Sleepwalker

by Karen Robards

  Snow was coming down thick and fast now. Even with the canopy of branches overhead, it swirled around them, obscuring all but the closest trees. Mick ducked her head to avoid the constant cold dampness of flakes landing and melting on her skin. In the undergrowth nearby, something rustled. For an unpleasant second she wondered what kind of creature would possibly be moving around on such a night. Wolves and bears sprang instantly to mind, but entertaining such a worry was idiotic, she knew, when men with guns were chasing them. Even the weather posed a far greater threat than the biggest, baddest, fanged and hungry woodland creature could. It was so cold that her nose was starting to feel frostbitten. Her cheeks tingled. Even with the sock mittens, her hands were freezing. Curled into fists, they were thrust deep into her pockets in a so-far-unsuccessful search for warmth. There wasn’t a lot of room, because each pocket also held a gun. In addition, the left pocket held her handcuffs, which he had confiscated, and the right pocket held his phone, which she could feel nudging her knuckles. He was a step or two ahead of her now, his long strides eating up the distance more quickly than her shorter ones. Although she knew it was probably futile, with a quick, surreptitious look at him she pulled his phone out. Keeping one eye on his broad back because she didn’t want to have to hand the phone, a possible lifeline to rescue, over, she checked one more time for service: nothing.

  Good God, it was starting to seem like they might be totally stranded out here. She had to remind herself that they weren’t that far from civilization. Even if the fishing store didn’t pan out, even if they couldn’t find it, it no longer existed or didn’t have a working phone, if they kept walking, sooner or later they were bound to come within range of a cell phone tower.

  All was not lost just because it was freezing cold and snowing and they were stuck outdoors with no phone and no place to go, being chased by guys with guns who wanted at least one and probably both of them dead.

  “Looks like they stopped the boat.” His laconic observation had Mick hurriedly thrusting his phone back down in her pocket and looking up fast. They had reached a thinning in the trees, she saw as she stopped beside him, which meant, if her memory served her correctly, that the road couldn’t be too far ahead. Through the falling snow she could once again see the lake, its surface glimmering like polished jet in the moonlight. Although it was far away now, the helicopter was impossible to miss: it hovered in place, its searchlight beaming down out of the sky like a homing beacon to lock onto a partially illuminated object below. She couldn’t quite see it clearly enough to be 100 percent certain, but that object could only have been the Playtime, which had obviously, by some means or another, been stopped. Three other, smaller lights bobbed up and down in the darkness around the boat, which meant, she knew, that Otis and the others were on the scene as well. Her stomach tightened as she realized anew just how desperately serious the search party was: to be out on the lake in those vehicles in this weather, they meant business. Whatever happened, they weren’t just going to let her, to say nothing of the man beside her, slip away.

  But there wasn’t anything she could do to change a thing. From the moment she’d chosen to check out the sound she’d heard in the far reaches of Uncle Nicco’s house, the die had been cast.

  “Probably a couple of them are onboard searching it right now.” Her voice revealed nothing of the disorienting sense of unreality she was experiencing. To know that her whole life was evaporating around her like mist in the sun gave her a feeling that she imagined had to be a close cousin to vertigo. But giving in to it didn’t help, and so she pushed it firmly aside. Almost as one they started moving again, more swiftly now, although the natural forest debris of fallen leaves and sticks and rocks hidden under the snow made achieving anything much beyond a fast walk difficult.

  “Are they going to be disappointed.”

  God, he could still make light of the situation! Well, it wasn’t his whole life that had just been blasted to smithereens. All he had to do was escape and he would be fine.

  “This is just business as usual for you, isn’t it?”

  “Nah. Usually my jobs don’t go wrong.”

  Of all the gin joints in all the world … Out of nowhere that line from Casablanca popped into Mick’s head. “Couldn’t you just have robbed a bank like everyone else?”

