by Alicia Scott
"Haven't you looked at the construction crew?" she continued desperately. "These people are hard at work to earn paychecks to support their families. You can't steal their only vehicle while they try to earn a living like that. It's just … just—"
Cain whirled on her abruptly and the cold, hard look in his eyes killed the words in her throat. Oh, she'd gotten to him all right, and now she wished she'd never opened her mouth. He bent down over her, huge and imposing, and she bent back as far as she was able. Even then, she felt his breath against her cheek.
"Shut up," he whispered with deceptive softness, his eyes pinning her into place. "I know what I'm doing, Maggie. Don't ever think I don't know it's wrong. Don't ever think I don't have regrets. But I'm ready to live with them and you're just along for the ride. Got it?"
Weakly, she nodded her head, still unable to breathe. Her stomach was suddenly tight. Her limbs quivered with an emotion she didn't completely understand. He seemed fierce enough to tear up the world and strong enough to do it.
He straightened abruptly, looking suddenly uncomfortable. Then with another scowl, he turned back to the trucks. Very slowly, she drew in a ragged breath.
He popped open the door of a little blue Toyota truck. "Ladies first."
He turned back toward her. His eyes no longer glowed with a feral gleam. Now they were perfectly expressionless, merely waiting. "Come on, Maggie," he said and she caught the edge of warning in his voice.
She stepped forward without another word and slid into the vehicle.
With the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans, Cain lowered his head beneath the dash and got on with the business of hot-wiring a car. The car roared to life in under sixty seconds. The man was amazing. She couldn't even program her VCR and he made stealing a car look as simple as turning on a flashlight.
"Here we go," he announced grimly and swung the truck back onto the road.
The orange Caterpillar froze. The men glanced over, then one of them did a double take. Maggie didn't have to roll down her window to hear the man cry, "Hey, that's my truck!"
Cain said nothing, but his face was grim. He floored the gas pedal and they zipped away. She glanced back at the poor construction crew, the men waving their arms frantically for the vehicle to stop. The men quickly disappeared, lost in the distance. In addition to hot-wiring cars, Cain seemed to have a penchant for driving them fast. Where did men learn that kind of thing, anyway?
She looked at him with open reproach. "Do you think this vehicle is insured?"
"I don't know." His voice was clipped.
"I hope it was insured. I don't think that man has much money."
Cain's grip tightened on the wheel.
"It must be very hard, working like that to support your family," she continued relentlessly, "and then through no fault of your own, having your truck stolen. What do you think he'll tell his wife?"
"You don't even know if he has a wife."
"He looks like he has a wife. Probably two kids, too. Cute little kids who used to like to ride in the back of the truck with the sun on their cheeks."
"All right!" Cain threw up his hands and cracked as thoroughly as any suspect under intense interrogation. "He'll get it back!" he exclaimed harshly. "We won't hurt the vehicle, we won't take it far. End of day, he can still drive his truck home to his wife and two kids and one hound dog. My God, you are like the Betty Crocker version of the Gestapo!"
Maggie finally relaxed. "Yes, but it's expensive to replace an automobile."
Cain appeared to grind his teeth, his gaze locked on the road with almost grim determination. "You know," he said abruptly. "I'm not as big a cad as you think, Maggie." He glanced at her briefly. His tone was stiff. "I've gone hungry. Where I grew up, dinner was what you could shoot or pick off a bush."
She looked at him expectantly but he didn't say anything more on the subject. His attention focused one hundred percent on the road.
"Look for a map," he ordered curtly.
But then it became unnecessary. Like a miracle, a road appeared on his left, forking out. He didn't ask, he didn't debate. He seized it as a gift from God and picked up the pace. That road led to another, then another. If something appeared, he took it, and soon they were so lost they couldn't even find themselves, let alone anyone in high pursuit. He settled down to drive and the fields took on a green blur around him.
