Sampson’s eyes fixed on Cassi’s face. “Come closer,” she said. “I’m all right. Just a little dizzy.”
“I thought you were dead.”
“Naw. I’m tougher than I look.” But Cassi knew that if a bullet had hit her chest instead of a dart full of drugs, she might well have been dead. “How’re you holding up?”
“I’m fine,” he said without expression. He slumped down into the chair next to the bed.
Cassi wished she could wipe the blankness from his face. He was too young to be so determined not to show his emotions. “How would you like to go to a cabin where there’s a nice dam?”
“Is there a boat?”
“Probably. I’ll bet there’s swimming, too. Can you swim?”
A little of the old arrogance showed in his eyes. “Of course. Who can’t? I’m a great swimmer.”
“We’ll have a race, then.”
“Ha! I’ll beat you.”
“No one can beat me,” she said. “It’s because of my runner’s legs. They’re strong paddlers.”
“Well, I’ll beat you.”
“Maybe.”
Silence fell between them. Then, with no warning, Sampson looked at her. “Do you think my dad’s going to be long in prison?”
“I don’t know.” Cassi couldn’t tell him that she hoped Big Tommy would be put away forever. Obviously Sampson loved his father, and the poor child seemed to have no one else except an uncle who was possibly trying to kill him. “But we can go and visit your dad. Just as soon as we figure out who’s after us.”
“I wish my uncle were here. He would find out.”
“You like your uncle?”
“Yeah. We get along. My dad never liked him much, though. I think it had something to do with my mom. But I think he’s a nice guy.”
Cassi opted to say nothing. Sampson had little enough to believe in as it was.
* * *
JARED STOPPED BY THE INTENSIVE care unit before going to use the phone. The nurse went to get Grant. “How is she?” Jared asked.
“Still breathing, thank heaven. And the internal bleeding has slowed. I keep praying.”
“I’m so sorry. If I had known . . .”
Grant waved the words aside. “You couldn’t have. What about Cassi?”
“She’s a little disoriented, but she’s going to be fine in an hour or two, once all the drugs are out of her body. They gave her something to speed up the process.”
“Did you leave her alone?”
“Sampson’s with her. And there’s a policeman outside the door. I told her about the cabin, and I’m going to talk to the FBI about the idea now. I think it’ll work. But Cassi will want to see you and Sophie before we head out.”
Grant shook his head that appeared much grayer to Jared than it had that morning. “They don’t want anyone in to see Sophie except me until she’s stable. I’ll go to Cassi’s room before you leave, though, and say good-bye.”
“Thanks.” Jared watched Grant walk away. His heart grieved for the older man as he recalled all too vividly his own agony when he’d thought Cassi was dying. To be robbed of a companion so senselessly was a burden no man should have to bear. As with Cassi, guilt lay heavily upon his shoulders. Why hadn’t he called Fred sooner, or the FBI field office? Another question also tortured him. Why couldn’t people just leave Cassi and him alone to live out their lives?
At the pay phone, Jared made the connection to America and Fred’s office. The secretary answered and immediately put Jared through. His hopes soared. Maybe now he could get some answers.
“Jared, where are you?”
“England. I—uh, there’s been a problem.” He quickly explained about the car bomb and all that they had been through in the past two days.
“I want you to stay put,” Fred said. “We’ll have some of our boys there within the hour to give you some protection.”
“What’s going on?” For a moment, Jared felt his fear return. He hadn’t felt it so strongly since Laranda had held him prisoner. But she was dead. He’d seen her shot, and had later visited the morgue when she was cremated, just to be sure. He had thought being sure would help the nightmares.
“Holbrooke’s dead. Killed right in his prison cell. Poisoned. A guard took in a letter for him, apparently without knowing what was in it.”
Holbrooke dead, Holbrooke dead. The words reverberated in Jared’s mind. “Who?”
“We don’t know who’s responsible yet. We do have some suspicions, but the bottom line is that it could have been anyone with a grudge. And that’s only the beginning. A total of eight relatives of Holbrooke’s have died or disappeared in the last week. The only relatives we believe he has left are Sampson and his maternal uncle.”