  “Robbing a bank is old school. Hitting your uncle Nicco’s house was quicker, easier, and yielded a hell of a lot more cash.”

  Mick glanced at the suitcase. “You haven’t gotten away with it yet.”

  “Good point.”

  “They’re going to keep coming after us, hard.” She hunched her shoulders against the cold, doing her best to bury her chin in the collar of her coat. That “us” had come out automatically, but she realized with a sickening sense of inevitability that it was true.

  “You realize that if your uncle Nicco’s team had been seriously concerned about your welfare, they’d have called your fellow cops to report an officer taken hostage in a robbery, and the lake would have been swarming with law enforcement types looking for you by now.”

  “I realize.” Although she had been trying not to let the thought creep into her consciousness. It served as too emphatic a punctuation mark to the trouble she was in. “See, the thing is, the money you stole is obviously the ill-gotten gains from some illegal enterprise. Also, we both saw the pictures that place my uncle Nicco at the scene of a multiple murder. Given those factors, I don’t think we’re going to be seeing cops anytime soon.”

  At least, not until I call them on you.

  “For all those goons know, I could be planning to rape and murder you.”

  Mick snorted. “Good luck with that.”

  “The point being, they’re clearly willing to let that happen rather than get law enforcement involved.”

  “Yeah, I got that.”

  “Some uncle you have.”

  “You know what? It was all good until you decided to rob him.” Mick slipped a little as her foot found a slick branch hidden under the snow.

  “You’re blaming this on me.”

  “Damn right I’m blaming this on you. Want to know why? Because it’s all your fault. Because you chose to commit a crime, I’m in this mess.”

  “Hey, if you hadn’t been there, my team would have gotten away clean. You screwed everything up.”

  “I should have shot you when I first saw you. Then I wouldn’t have seen those fricking pictures, I wouldn’t know anything about any illegal cash or murders or anything, and my life could just keep going on like normal.”

  “Yeah, well, if I’d shot you, Jel—My partner and I could have gotten the hell out of there with the money and no one any the wiser.”

  “You never even had the chance to shoot me. Your hands were full of suitcases containing stolen cash, if you recall. I had a bead on you. I could’ve shot you.”

  “But you didn’t. And the bottom line is, if you hadn’t been there, neither one of us would be here right now. What were you doing in that house, anyway? It was supposed to be empty. It’s New Year’s Eve. What, no date?”

  Mick thought of Nate. “Go to hell.”

  “From that I take it, no. You’re attractive enough, so it’s probably got something to do with that ball-busting attitude of yours. You might want to think about working on that.”

  “Instead of shooting you, I should have called for backup the minute I heard that first sound. You’d be in jail right now, and I’d be back in my bed fast asleep.”

  “Speaking of calling for backup, probably now would be a good time for you to give me back my phone. And my gun.”

  He held out his hand. No sock gloves for him, just long, strong-looking bare fingers.

  Mick shot him a fulminating look. But because fighting with him over them did not seem to be the best approach, since they were stuck with each other for the time being, Mick reluctantly handed over his Sig Sauer and, even more reluctantly, his phone, which he immediately checked. It occurred to her that, as
a sign of mutual trust, neither of them trying to keep the other from having a gun was significant.

  “Still no service.”

  She barely stopped herself from saying I know as he slipped his phone into his pocket. The gun he nestled in his waistband at the small of his back before pulling his garments back down over it. Mick found herself wondering once again if he’d had military or, perhaps, police training.

  “So how does a seemingly intelligent, grown man wind up becoming a thief, anyway? The whole rotten childhood, raised in poverty, never-had-a-chance story every guy in prison tells?”

  “I had a nice, middle-class childhood, thank you. I’m a thief because it’s a relatively easy way to get a hell of a lot of money.”

  “No remorse.”

  “None. What about you? You’re young, attractive, smart. How’d you wind up being a cop? Oh, I know, I bet your dad was one, right, and you’re determined to do Daddy proud.”

