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Josh nodded. “Shot him point-blank, right in the chest. But he’d vested up ahead of time. The Feds figured the most she’d done was piss him off, and that if he could ever find her, he’d return the favor. So she was relocated.”
“You think it might have been him—Mordecai Young—in that brown car earlier?”
“I don’t know. We should probably err on the side of caution, though.” He closed his eyes. “I don’t like her being in that cottage alone. It makes protecting her nearly impossible.”
Bryan opened his mouth, then closed it again and leaned back on the couch, looking stunned by all his father had revealed.
“What?” Josh asked.
“Nothing. Hell, I’m blown away by this. I can imagine how you must feel, but—no. Nothing.”
“Bry, come on. I wouldn’t have told you all this if I didn’t trust you. So if there’s something you want to say, spit it out.”
Bryan shrugged. “Just…I don’t know. Lying to her to protect her was one thing. Not telling her you’re the guy who shot her…It’s way worse. It feels wrong.”
“I know. But…she’d send us packing if she knew. And that would leave her unprotected.”
“I guess. But shouldn’t that be up to her? I mean, it’s her life, Dad.”
Josh sighed. “I know. And you’re right. I hate this, Bry. But Jesus, if I make the wrong move and she ends up dead…”
“You figure this is your chance to make up for the past.”
“It’s more than that. This isn’t about me. It’s about protecting Beth.”
“I don’t blame you, Dad. I mean, I disagree with you, but I don’t blame you. I guess I might do the same thing.”
No anger, no accusations. Josh couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t told his son the worst of what he’d learned by reading Beth’s dossier, though. That she’d had a child, a daughter who’d been adopted while she’d lingered in a coma, fighting for her life. And raised by someone else while she’d been putting that life back together again.
A daughter. A little girl she had lost because of him. And if there was one tragedy Joshua understood, it was the loss of a child.
Bryan didn’t need to know all that. That was Beth’s private hell—and his own.
“I just wish I could come up with an excuse to get into Beth’s house long enough to check the place out, make sure her locks are secure, things like that.”
The screen door creaked open, and Maude walked in, accompanied by another woman, one who wore baggy jeans and a sweatshirt with a one-horned moose on the front. Printed beneath the moose were the words, Is That Your Final Antler?
Bryan grinned at the sweatshirt as he got up, to relieve the women of the shopping bags they carried. “A movie and shopping in one night?” Bryan asked.
“It was a long movie. We got hungry,” the newcomer said. She had short copper-red hair, in tight kinky curls, and was younger than Maude. Late fifties, Joshua guessed.
“Boys, this is my good friend, Frankie Parker.”
Joshua was on his feet, as well. “Police Chief Frankie Parker?”
“The one and only,” she said, extending a hand.
“Frankie, this is my grandson Joshua and his boy Bryan.”
Frankie was smiling, but her smile died. “Don’t play with me, Maude. You don’t have any grandson.”
“As far as you or anyone else in this town is concerned, Frankie, I most certainly do.”
Frankie frowned at her.
“Trust me. It’s important. And it’s between us, Frankie. I knew you would hear about this and start snooping sooner or later. How much Josh does or does not want to tell you is up to him. All you need to know is that he’s here for a good reason. And that I trust him.”
“I don’t like this, Maude.”
“You don’t have to, Frankie.”
Frankie moved her gaze to Josh’s. “Good to meet you.”
“Same here,” Josh said, but he wasn’t happy about the situation. Clearly this woman knew more than she should.
“If you’re up to no good, I’ll find out.”
“I’ve got no doubt about that. But I’m not.”
Bryan looked worried, and when the old woman’s eyes fell on him, he said, “I’ll, uh, put these away for you.” He carried the groceries into the kitchen.
“Leave the dry goods right in the bags, Bryan,” Maude called. Then she turned to Frankie. “Thanks for helping me in with the bags, hon.”