“Could he be the one who’s behind it?”
“He is one of the suspects. He could definitely have been clearing the way for a permanent takeover. You know, offing relatives who might object. However, it could be the competition as well, or some other relative we don’t know about. It could even be someone else altogether. We don’t have enough information to know yet. But one thing we know for sure: the boy isn’t safe, and neither are you while you’re with him.”
Thoughts of Sampson engulfed Jared. The boy had lost his father—perhaps because of his uncle, his only remaining close relative. How could Jared pass on that terrible news? The boy seemed to dislike Jared enough as it was, and this information would certainly not gain his trust.
“No matter what, we want to stay with the boy,” he said. “He trusts Cassi, and she won’t desert him now. Besides, when they attacked us this afternoon, they didn’t try to kill Cassi and me, they tried to drug us. Why would they do that if they were only after Sampson?”
“You have a point,” Fred said. “Is there something you haven’t told us?”
“Like what?” Jared let frustration enter his voice. “I’ve been honest with you down the line. I really don’t know why these people are after us.”
“Okay, relax. I just wanted to be sure you weren’t keeping anything back. You know, there’s that rumor of the paintings that were never recovered.”
“I don’t know anything about them. But if I hadn’t seen her cremated, I’d almost believe Laranda was behind this. It’s her style.”
“Impossible.”
“I know.”
After a brief silence, Jared began to explain about the dam and the cabin. “Grant assures me no one could ever connect it to him, and we need to go somewhere we can feel safe.”
“Where is it?”
“Portugal.”
Fred chuckled. “Thought you’d had enough of that place.”
“As long as Laranda isn’t there, I’d love to go. It’s a beautiful country.”
“Yes, and out of the way enough not to be suspect. Okay, look, give me a few minutes to arrange things. Someone will be there shortly.”
“I’ll need a key word, a signal,” said Jared. “They can show their badges, but I want to be sure they’re from you.”
“Hey, the leaks are sealed at this end,” Fred assured him.
“I trust you. It’s everyone else I have a problem with. How about this? The phrase, praying for rain.”
“I’ll pass it on.” There was a trace of amusement in Fred’s voice. There was another long pause before the agent added, “Take it easy, Jared. Be careful. I’d like to see you back here in one piece. Keep in touch. If you need me, call.”
“Will do.” Jared hung up the phone and made his way slowly back to Cassi’s room. When he entered, she smiled at him and held out her hand. Sampson only glanced briefly in his direction and looked away again without acknowledging his presence.
“Sophie?” Cassi asked.
Jared shook his head. “She’s not awake yet, but the internal bleeding has slowed. Grant says he’ll come down to say good-bye.”
“Is he all right?”
Jared understood the anxious question. “He’s holding up.”
“So ar
e we going to the cabin?”
“Yes. Fred’s sending some guys to stay with us.” He hesitated. “There’s a lot more going on, though.” Jared stared pointedly at the back of Sampson’s head.
Cassi paled, and Jared knew she was wondering what could be worse than what they had already been through that day.
“Sampson, would you mind going and getting me a drink of soda or something?” Cassi asked.
The boy glared sullenly at Jared. “I know you want to be alone, so just say it.”
“Cassi and I have to talk over some stuff. You know, married people stuff.”
Sampson jumped to his feet and stomped to the door. “I’m not getting a drink.”
Jared watched the door close behind him.
“We shouldn’t leave him alone.”
“There’s a policeman out there. I asked him to keep an eye out for him.”
Cassi’s eyes never left Jared’s face. “What is it?”
“Holbrooke’s been murdered.”
Cassi gasped. “Oh, no! Poor Sampson. How?”
“Poisoned in his cell. I don’t know the details, but it was definitely murder. How are we going to tell him?”
“I wish we didn’t have to—yet. But he has the right to know. I’ll tell him.” Cassi’s voice was resolute, and Jared was tempted to let her do just that, but his conscience refused to go along.
“Maybe I’d better do it. After all, the child already hates me.”
