by Jo Leigh
Witherspoon motioned and leaned forward again. Mike struggled to listen.
“If you're in trouble, there are some caves due west of here.” He pointed with his thick fingers. “Don’t go there unless you have to. It’s dangerous there. Avalanches. Try to head straight north, over the mountain. Once you get to the other side, it’s not far to the gate and the road. You go down from there, till you hit the highway.”
Mike nodded. “Let’s go.”
Witherspoon waved, and started up his snowmobile again. He took off, straight ahead. Mike had to remember to bring a compass. Straight north. Caves to the west. He looked at the slate gray sky above him, at the black clouds churning in the far distance. If it came down to it, he could get his family out of here. He prayed he wouldn’t have to.
* * *
Mike had been gone two hours and ten minutes when Becky heard the sharp whine of the snowmobile.
“Daddy’s back. I'm going to go make some hot chocolate. Want to come help?
Sam shook his head. “I'm almost at the pirate ship.”
Becky glanced at the computer. A beautifully detailed animated ship was docked at a mythical port. Amazing. “All right.” She climbed off the bed, took the gun from the night table then bent low to kiss Sam on the cheek. “Just don’t be too long, sweetie.”
She hurried downstairs. Mike didn’t park in front, so she cut through the hall to the kitchen to meet him at the back door. It was only when she went to turn the dead bolt that she remembered the gun strapped to her side. She unsnapped the holster and put the whole contraption on the kitchen counter, glad to be rid of the horrid thing. Then she went to let Mike in. The wind was so strong it knocked the edge of the door into her forehead, hard. She couldn’t even let go to rub where it hurt. Snow flew inside, twirling at her feet like a swarm of white mosquitoes.
If she’d thought the noise from the storm was bad inside, out there it was end-of-the-world loud. Oddly, she felt a sense of relief. No one could get through this, she thought. Mike was even crazy to go on the snowmobile. Mojo might be resourceful, but he couldn’t fight something this big.
Mike stomped in, shaking snow off his body in great clumps. She pushed the door closed behind him, and double-checked the lock. When she turned, he’d already started taking off his snow gear. Going to the stove, she turned the burner on under the teakettle. She’d promised Sam chocolate. A hot drink wouldn’t do Mike any harm, either. He must be freezing.
“That was unbelievable,” Mike said.
“How did you find your way back?”
He’d already taken off his parka, face mask and gloves, and had his holster back in place. His face looked red and chapped. He rubbed his hands together as he sat down at the table.
“There are markers. Witherspoon showed me before he headed home. Everything okay here?”
“Fine. Sam’s upstairs on the computer.”
“Does he know I'm here?”
She nodded. “He’s finishing up a game.” She got three mugs and poured the packets of premixed chocolate into the cups. He looked up at her. His skin tone was better, but not normal.
“I need him down here. We have to talk.”
Becky stopped what she was doing and turned to face him. “What happened?”
“It’s brutal out there. I don’t think Mojo could get through to us. Certainly not in a car or even a truck. But I want you both to know what to do if things go wrong.”
“I don’t want you scaring him. He’s already having a tough time.”
“Isn’t it better that he’s scared instead of dead?”
Her heart dropped. “I can’t take this. If we're in so much danger here, why don’t we leave? We can get on a plane. Go to Europe. To Africa. I don’t care where, just someplace he'll never find us.”
Mike stood up and came close to her. He put his hands on her shoulders. She screwed up her courage and looked at him, even though she knew he was going to tell her things she didn’t want to know.
“And run for the rest of our lives? We have one real chance to get this bastard.” His voice shook with emotion. “It will be in the next forty-eight hours. We've got the very best men on the job. The whole bureau is looking for him. We'll never have as narrow a window, do you understand?”
“But what if they don’t catch him? What if he finds us first?”
“It’s a very remote chance. There are only six people in the world that know we're up here. You, me and Sam. Witherspoon. Cliff and the chief, that’s it.”
“I don’t care. If it was really safe, you wouldn’t be handing me your gun, or going out in this blizzard to map out an escape route. You think he’s going to find us. I know you do.”
“I want to be prepared. That’s not the same thing.”
“Please, can’t we just leave Sam out of it? Why do we have to frighten him?”
“He needs to be prepared, too. Believe me, I don’t want to scare him any more than you do. But if there’s even one chance in a million, I want him to be ready.”
She turned and broke the contact between them. His hands went to his sides.
“I don’t have a choice then, do I?”
“No.”
“There will be consequences. You know that, don’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Even if Mojo never shows his face, Sam will be afraid. He'll have nightmares, just like he did after Amy died. He’s not strong.”
“I'm trying to save his life.”
She stared at Mike for a moment, then pushed past him and went to the staircase. “Sam. Come on down, honey.”
While she waited, she made an effort to collect herself. She didn’t want Sam to sense her fear. He would have enough of his own. She needed to be strong for him. She prayed she could be strong for him.
She watched him walk down the stairs. He looked so sweet in his jeans and his blue flannel shirt. He seemed more lively than he had this morning. The game had helped. She was glad of that. What she was afraid of was how he was going to react to Mike’s talk. He retreated inside himself at the drop of a dime. A bad test score would send him to his room for days.
