Tall, Dark And Wanted

Mitch’s body responded to the memories, and he tried instead to shift his focus to the road ahead of them, keeping the Blazer steady through the accumulating drifts. The weatherman’s predictions had certainly been accurate. Between the heavy snowfall and the unrelenting wind, whatever tracks Molly had made in her walk to the house had long since been covered or blown clear. Mitch was grateful that Barb had left him with the four-wheel drive and rented a car to get back to Chicago.

“So the police know I’m alive?” he asked finally, needing something—anything—to break the heavy silence between them.

In his peripheral vision he caught the flash of Molly’s eyes, but the second he tried to meet her stare, she looked away again.

“No,” she answered flatly, her soft voice almost drowned out by the Blazer’s fan and the thumping wipers. “They think Sabatini got to you first.”

“But you didn’t?”

She shook her head.

“Why?”

“Call it a gut feeling.”

“So you came all this way on the department’s budget?”

“No. This is my vacation time, Mitch. My budget. I wanted to find you.”

Was it possible? he wondered. Could Molly have driven all the way from Chicago just for him? Out of concern for his safety and well-being?

No. The truth of the matter was Molly was a cop. Vacation or no vacation, as a cop she’d searched for him, and as a cop she wanted him to come back to Chicago. To testify.

“So how did you find me?”

“I broke into your office,” she said, so matter-of-factly she made it sound like standard police procedure. “Went through your Rolodex. Process of elimination. Figured that of all the places you’d run to, I’d find you here.”

He saw her nod past the windshield.

“My Jeep’s just around the next turn. I thought I saw headlights.”

“Probably the plow,” he suggested. But if there had been a plow or another vehicle it was gone by the time he steered around the bend and caught sight of the Jeep’s four-way flashers.

Mitch drove past the vehicle and pulled the Blazer to the shoulder of the road as well. Leaving it idling, he stepped out into a blast of icy air. In spots where the wind had blown the road clear, the packed snow squealed under his boots as he took out the gas can and walked back to the Jeep. There was no other sound; the heavy blanket of snow over the dense forest muffled the jangle of Molly’s key ring as she unlocked the gas cap, and the clank of the can as Mitch brought it up and fitted the nozzle.

Holding the flashlight in one hand, Molly lifted her collar and tugged her scarf up under her chin against the biting cold. Mitch didn’t know why she unzipped her anorak from the bottom just then and fumbled underneath as though checking her gun’s holster. If he’d had time to think about it, he might have taken the gesture as a warning. He might have thought Molly sensed something that he didn’t. Or…he might have wondered if she’d expected what happened next.

But the thoughts had barely begun to form themselves in his mind when they both heard the low rumble of an engine. Together they turned in time to see the sudden glare of high beams as a vehicle careened out of the darkness and around the corner. Momentarily caught in the headlights of the Blazer, the dark-colored SUV accelerated along the snow-covered road.

“What the hell? It’s coming right at us!” Molly shouted above the revving engine.

But Mitch didn’t need any warning. Instinct drove him. There was no time to wonder what lay in the darkness beyond the snowbank to his right. Anything was better than the grill of the oncoming vehicle. He dropped the empty gas can, and before it even hit the road, he’d snatched Molly’s hand in his.

He cleared the bank before she did, dragging her after him, up and over the hard slope and into the soft, deep snow beyond. Vaguely he was aware of branches whipping at his face and an exposed boulder gouging into his back as he rolled with Molly. And finally, his own wind escaped in a gasp, knocked out of him as she landed on him.

In the same instant, above the engine’s roar came the gut-wrenching sound of impact. It was followed by the scream of metal grinding against metal, of tortured steel and shattering glass.

He heard Molly’s curse as she bellied up the bank, and when he joined her, peering over the top, the Jeep was a good forty feet from where it had been parked. It wasn’t until the assailing four-by-four slowed to a stop farther down the road and finally turned around that Mitch was able to see the damage it had inflicted on the smaller vehicle. In the other vehicle’s headlights, it was clear Molly’s Jeep had been spun around, the driver’s side crushed and the windows smashed out.

Again he heard Molly curse, but this time she followed it up by lifting the edge of her anorak and taking out her gun. In the brief glare of headlights, he could see the determination in her face as she gripped the weapon in one gloved hand.

“Molly, what are you doing?!”

“What does it look like?”

“It might have been an accident.”

“I hardly think so. Get down, Mitch,” she ordered, pulling back the slide of the semiautomatic.

“Molly, what the hell—”

But he didn’t need to ask, nor did he need to hear Molly’s explanation behind the defensive stance she took, her body pressed along the snowbank, her elbows propped against the hardened surface as she brought the gun up. He, too, watched the four-by-four slow as it neared their hiding place, and when the passenger window rolled down, Mitch was shocked to see the weapon in the man’s hand.