“Anytime, Maudie. You…give me a call if you need anything.” She sent a lingering look at Josh, and he had no doubt she would be on the horn tomorrow, checking him out with every contact she had.
“Like I’m gonna need anything with these two strapping men around the house,” Maude said. She walked her friend to the door, waved as the other woman left, then turned to face Josh. “Don’t look like that,” she said. “What else could I say? She’s known me for thirty years. And unlike most folks in town, she knows I never had children.” She shrugged. “Besides, I trust her. She’s not going to blow your cover.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. I’ve know her for thirty years, too. And you might want to think about confiding in Frankie—God knows she’s not going to let this go until one of us does. She’s good at her job, even though she’s far from your typical law enforcement type.”
“You can say that again.”
She smiled. “Now, did I hear you saying you needed a chance to snoop around Beth’s house?”
He lifted his brows. “Why, you have an idea?”
“Well, since my range is on the fritz, I thought we could all have dinner at Beth’s place tomorrow night.”
“I didn’t know there was anything wrong with your range.”
She smiled, adding wrinkles to her wrinkles. “There’s not.”
“You oughtta work for the government, Maude.”
“Isn’t that what I’m doing?”
“I guess you are.”
Maude knew nothing about his reasons for being there, other than what he had told her: that her good friend Beth had some enemies from her past who might be a threat to her, and that he needed her help to make sure Beth would be safe.
That was all he’d needed to tell her.
“I’ll clear it all with Beth when she stops by on her run tomorrow morning,” she said.
Josh got the feeling Beth wasn’t going to have much choice in the matter. She was hosting them for dinner tomorrow night. Because what Maude Bickham wanted, Maude Bickham got.
Chapter Five
Saturday (wee hours)
Beth was dreaming. She knew she was dreaming, and she wanted to wake up, but just like before, she was unable to.
Her dream self lay in a hospital bed. She could tell by the antiseptic smell, the steady beeping of her monitors and the tubes she could feel at her nostrils, gently blowing cool, ultra-dry oxygen, and the one in her throat that she kept thinking would choke her.
She was asleep in that hospital. She didn’t think she was dead, but it wasn’t a normal sleep. She couldn’t wake up. She didn’t know where she was, and when she tried to think about who she was, or what had happened to her, a yawning black hole opened up in her mind. She felt close to panic at that gaping hole in her mind. It felt as if she were teetering on its edge, as if she might fall in and be swallowed up by its darkness, so she chose not to look there anymore. Instead, she focused on the sensation of a warm, strong hand that surrounded one of hers.
And from that point her senses opened wider, to admit the soft, tormented voice that spoke to her.
I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry.
She wondered what he was so sorry about. Was he somehow responsible for whatever had happened to her? But he held her hand, and he sounded so kind….
I don’t even know your name. No one does.
Not even me, she thought.
But believe me, I’d switch places with you if I could. I’d rather it were me in that bed than you.
She liked the man who held her hand. She wished she could find a way to tell him that it was all right. That she was all right. And then she realized—she wasn’t. She couldn’t wake up. Maybe she never would.
I’d give anything in the world if you would just open your eyes. I want to see them. Their color—I want to see that more than anything. He squeezed her hand a little tighter. Come on. Open your eyes for me. Open them.
Then there was a woman’s voice. She told him he had to leave. And on the way out, she said, “It wasn’t your fault, we all know that. She was in the line of fire. Any one of the agents could have been the one whose bullet hit her.”
And then she went on. “There’s really no point in your coming back here, you know. She doesn’t know you’re here. And besides, she’s not going to last out the week.”
Then I’m not sure how the hell I’m supposed to.
God, his voice was so familiar. And so filled with regret!
A telephone rang, shrill and sharp. It cut through the dream, and Beth sat up, looked at her bedroom around her and sagged in relief when knowledge filled her mind. She knew who she was. She knew where she was. She was all right after all.
But that dream—it had been a long time since she’d had that particular dream. She’d all but forgotten about the man who had come to sit with her while she wasted away, a comatose Jane Doe in a hospital bed.
