"How could she know the van was going west?"
"We live on a hill facing west and facing the 70. From her deck, she saw the van turn onto the freeway going west. She swears she saw a little girl in the van."
"No ransom note?"
She shook her head. "No, at least not since yesterday morning. That's the last time I checked in. That's what the FBI agents were counting on. They kept telling me over and over that I had to be patient, just sit there by the phone and be patient. I was to let them tell me what to do since they knew everything and I was stupid. I nearly smacked this one agent. I waited for two days and nothing. Still, the FBI agents just kept shaking their heads saying that I had to wait, wait, wait. I was going crazy. Finally I just headed out at dawn the morning of the third day. I call in every day and let them yell at me.
"I've visited more places than I can remember. Really, this one was the last stop. When I came into Dillinger, I couldn't believe it when everyone just nodded and said she was Ramsey's little girl. If I'd seen you then, without Emma, I would probably have cleaned out my Detonics on you."
"You would have gone to jail."
"Yeah, some justice."
"If you had shot me, sending you to jail would have indeed been justice. For my sake, I hope they wouldn't have plea-bargained you down." Of course that wasn't the point. She didn't say anything to that, but he could practically see the hackles rising. He wanted to ask how Emma had been taken, about Emma's father, and a dozen other things, but now Emma was standing in the doorway, looking bright and clean, a hairbrush in her hand. She walked to him and held out the brush. He heard Molly suck in her breath. He smiled, took the brush, and brought Emma to stand between his knees. He combed out the tangles, then began the braid.
Emma said, "Mama, could you teach Ramsey how to French-braid my hair?"
"Yes, I can. He's doing pretty well with your regular braid, though."
"You should have seen the first braid he did. It was all spiky and crooked, like it was broken in the middle."
When he got to the end of the braid, she handed back a rubber band. "There." He turned her around, his hands on her shoulders. "You look great. Everyone is going to ask you who your hairdresser is. I'm the best."
"That was well done," Molly said in a calm voice, but both of them recognized that it was tough for her, this unquestioned trust and affection Emma had for another human being, one she hadn't even known until a week ago. "Can I show Ramsey how to French-braid it tomorrow for you, Em?"
"Yes, Mama."
Ramsey leaned forward in his chair, taking her hands. "I want you to gather up all your clothes, Em, and stuff everything in a pillowcase. Don't forget anything. It's important. If those men come back, I don't want them to see anything that has to do with any of us in here. The three of us are leaving in fifteen minutes. All right?"
She gave him a long look, then nodded slowly.
He waited until he heard Emma rummaging around in the living room, then said to Molly, "I told you that I was relieved that you weren't the bad guys. We had visitors, two of them."
Emma said from the doorway, a half-filled pillowcase in her hands, "Are you going to look at your leg, Ramsey?"
He'd forgotten. He should, just to make sure there was no infection. He nodded slowly. "I'll get the tape," she called.
"What's going on?"
"Two guys stumbled out of the forest into the meadow yesterday, firing their rifles, pretending to be drunk. I got Emma inside and came back out with my rifle and handgun. I got hit in the leg, but I managed to hit both of them. One of them twice. They ran off. I have one of their rifles. Maybe the police can run a check on it.
"I don't know who they were or why they were here. My feeling is that they were after Emma." Then, Emma was standing there, beside him. He said easily, "Emma, hand me a sterile gauze." He rose and pulled down his sweatpants. He heard Molly suck in her breath. He said as he sat back down again, "Let me get this tape and gauze up. There, that's not too bad. It's supposed to turn black and blue. Okay, Emma, give me the gauze. You know, I think the swelling's down a bit."
"I hope so, Ramsey," Emma said, leaning close. "It doesn't smell bad, so that's good."
Molly said as she watched the two of them work smoothly together, Emma handing him strips of adhesive tape, then helping him pull it tight over the gauze, keeping the flesh together, "How'd you know about that, Em?"