“Is it lunchtime?”
She smiled. “Are you hungry?”
He stepped down from the last stair. “Sort of.”
“Daddy wants to talk to us first. Then I'll fix lunch. Soup and sandwich sound good?”
He nodded. “Alphabet soup?”
“Sure. Whatever you want.” She walked him to the kitchen. If only she could think of a way to protect him from this. But she knew she would never be able to live with herself if the worst happened and he didn’t know how to be safe.
“Hey, Samson.” Mike was standing by the sink. He had a glass of water in his hand. Becky noticed his skin color was back to normal. Looking from him, in his red flannel shirt and jeans, to Sam, she saw how alike they were. As far as looks went, that was a good thing. Mike was a handsome man, and Sam would grow into one. What concerned her was that Sam was quiet, like Mike. Mike had shut them out of his life, and Becky was afraid Sam would follow in his footsteps. Hold himself apart from friends and family. Keep himself separate and alone.
“Have a seat, Sam,” Mike said. The teakettle whistled, and he turned the burner off.
Becky went to fix hot chocolate, but Mike waved her to a seat. While he poured, she sat down next to Sam, scooting her chair to be close to him. She wanted to be able to touch him. To reassure him.
Mike brought over two mugs. He gave one each to Becky and Sam, then went back for his. He finally sat down across from his son.
“You know that there’s a man out there who wants to hurt us, don’t you?”
Becky shut her eyes. He didn’t waste any time, did he?
“Yeah,” Sam said. His voice was so quiet she barely heard him. It seemed to her as if the wind were trying to break in. The trees hitting the side of the house sounded loud and ominous.
“The FBI is looking for this man,” Mike continued. “You remem
ber my partner, Cliff?”
Sam nodded. God, he looked so young, she thought. So innocent.
“Well, Cliff and a whole bunch of other agents are looking for him right now. No one knows that we've come up here. I believe we're completely safe.”
Sam nodded again. His mouth had opened just a little. Becky could see a hint of his white teeth. His eyes were as round as saucers, staring at his father.
“But just in case, I'm going to tell you what to do if that man should find us.”
“He won’t though, honey,” Becky said. “Do you hear the wind out there? He can’t get through that.”
Sam turned his head to look at her.
“You know how we told you about talking to strangers?” She leaned forward and took his hand in hers. “It’s like that. Just because we're talking about it doesn’t mean it’s going to happen.”
“Do I get to have a gun?”
She smiled at him. “No. No guns.”
“This is what I want you to do,” Mike said.
Sam turned to face his father. His fingers slipped away, and Becky felt empty and helpless without them.
“I want you to know where your flashlight is all the time.” He leaned forward and put his hands around his mug. “If you hear Mommy or me say hide, I want you to run, not walk, but run to the closet in your bedroom. Take the flashlight with you. Get down and climb underneath that big pile of sleeping bags and blankets. You got that?”
Sam nodded. He nibbled on his lower lip, but Becky could swear he hadn’t blinked since he sat down.
“You might hear bad sounds. Gunshots. Or yelling. But don’t come out. Don’t come out until Mommy or I come to get you. Do you understand?”
He nodded again. “What if he kills you?”
Mike looked at Becky. She could see he hadn’t anticipated that question. She couldn’t help him.
“Cliff will come to get you. Or Mr. Witherspoon. You stay hidden for as long as you can. We're going to put some food in the closet so you won’t get hungry.”
“What if I have to go to the bathroom?”
“You might have to go in the closet, Samson.”
He wrinkled his nose.
“Remember, this is all just in case.”
“Okay.”
His voice was too calm. Becky reached over and grabbed his hand. “Sam?”
He looked at her, completely composed and serene. It was as if they’d been talking about school or baseball. He registered no fear, no worry. “Did you understand what Daddy said?”
“Yeah. I'm supposed to hide in the closet if the bad guy comes. I have to stay in there no matter what until someone comes to get me. Even if he kills you.”
He had her worried now. My God, it was as if she were seeing a miniature version of Mike with his stolid refusal to get emotionally involved in his own life. “It’s okay to be frightened, Sam. This is scary stuff.”
“I'm not scared.”
“But—”
“Can I go back upstairs now? Until lunch is ready?”
She didn’t know what to do. Should she make a scene so Sam would be scared? Or let it go? She glanced at Mike. He didn’t look worried. No surprise there. She turned back to Sam. “Okay, honey. Go on. I'll call you when lunch is ready.”
Sam got up quickly and headed for the door. He didn’t look back at either of them. She heard him run up the stairs. “They've got to catch him, Mike,” she said. “They've got to catch him soon.”
Chapter 7
Mike leaned back in his chair, still cold, all the way to his bones. “I think he handled that pretty well.”
Becky looked at him quizzically. “You've got to be kidding.”
“What do you mean?”
“You didn’t recognize his behavior? It didn’t seem at all familiar to you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your son just gave a brilliant imitation of his father. Down to the last detail. 'I'm not scared. Can I have a gun?' Where do you think he got that?”
