Hunted (14 page)

She backed up, trying to get away from his eyes and his accusations. The stove stopped her, and she tried to dart to her right, but his hand caught her and held her steady.

“Let me go.”

“No. You're going to listen.”

She closed her eyes, but she couldn’t shut out his words.

“Every time I tried to help with Amy, you told me I was doing it wrong. I didn’t know how to bathe her properly, I wasn’t gentle enough to sit with her during chemo. My stories scared her, my beard hurt her skin. And when I wanted to make love, when I needed you in my bed, you turned your back on me. It wasn’t because you were too tired. It was because you were afraid I would give you another damaged child.”

“No.” She dared another look at him.

His lip curled in a mocking smile. “She was a smart little girl, our Amy. She learned her lessons well. In the end, she only wanted you. Remember? You taught her that. You stole her from me.”

She slapped him. The sound was sharp, like a rifle shot. She could see the imprint of her fingers on his cheek.

He let her go.

She ran then, to the only place she could think to get away. She threw the basement door open and nearly fell as she went down the steps, blinded by her tears, shaking with horror at what he’d said.

The dark room swallowed her up, but she didn’t stop moving until she hit the big dryer. She put her hands down on the cold surface, afraid that if she didn’t, she would fall where she stood. Then she wept.

Mike stood at the door to the basement. He couldn’t see into the darkness, and he thought about turning on the light for her. He heard her cry, a deep wellspring of sadness, of anger. He touched the side of his face, where she’d slapped him. She’d surprised him with that, all right. But she’d also knocked the fight out of him. There was no satisfaction in this. He’d had no intention of saying those things, even though they were true.

There had been too much pain. Enough. The word reverberated in his head.
Enough.

He flipped on the light, and headed down the stairs.

She was leaning on the dryer, bent almost double. Her sobs ripped a hole in him, and he felt awash in shame. What could he say now? Sorry didn’t come close.

H
e stood for a moment, in the cold sterile room, listening to her weep as the wind wailed in accompaniment. Then he moved slowly forward, until she was very close. Finally, he reached for her arm and turned her around. The tragedy, their tragedy, was etched on her face, seared in her eyes. He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. She fell against him, her cheek next to his. He wasn’t sure whose tears fell to his shoulder.

Becky hung on to him as wave after wave of pain and guilt swept through her. All she had left inside her were tears and memories. She didn’t want to believe the horrible things Mike had said, she would give anything for him to take them back, but it was no use.

She remembered watching Mike hold Amy, and how she would try to be patient and calm, but then she couldn’t stand it another minute and she would take her from him. Those nights when she’d found Mike singing softly to his little girl, and instead of being comforted by his gentle love, she’d been filled with an inexplicable rage.

She shut her eyes more tightly, as if she could somehow hide from the pictures in her mind. But they came, tumbling one on top of another, terrible in their intensity. Amy’s shrieks of pain, the bars on the side of her hospital bed. The smell of medicines and sickness, the sound of rubber soles on linoleum. Over it all, the fear that had turned her inside out, that made her want to scream until she had no voice, to cry until she had no tears. The anger at a heartless God who could hurt an innocent child.

From somewhere far away she heard a voice.

“Shh,” he said. “It’s all right.”

Closer still was a tender hand on her hair, petting her slowly. It was hard to breathe, but the hand and the voice made it easier. She seemed to fall from a great height, and when she opened her eyes, Mike was there, holding her up.

She let go of him long enough to wipe her face with her sleeve, then she grabbed on to him again. She looked up into his face, expecting to see his rage, but it was gone. Somehow that was worse. She broke free and leaned once again on the dryer.

“I want to say it’s all lies,” she said. “I want it to be lies, but it isn’t.”

He moved closer to her, but she stepped away. She didn’t deserve his touch.

“I shouldn’t have said anything.”

She heard her own bitter laugh. “That’s my job, right? To tell you what you've done wrong?” She had to swallow hard and hold back another wave of tears. When she could talk again, she said, “How hard it must have been for you. To keep quiet all this time. Why? Why didn’t you say something before?”

His gaze shifted to something in the dark part of the basement. “Because I believed you.”

She stared at the man she’d loved with every ounce of her being and knew she’d hurt him beyond repair. Funny thing is, she’d never pictured herself as the villain. It was always the cancer or God or Mike. She winced. That was the truth, wasn’t it? She’d painted him the monster, turned him into the object of her hate. All this time, she’d blamed him for the breakup of their marriage, when she was the one at fault.

It was too much. She felt as though she’d fallen through the looking glass into an upside-down world. Black was suddenly white, light was dark, and she was spinning out of control.

“I never once thought of asking myself what part I played in our little drama,” she said. “It was easy to blame you. It couldn’t be random, not that kind of pain. How could it be? It had to be someone’s fault. Your fault.” She closed her eyes. “How insufferable I've been. How self-righteous. No wonder you stayed away.”

“I stayed away for my own reasons.”

She looked up again, surprised at his calm tone. “Did you? I don’t know anymore. I can’t see straight.”

Suddenly, her legs weren’t strong enough to hold her. She sagged, grabbing on to the side of the dryer. Then she felt him next to her, holding her so she wouldn’t fall.

She let her head rest on his chest. She didn’t want to think anymore.

“You okay?”

