by Debbie Burke
He glanced sideways at her. “You are welcome with me.”
“Too close. The neighbors all know me.”
He nodded. “You are correct.” He straightened in the seat. “There are several motels near the dam, where I work. They are far enough away that you won’t run into your neighbors. And I will be close.”
Sounded all right. At least until she got her bearings, met the lawyer, and found out where she stood. “OK.”
Once they were out of town, on the highway, he lowered the convertible top. Wind whipped loose wisps of her hair. The sun warmed her face. With her hand resting on Kahlil’s muscular shoulder, she again marveled how quickly her world had changed from bleak to hopeful because of him. Why had she ever worried about a petty concern like the ten-year difference in age? The important thing was his kindness, his unfailing understanding, his willingness to help her in time of trouble. Those things mattered. The rest was superficial.
But his driving. Her toes curled as he tailgated a van then whipped around it on a blind curve through Bad Rock Canyon. Heavy timber crowded one side of the road, the river on the other.
Seconds later, a deer burst from the trees. Brakes squealing, Kahlil swerved but clipped it with the front fender on his side. He veered to the narrow shoulder and stopped, his arm flung across Tawny in a feeble attempt to hold her back.
They faced each other, eyes wide, breathing ragged, seatbelts taut against their chests. “Are you all right?” he gasped.
She clutched his hand and nodded. “You?”
“Yes.” He swiveled in the seat, looking back to where the deer lay on its side, front legs flailing in a futile effort to escape. He undid his seatbelt and turned again to her, pulling her close. “I am so sorry.”
She watched over his shoulder as the deer tried to rise but fell back. It lay in the lane of oncoming traffic.
Behind them, the van that Kahlil had passed pulled over. The driver jumped out and ran to the convertible. “Holy crap, mister, what the hell do you think were you doing?” Thirtyish, his face white with shock, stubbly beard, coveralls, baseball cap on backwards. To Tawny, he said, “You OK, lady?”
She nodded. A wave of dizziness passed through her. She felt the revolver in her pocket and knew what she needed to do but didn’t want to think about it.
The van driver slapped his thighs. “Damn, I can’t believe your airbags didn’t go off! You’re one righteous lucky son of a bitch. Hit a deer with a damn convertible and not a scratch on you.” Despite his cursing, he sounded more frightened than angry.
Kahlil got out and extended his hand. “I must apologize for my foolishness.”
While the two men shook hands and then checked the fender damage, Tawny climbed from the car, crossed the road, and approached the deer. A splintered rear leg bone jutted through the hide. Its hips twisted unnaturally. Front hooves pawed the air. She moved behind its head, out of striking distance. “We’ve got to get her off the road.”
“Watch yourself, lady,” the van driver said. “Don’t let it kick you.”
Tawny pulled the revolver out, dropped to one knee, and cocked the hammer. “Easy, now,” she murmured to the stricken animal. “It’s going to be all right.” She aimed inside the ear, took a deep breath, and pulled the trigger. The gun leapt in her hand, the deer spasmed, but seconds later went still. She straightened, revolver hanging by her side, staring down at the pitiful creature. At least it didn’t suffer for long.
Then she felt Kahlil behind her, squeezing her arms, pulling her out of the traffic lane to the shoulder.
A truck approached, slowed, and steered around the carcass.
“The lady’s right,” the van driver said. “Let’s get this out of the way.” He and Kahlil each grabbed a leg and dragged the deer off the road.
With a shake of his head and a wave, the man climbed in his van and drove away.
Back in the convertible, Tawny said, “We ought to report this.”
Kahlil pursed his lips. “Do you really think that is a good idea, with your situation?”
Oh, yeah, she was on the run from the feds. How could she forget? “You’re right. Let’s get out of here.”
Despite the crumpled fender, the car handled all right. Tawny felt relieved that Kahlil now drove much slower, keeping a long distance from vehicles ahead of him.
In Hungry Horse, they pulled into a motel parking lot. Kahlil had not spoken a word since they left the dead deer. After turning off the engine, he sat for a long moment, head down.