"I know lots of things, Mama. I watched an ancient history show, the one Mr. Spock does, and they talked about how this one phara-"
"Pharaoh?"
"Yeah. He had his leg rot and ooze because someone hit him with a spear, and then he died."
"You mean gangrene?" Molly asked.
"Yes, that's it. I don't see any red, Ramsey."
"No, I don't either."
"Is it still real warm?" She didn't wait for him to answer, just lightly pressed her palm next to the bandage.
"Yes, it is. How much longer will it be warm?"
"I don't know. Not much longer. I'm a real quick healer."
"But it is better, isn't it?"
He heard the crawling fear in her voice, and came up with a big grin. He rubbed his knuckles on her cheek. "I'm nearly ready to go skiing, sweetheart. You want to go to Vail?"
"Mama likes to ski at Vail. I'm just learning."
"You can be my mascot. I'll carry you around on my shoulders. When I fall, I'll toss you in a snowbank and you can be a snow angel." Still, she looked profoundly worried. She lightly pressed a hand on either side of the bandage.
"It's okay, Em, I promise. If I wasn't sure, I'd be in the ER quicker than I could get the Jeep started.", A small calm voice said, "He said there wasn't a hospital close to here, just a nice big church."
Molly and Ramsey stared at her, not breathing. The air in the kitchen seemed to dry up.
Ramsey sat forward. He'd wanted desperately to question her about the man who'd kidnapped and abused her, but he hadn't. He had no experience in this kind of thing. There was no way he'd risk freaking her out. He said calmly, his voice utterly matter-of-fact, "Who said that, Emma? What man?"
She began shaking her head back and forth so violently the braid slapped her cheek. She said over and over, "No one, no one, no one."
"It's okay, Em." Molly went down on her knees and pulled her daughter against her. Emma was leaning heavily against his thigh, pulling her mother with her, but he didn't feel any pain from the weight. "I love you. It's okay."
He met Molly's eyes over Emma's head. There was murder in Molly's eyes. He prayed that if they ever caught the guy they'd have time to get information out of him before Molly managed to sneak in and kill him. On the other hand, maybe he'd kill him himself before Molly could.
"Em, you got your stuff ready?"
She pulled back, looking at him. Her face was pale, the cheekbones looking as if they were ready to poke through her skin, she was drawn so tightly. "Yes, Ramsey. I'm nearly ready. I just can't find one of my red socks."
"We're out of here in five minutes, red sock or not. Bring the tape with you. Let's leave the leg alone for another day. Come on, you guys, let's get moving."
THEY didn't see a soul. Of course anyone could be hiding in the forest, watching them. Ramsey herded them into the Jeep as fast as he could.
"Where's your car?" he asked Molly as he slipped into the driver's seat. In one quick motion he'd inserted the key and turned it. The engine was loud in the early-morning silence.
"It's down about a half a mile, just off the road. It's a rental car, a Chevrolet." She paused just a moment, never stopped looking out the windshield, and said calm as a clam, "Look, Ramsey, you're a federal judge. You're part of the system. I don't believe in the system. I'm not about to call the cops or go back to Denver. Why don't you drop me and Emma off and then you can go about your life?"
"What do you mean by that?" He swung the wheel too far in his surprise and instant anger, and nearly went off the rutted narrow road.
"I me
an," she said, still looking out the dirty windshield, and not once at him, "that you don't know us. I'm here now. Emma's my responsibility. I'll take over."
"No."
"I'm not calling in the damned cops."
"Fine. For the time being. But I disagree." He knew there was something else holding her back, something she hadn't told him, not that she'd told him hardly anything at all.
"I don't care. I'm calling the shots here. If you can't accept that, then leave."
"Mama, you don't want Ramsey to stay with us?"
Molly kissed her daughter's ear. "He's an innocent bystander, Em. This isn't his trouble."
"How did you reach that brilliant conclusion?" The Jeep crunched over rocks and lurched to the side.