Cain had been eighteen when he'd first met Kathy. Eighteen and fresh from Idaho, a hillbilly former survivalist who wanted desperately to join mainstream society. Kathy hadn't laughed at him or made him feel self-conscious. Instead, she'd seemed genuinely intrigued by his blunt statements and matter-of-fact approach to life. If people wanted platitudes, they didn't hang out with Cain.
They'd been just friends in the beginning, Cain too preoccupied with carving out a life to think of anything more. But then things had slowly slid into place. He'd enrolled in Portland State and discovered that the formulas, theories and music that so often haunted his mind suddenly had meaning. His professors didn't greet him with raised brows or dismissive gestures as his father had done. Instead their eyes widened and they demanded to hear more.
Cain had always known he was different. Most people thought in words; he had a tendency to think in numbers or notes. He was most intrigued by the number eight, of course. It was the basis for everything. Chess, mathematics, music, even the periodic table. Nature had recurring themes—life truly seemed to favor the cycle—and inevitably, the basis of such cycles was the number eight. He'd once tried to speak to his father about it. Zechariah had said harshly, "Chess isn't about numbers, boy. Who cares about numbers? Chess is all about killing the king, that's what you should care about. We are the last of the Minutemen, the last of the true patriots. We must safeguard freedom against the ZOG and don't you forget it."
Cain had never had anything in common with his father.
But at Portland State, he'd suddenly belonged. He'd made friends for the first time. At least he'd thought they were friends. Later, he'd had cause to question everything.
He'd made it through college in three years, taking classes year-round and discovering his true calling. Graduation had given him more job offers than he'd known what to do with and suddenly life had been on track.
And somehow, he and Kathy had become more than friends. He didn't remember the exact moment, anymore. He didn't remember the first date. He remembered other things instead. For his twenty-third birthday, she'd given him a marble chess set and challenged him to a game of strip chess. For each piece you lost, you had to remove a piece of clothing. Kathy had been lousy at chess and he'd had her naked and laughing in no time. He remembered the time she'd served him French toast wearing nothing but a pair of red high heels.
She'd been a generous woman, warm, intelligent and funny. She'd made a small home for him and given him laughter when he hadn't laughed since his mother had died.
He wished sometimes he'd had something to give her in return. Maybe it was the way he thought. Maybe it was because he'd spent so much time alone after his mother's death, but he didn't fit like other people fit. Even in the middle of a room filled with people, he was somehow separate, apart, isolated. Kathy complained that he didn't seem to need her. He'd answered that he didn't understand why she would want that. People should be with each other out of choice, not need.
She'd become more distant after that, veering toward little games and petty displays he didn't know how to respond to. He couldn't play the jealous type, he couldn't pour out his soul as she seemed to want. If she didn't want to be with him anymore, he accepted that. It was her choice to move on, and he honestly wished her well.
He would miss her, but that was life—cause and effect, choice and consequence. He accepted that. He valued his independence. And if he lived alone and died alone because of it, he was willing to pay that price. Choice and consequence.
When Abraham had abruptly appeared in Portland and instantly swept Kathy off her feet, Cain had fig
ured it was for the best. Kathy had seemed happy. She'd always liked men with an edge and Ham certainly had that. But Ham had also seemed to have turned over a new leaf. He'd claimed that he'd left the militia movement and their father's racism behind. Cain had figured that must be the case for Kathy was Jewish, something that Ham never would have tolerated before.
Cain had never suspected a thing. Down to the last moment, he'd never suspected the truth about his brother.
I knew you were many things, Ham. But a murderer? A murderer?
God, how could he have not seen that coming? How could he have let Kathy pay for his mistakes with his family? For not realizing just how deep Ham's hatred ran, just how dangerous Ham had become?
He'd tried to tell everyone at the trial. He'd testified on his own behalf, telling the judge, the jury and Kathy's family what Ham had done. But the weapon was Cain's hunting knife with Cain's fingerprints. Then Ham got on the stand, calmly swore on the Bible he held sacred and proceeded to tell the room how he'd witnessed Cain's attack on Kathy in a jealous rage. And Cain had no alibi to back up his version of events.
