HIDING PLACE by Meghan Holloway

by Meghan Holloway

  In the first days and weeks, I was terrified I would find them dead. But in the months and years that followed, I was desperate. Dread at finding my girls turned to despair at not finding them. And so they lingered still, not alive but not dead, not gone but not in my arms where I should have cherished and protected them and failed to do so. They were ghosts who dogged my step, caught in this unknown purgatory with no fucking answers.

  So I made another vow. This one was an oath I intended to keep all the way to my own grave. I would not rest, and I would not give up. I would do whatever it took to find out what happened to my girls and bring them home.

  I scrubbed my hands over my face and leaned back in my chair. Promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep, as Robert Frost said.

  Frank’s head came up and he looked toward the door a moment before Donald Marsden appeared in the threshold.

  “Chief,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

  “You have a moment?”

  “Sure.”

  I kept expecting him to sit down before my desk and tell me he knew I was fucking his wife, but once again he disappointed me when he took the chair opposite me.

  “Do you need anything while you’re getting your housing situation straightened out after the fire?” he asked. “Joan suggested we might have a fundraiser for you.”

  I watched his face carefully as he said her name, but his expression gave nothing away. The man either had an unbeatable poker face, or he did not know.

  “That’s not necessary,” I said.

  The chief was a man who was very proud of having been a Marine and found endless opportunities to tell people so. He liked to label himself a Vietnam War combat veteran when I knew for a fact he had never been farther east than Germany during his stint in the military. He also used his fists when he was angry. I wondered how long that poker face would last if I knocked his head right off his shoulders.

  “Senator Larson called,” he said, and it was my turn to adopt a poker face as he watched me carefully. “He seems to think a member of the police department has been trespassing on his land.”

  “Why would he think that?”

  “He said his men found a campsite on a ridge near his home and what looked like a sniper’s nest.” I snorted at that melodrama. “He wanted me to know he would press charges.”

  “Lots of trails in Yellowstone lead right up to the edge of Larson’s property. Can’t press charges if there are no indicators that someone is venturing onto private property,” I said noncommittally.

  Marsden sighed. “I thought we wouldn’t have these issues with you any longer now that Roosevelt is out of the picture. You don’t make it easy on us, Hector.”

  My temper flared. “Didn’t know that was my job.”

  He gave me a look that was meant to be quelling. “You’ve done this job long enough that you should know there are some things we have to finesse.”

  “My job description was to serve and protect,” I quoted. “I leave the bullshit to you.”

  He rubbed a hand over his face. “Good thing, since you have about as much subtlety as an elk in rut.”

  I remained silent.

  “I’ll tell you like I told you when you were causing trouble with Roosevelt,” he said finally. “Don’t give me a reason to fire you.”

  “Larson’s a poacher,” I said.

  His face went blank. His mouth opened and closed. After a long beat of silence, he sat back in the chair. “You have proof?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Solid proof. A full, thorough case report. Otherwise the DA will throw it out.”

  “This is bigger than the DA. He’s operating a hunting organization that specializes in endangered species. A number of them lured out of the park.”

  He let out a low whistle. “Then make sure it’s air tight before we bring in the feds. Larson is a powerful man with powerful connections. If we don’t have every T crossed and every I dotted, he’ll get off before we even finish reading him his Mirandas.”

  “I’m on it,” I said.

  “Air tight, and by the book.”

  I met his gaze and arched an eyebrow. “Would I do things any other way?” I asked, keeping my voice mild.

  “Of course not,” he muttered as he stood and exited my office.

  I glanced at the witness statement again and grabbed the phone to follow up with Agatha about her conscientious car borrower. Miles to go, I reminded myself.

  twenty-three

  GRANT

  “The woman and her boy showed up at the hospital in Livingston.”

  I looked up. “You told me it was taken care of.”

  “What can I say? These people have a hard time staying dead.”

  I started to respond to the retort when something snagged in my memory. “Do you have the security footage from when she and Hector Lewis showed up to get the boy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bring me stills of her face. And the boy’s.”

  I dropped my face into my hands as soon as he left and rubbed my temples. Pushing back from my desk, I strode out of my house, stopping first by the kitchen, and moved toward the paddock where Iago was grazing on fresh hay.

  His head came up as I approached and bobbed in greeting. I waited, leaning against the railing, and he cautiously crossed the paddock to my side. I smiled when he stretched out his neck and nuzzled my arm.

  Keeping my movements slow, I offered him the apple I purloined from the kitchen for him. His ears went up as he smelled the fruit, and for the first time, he accepted it directly from my hand.

  He crunched through the apple noisily and enthusiastically. He did not shy away when I reached out and placed my hand against his neck. He blew a breath out of his nose, and I echoed the sound.

  It was Winona who taught me to not just better understand the language of a horse but to speak it myself.

  And I knew there was no turning back when she came into my study after I returned from the hunt where I thought I saw a flash of blue-black hair between the trees. I stood to greet her as she rounded my desk. Her face was set, but I could not discern her mood. Until her palm cracked across my face.

