by Jo Leigh
He reached for his gun. He didn’t like this. Not one bit.
Becky finished her coffee while she waited for Mike to bring Sam down.
Mike had surprised her. He truly had. She’d expected him to stand tough. To fight for his position and deny there was any problem with Sam. It probably wasn’t fair of her. Even though he didn’t want her, he still loved Sam. She’d always known that. It made her feel a little guilty for not talking to him about this before. She’d had plenty of opportunities to bring up the subject. Actually, she had, but never straightforward like this morning. She’d hinted, made vague references, then she’d gotten angry when he didn’t take any action.
All she’d had to do was ask.
“Becky?”
She dropped her spoon. The tone of his voice had her out of her chair in a second, out of the room in two. “What’s wrong?”
“Sam’s not upstairs.”
There was an urgency in his tone that made her blood go cold. “Sam!” She called his name, trying hard not to panic.
Mike moved past her and went into his room. She ran after him, the adrenaline shooting through her veins.
“Sam.” Mike’s voice was angry. Scared. He ducked into the bathroom, and she went into the closet, but all she found were clothes and shoes.
Mike came out of the bathroom. The look of worry on his face cranked up her fear a couple of notches. But it was the gun in his hand that started her panic.
“He’s got him. He’s got my baby.”
“Don’t lose it now,” he said. “I need you.” Mike ran from the room, and she forced her legs to move, to follow him.
He headed for the front door. “It’s unlocked. From the inside.” He flung open the door. There was no wind this morning. Only gray skies and snow.
She got to Mike’s side. Starting at the front door, she saw one set of footprints. Small footprints. Sam’s.
“Where did he go?”
“Get your coat,” Mike said, as he ran to the closet beneath the stairs “He can’t have gone far.”
She was shaking so hard it was difficult to put on her gear. Especially her gloves. Sam was out there. Why? she thought. Why did he leave?
Mike came back with his rifle. In a second he had his parka on, then he handed her the .45. “Take this.”
There was no hesitation this time. The gun felt solid in her hand. If Mojo had touched Sam, she would kill him without blinking.
The air was frigid and still outside. Everything was blanketed in a thick pile of snow. Sam’s trail went to the right, up the hill. She looked for signs of another pair of boots, but to her eye it seemed as though Sam was alone. “Is he really by himself? Does Mojo have him?”
Mike shook his head. “I don’t think so. Come on, he’s headed toward the woods.”
Mike took the lead. Getting through the snow was slow work for them, it must have been terrible for Sam. Some of the drifts came up past Becky’s knees; they would have come up past Sam’s waist. She tried to figure out why he would have done this. Boredom? Mischief? It didn’t make sense. They hadn’t been cooped up that long. Maybe he just wanted to go sledding? No, he would have headed in the other direction, toward the hills past their cabin.
Mike had moved a lot faster than her, and he was nearing the third cabin—the last cabin before the woods. She pushed herself to catch up to him. He stopped. She thought he was waiting for her, but when she reached his side, she saw he was looking at the deck of the cabin.
Sam was standing there, toward the back of the deck, looking at them. The sound that came out of her was a strangled cry of relief. She tried to run to him, but the damn snow held on to her boots and her legs. Mike moved ahead of her, and just as she reached the steps, he grabbed Sam and hugged him to his chest.
She had a moment to register that Sam had his backpack on.
“Where were you going?” Mike asked. “You scared the hell out of us.”
She reached Mike’s side. She wanted to hold Sam herself, but she saw that he had a death grip on his dad, and she contented herself with touching him to make sure he was really there.
A muffled sob told her that Sam wasn’t in great shape. She pulled back his hood, and saw his face was tear-streaked and pink. His eyes were swollen, and he looked absolutely miserable. Her heart lurched in her chest. She wanted to hold him. He needed her comfort.
It was a tremendous effort to let Mike console the boy. She’d grown so used to being the only one there for him. His father was here, now, and she couldn’t bring herself to interrupt this moment. They both deserved it.