  In an annoyingly skewed way that was actually kind of the truth. Mick refused to validate his mockery with an answer. Fortunately, just ahead she caught sight of another, more clearly defined, break in the trees that she hoped … believed … knew was the boat ramp, which came with the gravel road they were seeking.

  “There it is. The gravel road.” Not wanting to take her hands out of her pockets to point, she nodded toward it triumphantly.

  “Well, look at that. And here I was afraid that you were stringing me along.”

  “You know what? You’ve got some real trust issues.”

  “In my experience a person tends to stay alive longer that way.”

  “You could try living a law-abiding existence. I’ve heard it does wonders for the life span.”

  He laughed. Then, as they reached the edge of the road, he glanced toward the lake and immediately stopped. Walking and laughing.

  “Holy shit,” he said.

  Chapter

  10

  “They’re leaving.” Mick felt a spurt of relief as she stopped, too, and followed his gaze.

  The helicopter zoomed off in the direction of the city, and Uncle Nicco’s house, with four lights now skimming across the surface of the lake behind it. Clearly someone was at the wheel of the Playtime and had turned her running lights on. All vehicles appeared to be moving fast. The good news was, they were moving fast away.

  “If we’re lucky, it’ll take them a while to get organized,” he said.

  “And if we’re not lucky?”

  “It’s still going to take them a while to get organized.”

  Despite the anxiety that had her every nerve ending stretched tight as a bowstring, Mick had to smile. “Do you take nothing seriously?”

  “Some things. Remind me to tell you which ones someday. In the meantime, how about you make a guess as to how far you think that main road out of here is.” They were once again on the move, on the gravel road by this time, which made walking a little easier, although the pebbly surface was rutted and slippery in places beneath the blanket of snow. Squinting through the veil of snowflakes along the direction in which they were now headed, which was away from the lake, he frowned.

  “Route 92?” she answered. “I don’t know precisely. The only time I was ever on it was when my sister drove down to pick me up because it was a Friday night and I had to go to work the next day and the others had decided to spend the night on the boat. At a guess, I’d say—eight miles.”

  “A little less than two hours’ walk, then, probably, in this weather, as long as we keep moving. Always provided we don’t come across something promising in the way of transportation in the meantime.”

  “Or we don’t get cell phone service or find a phone so we can call for help.”

  “Not happening.”

  “What, is calling for help right up there with stopping and asking for directions? Real men don’t do it?”

  “If I thought the help you mean to call would do more good than harm, I’d be fine with it.”

  “Any help beats freezing to death. Or getting caught by Uncle Nicco’s men.”

  He didn’t reply, which Mick took as tacit admission that she was right.

  “You hanging in all right?” he asked after a while.

  “As well as can be expected. As well as you, I guarantee.” Which didn’t mean she wasn’t slowly turning into a solid block of ice. Now that they had turned their backs on the lake, the night seemed darker and colder than before. The thick, black miasma of the forest felt more menacing the deeper into it they got. Just enough moonlight filtered through now to illuminate snow-laden tree branches swaying by the side of the road, and to allow her to see some little distance along the narrow white ribbon of snow they were following. All around, trees creaked and branches snapped. The falling snow whispered. The air smelled of pine and damp and cold. The wind seemed to have picked up, but since it was blowing in from the lake, at least their backs were to it. Tramping along beside him, she smacked her feet down on the underlying gravel a little harder than she needed to, in a bid to keep the circulation going in her already numb feet.

  “We don’t find your fishing store, or a vehicle to ‘borrow,’ or manage to catch a ride of some sort on that main road, we’re going to be walking for a while. All night, maybe. You up for that?”

  “I’m up for anything I need to be up for. But in case you haven’t noticed, it’s kind of cold out here, and I’d really rather not walk all night if we don’t have to. Remember that phone of yours? I hope that, once we’re in range of a signal, you’ll be smart enough to let me call somebody for a ride. I’ve got friends who can keep their mouths shut, and who also won’t just abandon me to my fate. And, yes, I’m talking about your buddy Jel—whoever.”