  “You are despicable,” she whispered as my face was still stinging. “Don’t think you’ll be able to get away with this.”

  She was a fierce, intelligent woman. Perhaps I should have expected she would dig and dig until she knew the truth. Perhaps I should never have offered her the job that day on the state road watching her gentle the most violent horse I had ever owned.

  Iago danced away from me as John approached with the images I requested. There were several in the stack, shots from the footage showing the woman’s face from different angles. I recalled that nagging sense of familiarity, and shuffled through the stack to study the images of the boy.

  “What did you say their names are?”

  “They go by Faye and Sam Anders.”

  Her name had not been Faye when I met her at the charity event in New York City years ago. Nor had her hair been black. It had been a deep, vivid red that was almost the hue of blood. She was lucky her face was not memorable and that striking hair color was easily disguised. Otherwise, I would have remembered her much sooner.

  I studied the images of the boy again and reached for my cell phone. I dialed the number and had to wait to be put through the channels to speak to him. When he finally answered, I said, “I hope you are in a generous mood.”

  His chuckle was not a pleasant sound. “You know you need to tread carefully, Grant. You never had much of a poker face.”

  “No, but tonight I have a royal flush. I know where your son is.”

  twenty-four

  FAYE

  “Can you believe he’s here?”

  The hushed words drew me from slumber, and I rubbed the sleep from my eyes before pushing the button to raise the head of my bed. I glanced across the few feet separating our beds and found Sa
m sleeping peacefully. His chest rose and fell in a smooth rhythm, and the machines he was attached to beeped softly and steadily.

  The women outside our room spoke quietly. I closed my eyes, letting my mind drift, until I heard his name. I should have been used to it by now. I saw his face on television advertisements often enough these days. But it still lanced that pocket of fear inside me, letting it spill out and seep into my blood. And then what she said penetrated.

  “Excuse me?” I called, trying to keep my voice calm.

  One of the nurses stuck her head inside my door. “I’m sorry, honey. Were we too loud?”

  “Did you say Kevin Hastings is here?”

  “He is. A surprise visit. I didn’t even know he was coming through this area. I was planning on driving to one of his events with friends.”

  “He’s here. In the hospital?” I darted a glance at Sam.

  “Yes, he’s down on the second floor right now. He stopped into the nursery. It’s a good thing I’m not down there. If I saw him holding a baby, I think my ovaries would explode.” She laughed, but I did not follow suit. “He should be up here soon, though. I can see if he’ll stop by your room if you’d like to meet him.”

  I could not manage a smile for her. My mind was racing, and my heart was picking up pace right along with it. Her gaze darted to the heart rate monitor. “Could we get some lunch? I think I slept through the first delivery.”

  She smiled. “Of course, honey. I’ll go put in the request.”

  As soon as she left the room, I scrambled out of bed. Lightheadedness swamped me, and I grabbed onto the rail of my bed to steady myself. My heart rate monitor was beginning to beep erratically. I stumbled to the wall and unplugged the entire machine before I unclipped the monitor from my finger. I sucked in a breath at the sharp pinch as I pulled the IV line from the back of my hand. Blood welled to the surface, but I did not stop to stem the bleeding.

  I ached everywhere. My fractured ribs pinched sharply with each breath I took. My ankle and knee throbbed. I limped to the chair where Evelyn left the duffel bag and slipped on a pair of yoga pants. My hospital gown was spotted with blood from my hand, and I stripped it off carefully and pulled a sweatshirt over my head. A blood trail on tile would be easy to follow, so I slipped a sock over my bleeding hand and shoved my feet into my boots.

  I moved to Sam’s bedside. “Wake up, bud,” I whispered, placing a hand on his chest. His lashes flickered as I unplugged the machine monitoring his vitals and unclipped the heart rate monitor from his finger. I grabbed a piece of tissue from the rollaway table and pressed it against his arm as I removed the IV line as gently as I could. His eyes were open when I looked at his face. “We have to leave,” I said. I knew the urgency bled into my voice when his gaze darted past me to the doorway.

  I leaned over his bed. He wrapped his arms around my neck as I lifted him. Fire swept through me, and I clenched my jaw to keep from crying out in pain. I sucked in a shuddering breath as Sam tightened his arms around me. I could feel his gaze on my face, but I was not ready to look at him yet. I was not certain I could force a smile past my lips.

  I peered around the door into the hallway. The nurse’s station was empty, and the nurse who told me of his arrival at the hospital was walking down the hall. She turned a corner and disappeared into another room.

  I adjusted my grip on Sam and hurried down the hall in the opposite direction. I moved as quickly as I could, breathing through the knifelike sensation in my ribs and the raw, grating sensation in my knee and ankle. I hesitated at the end of the hall before the bank of elevators. It would be quicker, more comfortable, and far more easily cornered and trapped in. I turned the corner and pushed through the heavy door into the stairwell just as a nurse turned onto the hall.

  I leaned a shoulder against the wall as I struggled down the staircase. Sam pressed his forehead against my throat. When dampness hit my collarbone, my throat closed. I made it down the next three flights of stairs and peered around the corner into the hallway.