“Get down,” Molly warned him once more, a mere second before the night erupted in gunfire.

There was no telling which shots were which then. To Mitch, it sounded like a virtual torrent of bullets. A war zone. From where he crouched just below the top of the slope, he could almost hear the small missiles piercing the air above him, striking trees and ricocheting off boulders in the darkness beyond. When he snatched a look at Molly, he saw she was holding her position at the top of the embankment, one round after the next exploding from the black muzzle of her gun.

Mitch could only imagine that her shots were far more accurate, because as suddenly as the gunfire had begun, it ended. There was the rev of the four-by-four’s engine and the grinding of huge tires against the frozen road as it sped off.

But Molly wasn’t finished. Far from it. Mitch heard her mutter something about them getting away, and in a flash she was on her feet.

“Molly, no! Let them go.” He snatched at her coat, hoping to stop her, but it was pointless. She tore loose and charged down the snowbank to the road before he’d even caught his balance.

In the roadway, Mitch winced with each earsplitting shot as Molly let off several more rounds at the fleeing vehicle. And that was when he smelled the gasoline.

Behind them, only one of the Jeep’s hazard lights continued to blink through the inky darkness. The four-by-four must have struck the Wrangler’s fuel tank.

“Molly!” But his voice was lost to yet another shot as the four-by-four’s taillights disappeared around the bend.

“Molly!” he shouted again.

The blast of her final round echoed through the woods. It was followed by the quiet, yet unmistakable whisper of a fire igniting. In the next second there were flames. Over the low crackle, he heard Molly curse again, turning to the vehicle as though she hoped to rescue some of her belongings.

“Molly, no. Come on!” he shouted above the hiss, tugging at her coat.

She’d lowered her gun, and in the intensifying red-orange glow of the hungry flames that already engulfed the driver’s side of the Jeep, Mitch saw the shock in her expression. The heat of the flames, searing against his own cold-numbed skin, seemed to hold her back.

The air was swollen now with the heat of the fire. Flames licked higher and higher into the stormy night, fanned by the wind.

“Molly, now! It’s going to blow!” This time when he grabbed at her coat, Mitch didn’t let go. He half dragged, half ran with her away from the Jeep and down the empty road, uncertain how much distance was needed.

It wasn’t enough.

There was the low whoosh of gas igniting, followed by an earth-shattering explosion that hurled both of them to the cold ground. The shock of the blast rippled through the air around them, followed by a wave of thick, acrid heat and a storm of flying shards that rained down around them.

“Are you all right?” His body covered hers, and when he raised himself enough that she could move, Molly rolled over and sat up. She brushed snow and grit from her face and stared back at the burning wreckage, the flames reflecting in her wide eyes.

“Are you all right, Molly?” he asked again, taking her by the shoulders.

She managed a nod and instantly scanned the snow-covered ground. Locating her gun, she brushed it off as well.

“Yeah,” she said at last, “I’m okay. I think…I think we need to get out of here.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

It was when Mitch started to stand that he spotted the two figures in the roadway. Twenty…maybe twenty-five yards away, they were no more than silhouettes in the flickering glow of the fire, but there was no question as to their intent. Each of them carried a gun, and each approached with the steady determination of hired killers.

Chapter Four

He’d saved her life. Not once, but twice now. And Mitch seemed bound and determined to do it a third time, Molly thought as he tore at her sleeve.

This time, however, Molly needed no prompting. With one eye on the two advancing men in the roadway, she nudged Mitch to the side of the road. She winced against the searing pain along her right side. She’d felt it for the first time up on the embankment, and hoped it had been a rock or a stick that had caused the injury. But now it felt warm. Hot, in fact. And Molly wondered if she might have actually taken a bullet during the rain of gunfire.

Hurriedly, she reached under her anorak with her bare hand, certain she felt the slipperiness of blood as she groped for her Glock’s extra ammunition clip.

“Over the bank,” she whispered harshly, jamming the magazine into the grip of her semiautomatic.

Even at fifteen yards, she could feel the singe of the flames as the two of them stumbled across the road. Vaguely, she was aware of various parts from her Jeep strewn about them from the explosion. She and Mitch had been lucky.

But there would be no counting of blessings if she didn’t get them out of there…and fast. Sabatini’s men were serious—dead serious. The guns they wielded were nothing short of illegal. To her trained ears, even in the heat of the gunplay only moments ago, she knew the men’s weapons were fully automatic.

With the cold, wet Glock in one hand, and Mitch holding her other, Molly relied on his strength to drag her to the top of the embankment. On the other side, the snow was deep and loose, swallowing them almost to their waists. Molly needed no words. Mitch seemed to understand she had a plan. She moved ahead of him and led the way back toward the section of the road where they’d left the Blazer idling.

