busy people. Especially someone like your mother. So maybe she just needed to get away from everything for a while. That’s all! Certainly nothing for a pretty little girl like you to worry about.”
Her daddy’s friend stood up and moved in alongside of Jessica, his arm draped protectively on her shoulders. She blew her nose as they began walking down the hall. Daddy’s friend sounded like a nice man. He seemed to know a lot more about her mommy and daddy than she did. That didn’t seem right somehow.
I don’t care. I just want Mommy to come home. I want my mommy and I want her now!
She didn’t want to hear Daddy’s friend talk anymore. Jessie pulled free from him and took off down the hall, whimpering as she ran.
Max was torn between taking notes and stealing glances at the clock on the wall. Missing the closing words of a lecture by Mr. Harrison could prove deadly on an exam. Still, the countdown was irresistible. Only three more minutes until freedom. The second hand crept along its circular path unbearably slow today, as if hesitating to pass each and every numeral. C’mon . . . c’mon . . .
“Mr. McGregor, how would you explain their dilemma?”
“Excuse me, sir?”
Mr. Harrison clasped his hands behind his back as he turned to stroll toward Max’s desk. “Just as I expected. Too enthralled with the clock on the wall to have even the remotest idea what I just asked you, correct?”
“No, sir. I just got behind taking my notes and missed your last couple of statements. That’s all.”
Harrison stood directly above him now, his fingers tapping impatiently on his desk. “What is it with you McGregors? Do you have some sort of attention deficit disorder, or are you just simple? Our subject matter today isn’t so complex. But since you can’t seem to grasp it, perhaps you should stay after class so I can spell it out for you—reeeaaal slooooow.”
Max shifted in his desk as his classmates laughed. “That’s okay. I think I’ve got it.”
“No, I don’t believe you do. You’ll remain after class, Mr. McGregor.” The bell rang, mocking Max as he remained seated. He caught several of his friends rolling their eyes in knowing sympathy as they left the room. He stole a glance at Megan as she passed his desk. I’ll wait for you outside, she mouthed. Her expression of consolation provided the only encouragement he was willing to accept.
He set his pen down, folded his arms aga
inst his chest and leaned back in his seat. His long legs crossed at the ankles reached far under the vacant seat in front of him.
Once the room cleared, Harrison paced himself slowly, putting away his lecture notes and various texts. He straightened everything on his desk then turned his back and began erasing names and dates on the blackboard. Max watched his every move, confident it was all orchestrated for his benefit.
He’s trying to eat you up. Don’t let him get to you. Remember what Dad said.
Whap!
Max jumped. Harrison smiled sardonically, quite pleased with his little trick. The map behind him still flapped from his sudden release. Max refolded his arms, silently counting down his impatience. One, two, three, four . . .
Harrison sat down behind his desk at the front of the room and folded his hands atop his desk. “Well, well, well. It’s about time you and I had a nice little personal chat like this, Mr. McGregor.”
“Look, Mr. Harrison, I’ve got basketball practice starting right now. I’ve got to get suited up. Is there any chance this could wait until another time?”
“Not a chance. Your sports will just have to wait. We need to clear the air a bit between us. I’ve sensed a real problem with your attitude for some time now. And quite frankly, I find that it’s interfering with your participation in this class. Now I would think that being a preacher’s kid—”
“Hold it, Mr. Harrison. Let’s leave that out of this. I’m just an ordinary kid like every other kid in your classroom.”
“Quite the contrary. You are Max McGregor, son of the good pastor David McGregor. And that makes you stand completely apart from every other student in this class or any other. The other students look up to you. They even set their standards by you if for no other reason than the fact that you’re their preacher’s kid. They expect you to be their leader. Just as we all expect your father to be the leader of our church, whether we like it or not.”