It had been over after that. No one believed him. Not even Kathy's brother Joel, whom he'd considered a good friend, not his boss, not his co-workers, not anyone. Cain had no proof on his side and no one was willing to listen to him otherwise. They all just said they never had felt very close to him, they never had felt as if they truly knew him. No one believed in him at all.
He stood alone. He went to jail alone. He held the truth alone.
And the first six months in prison, he'd listened to the cell doors slamming shut every night, kchnk, kchnk, kchnk, and dreamed of Kathy calling his name.
"Cain?"
He was so disoriented, it took him a moment to realize the voice wasn't in his head.
"Cain?"
He forced himself back to reality, blinking his eyes and peering belatedly at his passenger. She was chewing her lower lip and staring at the gauges. "I think we get to walk soon," she said.
His gaze swung to the gas gauge. It already rested on Empty. "I am having such a bad day," he muttered at last.
"Really?" Maggie chimed. "Mine's been rather nice." She smiled glumly.
"Try to locate us on the map again. We either find civilization or take up hiking."
Maggie retrieved the map, her mind moving quickly. She thought they were still heading toward Tigard and Tualatin. What if they did run out of gas? Then they'd walk. Could she run for it? Somehow, she didn't think he'd unhandcuff her to walk. Most likely, she'd be glued to his side. But what if someone came along in a car? He wouldn't want to arouse suspicion by having someone see them handcuffed together. Maybe he'd undo the handcuffs then.
She could try running for it. She wasn't exactly dressed for the occasion, but maybe a car would spot her and offer help.
Or maybe Cain would pull out his gun, shoot the other person and steal yet another vehicle. He hadn't actually done anything violent yet, but he'd gone to prison for murdering his girlfriend. That seemed to suggest he could be lethal when provoked.
Oh God. She started searching in earnest for their road on the map.
"Okay," she said after a moment. "I think we're almost in Tualatin."
She directed him across another few streets, down 99W, across another few back roads and then they were in Tualatin, right off I-5. The library, Safeway, and K mart was on their left. Fred Meyers appeared on their right. Banks and liquor stores. Surely there had to be a gas station somewhere.
"We're ditching this vehicle," Cain said and whipped them into the long strip mall with K mart.
"And stealing another," she filled in morosely.
"I promised the last person would get his car back and Idaho is a long walk."
"I don't think returning someone's stolen car is considered a good deed if you just turn around and steal another."
"Any better ideas?"
"Turn yourself in? Let me go?" She smiled hopefully. "I'm just going to slow you down, I've never been particularly fond of Idaho, and you still don't know how to manage the bathroom breaks."
He turned into the parking lot, shut off the engine and looked at her. "True. Let's think about this." He gazed at her steadily, his green eyes sharp. After a moment, he nodded to himself. That worried her.
"How much money do you have?" he quizzed.
She instinctively clutched her purse against her.
"Now, Maggie, we've come this far together, don't back out on me now."
"I'm not exactly rich," she half lied, hoping that might sway him.
"Consider it a loan." Cain wiggled his fingers impatiently. "How much?"
She reluctantly opened her purse and took out her billfold. At least she never carried much cash on her. "Five dollars and … sixty-seven cents."
"Five dollars?" he said incredulously. "Five dollars! You're walking around with only five dollars on you? How are we going to outrun the entire state police force with five dollars?"
"I didn't 'walk around' with only five dollars in my purse," she said stiffly. "I had fifteen dollars. You already spent ten."
"Maggie, you can barely fill a gas tank with fifteen bucks."
"I know. And I took the bus." She smiled grimly, her hands folded on her lap very prim and proper. "Besides, it's not safe for a lone woman to travel with too much cash." And then her blue eyes did flash piercing flames at him.
