Hunted

by Jo Leigh

  “Dad?”

  He turned. Sam stood by the bathroom door wearing his long johns. He looked thin but sturdy.

  “Are you coming back to stay?”

  He’d prepared for every question but that. “No, son.”

  “Oh. I just thought...” He looked down and stared at his bare feet.

  “We're just going up to the mountains for a little vacation. That’s all.”

  Sam nodded. “Okay. Can you put my clothes in the suitcase? I've got to load up my laptop. I've got a game going, and I want to copy it to disk just in case.”

  Mike went to the hall and got the smallest suitcase. By the time he got back, Sam was busy at his desk, quickly typing commands into the machine. He was a whiz at that thing. Mike had come into the computer age so he could keep up with his kid.

  He learned the details of his son’s life through the electronic mail. He would turn on his old computer and go to the bulletin board. There, he could not only read the private messages just meant for him, but the posts Sam left for his computer buddies. The kids talked about school and games and baseball. Sometimes about their folks. It was a new world, this electronic community. It left Mike bewildered at times. But he was grateful for this window into Sam’s life. Now, they talked to each other every couple of days.

  The sound of breaking glass came from Becky’s room. Mike shot down the hall and was at her door in seconds. She seemed to be okay. A picture had fallen, the glass of the frame splintered, that’s all. He let go of his breath.

  Becky leaned over slowly and picked up the broken picture. She turned it, and he saw it was of Amy.

  “I didn’t want to leave without her,” she whispered, as she carefully slid the photograph from behind the shattered glass. “Now look what I've done.”

  He walked over to her and took the frame from her hands. “Don’t cut yourself,” he said.

  She took the sleeve of her robe and ran it over the picture. Amy smiled from a swing set, her tiny hands gripped tightly on the chains, her feet dangling above the sand. Mike remembered the day he’d taken that. They hadn’t known, then, that she had cancer. They wouldn’t find out for months. “It’s just a frame,” he said. “It can be replaced.”

  Becky looked at him as if he’d said something wrong. “Did you talk to Sam? Did you tell him not to be scared?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You're taking us away in the middle of the night, Mike. There’s an escaped killer out there. Don’t you think your son might be frightened?” The photograph in her hand trembled.

  “Sam doesn’t know about Mojo,” he said. “He just thinks we're going on a trip.”

  “He’s not stupid. He has to wonder what’s going on.”

  “I'll talk to him.”

  “What are you going to say?”

  “The truth.”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “I'll make sure he knows there’s nothing to be scared about. There’s no way Mojo can find us where we're going.”

  “He has nightmares.”

  “We'll be with him.”

  She walked over to the bed and put the photograph inside her suitcase, between two sweaters. “Is he packed?”

  “No.”

  “Go on, then.”

  He looked at the room as he walked out. There wasn’t much familiar in here. She’d sold their old bedroom furniture and gotten this oak set. The comforter was full of flowers. There were flowers everywhere, even the wallpaper. He didn’t know she liked them that much. He did recognize her needlework pillows, though. She liked to keep busy. That hadn’t changed.

  She had gone into the bathroom, and he could see her collecting her cosmetics, and he wondered why she cared so much about a broken picture frame.

  He got back to Sam’s room and opened the suitcase on the bed. Then he pulled out everything from the dresser—socks, underwear, pajamas, T-shirts. Becky probably would have been more selective, but if he took some of everything, it ought to be all right.

  “Mike?”

  Becky stood at the door. She’d gotten dressed in jeans and a large beige sweater. Her hair was pulled back with a scarf. She was flipping the pages of her day runner. “I'm going to have to stop at a bank. I have almost no cash. And I have to cancel my appointments at the hotel. I'm supposed to lead a PTA meeting tomorrow night, and Sam has his piano lesson. Are we going to be near a phone in the morning?”

  “I've got money. We'll take care of the rest when we're out of town. You almost ready? Need my help?”