The phone rang again. She turned toward the nightstand, reached out for the telephone, the night-light making it easier. Then she brought it to her ear.
“Hello?” No one was there. “Hello? Who is this?”
When no one answered, a chill slid up her spine like an icy finger. The memory of Mordecai crossed her mind, and she reminded herself that she had always known he would find her sooner or later. Maybe tonight was the night.
Then she frowned, because she could hear voices. She pressed the volume button on the side of her phone, clicking it up as many notches as it would go. It sounded like…it sounded like Maude, speaking to someone else. It was muted, distant.
Beth flung back her covers and got out of bed, going into the living room, where the caller ID box was, and looking at the digital readout. Maude’s phone number showed on the screen. She listened, heard nothing more, then depressed the cutoff and dialed it back.
A harsh busy signal was her only reply.
“Hell.” Something was wrong over there. She didn’t know Joshua Kendall well at all—and the fact that he’d stirred some kind of insane attraction in her should probably be taken as a bad sign rather than a good one. The last man she’d been attracted to had turned out to be an insane mass murderer.
Beth shoved her feet into her running shoes, simply because they were near the door. She yanked a coat off one hook and her car keys off another as she went out the door and into the brisk chill of an autumn night in Vermont.
Joshua had been dreaming about hot, wet, frantic sex with Beth Slocum when something woke him up—and at the worst possible moment.
He groaned, wondering when the hell he’d started having dreams worthy of a seventeen-year-old, then rolled over and glanced at the clock. The time—5:06 a.m.—glowed at him in neon green. Then he heard footsteps and was on his feet and pulling his gun out of the holster on the bedpost before another thought had time to cross his mind.
He yanked a bathrobe—one Maude had laid out for him that was not his own—from the footboard and jerked it on, then headed barefoot into the hallway, the gun in his hand, his hand in the robe’s pocket.
At Maude’s room, he paused, because her door was opening. He stepped back a little. She poked her head out. “Is that you, Joshua?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Something woke me.”
“Me, too.” She swung her door wider and turned around, shaking her head. “I could have sworn I heard someone in the kitchen.”
“Why don’t you stay right here and let me go check?”
“My goodness. Yet another benefit to having a young man around the house, I guess. All right, I’ll force myself to let you wait on me. After all, ‘A woman who says she dislikes chivalry is both dishonest and a fool.’”
“That’s a good one. I’m gonna write that down.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze, then took hold of her door and told her to get back inside. She did, and he pulled it closed. Then he closed his hand around the grips of his .38, tiptoed to the stairway and down it.
There was someone in the kitchen. Even now, he heard movement. Soft, barely audible, but there.
He crept through the house, through the dining room and into the kitchen. Reaching inside, he flipped the light switch and raised the gun.
A large black cat sat on the counter, glaring at him with eyes that seemed more irritated than startled.
Sighing, he lowered the gun.
“Well, I’ll be…” Maude said from behind him.
He frowned, turning to face her. “I thought I told you to stay upstairs.”
“Oh, Joshua, don’t be silly. I’ve never obeyed a man’s orders yet, and I don’t intend to start now, chivalry or not.” She nodded at the cat. “That’s Frankie’s beast. Comes in here any time I leave a window open more than a quarter inch, looking for a snack. I swear he’s made of rubber. Aren’t you, Siegfried?”
“Siegfried?” He shook his head. “Don’t tell me—Frankie has another cat named Roy?”
“Dog. Bluetick. Dumb as a rock, but twice as friendly.” She moved to the fridge, pulled it open and reached in to straighten the row of tiny brown vials of insulin before grabbing a small carton of cream. As she poured some into a bowl for the cat—who weighed fifteen pounds if he weighed an ounce—headlights invaded the house from the front, and then footsteps raced across the porch and someone pounded on the door.
Maude paid no attention. She was looking at the cordless phone that lay on the counter beside the feasting cat, bringing it to her ear and frowning at it.