“I think he’s just a little jealous, that’s all. Maybe we can tell him together. It won’t be easy for Sampson to learn that his father is dead, especially if his uncle was the one who killed him.”
There was a gasp at the door, and they both turned to see Sampson staring at them, his face white. He held a can of soda pop in his hands, which fell to the floor with a crash. “No!” he shouted. “No!” In an instant he was out the door. Cassi tried to rise, but fell back weakly.
“I’ll get him.” Jared ran for the door. They’d made a serious mistake by not being careful to make sure Sampson didn’t overhear. Another mistake in a series of mistakes, he thought. And now he had to stop the boy before he ran into the wrong hands . . . and ended up in a grave like his father.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE POLICEMAN STOOD UNCERTAINLY BY the door to Cassi’s room, as though not knowing what to do about Sampson’s departure. “He went down there,” the man said with relief when he saw Jared.
Jared ran down the hall and turned the corner, catching sight of Sampson as he ducked into a room. At least he hadn’t run outside the hospital where anyone could be waiting to abduct him, or worse. He thought of Holbrooke being murdered in his cell. How could it have happened?
The room Sampson had chosen was dark and apparently empty. Glancing at the vacant beds, Jared knew they were in a patient room that was currently not in use. How many rooms had the boy looked into before he found this one?
“Sampson?” Jared whispered. There was no answer. “Hey, I know you’re in here. I saw you open the door and come in. Now, come on out so we can talk about it.”
Still no answer. “Sampson, please. I know it was a shock finding out about your father that way, and I can’t begin to imagine what you’re going through. But I need to talk to you. Don’t you want to know what happened?”
A sob erupted from the far side of the room. Jared took a few steps, grateful that his eyes were quickly adjusting to the shadows. A shuttered window in the far corner allowed a few rays of evening light to filter into the room, and in one of these rays, Jared spied Sampson’s tennis shoe. The boy was under the bed nearest the window. Jared approached cautiously. When Sampson didn’t move, he knelt down and peered at the boy.
Sampson was curled into a tight fetal position, his hands clamped over his ears, a gleam of dampness on his face. Soft, racking sobs came from Sampson’s chest.
What should I say? Jared didn’t know how to give him comfort. Cassi would know. What would she do? Jared lowered himself to his belly. “Sampson?”
“No! He’s not dead. You’re lying.”
At least the boy could hear him. “I’m sorry. Cassi and I are both very sorry. We would do anything to give him back to you.”
The hands fell from Sampson’s ears. “You were the ones who put him there in the first place. And you’re liars. You said you were going to talk about married stuff. But you lied.”
Jared was surprised. “It may seem that way to you, Sampson, but that’s what married couples do. They talk things out before they talk to their children or other people. We only wanted to tell you in the best possible way. We care about you.”
“Ha!” There was a weight of hurt and anger in the boy’s utterance. “When I tell my dad what you—” He broke off with a tortured cry. “Oh, Daddy, Daddy.” The moaning chant was too painful for Jared to hear. How much more the child must be feeling!
Jared scooted closer to Sampson. He reached out and gently placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, but Sampson recoiled at his touch. “I know it doesn’t make much sense that this happened, Sampson, but I believe you’ll see your father again some day.”
According to Jared’s belief, the mobster would eventually receive his earned reward, which, given the terrible things Holbrooke had done during his lifetime, didn’t sound promising, but perhaps an older and wiser Sampson could come to terms with what kind of man his father had been.
The boy’s sobs halted momentarily. “Mom used to say stuff like that, and I can think of her in heaven. But Dad—” The tears were back in full force. “Dad did things Mom said weren’t . . . I heard him talking sometimes with people—” Again he broke off, and Jared felt his pain. He had underestimated the boy. While Sampson admired his father and craved his love, he knew deep inside that his father hadn’t been a good person.
Thoughts rushed through Jared’s head. How long had the child battled with these contending emotions? Hadn’t Holbrooke seen the internal conflict? How had he felt about what he was doing to his son? Had he hoped that age would blot out his innocence and win him over? How could any man want that for his son?