Molly could only pray that Sabatini’s thugs didn’t expect them to be brave enough to come back right at them with little more than the embankment for cover. But what other option did they have? Stumble through the deep snow and the storm into the middle of the bush? And then what? No, their only option was to get to the Blazer.

Staying in a semicrouch, Molly pushed her way through a tangle of branches and saplings. She could feel Mitch right behind her. He’d caught her more than a couple of times as she nearly tripped over hidden rocks and fissures in the earth beneath the thick snow.

They had to be close now. If Sabatini’s men had kept up their pace, then they should be parallel to them. Only a few yards separating them. A few yards and a snowbank. Molly realized she was holding her breath, as though the men on the roadway would actually hear her over the roar of the fire that steadily consumed her Jeep.

Still, she didn’t dare peer over the bank to confirm her guess. They had to keep moving. Only now, she gestured to Mitch to go ahead. Testifying aside, she was here to protect him, and protect him she would. No matter what happened, if Sabatini’s men wanted Mitch, they’d have to go through her first.

For a panicked moment, she thought she heard their voices. Shouts over the crackle of the flames. And any second she expected to see one of the men crest the snowbank, his gun blazing. But…nothing happened.

With Mitch ahead of her now, the going was a little easier. She followed the path he cut, ignoring the snow that jammed down the tops of her boots and blew under the collar of her anorak. She wasn’t sure where her gloves were; she’d removed them when she first took out her gun. Her hand was numb around the weapon’s rubber grip. Sore even. She hoped she’d be able to fire the Glock when and if it came to that again.

A transient wave of relief swept through her when she heard the low sound of the Blazer’s idling engine. Sabatini’s men could easily have tampered with the vehicle, but instead they’d passed it by, obviously more intent on finding Mitch. Perhaps even thinking the explosion had taken care of their business for them.

Molly snagged the edge of Mitch’s coat. He stopped. Waiting for her next move.

With extreme caution she eased herself to the top of the bank and peered over. She scanned the roadway behind the Blazer. There was nothing visible but the burning Jeep. And then, finally, she saw them. The first man had obviously spotted their footprints and seen where they’d scaled the snowbank. He was already halfway up, stumbling over clumps of ice and gravel. His counterpart was right behind him.

“They’re onto us,” she whispered to Mitch. “Come on—” she nodded to the Blazer “—you take the wheel. Circle around the front. And the second you’re in, floor it.”

She didn’t need to wait for his nod of acknowledgment. Mitch was right behind her. Together they scrabbled down the crusty bank, a small avalanche of frozen snow cascading around them and onto the roadway. There was no way of knowing whether it was their movements or the sound of the Blazer’s doors opening that alerted the men, but in the same instant that Molly landed in the passenger seat, the black night erupted around them for a second time.

Bullets sliced the air, some exploding against hard-packed snow, while others struck deeper in the forest where the road curved to the left.

“Go, Mitch!” Molly shouted between bursts of gunfire. “Drive!”

But he hardly needed motivation. There was the unmistakable whack of one bullet striking what had to be the Blazer’s steel bumper. And then another. And another.

Before he’d even slammed the door, he’d jammed the car into first gear and his foot was on the gas. The wide tires spun, throwing snow and gravel up against the vehicle’s underbelly, until they found purchase.

Molly looked at the passenger-side mirror. In the flickering illumination of the fire, she saw the two figures. Their pursuit by foot was no match for the accelerating vehicle, and when Mitch steered into the curve, Molly could no longer see them.

In the dim glow of the dash lights there was no mistaking the tension in Mitch’s face. Molly had heard about his valiant attempt to escape Sabatini and his men that night ten months ago—the high-speed chase to the expressway and the violent tactics used by the pursuing men to force him off the road. She’d seen the police photos of the wrecked sports car and remembered wondering how anyone could have survived in it.

As she watched Mitch’s knuckles whiten around the Blazer’s steering wheel, she could only imagine the kind of fear he was reliving now. He didn’t check the rearview, but concentrated on the road as the gunfire from behind continued.

Ahead, just past the curve, Molly spotted the thugs’ SUV at the shoulder. Exhaust curled up from the idling vehicle, caught in the glow of the rear lights.

“Stop,” Molly ordered as they neared it.

“What? Are you insane? They’re—”

“Stop,” she said again.

“Molly, they’re right behind us.” Amplifying his concern, another burst of gunfire erupted around them.

“Just stop!”

She heard him curse as she started to open the door, and—with no choice—Mitch brought the Blazer to a skidding halt. She was out of the car in a flash. Icy wind blasted against her. With freezing fingers, she tightened her grip on her gun while she grappled at the door handle of the other vehicle.

She had no idea if there was a third man behind the tinted windows of the four-by-four. She could only pray.