Was he shocked, scared, embarrassed? Or maybe horrified by her action?
What was done was done. She couldn’t let the animal suffer. She reached in the back for her bag.
He faced her, green eyes brimming with regret. “I cannot tell you how sorry I am. I should never have put you in such a situation. I damn myself for making you go through that.” His glance dropped to the butt of the revolver, now back in her pocket. “What a brave woman you are, to end the misery of another being.”
She tried to shrug off his words but they hit deep in her heart. “You do what you have to do.”
He kissed her, gently, tenderly, then reached for his wallet. “Do you need money for the motel?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m OK.” But his offer warmed her.
He ran his fingers across her cheek. “I must check in at work, and I should turn the car in and see about the damage. But I will be back as soon as I can.”
Tawny got out, lugging her bag. With a glance at the fender and a wry smile, she asked, “Who would be crazy enough to rent you another car?”
He threw back his head and laughed as he drove away.
The motel was old, rickety, but clean. In the office, she started to fill out the registration form but realized she needed an alias, something that had never occurred to her before. Pretending to drop the pen, she bent to the floor, wracking her brain.
Her mother’s maiden name. Louisa Ellen Dent. She added the address of a house where they’d lived briefly in Butte when she was in first grade.
When the clerk asked for a credit card, she almost panicked but quickly counted out enough cash for a week’s rent. That satisfied him and he gave her the key.
The room was located in a rear building, out of sight from the highway, with a queen bed and kitchenette containing a bar fridge, microwave, and coffee maker. She immediately searched for a safe hiding place for the tote bag of cash and spotted a ceiling vent. Not a good solution but it would have to do for the time being. She used a dime to unscrew the fasteners and pulled the grill down. A cloud of dust came with it, making her sneeze. There was enough space in the duct, just barely, to stash the bag. She refastened the grill.
Sitting on the bed, she checked her phone and found a voicemail from Virgie. “Sorry to leave you hanging. Patient needed emergency surgery. He made it but I didn’t get home until three in the morning. Ah, the glamorous life of a physician. Anyway, call me when you can. Love ya, sweetheart.”
Tawny put on readers and texted her, Big problems but I’m OK. Call when U have LOTS of time 2 talk.
She ejected the spent shell from her revolver and reloaded. Then she unpacked toiletries in the bathroom, realizing she’d forgotten deodorant. After counting the cash in her wallet, she hiked a short distance down the highway to the supermarket. There, she bought coffee, milk, a few apples and oranges, deodorant, several bandannas, and a sewing kit.
Back at the motel, Tawny retrieved the tote bag from the vent. Using the sewing kit and bandannas from the store, she fashioned several pouches and sewed them inside the flannel lining of her denim jacket. Each pouch held five thousand without making obvious lumps. Satisfied, she stitched the hidden pockets closed. Like the revolver, from now on, she needed to keep the money with her at all times.
At nine o’clock, she called the lawyer’s office in Billings again and received the same excuse as yesterday. “He’s in trial. May I take a message?” Tawny repeated her urgent plea for a call back and h
ung up, discouraged.
Good thing she was away from home where the feds couldn’t easily intercept her, since the lawyer seemed impossible to contact. What help was he?
Then she recalled the tracking capability on the smartphone. The feds might find her through that. When Kahlil returned, she needed to ask him to disable that feature.
A pinpoint of light flashed red. Putting on readers, she checked the battery. Only seven percent left. She plugged it in to charge. A moment later, it vibrated on the bedside table like a nervous hamster and lit up, showing a new text.
From Neal!
Her heart stopped.
Abducted. Need help bad. W/s details soon.
Dear God, no!
Neal kidnapped. The worst case she’d imagined had come true. Her maternal intuition was right, too damn right.
