CHAPTER 16
AS THEY CLEARED the neighborhood, Turner glanced in the rearview mirror in time to see a set of headlights bearing down on them. As they grew in intensity, he realized they belonged to a black Mercedes, and he didn’t need two guesses to know who was sitting behind the wheel. Obviously Slick was closer than Turner expected and had arrived in time to witness their departure. The chase was now on.
Cassandra noticed Turner’s reaction and whirled around, following his line of vision.
“It’s him,” Turner said.
She clutched Justin closer in a gesture that conveyed what they both felt. Panic.
“Hang on!” Turner said, glancing over at Justin, who was pressed against his mother. The little boy’s large, sleepy, blue eyes were filled with trust. Turner tried to smile at him to let him know that everything was going to be okay, but it was hard to smile a lie.
Turner gunned the engine and the Buick responded with surprising enthusiasm.
As they raced down the street, Turner peered wildly ahead, looking for an exit. The Buick was in great condition, a classic combination of tin and chrome, but it was no match for the thoroughbred that Slick was driving. The Buick would never be able to outrun the Mercedes.
When a side street came up suddenly, Turner cranked the wheel at the last minute. The car took the corner in a maneuver that would have impressed any Hollywood stunt driver.
But it didn’t impress Cassandra. “Take it easy!” she gasped, looking at him like he was determined to kill them and save their pursuer the trouble.
Slick overshot the exit, and Turner saw the tires of the Mercedes smoke as the brake lights glowed blood red. The backup lights flashed on an instant later.
Turner’s maneuver bought them a few extra seconds, and he took advantage of them. He roared down the street and turned into a residential area, taking each corner in turn—a right, a left, and another right—as he zigzagged through the sleeping neighborhood. Deciding not to earn more of Cassandra’s disapproval, he kept all four tires on the ground.
“Where are we going?” she asked, hugging Justin desperately.
“Anywhere,” Turner replied.
“The guy will expect us to try and outrun him. Let’s pull in somewhere and sit tight.”
Careful not to let the brake lights betray their location, Turner let the car coast down the street. A paved alley appeared up ahead, and he turned into it, noticing a large, metal trash bin that providentially jutted into the alleyway. He flipped around in a rear driveway and pulled up behind the bin, facing the direction they had come. A flick of a finger extinguished the headlights; a turn of the wrist killed the engine. Unrolling the window, he listened for the sounds of an approaching vehicle.
Rap music drifted from a house farther down the alley, and a marauding cat leaped from the top of the fence and landed lightly on the trash bin. Otherwise the alley was quiet and deserted.
Clouds hovered overhead, blocking the moonlight. Only the occasional pinprick of starlight jabbed through a gap in the clouds. There were no streetlights in the alley, so the headlights of an approaching vehicle would announce its presence before the tires did.
“Do you think we lost him?” Cassandra whispered, as though their pursuer would hear her if she spoke any louder.
“I don’t know,” Turner replied. “I took the corner pretty fast and drove like a mad man through the neighborhood.”
“I noticed.”
“It was fun,” Justin said.
Turner smiled sheepishly at Cassandra and held his hand poised above the ignition key, waiting to fire up the Buick at a moment’s notice. They sat in the darkness, glancing around and listening for the slightest indication of an approaching vehicle.
The trash bin screened them somewhat from the front. But what Turner hadn’t counted on was Slick stumbling on to them from the rear. A beam of light suddenly appeared at the far end of the alley, followed by the screech of tires.
Turner’s first instinct was to twist the key, wrestle the transmission into gear, and roar away in a cloud of smoking rubber. Cassandra’s sudden grip on his arm told him she shared the same sentiment.
But he hesitated, studying the car in the rearview mirror. Did Slick recognize their vehicle? For all Slick knew, it could be a car that normally parked there, the occupant comfortably inside the house, in bed. From what Turner had observed of the neighborhood, a car like theirs was not out of place. The condition of the houses and fences told him that many residents probably hung on to anything that still ran, no matter how old of a model it was.
Slick began to move ahead but then stopped again. Turner could almost feel Slick’s eyes studying the contours of the Buick, peering into the interior, searching for recognition. And then there it was!
The Mercedes spun into the alley and bore down on the Buick with the speed of a pizza deliveryman about to have his wages deducted for arriving late. As Slick raced down the alley, Turner cranked the engine and raced out, motor revving, tires squealing. Several back porch lights blinked on, and the marauding cat, lazily crossing the alley, disappeared beneath the wheels of the Mercedes.
Exiting the alley on two tires again—without any criticism from Cassandra this time—Turner cranked the wheel sharply and roared away. Ahead, the street wound its way up a steep hill, disappearing into a thick swatch of bushes and trees that covered the slope.
This was his intended destination. But instead of driving directly there, he continued his serpentine pattern, taking corners in a random order so Slick wouldn’t figure it out, skip ahead, and beat them to the next intersection. Sometimes Turner took two lefts in a row, sometimes two rights.
The Mercedes stuck with them for most of it, however. Turner caught glimpses of the headlights in his rearview mirror. On one occasion they disappeared and Turner thought he had ditched his pursuer. But then the headlights suddenly reappeared, and the Mercedes bore down in hot pursuit.
