by Casey Dawes
When she hesitated, he smacked her head.
Her brain reverberated in her skull.
When the ringing stopped, she got out. The snow reached the top of her boots.
He slogged around the pickup.
“Take off your coat.”
“No. It’s almost below zero.” What was he planning? Shoot her and put her coat back on her? That made no sense.
“The cold will make you walk a little faster. If you hustle, there’s a chance you might make it back to civilization.” He looked around. “Of course, it’s a long walk—even if you can figure out which way it is.” He held out his hand. “The coat.”
“You can’t leave me here without my coat. I’ll die.”
“Stop being difficult.” He slapped her face again.
This time she was ready for it.
“No.”
“Then I’ll do it myself.” He tossed the keys on the driver’s seat.
He came close.
She feinted with her right arm, and he grabbed it.
Swinging with her left, she drove the pointed end of the hook into his face.
He howled.
Blood spurted.
But he let go.
She shoved him off balance, thrashed through the snow to the SUV, and snatched the keys from the driver’s seat.
“You bitch!” he yelled.
Please, please, please. Get in the cab. She had to get the door closed before he reached her. She pulled herself in, slammed the door, and threw the lock.
His blood-smeared hand grabbed for the handle.
Keys. Ignition. If only her hands would stop trembling.
Hang in there, Kelly Anne, Mommy’s coming.
The car roared to life and fishtailed as she swung it out of the narrow spot. Branches broke against the sides, gouging the finish.
He didn’t let go.
Even through the window, she could hear him.
“Bitch! I’ll kill you!”
Not enough traction to bounce him off.
Straddling the forest service road, she put the car in drive.
“Let go!” she screamed. “Let go or I’ll run you over!”
His face contorted as he continued to spew venom.
She started slowly.
He had to get off.
As she corrected the car to head back to the road they’d driven from the highway, he leapt back, saving his feet from the crushing tires.
But he hung on.
The snow prevented her from picking up speed, and he trudged beside the car, holding on with his right hand while his left searched through coat pockets.
Crap. He had another key.
She double-checked the locks.
Red. Her hand was slippery with blood.
She swallowed bile.
Not now.
He grinned and held up the key, the triumphant smile more eerie than a clown’s macabre paint.
Sorry, she mouthed. Although she wasn’t really.
She increased the pressure on the gas pedal.
He fumbled with the key.
Her blood-wet hands slid on the worn steering wheel as she fought to keep it on the road, picking up speed.
He had to let go.
Didn’t he?
Ten. Twelve. Fifteen. The speedometer hand crept up.
She was dragging him now.
Too bad. She needed to get home. To keep her daughter safe from monsters like this one.
Twenty.
He let go.
His body formed a dark lump in the snow.
Had she killed him?
The car slid.
Concentrate.
She had to get back to the highway.
• • •
“Where is she?” Reese got into Wayne’s face, making him drop the pen he had in his hand.
“Who?”
“Findlay. She was coming after you. The evidence is on her laptop.” It had only taken two tries to get to the password: KellyAnne2014!. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been here all day. What evidence?”
“You framed her father.” Both fists on Wayne’s desk, Reese loomed over him.
Wayne’s face paled to a bleached-tooth white.
Guilty.
“Tell me where she is. Right. Now.” Reese enunciated each word, as if clearly speaking would get him what he wanted.
“I don’t know. I really don’t know.” Wayne’s fingers twisted the pen. With a snap, it dissolved into pieces. “Sam might have her.”
“Sam? What’s he got to do with this?”
An employee coughed in the next cubicle
“Can we go to your office?”
“This better give me the answer I want. Go.”
He wasn’t letting Wayne out of his sight. How could he have let this happen? Reese was supposed to keep Findlay safe.
It took everything in him not to grab Wayne’s collar and smash him against the wall after he slammed the office door behind him.
He went to close the blinds.
Already closed.
He hadn’t left them that way. He never shut them. They were the only windows in the room.
“Tell me,” he said. “Why do you think Sam has her?” He waved at the laptop on his desk. “According to Findlay’s notes, your name is all over these programs.”
“I know.”
“Get with it. Tell me what you know and tell me now.”
“Sam’s never been violent before. She’s probably okay.” Wayne’s eyes darted this way and that, as if looking for an escape. Then he centered back on Reese. “My name may be on those programs, but Sam is the one who gave me the code. He was blackmailing me.”
“Why?”
“Deborah—she was the bookkeeper back then—and I had known each other since we were kids. Did dumb stuff. Sam found out. Your father had a pretty much no-tolerance policy. He was trying to get government contracts and needed the right security clearance. If Sam told Brian about our past, he would fire both of us. For a small payment, he would ignore our past indiscretions.”
“If you’d gone to my dad, he probably would have understood.”
“Maybe. I couldn’t take that chance.”
“So you framed an innocent man instead.”
“Um . . . I guess. If you put it that way.”