"Some guys tried to take me out at the cabin. Chances are they just wanted to get me out of the way."
"I don't suppose you considered that it could have been you they were after?"
He wanted to strangle the steering wheel. "Emma," he said, "stop listening, as of now. Put your hands against your ears. Yes, that's good. Now, I'm going to speak my mind to your mother."
"I don't want to hear any more. It doesn't matter. You've done your good deed. You've even been hurt protecting Emma. It's enough, more than enough. You're now out of our lives. When we trade cars, I'll be really careful to make certain no one follows us. I've gotten very good at being sneaky. I'm not going back to Denver, so you don't have to worry that Emma will be in any danger again. Oh yeah, I'll call the cops and the FBI and tell them it's over. I'll tell them where you found Emma so maybe they can find the cabin where the kidnapper was holding Emma. Then I'll tell them what a dynamite job they all did."
Emma sat perfectly still on her mother's lap, her hands over her ears. But she was making those horrible mewling sounds in her throat.
Molly looked like she'd been punched in the stomach. She gathered Emma close, rocking her. "Baby, it's all right. Oh, God, I'm sorry, Emma. Please, trust me. I promise I'll take care of you. It was my fault that he got you that first time, but we're not going back there. I'll keep you safe. I won't yell at Ramsey again."
Ramsey stopped the Jeep. He turned in his seat to face them. "Emma," he said matter-of-factly, "take your hands away from your ears. Now listen to me. You won't make those sounds anymore, do you hear me? If you have something to say, you'll say it, not scare the devil out of me making those sounds. They terrify me to my toes. They make my leg hurt more. Now, I'm not leaving you and your mom. Your mom can yell at me if it makes her feel better. I might even yell back. But nothing could make me leave you.
Do you hear me?"
A loud silence, and then, "You promise you won't leave, Ramsey?"
"I promise. I don't break my promises. Your mom will get used to me just as you did. She won't talk me out of it, no matter what kind of reasons she comes up with. I'll even play by her rules, for the time being.
You're going to talk from now on, all right?"
She nodded slowly. "I don't like to hear you yelling."
"No, we don't either. But it'll happen sometimes. You can just tell us both to be quiet. Now, enough said."
Molly didn't say a word. She looked as if she wanted to fold up on herself. She looked near the edge.
He felt like taking a strip off her, but he didn't. She might just crumble. Or, she might just shoot him. He lightly patted her shoulder and said in that calm deep voice that served him well in the courtroom, "It will be all right, Molly. You'll see. There's nothing wrong with needing backup, and that's how you can think of me. Now, let's get out of here. Emma, look out the rear window. If you see a car behind us, you tell me."
"Yes, Ramsey."
"I'm counting on you. Keep sharp."
"I will."
"About those men," Molly said. "Do you think it's possible that they could have been after you and not Emma?"
"I don't know."
"You've made enemies. I read you'd gotten threats, particularly from that one woman whose husband died that day in the courtroom."
"That's right, I have, but no one has tried to kill me before."
"That would mean that there were two men with Emma, not just the one who abducted her."
"That's right. Could you please pour me a cup of coffee from the Thermos?"
She knew he didn't want to talk about it in front of Emma. But there was so much dammed up inside her.
For nearly two weeks, she'd been filling up with anger and hatred and helplessness. She'd wait, she had to. The last thing she wanted was to terrify her daughter even more than she already was. She handed the cup to Ramsey Hunt, a man she'd read about, a man she'd wondered about in odd moments along with the rest of the country. Until two weeks ago when her world was blown apart.
She hugged Emma tightly to her.
"Let me loose, Mama. I've got to keep looking out the back window. The Jeep's dirty, Ramsey. We should stop and get it washed."
"That's a good idea. Who would be looking for a spanking clean Jeep?"
They left Molly's rental car where it sat. Molly took all the papers out of the glove compartment. "I'll call them and tell them where the car is. They may not mind too much if I tell them to charge anything extra on my credit card."