  She walked over and stopped when she saw inside the suitcase. “I thought you said to pack for a week. There’s enough stuff inside there for a world cruise.” She didn’t wait for an explanation, she just got busy.

  Mike watched her move with grace and purpose, folding clothes in one fluid motion, packing so neatly it was nearly an art. He shook his head. It had to be a female thing. Women just saw things that men didn’t. That’s all.

  “Help Sam get his schoolbooks together and take them to the car.”

  Sam was still busy with his computer, so Mike picked up the brown paper bag covered books from the desk, and the MTV three-ring binder. Sam finally finished and put the laptop into the carrier, along with an extra battery pack and a package of blank disks.

  “Honey, go brush your teeth, then bring me your toothbrush,” Becky said. “Then put on your boots. It’s freezing in here, and you're walking around barefoot.”

  Sam gave Mike the universal eye-roll, then went back to the bathroom. Mike smiled, then turned to Becky. “Are you almost ready with that suitcase?” he asked.

  “Just a few more sweaters. Why don’t you take that stuff down to the car? We'll be ready by the time you get back.”

  Mike nodded, but he didn’t move. He didn’t want to leave his son’s room just yet. He looked back at his picture, stuck up on the bulletin board next to an A+ geography test and an advertisement for a 9600 baud modem.

  Then he remembered Mojo. The man was headed here. If he’d left straight from the Leavenworth, and didn’t stop, he could be in Colorado in a day. Mike intended to be miles away by then.

  * * *

  The road was empty, Boulder was asleep. Marquee lights glowed over barred shops and traffic lights swayed with the heavy wind. A sheen of snow covered the street. Mike had the heater of the Bronco on high.

  He looked at Becky. She sat very stiffly, facing straight ahead. He’d scared her. But there was nothing he could do about that now. He pressed the gas pedal down farther as they headed west. Checking the rearview mirror, he saw Sam’s eyes were at half-mast. It was late, and he would be asleep soon. Good. Let him get some rest. It was going to be a long drive. Maybe Becky could sleep, too.

  “We have to stop the newspaper delivery,” she said, her voice hushed to go with the quiet of the night.

  “There’s plenty of time for that when we get where we're going.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Past Steamboat Springs, by the Utah border. I've got us a cabin in the mountains. It hasn’t been used in a while, but it has heat and it’s secluded.”

  “Aren’t all the roads closed?”

  He nodded. “I've mapped out a route that’s safe. We'll be going on some maintenance roads once we get up there. It isn’t going to snow tonight, so we'll be okay.”

  “What about when we get there? What are we going to do?”

  “Wait till he’s caught.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “It shouldn’t be long. This is precautionary. We've called in all agencies in four states. The local police are on the lookout in every town and truck stop. He’s probably headed north, to Canada. That’s why we're going west. They'll catch him.”

  “And in the meantime, we're going to be holed up in some cabin in the woods. Mike, I don’t like this.”

  He turned to look at her. She was staring at him. Her parka rose and fell with her deep breaths. “I don’t like it either, but we have no cho
ice.” He looked at the road. They were almost at the edge of town.

  She glanced in the back seat, while Mike checked out Sam in the mirror again. He was asleep, his head leaning on the window.

  “He’s going to be confused,” she said.

  “He’s a smart kid. He'll understand.”

  “He’s going to wonder why we're together again.” She sighed heavily. “I just don’t want him hurt. He’s been through enough.”

  They were climbing now, heading into the Rocky Mountains. Mike flipped on the brights and watched the curving road for deer. He listened to the sound of the tires on the pavement. He knew the kid had been through a lot. But he was tough. He wasn’t so sure about Becky. “How about you? How are you doing?”

  She didn’t answer, and the seconds of silence turned to minutes. He heard her shift in her seat. Finally, she said, “I keep myself busy. The hotel takes up a lot of my time.”

  “That’s good.”

  “I wish you saw him more often, Mike. He misses you.”

  “We talk.”

  “Typing to each other on the computer isn’t enough. He needs to see you.”