Flinging open the door on the driver’s side, Molly brought her other hand up to her gun, prepared to fire. But there was no one inside. As another rain of bullets pierced the air, Molly reached across the driver’s seat and turned the key. The heavy engine shuddered and died, and in the same second she tore the key from the ignition. Mitch shouted something then, but over the gunfire there was no making out the words.

Behind them she thought she could just discern the two figures running up the middle of the road.

“Molly! Let’s get the hell out of here!”

This time she heard Mitch. She turned, reaching for the Blazer’s door handle, but not before hurling the keys to her right, deep into the forest and the snow. She’d barely landed in the passenger seat when Mitch gunned the engine and they sped away.

MITCH HAD TO TAKE the roundabout way back to Barb’s house in order to avoid Sabatini’s thugs. It entailed a good twenty minutes of driving, the buffeting wind and snow making the going even slower. And although there wasn’t any sign of headlights in the rearview mirror, Mitch’s heart rate didn’t slow one bit. Even after he closed the garage door, his pulse raced and the adrenaline continued to lick through him.

The snow was coming down thicker as he and Molly made their way to the house. He tried to take comfort from that. If Sabatini’s men did have a second set of car keys, the tracks left by the Blazer would be covered in a matter of minutes. They’d have to search the entire community along Bass Lake, and that was providing they even knew Mitch was here.

Still, Molly didn’t seem willing to take a chance. Before he’d closed the front door behind them, she kicked off her boots in the foyer and started to move through the house, turning off lights. She hadn’t said more than a dozen words during the drive back. Then again, he hadn’t been any conversationalist himself. He’d been practically speechless, thinking about what he’d just witnessed, amazed and shocked at the extreme courage Molly had displayed tonight. It was a side of her he’d never seen, even though he should have expected it from her.

Molly had always been somewhat fearless. Bold and spirited. Always prepared to do battle for whatever person or cause needed defending. He hadn’t been at all surprised to learn about the bronze star she’d received from the police department. It had been four…no, five years ago, when she and her patrol partner had single-handedly saved the life of a convenience store owner during an armed robbery while they’d been off duty.

But seeing Molly tonight, atop the snowbank, firing one round after the next, and then racing out into the spray of bullets to steal the thugs’ car keys…

It was like a movie, Mitch thought. Only the bullets had been real.

Very real.

He shuddered now at the thought of how the night could have taken a very different turn. No, he shouldn’t consider how close they’d both come to being killed tonight. Mitch focused his attention instead on the fire in the hearth. He stirred the ambers with a poker and was just reaching for a fresh log when Molly stopped him.

“Leave it,” she instructed. “Let it die. Turn up the furnace if you need to, but if they do come looking for us tonight, we want the house to look empty.”

“You think they will?”

“Maybe not tonight. I’m guessing they didn’t have a spare set of keys. But I’m sure they’ll be rolling before long. Let’s hope they wait till morning to start searching.”

Mitch turned from the fireplace. Molly stood in the middle of the living room, facing him. And for a moment, illuminated by the warm glow from the hearth behind him, she looked nineteen again. It was one of the images that Mitch had carried in his mind all these years…of her standing in the middle of her bedroom with the light of a dozen candles dancing across her face.

Molly stared back at him, and he wondered what memory, if any, she was conjuring up herself.

“I, uh, I need to use your washroom,” she said at last, obviously feeling awkward at the sudden silence.

“It’s upstairs. To the left.”

He watched as she tossed down her scarf and lifted her anorak over her head. It wasn’t until then that Mitch saw the blood. There was only a hint of it on the dark-colored anorak, but beneath it, and the green fleece under that, the startling crimson stain had spread across the snug-fitting thermal top.

“Jesus, Molly, you’re bleeding!”

“I know.” Her tone sounded so matter-of-fact. However, Mitch thought he detected a slight waver in it.

In a second he’d crossed the room. Before she was able to cast aside her jacket and fleece, Mitch was gently tugging the top from the waist of her jeans. It was soaked, as was the heavy denim. He thought he heard her quick intake of breath and sensed her body stiffen as he lifted the top farther. The hearth provided enough light for him to see the blood glistening against her skin, and the dark, ragged tear in the flesh of her midriff.

“You got shot?”

“I guess so.” She looked at the wound herself now, and let out a small groan.

“How bad is it?” he asked.

“It’s fine.”

“Fine, my ass. Look at all the blood!”

“Mitch, really. I’m all right.” She inspected the injury again. “It’s just a graze. It looks worse than it is.”

“Come on.” He took her hand in his, refusing to let her protest further, and led her to the stairs.

In silence she followed him.

How was it that people never changed? Molly was just as stubborn now as she had been at ten. That was the first time Mitch had witnessed her unparalleled stoicism. Never a whimper. Never a complaint. Not from Molly Sparling.

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