Mike waited for the punch line. Becky didn’t move. She didn’t say anything more. She just looked at him with weary eyes.
“You're saying he was trying to be brave for me? To please me?”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t think bravery entered into the picture at all. To be brave, he would have to realize there was a dangerous situation.”
“Of course he knows it’s dangerous.”
“No,” she said. She scooted her chair closer to him so her eyes would be level with his. “He didn’t. He denied there was any problem at all. Think about what he said. How he acted. It was as if we were telling him about someone else’s life, not his own.”
If he leaned forward he would be able to take her hand. That’s how close she was. “Maybe he just accepted the situation. Maybe he didn’t think getting hysterical would accomplish anything.”
She moved her hand and put it on his leg. “He’s nine years old.”
The small imprint of her palm was the only spot of warmth on his body. He knew if she kept her hand there much longer, he wouldn’t want to talk anymore. He stood up and took his cup to the sink. “You're reading too much into this.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I'm going to build a fire. It was damn cold out there.” He heard the scrape of her chair, then she was next to him.
“Do me a favor?”
He looked into her green eyes. He wanted to erase the worry he saw there. To comfort her and ease her pain. But he didn’t have a clue how. “I'll try.”
“Think about this. Don’t just dismiss it. Something important happened here. How we deal with it is going to matter. This isn’t about you and me. This is about Sam.”
The tone of her voice, more than the words, made him stop. She was really serious about this. She truly believed that Sam’s behavior had something to do with him, and that it was real cause for concern. “I know you mean what you're saying,” he said. “I'm trying to understand.”
“I asked the wrong question,” she said gently. “I don’t want you to think. I want you to feel. Trust your instincts. I know you can do that. You may be rusty at it, but dammit, I know you can if you try. Don’t be logical. Don’t make it fit into one of your neat boxes. Sam is in trouble. And we have to help him.”
He lifted his hand and brushed her cheek with his thumb, pleased beyond all measure that she was so near. “You're really something, you know that? I want to do this for you and Sam. I want to make you happy.”
She moved her head. Just an inch. Just enough to break contact with his hand. She caught his gaze in a fierce lock with her own. “Don’t do it for me. Do it because it can save your life.”
She wanted something he couldn’t give her. How was it possible that two people could see the exact same thing and come away with two completely different interpretations? But that’s what always happened. He’d meant it when he said they were from different worlds.
“What I saw was Sam listen to the facts, understand them, and move on,” he said. “He didn’t whine about it or complain. If the worst happens, he'll do well. Looking at things logically isn’t so terrible. That’s just survival.”
“Survival, yes. But is that all you want? To go through the motions of your life without feeling anything? Without caring?”
“You think I don’t care?”
She shook her head. “I think you've forgotten how. You were hurt, so you turned yourself off. Like a light switch. And now you just wander around in the dark.”
“Talking a problem to death isn’t going to solve it. Since when did analysis ever fix anything? There’s a real live man out there. Not some textbook villain. If he finds us, he’s going to do everything he can to kill us. What the hell difference does it make if he hated his father, or if his mother left when he was ten? We'll be just as dead. You think if Sam gets upset and crazy about this he’s going to react as quickly? Survival is everything. Don’t you see that?”
“What good is surviv
ing if you end up dead inside?”
“This isn’t getting us anywhere. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She sighed. “Go on upstairs. Make sure Sam is okay. I've got to fix lunch.”
Mike hesitated. He didn’t want to leave it this way. He did care. Too much. Every day they’d been married he’d tried to show her that. Even after the divorce, he’d honored her wishes. He’d stepped into the background. He hadn’t caused any trouble. All he’d ever wanted was her happiness.
He left when she went to the sink.
Climbing the stairs was an effort. The trip to the back roads had worn him out, made him feel old and tired. It hadn’t helped that he’d gotten so little sleep in the last few days.
Sam wasn’t in his bedroom. He must be in the bathroom, Mike thought as he walked over to the window on the far side of the room. Pelting snow swirled in a dizzying pattern. The pine trees swayed and trembled in the wind. Mike felt as though he were in one of those glass globes that he used to shake when he was a kid. His favorite had been one of a little village. There had been a cabin like this one inside the glass.
He turned away from the window and saw Sam’s open computer on the bed. It was on, but he saw only a screen saver—revolving triangles of color on black. He’d felt sure that Sam would be knee-deep in a game by now. Well, maybe he was between battles.
As he headed toward the door, he heard a sound coming from the closet.
He whirled around and checked the floor beneath the window. It was completely dry. There were no signs the window had been opened. He turned back to the closet and reached for his gun. He eased the safety off with his thumb, then slowly pushed the sliding door to the side.
At first all he saw were sleeping bags and blankets. Then he saw Sam’s running shoe. “Sam? You okay?”
“Yeah,” Sam said, his voice muffled.
A large pink blanket moved and when Mike bent over, he saw the side of Sam’s face. Mike felt relieved and a little foolish. Better to be a jerk than to be caught unaware. He engaged the safety and slipped the gun back into his holster.