“What happened, Samson?” Mike asked.
Sam couldn’t talk yet. He was still crying too hard.
Mike looked at Becky. “Let’s take him home.”
She nodded. She knew he meant the cabin, but she wanted to take him to their real home. Back to their real lives. Mojo was gone. He was in Canada by now. She wasn’t going to wait any longer. They would go home today.
She followed Mike down the steps, back into the heavy snow. It was easier going back, using their old path as a road. Halfway there, she finally felt the cold. Her nose burned with it, and her hands ached. The worst of it was her head. Her hair had been damp, and now it felt as if it were turning to ice.
She moved ahead of Mike when they reached their cabin. She opened the door, and stood back to let them in. When she closed the door behind her, she bolted it, then rested her head against the cold, hard wood. She didn’t know whether to curse or cry. He was safe, and that’s all that mattered to her. There was no way she would have survived if something had happened to him. Her heart wasn’t strong enough.
“I'm taking him upstairs.”
Mike’s voice made her turn around. He was already at the staircase.
“Put him in his pajamas. With socks. And give him some more blankets. I'm going to put on some water to boil, then I'll be up.” She didn’t want to go to the kitchen. She wanted to be with Sam every second. But he needed warmth from the inside, too.
She watched Mike climb the stairs, Sam still clinging to him for all he was worth. What had made him leave? It was so unlike him.
As they turned to go into the bedroom, she put the gun on the coffee table and hurried to the kitchen. It took only a minute to fill the teakettle and light the burner, but it felt too long. She needed to see that Sam was all right.
On her way to the stairs, she unzipped her parka and shrugged it off, leaving it right where she dropped it. She ran up the stairs and into Sam’s room.
Mike had him on the bed. His backpack was on the floor, and his down parka was halfway off. She hurried over to him, and tugged the other arm free.
Sam’s face was still pink, but the tears seemed to have stopped. He sniffed, and she touched his chin so he would look up at her. His eyes broke her heart. So big and round and filled with sadness. “What is it, honey? What happened?”
Sam just stared at her, blinked his eyes, and sniffed again.
“It’s all right. We'll talk later. You just get into your pajamas, okay? Let Daddy take off your boots.”
Mike worked quickly and efficiently. He had Sam’s boots and socks off, and before he put the new socks on he took Sam’s feet in his hands and rubbed them briskly. Becky helped Sam put on his pajama tops, but her gaze was on Mike.
The way he was touching Sam was as tender as anything she’d ever seen. He rubbed those little feet with infinite care. His eyes were filled with concern and with so much love it was palpable. She hadn’t been wrong to ask Mike to be with Sam more often. They needed each other so much.
It didn’t take long to finish dressing Sam. She pulled back his blanket and he crawled in.
“Why don’t you get in there with him?” Mike said. “Maybe that will stop your shivers.”
Shivers? She looked at her hands. She was shaking. A quick tremor raced up her spine, and she realized her teeth were chattering. “Move over, kid,” she said. Sam made room for her, and she slipped off her boots, th
en crawled in beside him. It was a bit cramped in the twin bed, but she didn’t mind at all. Having Sam tight against her, safe in her arms, was the best possible medicine.
“The water is probably boiling,” she said. “Mike, would you mind fixing some hot chocolate for the Popsicle next to me?” She looked down to see if Sam was smiling, but her tiny joke didn’t even elicit a grin. He still looked sad and weepy.
Mike stood over the bed near Sam. “You want to tell us what you were doing out there?”
Sam turned to his side and curled up next to Becky.
“I think we should wait to talk about this. He needs some rest now.”
“Did you talk to anyone? See anyone out there at all?”
“Not now Mike.” She glared up at him. Was he trying to make things worse?
“I'm sorry. I have to know.” He bent over and touched Sam’s shoulder. “You need to tell me if there was someone out there, son.”