“There’s no other way to put it.”
Wayne was a weak-spined creature. He hated men like that.
“But why now? You’d gotten away with it.”
“Findlay started asking questions. From the moment I hired her, Sam was on my case. I didn’t know she was Frank’s daughter.”
“The last name didn’t tip you off?”
“It was a long time ago. I did a lot of stuff . . . drugs . . . back then. I hid it well. No one knew. They all thought I was the good kid.”
The phone rang. Reese ignored it.
“But why do you think Sam has her?”
The eyes darted again. “I was keeping watch for you. Sam wanted to see what the two of you had discovered. He was in your office when she brought the papers.” Wayne looked at the floor. “I saw him walk her out.”
“And you didn’t fucking say anything?” Reese leaped up, his hands barreled in fists.
Wayne shrank back.
Reese held himself tight. “Where would he take her?”
“No idea. I know he’d been working on an escape plan. The two of you were just too determined to find out what had actually happened. Sam figured he had enough stashed away to cut his losses.”
“Where is he going?”
“He wouldn’t tell me.”
The phone rang again.
“What?” he shouted into the receiver.
“Sheriff’s on line two,” his secretary said.
Oh, God. If anything had happened to Findlay . . .
“Reese Moore.”
“Do you know a woman named Findlay Callahan?” the woman on the other end of the li
ne asked after introducing herself.
“Yes. Is she okay?”
“Shaken up, with a wild story. How about Sam Novak?”
“They both work for me. Where’s Findlay?”
“They took her to St. Pat’s to be examined. She asked that we call you. We’ve got people out searching for Mr. Novak.”
“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about Mr. Novak. Thank you, sheriff.” He let the phone drop back into the cradle.
“You stay here.” He pointed a finger at Wayne and walked out the door.
“Call security,” he yelled at his assistant. “Make him stay there. Then call my father and tell him what’s going on.”
“What is going on?” she hollered as he dashed down the hallway to the parking lot.
“Ask Wayne,” he called over his shoulder as he broke into a run.
Chapter 19
Driving snow pelted Reese’s car as he drove from the business campus to the hospital, his pulse racing.
She was okay. The sheriff had said she wasn’t hurt. Just a wild story.
It didn’t matter. No more delay. He needed to tell her how he felt. Even if she wasn’t ready for it.
She was waiting in the emergency room lobby.
He pulled her into his arms.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.” Her voice was muffled in his coat.
He stepped back to examine her. Her face was scrubbed clean, but there were flecks of blood on her shirt and in her hair.
“Whose . . . ?” He gestured at the stains.
“Sam.”
“What happened?”
“I’ll tell you, but do you think we could pick up my car and go to your place first?” Her smile was half-hearted. “I have some tee shirts I picked up at Target a few days ago in my trunk. I’d like to change before Kelly Anne and my mother see me like this.”
“Whatever you need. Are you okay to drive?”
“Never better.” There was a determined jut to her chin. “I just got the bad guy. I’m good for anything.”
He roared with relief.
Her eyes crinkled, and she let out a belly laugh, spurring him to greater hilarity.
He collapsed into a chair.
Around him people murmured.
She flopped down next to him. “We better get out of here before they arrest us for having too much fun.”
“Wouldn’t want that to happen. Speaking of arrest . . . ”
“I’m free to go. They just warned me, ‘Don’t leave town.’”
Her lowered voice cracked him up again. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her out the door. The snow hadn’t abated, but it was as if sunshine spread all over the surrounding mountains.
She was safe.
“Findlay. Thank God.” Ignoring her blood-covered coat, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Never had he tasted anything so sweet.
She was a perfect fit, and when she put her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, life flamed between them.
“I got him,” she said when he broke off. “I got the bastard who framed my father.”
“What happened?”
“He was going to leave me to die.” She shivered and her teeth chattered.
“You’re cold. Let’s go.”
He put his arm around her and led her to his car parked cattycorner on the lines.
“Nice parking job,” she said.
“I was worried. Do you need a blanket?” he asked as he settled her in the passenger seat.
“I’m okay. Don’t want all this”—she gestured at the stained clothes—“on it.”
He ramped up the heater and headed west.
An hour later, he helped her out of her car and into his house. The bravado in the hospital had given way to an adrenaline crash.
“Want me to wash your back?” he asked as he led her to the master bath, a tiled walk-in wonder the previous owners had indulged in.
“I can handle it, thanks.” She touched his cheek with her finger and smiled. “We’re not at that stage yet.”
“But we can get there, right?”
A shadow crossed her eyes.
“Maybe,” she said and shut the bathroom door behind her.
What was it going to take to convince her they had a chance?
After making a few quick phone calls, he heard the shower still running hard. There was time to craft some food.
Opening cupboards and refrigerator, he assembled ingredients for a meal. She had to be starved. By the time she finished her shower, he had a stir-fry and rice all but done, and a Gewürztraminer chilling in the fridge.