And it was hot.
Perspiration stung Turner’s eyes, and he wiped his face with the back of his hand. Cassandra’s hair clung to her forehead and her cheeks were flushed.
As co-navigator, Cassandra continually glanced over her shoulder to give Turner moment-by-moment updates on the Mercedes’s location . . . which seemed to be drawing closer.
Turner noticed a semitrailer pull out of a service station ahead and lumber into the street in a wide arc. Swerving around it in one fluid motion—which resulted in a gasp of shock from Cassandra and a shriek of excitement from Justin—he turned at the intersection just ahead and shot down the side street before pulling behind a sign that advertised State Farm Insurance. Thick brush grew at the base of the sign like a bushy beard, hiding the Buick completely.
He flicked off the headlights and watched as the Mercedes went roaring by. But he knew it wouldn’t take Slick long to realize that they were no longer ahead of him. They had to move on.
Keeping the headlights off, he eased the car out from behind the sign and headed in the opposite direction. They drove for ten minutes without any sign of the Mercedes.
“I think we lost him,” Cassandra said, brushing the hair from her forehead.
“Losing someone like that’s about as easy as losing thirty pounds,” Turner replied.
Cassandra forced a smile. “So what now?”
He glanced in the rearview mirror out of habit. “Let’s head for a motel. We need to get some rest and wait for Mary's call."
“She said there was a motel just off I-25 and Pikes Peak Avenue. Should we go there?”
“Better not, just in case the men planted a listening device or something. Someone could be waiting there for us.”
Cassandra motioned toward the dashboard. “Too bad this old girl doesn’t have a GPS unit. Where will we find a motel?”
“I work at one, remember? I have a pretty good idea where they’re usually located.”
Inside of ten minutes they found a motel on a quiet street, with a tree-lined alley where they co
uld discreetly park. Checking in as Mr. and Mrs. Jones, they carried Justin and the luggage into the room, drew the curtains, locked the door, engaged the safety chain, used the facilities, and collapsed on the double beds.
CHAPTER 17
CASSANDRA SLEPT FITFULLY. Her dreams were invaded by random images of a black Mercedes bearing down on them, Brad’s face contorted in anger, and a wall safe that was now missing a large envelope. Adding to her poor night’s sleep was the fact that Justin was a bed hog. He kneed and elbowed her repeatedly as he tossed and turned, and at one point he ended up with his feet in her face.
She was finally dozing off when Justin suddenly jumped on her and chirped, “Good morning, Mommy.”
“Morning, sweetie,” she whispered, glancing across at Turner, hoping not to awaken him. It felt strangely natural to have him in the room with Justin and her. And comforting.
“Did you have a good sleep?”
“Yeah,” he said, jumping on her again.
She was in the middle of wrestling him down so she could hug him when she heard a buzzing sound, distant and soft. Glancing sideways, she noticed Turner’s cell phone vibrating enthusiastically on the nightstand that sat between the two double beds.
“Wake Turner up,” she said to Justin.
His eyes widened in anticipation. After climbing down, he hurried to Turner’s bed and jumped on him. “Good morning, Turner. Time to wake up.”
Turner came up out of bed with a sudden jerk and looked around in confusion.
“It’s your cell phone,” Cassandra said, pointing at it.
“Good morning, little man,” Turner said, ruffling Justin’s hair and reaching for the cell phone. Propping himself up on one elbow, he pressed the talk button and stifled a yawn.
“Hello?” There was a brief pause. “Yes, good morning, Mary.”
“Put it on speaker,” Cassandra mouthed to him.
Turner complied. “I’ve got you on speaker phone, Mary.”
“Good morning to you too, Cassandra,” came Mary’s cheerful response. “How’s that cute little child doing?”
“I’m good,” Justin answered, reaching up to grab the phone.
“Everyone’s fine,” Cassandra replied, smiling as her son attempted to wrestle the phone away from Turner. “Thanks to you.”
“How about you, ma’am?” Turner asked, holding the phone out of Justin’s reach.
“I’m in my car, heading up I-25 as we speak.”
“You’re driving?”
“North.”
Cassandra exchanged a worried look with Turner. “They’re not after you, are they?” she asked.
“I hope so.”
Turner shook his head as if to clear his foggy brain. “I don’t understand.”
Mary chuckled. “If anyone’s trying to find you by following me, they’re headed in the wrong direction.”
“But what if they catch up to you?”
“I’m headed to the police station to follow up on the phone call I made last night. I don’t think those guys will stick around too long.”
Cassandra sighed in relief. “No, I don’t suppose they will.”
“Listen, I’m going to tell you the directions to the cabin. You all could use some serious R and R.”
“I agree,” Turner said.
“You probably won’t have cell phone service once you reach the cabin, so call me from Silverthorne in a couple of days, and I’ll update you on things here. And Cassandra, please think about going to the police and filing a report. You shouldn’t try to do this on your own.”
“I’ll think about it, Mary,” Cassandra said. “Thanks for your concern.”