Sam shook his head, but didn’t say anything. Becky could tell Mike wanted to press the issue, but she held up her hand to stop him.
He didn’t go on. He turned and walked out of the room, and she heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs. She closed her eyes, and snuggled closer to Sam. She wanted him warm and safe. Her shakes had not all been caused by cold. The adrenaline from her terrible fear was still coursing through her.
She vowed again that she would take Sam home today. Without a doubt, Mike would argue, but she wasn’t going to acquiesce on this one. It wasn’t clear to her why Sam had left the cabin. But with all the talk of killers and hiding, she had a pretty good guess. If they stayed here any longer, she didn’t know what would happen to him. She wouldn’t take the chance.
When she looked down at him again, she saw his eyes were closed. His even breathing told her he’d fallen asleep. She closed her own eyes, but not to sleep. To say a silent thank you to the Fates for keeping her boy safe.
“Is he sleeping?”
Becky opened her eyes and looked up to see Mike standing by the bed. He had two mugs in his hands. She must have dozed off herself; she hadn’t heard him come in. She nodded.
“You want some hot chocolate?”
“I don’t want to move,” she whispered. “I don’t want to disturb him.”
Mike put the mugs on the dresser, then came back to the bed. “I'll let you two get some rest. I'm going out to check the snowmobiles and the truck. I want to make sure no one’s touched anything.” He turned to leave.
“Wait,” she said.
He stopped and came back to the bed.
“I want to go home,” she said, careful to keep her voice low.
“So do I. But until I hear from Cliff—”
“No,” she interrupted. “I don’t care. I want to go home today.”
Mike’s lips pressed together and his eyes narrowed. “I told you before. It’s too dangerous.”
“And this isn’t? Don’t be ridiculous. Being up here is scaring him to death. I won’t have it anymore.”
“I don’t think we should talk about this now. He might wake up.”
“You're right. We won’t discuss it. We'll just leave. I want to be out of here by sundown. I won’t back down on this. If you don’t take us, we'll go by ourselves.” She saw his jaw muscle tense, a sure sign he was furious, but she didn’t care. Not anymore. She couldn’t hide here any longer. Not just because of Mojo. But because it was too hard to be here with Mike. She needed to be home, where she could think. Away from his anger and his tenderness and his voice. All she felt now was confusion, and a weariness that went all the way down to her toes.
She closed her eyes again. As soon as she woke up, she would pack. For now, though, she would sleep.
* * *
Mike stared at Becky and Sam for a long time. All he wanted was to keep them safe. That’s it. He had no other purpose in life. Just to keep them away from harm.
He’d almost lost it earlier. When he’d realized Sam was gone, the terror had been overwhelming, blinding. He’d only known that kind of fear once before. When Amy had died.
Nothing would happen to Sam. He swore it as an oath, and he hoped that God was listening, because there would be no bargaining this time. He didn’t give a damn what he had to do—take them to another country, change their names, kill Mojo with his bare hands. Whatever it took, no one was going to harm his son. Or his wife.
No, she wasn’t his wife. He’d given her up, just like he’d given up being a real father to Sam. He couldn’t turn back the clock or make up for his mistakes, but he could keep them safe. And when Mojo was dead or locked away for good, he would try again with Sam. He would change his schedule, and he would be there in person when Sam wanted to talk. He would take him sledding or to the ball game or anywhere he wanted to go. He would learn to be a father, instead of words on a computer screen. All he needed was the chance.
He reached out very carefully and touched Sam’s cheek. He had to swallow hard a couple of times. “I promise, Samson,” he whispered. “I won’t let you down again.”
He turned quickly, and headed to the staircase. When he reached the living room, he pulled his gloves from his pocket. He still had to check the vehicles. As he zipped up his parka, Becky’s words came back to him. More than her words, her determination to leave this place.