Pity and compassion filled Jared’s heart. “It’s going to be all right. I promise. One thing I know for sure is that your dad loved you. He made sure you were taken care of. He sent you to us, didn’t he? And we’ll figure this all out together. We’re not going anywhere without you.” Jared tentatively reached out to Sampson again, and this time the boy didn’t draw away. Jared pulled him to his chest and together they lay under the bed and held each other, Sampson’s tears wetting Jared’s shoulder.
“How—how did it happen?” Sampson asked.
Jared told him the scant details that he knew. Sampson cried harder but continued to let Jared comfort him.
“It wasn’t my uncle. It wasn’t! He doesn’t like Dad, but he wouldn’t do that.”
“I don’t know, Sampson. I hope you’re right. I really do.”
Gradually Sampson’s tears eased, and his slight body stopped shaking. He pulled away from Jared, but slowly, reluctantly. Without putting it into words, Jared knew something had changed between them—something for the better.
“We should go see Cassi,” Jared said. “She’ll be worried. Besides, you and I have some fishing to do in that cabin by the dam. What do you say?”
They crawled out from under the bed. For Jared, maneuvering the tight space was more difficult, and Sampson was already opening the door to the room before Jared made it to his feet. He followed the boy down the hall and around the corner. Sampson didn’t look at him. Jared sensed he was still close to tears—and slightly embarrassed by his newfound trust in Jared.
Sampson stopped abruptly. “That doctor going into Cassi’s room. I don’t remember seeing him, but he seems familiar.”
Jared gazed down the hall and saw the man wearing a doctor’s smock. He also appeared familiar to Jared, though he was too far away to pinpoint the memory. Before reaching Cassi’s room, the man nodded to the policeman, who was talking wit
h a nurse several yards away from the door. A group of medical personnel conversed loudly nearby.
On the surface everything seemed okay, but Jared couldn’t stop the uneasy feeling growing in his chest. He sprinted down the hall, Sampson on his heels, entering the room just as the doctor pulled something from his pocket. Jared saw the gleam of a needle as the door closed behind him. “Stop!”
Startled, Cassi looked up from the bed. “He’s just giving me something for the dizziness. Jared, what’s . . .?”
The doctor whirled on Jared, raising the needle between them. Recognition filled Jared’s mind: this was one of the thugs who had drugged Cassi earlier. The one who had escaped.
Jared dodged the attack. From the corner of his eye, he saw Cassi struggle to her feet and slump to the floor. Had the thug already given her another dose of the drug? One more potent than a mere sleeping mixture? Jared also caught a glimpse of Sampson frozen in terror against the door, his white face splotched by red from his earlier tears.
The thug’s grin mocked Jared, and the watery eyes promised revenge. Jared tried to call out, but the thug’s fist met his stomach, silencing him. The shiny needle came down for another pass. Jared jumped, kicking the hand holding the needle, and heard the syringe land somewhere in the room. Then the man was on top of him, easily outweighing him by fifty pounds. Jared tried to fight, but the attacker had been better trained. Whoever had sent him must know that Jared had learned kickboxing and had made sure his hireling knew all the counter moves. On the street Jared had been lucky, but now surprise wasn’t on his side.
Again Jared tried to call to the policeman down the hall. Just one loud enough scream and the man should come running, despite the pretty nurse who conversed with him. They had been some distance from the door, though. Was she in on this attack? The thug punched Jared each time he opened his mouth, and the air rushed out of him, leaving enough for only a weak gasp.
Jared broke away from his opponent long enough to land a solid kick on the man’s knee. He heard a crunch, but the man didn’t falter. What was he made of? Steel?
Glancing sideways, Jared saw Cassi struggling to her feet. Hope surged in his heart. She grabbed the plastic pitcher of water from the table by the bed and flung it at the thug. The plastic slammed into the back of the man’s head, and the water soaked him, but instead of clattering to the floor, the pitcher bounced off him and onto the bed, hardly making a sound. The man didn’t appear fazed. One foot shot out and slammed into Cassi, knocking her into the bed. She slid to the floor and sat without moving.
Love On the Run Page 8