  Kevin always had a veritable army around him. Their uniform consisted of well-tailored suits, concealed weapons, and ear pieces. The two men standing at either end of the hall undeniably fit that bill.

  I ducked back into the stairwell, panic fluttering like a trapped bird in my chest. This was how he operated. I had seen it enough times to know the way he flushed out his prey. He was nothing if not a master hunter. He would cut off all escape routes. I knew from experience pulling the fire alarm would not work, because he would have every exit watched. There was no way for a woman and child to disguise they were a woman and child.

  Unless we did not look like a woman and child together.

  I limped down the stairs to the basement level as quickly as I could. A door slammed open on one of the floors above us, and I froze, arms tight around Sam. I backed into the corner, pressed against the wall, out of sight from the central axis around which the stairs revolved.

  “I hear he’s even more handsome in person than he looks on TV,” a man said.

  A woman laughed in response. “Is that all it takes to win your vote?”

  “Well, it certainly doesn’t hurt,” he responded. “I wouldn’t mind—”

  The sound of another door opening muffled the rest of the exchange, and when the door closed with a thump, it was silent again. The stairwell was empty.

  Sam trembled in my arms. I pressed my lips to the top of his head. “I will never let anyone hurt you,” I whispered. “I’ll do anything it takes to protect you.” His thin arms tightened around my neck. “We need to get out of here. Can you be brave for me?”

  After a moment, his forehead rubbed against my throat as he nodded.

  The door at the bottom of the stairwell was labeled STAFF ONLY, but it swung open easily to allow me access. The basement level was quiet, though behind one door, I could hear voices and the clang of cutlery indicating a kitchen. I hurried past a bank of elevators and slipped through an open doorway when I heard the door into the kitchen swing behind us.

  The room I ducked into was a break room, and I leaned against the wall and strained my ears to hear the approach in the hallway. Footsteps squeaked toward us on the polished tile floor. I held my breath when the footsteps paused, but then a ping echoed down the hall, and I heard the slide of the elevator door opening and closing.

  A doctor’s white coat hung from a peg on the wall. I deposited Sam into a chair and snatched the coat off the hook, shrugging into it and buttoning it over my sweatshirt.

  Sam watched me with wide eyes.

  “Ready to go?” I whispered.

  He nodded, and I picked him up carefully. A glance around the threshold showed the hallway to be empty, and I limped down the corridor toward the double doors labeled LAUNDRY. Sweat beaded on my forehead and gathered at the small of my back.

  I pushed through the double doors and found a row of large carts parked along one wall. I hurried to one and lowered Sam within. I braced myself with one hand on the edge of the cart and the other pressed against my side as I fought to catch my breath and swallow past the rising queasiness.

  It took me several minutes before I could straighten from my bent position. I moved to the rows of shelves and pulled packages of linens down. I ripped open the sterile wrappings and tossed crisp white sheets and blankets over Sam until the pile filled the cart.

  “Think of this as a game,” I said, forcing a smile to my lips.

  He ducked down, and I made certain he was completely covered by the linens.

  “I’ll be right back for you,” I promised him, and then slipped from the laundry room and followed the hallway around the corner.

  The exit signs led to a delivery bay. I retraced my steps, went straight to the bank of elevators, and pulled the fire alarm.

  The siren was instantaneous, and I hurried back to the laundry facilities, hand clutched to my side. Hospital employees were already hurrying past me as I reached the linen c
art, but few spared me a second glance and none stopped me.

  I reached into the linen cart beneath the piles of blankets and sheets, and Sam immediately grasped my hand. “We’re going now,” I said softly. “Just stay hidden.”

  I wheeled the cart into the hallway and joined the press toward the exit. No one was panicking or running. It was simply a milling tide of employees on this level exiting the building through the big bay doors and migrating down the loading dock ramp. I pushed my way into the midst of the group and kept my head ducked.

  I kept my face down and watched for anyone who came too close from the corner of my eye as we exited the building and crossed the parking lot.

  “See her or the boy?” I heard someone call.

  My head jerked up, and I glanced through the crowd before I could check the reaction. The man in the suit stood about fifteen feet away, braced against the press of people moving away from the building. As if he were a boulder in a stream, people parted around him. His gaze was directed past me, and I quickly lowered my head before he felt my eyes on him.

  “Nothing,” another man said to my left.

  I had to force myself not to break into a run. I moved slowly with the others across the pavement, striving to remain as invisible as possible to the men obviously searching for us. I pushed through to the fringes of the crowd gathering in the parking lot. Many were clustered in groups talking, a few lit up cigarettes and took advantage of the impromptu break. From this angle, I could see around the corner to the main entrance. There were men in suits gathered there as well.

  I had to make a break for it now. I glanced around as I pushed the linen cart between vehicles, weaving through the parking lot to the side street. My heart sank. I had anticipated a maze of buildings surrounding the hospital, a city labyrinth we could escape into. But the hospital sat isolated on a stretch of rough plain. There were no shops or businesses in the immediate vicinity, nothing that might offer a hiding place. There was no shelter. We were exposed.