Turner grabbed a paper and pencil and hurriedly wrote down the directions Mary provided. Then he thanked her and said good-bye.
Cassandra went to the window and parted the curtains slightly. “Do you think it’s safe to leave?”
Turner joined her at the window. “I don’t see a black Mercedes sitting in the parking lot, so I think we’re good to go.”
“You could sound more convincing.”
“Those guys have tracked us every step of the way, Cassandra. But we lost them this time. There’s no way they know where we are now.”
“That’s better.” She wished she felt as confident as she tried to sound. “I’ll get ready and we can grab a bite to eat before we hit the road.”
“Sounds good,” Turner said, opening the door slightly.
“Everything’s quiet out there.”
“That sounds good too,” she replied, smiling at him.
Twenty minutes later, they were in the car, driving in search of a fast-food joint. They found a McDonald's in less than five minutes and ordered at the drive-through window. Then Turner turned on to Highway 24 and drove north to intercept I-70, which would take them west to Silverthorne.
Cityscape to suburbia, suburbia to countryside, the tires sang of freedom and relief. In the distance, jagged peaks pierced the morning sky, making the horizon resemble the bottom half of a cracked eggshell. Cassandra should have felt relieved, even relaxed. But this morning something else was bothering her.
She glanced at Turner. Following high school, she never thought she would see him again. But he had come back into her life unexpectedly. For him to be working at the very motel she decided to check into was beyond coincidence. Her prayers had been heard and answered. But why . . . Turner? Who was he really? And why was he so willing to put himself in danger for her?
Choosing her words carefully, she said, “Everyone was so mean to you in high school, Turner.”
He glanced at her. “Not everyone.”
“I wasn’t any better than the rest.” She grimaced. “I didn’t do enough to try and stop it.”
Giving her a thin smile, he said, “Why should you have?”
“Because it was wrong. Like the time you were invited to Jen’s party just so you could walk the dog.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
“But I could have talked her out of it. She would have listened to me, but I didn’t say anything. I guess I was worried about—”
“Being teased like me?” he said, finishing the sentence for her.
She dropped her gaze guiltily. “Something like that.”
Turner was silent for a moment. “I’ll be honest, Cassandra. Seeing you again has been hard. Not because of anything you did personally. It’s just that you brought back a lot of memories. I thought I had gotten over them, that enough time had passed that I could leave them behind. But I found out differently. And then seeing Brad again was a double—make that a triple—whammy.”
“He always got his fun at other people’s expense. Frequently yours.” She reached across and placed a hand on his arm. “But for all the mean things that were done to you, you never retaliated. You never went out of your way to get even. You just took it. How did you manage?”
Turner shrugged. “I didn’t have much choice. I took it because I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t stand up to Brad and the other guys or they’d have made mincemeat out of me. But don’t imagine I didn’t think about getting even. I’d have paid Brad and the others back in spades if I’d only known how to do it.”
Cassandra sighed heavily. “To think of everything you went through—much of it in my presence—and now to think of what you’re doing to help Justin and me. I feel so bad.”
“Don’t, Cassandra. Let it go.”
“Look who’s talking,” she said, forcing a smile.
Turner grinned. “Actually I am getting even with Brad right now.”
Cassandra felt a chill run down her spine. What did Turner mean? Was he getting even with Brad by . . . helping her? By taking her away from him—something Turner could not have done in high school—and doing it as payback? Was that his true motivation?
She fell silent and stared out of the window. She felt a flush of anger as she thought about being used as a pawn in a game of revenge. But then she remembered her conviction that s
he had been led to Turner. There had to be more to it than fate granting him a chance to have the last laugh. He had done so much for her already.
As if reading her thoughts, Turner said, “I hope my comment didn’t upset you. This isn’t about getting even by trying to settle an old score. It’s about standing up to Brad and not giving him power over you anymore.”
Cassandra’s heart softened. Turner’s concern for her was touching. “Thank you, Turner, for caring about how I feel. That’s something Brad never did. The only feelings ever up for consideration were his. In that way you’re far ahead of him.”
“Yeah, right.”
She looked at him in earnest. “It’s true, even in smaller ways. You fixed the safety chain for me. That’s something he never would have gotten around to doing.”
“Brad can throw a football farther, run the track better, and punch a bag harder than me. But I can fix a safety chain faster.” He smiled grimly. “So that’s the true measure of manhood?”
She tapped Turner on the chest, over his heart. “No, but what you have in there is. Brad worked to build other people’s houses but neglected to build a home with Justin and me. And he always complained that he was too tired to do chores or jobs around the house.” She pursed her lips sadly. “For me the only way he was handy was with his fists.”
Turner didn’t respond.
After a moment she said, “Thanks for being there for me, Turner.” She nodded toward the backseat. “Thanks for being there for us.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, reaching over and patting her hand. “Why don’t you try and get some rest now?”
“You okay to keep driving?”
Turner nodded.
She leaned back against the headrest. “Thanks, I think I will. If you get sleepy, please wake me up.”
“Sure.”
Her restless night’s sleep had caught up with her. The last thing she remembered was Justin singing a tuneless song to the monkey.
The Return of Cassandra Todd Page 9