A collage of memories cascaded through her mind, Neal immediately after birth, crusty, purplish, skull elongated like an alien being, but so unbelievably beautiful. His smile of delight when, at seven months, he pulled himself up on wobbly legs and stood without help. His pinched scowl during dentist visits. The softness of his eyes when he gazed at a little blond girl he had a crush on in sixth grade. So many snapshots through his twenty-nine years of life, growing into a mature, accomplished Army sergeant with erect posture, firm mouth, and many ribbons on his uniform.
No!
She’d lost her husband. She couldn’t lose her son too.
She forced fear to the back of her thoughts and focused instead on how to save Neal. The Army had to take action now. She flicked through the contact list on the phone to the number for Rear Detachment.
To her great relief, the same husky-voiced woman answered.
“Sergeant Stuart, this is Tawny Lindholm. We’ve talked several times about my son, Sergeant Neal Lindholm.”
“Yes, ma’am, I remember.” Noise rustled in the background then Stuart came back on the line. “Mrs. Lindholm, I’m sorry there’s no easy way to tell you this. Your son has been taken prisoner by insurgents.”
God, no.
Army confirmation made it official. Tawny squeezed her eyes tight. Pinwheels of light whirled behind her lids. “Yes, I know. I was calling to tell you I received a text message from him.”
“Ma’am, could you read the message to me, please, and the number it originated from?”
Tawny repeated the terrifying words, recited the number, then asked, “What does he mean about details? Will they ask for a ransom?”
The sergeant remained silent long enough that Tawny thought the connection must have dropped. Finally, Stuart spoke, “Mrs. Lindholm, are you aware of the official U.S. policy about negotiations with terrorists?”
She gripped the phone tightly. “Yes.”
“The government does not pay ransom. But be assured, we are on it. I will keep you informed. Can you be reached at the number you’re calling from?”
“Yes, yes, any time, day or night.” She disconnected and let her pounding head rest in her hands.
What did “on it” mean? A rescue attempt? Maybe. They wouldn’t share details with her. But she feared Neal might sink into the swirling whirlpool of secrecy that surrounded his work, only to come home in a coffin.
Tawny had to be prepared to act on her own, not depend on the Army.
She ran through her options. Only forty-thousand left of the cash, after paying for the motel and bounced checks. They, whoever they were, would surely demand more than that for ransom. How could she get enough money? The feds had seized her bank accounts.
The house was free and clear but getting a loan against it would take time. How long would the kidnappers allow before they hurt Neal?
She knew better than to ask the treacherous bank for help. Lupe Garza, the loan officer, had sneaked the thumb drive to her at risk of her job and arrest but Tawny knew the woman dared not take even greater chances by lending her money. Besides, considering how the coldblooded manager, Hyslop, had treated poor Margaret, he would never approve a loan. Worse, he’d turn Tawny in to the feds and enjoy doing it.
She wracked her brain to think of someone, anyone she could borrow money from.
Other banks wouldn’t touch her—not with frozen accounts and the specter of probable arrest hanging over her.
Virgie?
Even after working fifteen years as a doctor, Virgie complained about still paying down her student loan debt. She owned a condo with a hefty mortgage against it, and a nice SUV, whose payments sucked a lot of her income. She was the poorest doctor Tawny had ever known.
Still, there was no one else to ask.
Tawny tapped Virgie’s cell number. It instantly went to voicemail. Probably she turned it off at work. Next, Tawny tried the office number and told the receptionist it was an emergency.
Virgie came on the line within moments. “What’s the matter, baby?”
“Virg, I may need a lot of money, fast. To save Neal. Can you help me?”
“How much?”
“I don’t know yet. He’s been abducted.”
“Jesus! Have you called the FBI?”
Tawny gritted her teeth until her jaw ached. “I can’t. He’s somewhere in the Middle East.”
“Won’t the Army do anything?”
“I’ve called them but they refuse to pay ransoms. Virgie, please, I need money.”
A heavy silence followed. “Sweetheart, I’ll give you what I can but it isn’t much. Maybe a few grand. My credit cards are all maxed out. I’ve been spending too much on retail therapy.”
If the situation hadn’t been so dire, Tawny would have laughed out loud. Instead, she tried to swallow the boulder stuck in her throat. “OK. Thanks.”