They had the Jeep washed when they stopped for lunch in Rappahoe, a small town just off the 70. No one was following them as best Ramsey could tell.
"How's your leg?"
"Stiffening up on me," he said, taking a big bite of his hamburger. He closed his eyes as he chewed.
When he swallowed, he groaned and said, "Fat. There's nothing better in life."
"I heard my dad say that sex was the best thing in life," Emma said, and chewed on a French fry coated with catsup.
"I think kittens and little girls are about the two best things," Molly said without skipping a beat.
He admired her for that. He himself was aware that his mouth had dropped open.
"Did you bring my kite, Ramsey?"
"Oh yes. This kid's a pro," he added to Molly, who'd taken all of one spoonful of her vegetable soup.
"You taught her, didn't you?"
She nodded, picked up her spoon, and began stirring the soup. There was a film of grease over the top.
She dropped the spoon and took a slice of white bread. She spread butter and jam on it. At least she was eating that.
"Ramsey, two guys just came in. They're looking over here. One of them has a rifle."
* * *
MELISSA Shaker watched her father move smoothly and steadily on the rowing machine. She wanted to tell him that he looked really good for a guy his age, that he should hang around in jock T-shirts and shorts. The minute he dressed in one of his expensive Savile Row suits, he looked faintly ridiculous. The bottom line was, he looked like a thug, really. The more expensive the clothes, the more they seemed to reduce him to a stereotype of a Hollywood movie Mafia character. But strip her old man down, and he looked just fine.
She said, "I noticed that you've stopped taking Eleanor around to the clubs."
He grunted, never missing his rhythmic pull, release, pull, release. "Yeah, she's so classy she makes me look like a bodyguard."
She blinked at that. She didn't realize he'd known. Eleanor, classy?
He continued after a moment, his voice smooth and calm, despite his exertion, "The younger, the more beautiful the girl, the more like a gargoyle I look."
Melissa laughed. "You're right, but I wouldn't have said it out loud. I saw you with a really beautiful girl out by the swimming pool the other day. You were wearing a bikini and so was she. You looked better than she did. Just wear shorts, Dad, and you'll look great."
He grunted, slowly easing down on his speed. This was his cooldown. He'd been on the rowing machine for forty minutes. Sweat was dripping off him and his muscles were pumped and glistening. If he hadn't been her father, she would have at least looked him over.
The phone rang. He said without looking up, "Answer it, but don't say anything."
>
She did. When she handed him the phone, he'd finally come to a halt. He was breathing just a bit on the fast side. He listened, then said, "What's the status?"
He listened. Melissa wished she could pick up the extension. She walked over to the weight rack and picked up two five-pound free weights. She began to do bicep curls.
She turned only when she heard him place the phone back into the cradle. He said, "It shouldn't be long now. We'll get three for the price of one."
"I wish it could be different."
He looked at her closely, doing the slow bicep curls, like pulling through water, just as he'd taught her.
"No you don't. You enjoy all this crap. But I promised you. You know I always keep my promises."
She put down the free weights and walked to him. She hugged him close, not caring that he was sweaty.
"Thanks, Daddy. I know. I appreciate it."
He lightly pushed her away and toweled himself off. "You're a good girl, Mellie, but sometimes you get strange ideas." He raised his hand. "No, it's okay. It keeps life interesting."
Rule Shaker was whistling when he walked into the huge shower stall in the marble bath off his private gym.
8
"EMMA, KEEP YOUR head down and eat your French fries. Molly, don't go for your gun, listen to me.
I want you and Emma to go through that doorway that says TELEPHONES & TOILETS. If there's an exit, go on out to the Jeep, otherwise, stay in the bathroom. If you get to the Jeep, lock yourselves in. I'll be out as soon as I pay the bill. Go. Act as naturally as you can. Don't look back."
Molly didn't move. "Em, did you see the two men that came to the cabin?"
"Not really."
"So you wouldn't recognize them?"
The Target f-3 Page 7