  “You just can’t let things go, can you?” Through the darkness and snow she could see his smile. “And his name’s Jelly, if it makes you feel any better to know. Not that it’s going to do you any good. It’s not his real name.”

  “Of course it’s not,” she sniffed. “What criminal uses his real name? I bet you’ve got a cool nickname, too. Want to tell me what it is? That Ali thing is getting old.”

  “See, the thing is, I like the way you say it. Sounds kinda hot.”

  Knowing he was deliberately needling her, she refused to rise to the bait.

  “I take it you’ve got plans to meet Jelly somewhere tomorrow.”

  “Think I’m going to discuss my plans with a cop?”

  “Hey, right now we’re on the same team.”

  “Which will last about as long as it takes us to get out of here. You want to chat, tell me about your sister. I’m actually surprised you have one. I would have pegged you for the kind of girl who grew up with a passel of brothers.”

  “What does that mean?” she demanded, and in response he smiled again.

  “Not a thing in the world. Do you just have the one sister? Older or younger?”

  “You won’t even tell me your name. Why should I tell you about my sister?”

  “Fair enough. Nothing personal, I get it. Okay, so why don’t you tell me what your plans are for when we get back to civilization? How long do I have before you try clapping those handcuffs of yours on my wrists again and hauling me in?”

  That was so precisely what she intended to do that Mick was momentarily at a loss for words. Then she rallied.

  “Think I’m going to discuss my plans with a thief?”

  “You know, we could call a truce. No cop, no thief. Just two people who got caught up together in an unfortunate situation and are going to go their separate ways as soon as they safely can. No harm, no foul.”

  “We could.”

  “Is that a yes or a no?”

  Before Mick could think of a crafty way to answer his question that wouldn’t put him on his guard but was not an out-and-out lie, something blinked at her from about twenty feet up in a tree to the right of the road. Steps faltering, her attention riveted, she stared and caught at his arm.

  “What’s up?” He looked down at
her hand on his arm, then followed her unblinking gaze to the thing in the tree. “Yo.”

  But by then the eight small, glowing orange spheres suspended in the tree that had initially thrown Mick for a loop had sorted themselves out in her mind so that they made sense.

  “They’re eyes,” she said with relief. “I think it must be a family of raccoons. See that structure they’re on? I think it’s a deer stand. I think it’s a family of raccoons watching us from on top of a deer stand.”

  They were already walking again. It was too cold for standing about. The snowfall was heavier now, and wetter. The wind whistled through the trees, wrapped around them, chilled Mick to the bone. Despite the layers she had on, she could feel goose bumps racing over her skin.

  “So how does a cop from a big-time urban area like Detroit know anything about raccoons and deer stands?” They were moving side by side now, their arms brushing, staying close in an instinctive effort to generate warmth. The snow crackled underfoot. There on the gravel, with the entwined branches overhead deflecting the brunt of the increasing snowfall, it was only a few inches deep.

  “My dad and a couple of his friends used to hunt. Sometimes he’d take me with him.”

  “Your dad the cop?”

  “You are fixated on that, aren’t you? Why? Because you were once a cop yourself?”

  “I’ll answer your question if you answer mine.”

  Mick hesitated. But, after all, she really had no secrets. He was the one with something—probably many somethings—to hide.

  “Fine. Were you a cop?”

  “Nope. Is—was—your dad a cop?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is or was?”

  “Was. He’s retired. Were you in the military?”

  “Hey, I only agreed to answer one question.”

  “You were in the military,” she said, more confidently than she actually felt. Not answering a question sometimes was as revealing as answering it, as she had learned from experience.

  “Speculate all you want.”

  “It’ll be easy to check. All I have to do is search the military databases for your picture later.”