Maybe they should go home today. Maybe Mojo was in Canada, and they had nothing to worry about. He wanted to believe that, but he didn’t. His gut told him it wasn’t over yet. Even if Cliff could prove that Mojo was out of the country, it wouldn’t make a difference. For all he knew, Mojo hadn’t been able to trace them to this cabin, and he was waiting for them to go back home so he could strike.
That’s the scenario that was most logical, but it also made the future difficult to plan. He couldn’t keep Becky and Sam here forever. But how long should he wait? A day, a week, a year? If Mojo was waiting until they got home to make his move, maybe the best course of action was to accommodate him. Set a trap for him in Boulder.
If only he knew how Mojo had gotten his information. If there was someone in the bureau who was feeding him, it would be incredibly dangerous to take them back home.
He slipped off his right glove, then went to the phone and dialed the office. Cliff wasn’t there, so the operator put him through to the cellular. His partner answered on the second ring.
“Good news, amigo,” Cliff said, after Mike’s brief hello. “We found the son of a bitch.”
“Where?”
“Jackson Hole.”
“And?”
“He’s got hostages.”
“The nurse?”
“Yes, and a kid, a teenager who’d been working at a convenience store. I've got backup coming, and I've called in the sharpshooters. I would say your man will be dispatched in a few hours.”
“We had him trapped once before, remember? And all we ended up with was a dead family.”
“Mike, we've got him. He can’t get out. I'll call you the minute it’s over.”
“Hey, what did you find out about the phones up here?”
“Oh, yeah. Witherspoon was right. There are four different lines going up to the mountain. If one goes down, it only affects a quarter of the service. So don’t sweat it.”
“Right.”
“I'll see you soon.”
The line disconnected, but Mike didn’t put the phone down right away. He was thinking about the banker’s family, and how Mojo had dumped them so unceremoniously on the highway. They’d had the bastard cornered that day, and he’d gotten clean away. Would this time be different?
He put the phone on its cradle and pulled his glove on once again. Mojo was in Wyoming. He couldn’t possibly have touched the truck or the snowmobiles. But Mike was going to check them out just the same. The one thing he knew was that until Mojo was certified dead, until his heart stopped beating, he couldn’t let down his guard. He would keep Becky and Sam here until he was absolutely certain they were safe. With Mojo, there was no risk worth takin
g. None at all.
Chapter 11
The wind howled again. Becky opened her eyes and listened to the trees scratch against the window. She had no idea how long she’d slept. It was dark, but she didn’t think it was night. She couldn’t have slept the whole day away.
Sam was still next to her. She looked at him now, and was surprised to see that he was awake, too. “Hi,” she said.
“Hi.”
“How you feeling?”
“Okay,” he said listlessly.
She didn’t buy it. Tossing back the covers, she scooted up the bed until she was sitting up. Sam didn’t seem inclined to move, so she grabbed him under his arms and pulled. Once he realized she wasn’t going to let him be, he cooperated. They sat shoulder to shoulder.
“You want to tell me what that was all about?” she asked.
He shook his head while he stared at his hands in his lap.
“I think you’d better, honey.”
“I was going to see a friend.”
“Oh?” She tread very carefully, wanting to make him feel safe enough to tell her the truth.
“She lives in Denver.”
“Were you going to walk?”
He shook his head slowly. “Only to the highway. I thought I would get a ride from there.”
“The snow was a little scary, huh?”
“Yeah.”
She let the silence come again. She wanted to know why he’d done such a foolish thing, but she held back. He would tell her. But she couldn’t help remembering that fit of panic when she thought Mojo had kidnapped him. She never wanted to be that scared again. Ever.
“I'm sorry I quit baseball.” His voice was so low, she barely heard him.
“Baseball?”
He still wouldn’t look at her. He was toying with a small rip in the blanket, working his little finger through the material.
“What do you mean, honey?”
“I know you wanted me to play baseball. I wasn’t any good. They laughed at me. That’s why I quit. I didn’t mean to make you mad.”