He glared at her a minute longer, then shook his head. "Of all the people in the world," he muttered, "how did I manage to kidnap a poverty-stricken shrink?"
"I don't know. Why don't you return me and try again?"
He scowled, contemplating her for another moment. He was starting to feel strung too tight, and that would get him nowhere. If there was ever a situation that required logic and rationality, this was it. It was only his freedom, his life at stake. And now that you've kidnapped her, is her life at stake as well? Do you think Ham would hesitate to harm her?
The thought came out of nowhere and floored him. For a minute, he could only sit there and blink. He stole another glance at her. She sat quietly, her hands folded on her lap as if she didn't want to draw any attention to herself. Her tangled red hair was torched by the bright spring sun, shimmering a deep burning red. Her skin was alabaster perfect and her lips a rose petal pink. She was beautiful in her own way. If he'd met her under any other circumstances, he might have nodded politely at her, but he still would have walked away.
He preferred sophisticated and experienced women, ones who wouldn't expect things from him he couldn't give. Ones who considered great sex to be its own reward. This woman before him … she looked as if she still slept curled in a ball, her hands clutching the satin edge of a thick blanket, her dreams searching for a happily-ever-after that had never quite found her.
A marriage counselor. A woman hell-bent on saving the world when God knows she didn't look as if she could even save herself.
He glanced at her again, and her bright blue eyes seemed vulnerable.
You got her into this, Cain. What do you do now?
Nothing, he decided resolutely. Just a few more hours of her assistance and he'd be in Idaho. Once out of the immediate range of the Oregon state police, he'd let her go. She'd call her brothers. She would be safe. If Ham did hunt her down and ask questions, she certainly wouldn't tell any stories. As far as she was concerned Cain was a murderer, and he was best off to keep it that way. As long as she thought the worst of him, she was safe from Ham. Cain owed her that much, and if there ever came a day when he was a free man, he would find her and thank her for the small part she played in helping him uncover the truth.
Cain didn't know if he ever would be a free man, though. The cops would hunt him until he cleared his name, and to clear his name he needed to confront Ham. Confronting Ham would probably lead to his own death, or possibly to Ham's. Which would finally make Cain guilty of one murder though convicted of another. Either way, Cain's future didn't look very encouraging, and for all h
is brilliance, he couldn't quite crack this riddle. Cain's conundrum, he called it.
First things first: He had to make it to Idaho.
"Do you have a cash card?" he asked Maggie abruptly.
"Y-yes."
"All right." His voice was deliberately hard. "This is what we'll do. We're going to walk across the street to the other mall. I'm going to remove the handcuffs for the occasion, so don't do anything that will make me make you regret it. Got it?"
She nodded, but her brow was furrowed into a rebellious scowl.
"At the mall," he continued relentlessly, "you'll withdraw as much as you can. Then, we'll steal another car and head for Salem. With any luck, it will take them a while to notice the vehicle is gone."
She opened her mouth as if to protest, then abruptly shut it again. She hunched her shoulders a little more. Finally, in a faint voice, she asked, "Are you ever going to let me go?"
"When we get to Idaho … if you cooperate."
He followed up the statement with a dispassionate stare. And she peered back at him from beneath the long, tangled locks of her red hair, looking like someone who'd gotten too many hard knocks and not enough pick-me-ups. Her lashes swept down abruptly, brushing her pale cheeks delicately and hiding her eyes. Her fingers knit together on her lap, as if seeking to comfort one another.
He forced himself to watch and remain impassive.
"All right," she agreed.
"We use your ATM card. We steal another car," he repeated.
"I cooperate. You don't hurt anyone," she repeated.
"We have ourselves a deal."
He reached across the bench seat and briskly grabbed her handcuffed hand, releasing the metal bracelet. He folded the cuffs in his back pocket, beneath the cover of his overshirt.
"I still have a loaded gun," he reminded her softly.
"Who could forget?"