“Tawny, what is going on?”
She shook her head in defeat, as if Virgie could see her through the phone. “I wish I knew.” She broke the connection.
Dead end.
Kit?
He appeared to be making a good living at the law firm. He’d loved Dwight like a father and treated Neal like a younger brother. She called his office and got through to him immediately, thank goodness.
“Kit, Neal sent me a text. He’s been abducted. I may need money to pay a ransom and the bank froze my accounts. Can you help me? Please?”
Silence dragged out for a long time. When Kit finally spoke, he asked, “Did you talk with the attorney I referred you to?”
“No! I’ve tried, but he’s in court and not returning my calls. Kit, I’m desperate. I don’t know how much the kidnappers will demand but I’m damn near broke with the feds tying up my money. I need help.”
Another long pause. Too long. “Tawny, I told you this is out of my area of expertise. I don’t want to advise you about a sensitive legal matter that I don’t have proper knowledge of.”
She pounded the mattress. Didn’t he understand? Neal’s life was at stake. She didn’t care about his legal expertise. She needed help. “Can you lend me money, Kit? I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate. I’ve got to save Neal.”
Why didn’t he answer? What was he thinking? Why the hesitation?
“Look, Kit, if you’re worried about getting the money back, I promise I’ll find a way to pay you. I’ll sign over the deed to my house. I’ll get a job, six jobs, whatever it takes.”
He heaved a weary sigh. “Tawny, it’s more complicated than that. Don’t you know that kidnappers rarely let a victim go, at least not alive? That’s why the government refuses to ransom captured Americans. Neal knew that risk when he joined the Army.”
His words felt like another kick in the stomach. A sob choked her. “No!” She let the phone fall to the bed and doubled over in anguish. Not Neal. Not her child. They couldn’t kill her son. Somehow she had to find a way to save him.
Kit’s faint voice sounded tinny out of the dropped cell. “Tawny, are you still there? Talk to me.”
She picked up the phone. “I’m here.”
“Listen to me. You need help. You’re in deeper than I can handle. You may
even be in a worse situation than my colleague in Billings can handle. You need to turn yourself in. Do you still have the card from that guy with Homeland Security, Maximillion Grosvenor? I think you should get a hold of him and tell him the whole story, including about Neal. Federal agencies cooperate with each other better than they used to. He’ll interface with the State Department, the CIA, the big guns. Let the pros handle it.”
Was Kit crazy? “You can’t be serious. You expect me to throw myself on the mercy of the same people that already found me guilty of a crime they didn’t even bother to tell me about? They’ve stolen my money, money Dwight and I worked hard for and paid taxes on. I’m supposed to trust government thugs to get my son back safe?” Her desperation changed to rage. “Forget it, Kit. I’m sorry I bothered you.”
She disconnected, jumped up from the bed, and paced, fists clenched, teeth grinding.
Struck out. The only two people who might lend her money were unable or unwilling. She might have to rob the damn bank to get her money back.
The revolver chafed against her hip bone.
Rob a bank?
If that was the only way to pay the ransom, maybe she should think about it. What did she have to lose? They already treated her like a criminal. She’d probably end up in prison anyway since they were so sure she was guilty.
But if that helped Neal, so what? If she lost her son, life was useless.
She hugged herself, trying to stop the shaking. On legs stiff as boards, she stalked to the bathroom to blow her nose and splash water on her blotchy face. To the reflection in the mirror, she hissed, “Get a grip on yourself! You’re losing it. You can’t help Neal if you go off the rails.”
She couldn’t shortchange a vending machine, let alone rob a bank. Her shooting skill was limited to punching tiny holes in the black circle of a paper target. She couldn’t hold a gun on a human being. Kit was right. She was in over her head.
A knock on the door. She grabbed the revolver from under the pillow, hurried across the room, and looked out the peephole.
Kahlil stood there, holding a bouquet of daffodils and tulips.
She opened the door. As soon as he saw her expression, he dropped the flowers and gripped her arms.