  “I'm with him now.”

  “Is that what it takes to get you to see your own son? An escaped killer?” She’d whispered, but she looked back at Sam to make sure he was still asleep.

  “I don’t want to discuss this.”

  “The problem is you never want to discuss it. I don’t know who you are anymore. All I do know is that Sam loves you so much it hurts. And you don’t seem to give a damn.”

  He stared at the lines on the road. “You’d better get some rest. It’s going to be a long drive.”

  Chapter 2

  No one had said a word for twelve minutes. Becky had sipped her tea, Sam had torn open two packets of sugar, and Mike had downed a cup of coffee. But they hadn’t spoken, except to the waitress.

  The sparsely filled boxcar diner echoed with music from the tabletop jukebox. Mike didn’t recognize the song or the singer. He shifted and put his arm across the back of the leatherette booth. Becky’s gaze followed his movement. She touched the handle of her teacup, but didn’t bring it to her lips.

  “How’s the hotel job coming along?” he asked. His voice seemed loud and intrusive.

  “Fine,” she said. “It’s nearly done. I was supposed to meet with the florist today. The artwork goes up next week.”

  He nodded. “That’s great. I bet your father’s pleased.”

  “He is.”

  Her gaze met his, but only for a second. She studied her hand as the silence returned.

  Becky had been the one person in the world he’d been able to talk to. She’d always known what questions to ask, and when to say nothing at all. He’d listened to her, too, and he’d known when to tease her and when to be serious. They’d lost that rhythm in doctors' offices and hospital rooms. There had never been the right words when Amy had been dying. But Mike remembered when Becky had been his best friend. He’d never found anyone to take her place.

  “How’s the bureau treating you these days?” Becky’s voice was light and only a little forced.

  “Same old, same old,” Mike said. “Too much paperwork, not enough time.”

  She nodded, but didn’t comment. She turned to look for the waitress.

  “Becky.”

  She turned quickly back to face him.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “You didn’t.”

  But he had. Her smile didn’t fool him. “Look, we're going to be together for a while. It will be a lot easier if we can talk to each other.”

  Her smile faded and she glanced at Sam. He’d stopped playing with the loose sugar and was staring up at her. “Don’t play with the food, honey,” she said, then she looked back at Mike. “Can’t we discuss this later?”

  Mike shook his head. “I'm not saying anything that Sam doesn’t already know.”

  “I'm sure that’s true, but I’d still like to discuss it later.” Her green eyes flashed a warning, and her tight-lipped smile was anything but friendly.

  “Fine. We'll just sit here then.”

  “Why don’t we talk about school? Sam’s working on a big history project, aren’t you honey?”

  Mike took a slow, deep breath. He studied Becky as she turned her attention to their son. She asked him questions, laughed at a silly joke, stroked his hair. It was so clear that she loved him.

  It wasn’t right to be jealous of his own kid.

  * * *

  Moose Lake Summer Resort

  Mike read the sign and slowed down the car. This is where his new partner, Cliff, spent his summer vacation with his wife and kids. Their lakeside cabin would make a perfect refuge. The whole resort was closed for the winter, nearly impossible to get to, and the only person in the park was a caretaker named Witherspoon.

  It was almost two in the afternoon, and he felt as though they’d been on the road forever. After lunch, they’d found a market and stocked up on supplies. Then they’d made the dangerous ride up the mountain. The roads were all closed to the public, and he’d had to take it slow and easy. He’d worked out the route using maintenance roads so the snow never became impassible. But he still had to stop a dozen times to remove chains and roadblocks, then drive through and put them back up again. It had taken a lot longer than he figured to make it to the resort.

  Mike turned in the driveway and headed toward the lake. The sky was gray and the wind made the snow-laden trees tremble. He passed long, low public buildings and one- and two-story houses. He thought of hibernating bears, closed-eyed and silent for the winter. Their cabin was number fourteen.

  “Is this where we're going to stay?”