“Thanks,” she said, coming into the room, her hair wet and tousled. Her face was still pale, but spots of pink had returned to her cheeks.
And all that awful red was gone.
“Now that I don’t look like a horror, I should go home. Mom is worried.”
“Eat something before you go.” He gestured at the set table. “It’s all ready. Besides, you promised to tell me what happened.”
“I forgot.” She didn’t seem to be able to look at him.
“Wine?”
“That would be nice.”
He uncorked and served the pale amber liquid.
“Let me finish this up.” He returned to the stove.
“Okay.” But her enthusiasm had faded. Maybe she was simply exhausted.
He could hope.
“Tell me what happened.”
As the thin pieces of chicken and chopped vegetables sizzled in the pan, she told him what had happened.
“I saw my chance,” she finished as he put the plates on the table, “and took it. No matter what, he wasn’t going to keep me from Kelly Anne.” Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the fork.
What if he’d lost her? Thank God she was resourceful.
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there,” he said, placing his hand on hers. The words sounded lame. Hell, they were lame.
Taking the utensil from her hand, he took both her hands with his.
She stared at their joined fingers.
“Look at me,” he pleaded.
Her gaze lifted.
“It’s over. I checked with the police. Sam’s been patched up, but he’s in custody. Whatever you did tipped him over the edge. He’s yelling about everything.”
“Can they keep him there?”
“Until the bail hearing. My father called the company attorney and has him working with the detectives on charges.”
“Your dad?”
“Uh huh.” His father’s voice had been lighter than he’d heard for years. “I think he’s relieved, in an odd way, to find out the truth.”
“That he was wrong.” Her voice was bitter.
“Yeah.”
“Is he sorry? Sorry he accused my dad? Sorry that he killed him?” Tears slipped down her cheeks. She pulled her hands from his and slashed at her cheeks to wipe them away.
“That’s going to take time. But it doesn’t have anything to do with us.”
“It has everything to do with us!”
“I thought we’d gotten past that. I’m sorry for being a jerk when I was sixteen. There isn’t anything I can do about it.”
“I’m not sure I can get past Daddy killing himself for no reason. How is your father going to make up for it?
“Findlay . . . Can’t we move past that? Give Chris some slack, too. Maybe things aren’t as black and white as you believe. Don’t you want to begin your life again—take a second chance?”
“Move past it? Get over the fact that our lives were ruined not only by Sam Novak, but because your father believed him? Get past my daughter never knowing her grandfather? Get past Chris trying to take her away from me?”
“You know, sometimes you see things only as black and white, good and bad.”
“Because that’s the way they are. Black hats and white ones.”
Reese shook his head. “There are layers. Things people don’t say—or even know about themselves. If you want to win this
battle with Chris and have your daughter win, too, you need to back down a little.”
“You are out of your mind.” Her voice was cold, emotionless.
“Can’t you just try? For us?”
She stared at him like he was a total stranger.
“I am who I am, Reese. I’m not changing for anyone ever again.” She gestured at the food. “Thank you. But I can’t stay here. I have to go home. To my daughter. To my life. I’ll find a new job—move back to Seattle if I have to. But we’re through.”
She stalked to the living room and pulled her coat off the hook, her movements slow and deliberate. After staring at the blood-soaked sleeve for a moment, she shuddered and tossed it on the floor. The front door slammed behind her.
“But, I love you, Findlay,” he whispered to the empty room.
• • •
Great.
Findlay hung up the phone. As if all that transpired yesterday wasn’t enough.
“I have to go back to Seattle on Friday,” she told her mother.
“Why?”
“Remember, the judge has ordered one more round of mediation? She thinks we should be able to work this out ourselves. It’s scheduled in two days.”
“It would be good if you and Chris could come to an agreement. You’re both going to be involved in Kelly Anne’s life for as long as you live, so you may as well learn to get along,” her mother said, hugging her like she was still her little girl.
She’d been a lot clingier since the whole mess with Sam. So had Kelly Anne.
“Why is everyone on Chris’s side all of a sudden?” Findlay grabbed the boiling kettle from the stove and poured it over the bag in the cup. The sweet, pungent aroma of Evening in Missoula filled the kitchen.
Findlay breathed in deeply. Something needed to calm her nerves.
“What do you mean?” her mother asked.
“Reese told me Chris wasn’t as bad as I believe.”
“I don’t think he’s as evil as you make out, either. He’s got issues, but we all do. Why don’t you cut him some slack?”
The pot of leftover minestrone went on the stove with a thump.
“Because—” She shook her head. “You people just don’t get it. Brian Moore destroyed Daddy’s life. Our lives. Now Chris is about to do the same. I have to protect my little girl. Defend her with all my might.”
”The way your father didn’t?” Her mother’s voice was soft.
The world stood still. Was that what this was all about? That she was trying to be the person her father hadn’t been?