  Mike looked at Sam in the rearview mirror. “Yep.”

  “It’s empty.”

  “It’s a summer resort. No one’s here.”

  “So what are we going to do?”

  “I got the puzzles and the board games at the store,” Becky said. “Remember?”

  He didn’t say anything. He just stared out the window.

  The cabin was a two-story A-frame, like most of the others they’d passed, with a large deck that ran all around the structure. The windows were dark and draped; the white paint looked dull and chipped; it was singularly unwelcoming. But it was safe. That’s what mattered.

  He pulled the car around to the back and stilled the engine. Sam flung open his door and jumped out into the snow. Becky looked at Mike, her frustration at the situation, at him, quite clear. Then she climbed out, too.

  Mike joined her, immediately aware of the quiet of the place. There was an almost unnatural stillness. No birds, no cars, no airplanes overhead. The only sounds were the crunch of boots on snow and gravel and the wind in the pines. He shut his door and a patch of snow from an overhanging branch fell on the roof with a splat. It did feel good to be out of the damn car. He stretched, trying to ease the kinks, but it was useless. Everything felt stiff and all he wanted was a hot shower and bed. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t get either for a while. He saw a large woodpile at the side of the house. At least they could have a fire.

  Becky walked with him to the back door, and when he unlocked it, she started to go in. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “Let me check it out first.”

  She looked over at Sam, who was packing some snow into a ball. “I thought you said this place was safe.”

  “Doesn’t mean there won’t be a spider or two around. I'll just be a minute.”

  Becky watched him move into the house. The long trip and the awkward lunch had made it clear that this “vacation” was going to be difficult. All alone, away from the rest of the world, she and Mike would be forced to talk. To share the cooking and the cleaning. She shook her head. Share? If this turned out to be anything like the last few years of their marriage, Mike would find some perfectly reasonable excuse for being late for dinner. He would be too tired to help with the dishes. He would go to bed early, and then the phone would ring
and he would leave and she would worry the rest of the night away.

  Sam was on the deck now, walking toward the boat dock. She followed him. The lake came right up to the rear of the house. In the summer it must be beautiful, but now the frozen water just looked forbidding. A chill shot through her, a cold shiver of terror. Someone was out there, somewhere, looking to hurt her and her child. Mike didn’t have to say the words; his actions had told her the truth. He wouldn’t have brought them to this isolated mountain unless they were in real danger. Would they be safe here?

  Becky looked around the desolate grounds, and knew she shouldn’t count on it. If Mojo wanted to track them down, he would. There wasn’t a fortress strong enough to stop him. No heroes on white chargers would save the day. If she thought it would do any good to pray, she would have. Instead, she gave her word to the sky and to the trees that she would do whatever she had to, to keep her son safe. No matter what.

  “Becky? Sam?”

  “Over here, Mike,” Becky called. She heard his boots on the deck as he came toward them.

  “The house is fine. I've turned on the gas, so it should warm up soon. Let’s get the bags inside, then I'll get a fire started.”

  “Look over there, Dad.” Sam pointed to a treeless bank. “That’s perfect for sledding. You think we could get a sled or an inner tube or something?”

  “I don’t know, Sam. Let’s just get inside and we'll talk about that later.”

  Sam didn’t put up a fight. He walked toward the car, his shoulders hunched forward, and kicked a fallen branch.

  Becky waited until he was out of earshot before she turned to Mike. “Don’t keep chasing him back to that damn computer of his. Can’t you see that he’s too quiet?” She sighed. “Look who I'm telling. He’s just like you.”

  He stared at her, his cheeks ruddy in the cold wind. He looked tired and thin, but he was still Mike. Still dangerous. The man used to steal her breath with a glance. His brown hair was a mess and needed a trim. It was below his collar and ragged. He hadn’t shaved in almost two days—she could tell by the length of his whiskers. She knew just how those whiskers would feel on her cheeks. They would be sharp and prickly, and he would rub her skin on purpose until she laughed and made him go shave.