She looked up at him. “I don’t think I'll ever be okay again.”

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to—”

She placed her fingers on his lips to stop him. “Don’t. You don’t have to. I was the one who hurt you.” Fresh tears came, and she fought them back.

“We hurt each other.”

She shook her head. “I blamed you. I did. It wasn’t fair. It
wasn’t
your fault. I was so scared. I know that’s no excuse.”

“I should have understood.”

She studied his face, the strong jaw, the high cheekbones. The deep chocolate eyes that showed her nothing but compassion. “I don’t know how you can even look at me. Not after...after everything I've done. You have every right to hate me.”

“I'm too tired to hate you. I just want, I don’t know, to move on. To put all this behind us. I've had enough.”

“I feel like I've been living someone else’s life. My God, no wonder I didn’t see that Sam was feeling so bad. I didn’t see much of anything.” She let go of him and stepped back. “It was all my fault.”

He laughed. “Sorry, that position has been taken.”

She couldn’t smile because she knew he really meant that. It was no joke to him. She’d done one hell of a job convincing him that he was to blame for all the pain they’d gone through. Could she ever make up for that? Were there enough words to make him believe that he’d done nothing wrong?

A chill ran through her, and she realized where she was. She had no recollection of coming down the stairs. She didn’t like it down here. It was too cold and creepy. Looking up to the small window, she saw that it had been completely covered in snow. For some reason that made it even worse down here.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he said. He was leaning against the clothes dryer. His shirt was damp from her tears. He looked big and reassuring, with his broad chest and muscled arms. She could lean on that man, and he wouldn’t fall. But who could he turn to?

For three years, all she’d done was point her finger at him, diagnose his problems, analyze his behavior. All because she hadn’t been able to look at herself.

She felt her cheeks flush with heat. So much hurt. Too much, for such flesh and blood creatures.

“I could use a cup of coffee,” he said.

Even his voice was forgiving. She didn’t deserve it, but she was grateful all the same.

She led him up the stairs and into the kitchen. It had grown very dark outside. The storm had turned into a blizzard, whipping the snow into a frenzy. She shivered again, wrapping her arms around her waist. “Why don’t you light a fire,” she said, “while I fix the coffee.”

He nodded. “You gonna be okay?”

She managed a smile. “I think so.”

As he passed her, he touched her arm, squeezing it gently. She watched him walk away. A new sadness settled on her like dust; the realization of how much time they’d wasted wounding each other, when they should have been helping each other to heal.

She moved slowly, each step an effort, and filled the kettle with water. Her teacup, from a thousand years ago, was still on the table. Her whole universe had changed in an instant. Nothing was the same. All she knew for certain was that she had to fix the coffee. He liked his with sugar and milk.

It was good to concentrate on the simple task. To focus on something outside herself. Of course, she was only putting off the inevitable. She had to look, and look hard, at who she was and what she’d done. He’d jolted her with the truth, and she couldn’t turn back.

The whistle of the kettle startled her, and she got busy again. A few minutes later, she took the two mugs into the living room.

The fire was blazing and Mike was sitting on the couch with his legs stretched out in front of him. He looked tired. There were dark circles under his eyes, and the lines that bracketed his mouth were deep. Even so, he was incredibly handsome. She’d always thought so, but right now, he was more than just good-looking. His eyes made the difference. The shutters that had kept them hidden and suspicious for so long were gone. With a start, she realized she was really seeing him for the first time in years. She’d fallen in love with those eyes, once upon a time.

She handed him his mug, then curled up on the opposite end of the couch. She didn’t want to be too close to him, not yet. There were some hard things to say coming up, and she needed room to say them.

The fire crackled and she spent a moment staring at the dancing flames. Where to begin? So much had happened, it was impossible to know what to say.

“Remember when we went to California?”

She hadn’t expected Mike to speak. Putting her mug on the table, she turned more toward him. He wasn’t looking at her though. His eyes were focused on the past.

“When we took the kids to Sea World? That was a good time,” he said. “It was all perfect, remember? The kids, us. Everything was funny. God, how we laughed. I think that’s the last time we all laughed like that.” He turned to her. “Until last night. It felt like the old days for a minute there.”

“For me, too.”

Again, they fell into silence. She found herself thinking of that magical vacation. A smile crept up on her as she pictured Sam and Amy and Mike in that big king-size bed at the hotel. Mike had them all singing a horrible song about eating worms that the kids thought was the funniest thing in the whole world. “I think Amy would feel awful if she knew what had become of us. I think it would hurt her feelings.”

Before he had a chance to respond, she reached over and touched his hand. “Why did you stick around so long?”

He met her gaze. “I'm not sure. I guess I got used to it.”

“Being mad at me?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought I knew you,” she said. “I thought I understood everything about you. But I don’t. We're strangers, aren’t we? We've been strangers for a long time.”

He shook his head. “It’s this place. Being trapped up here. It makes everything feel different.”

“No. If anything, this place has given us a chance. In a way, I'm glad. Not that Mojo is out there, but that we were forced together. I doubt this would have ever happened back in the real world.”

“Probably not.”

“We would have gone on, chipping away at each other, for years and years.”

He ran a hand through his thick hair. “I feel like we've been up here half our lives.”

“I haven’t changed my mind about going home, you know. I realize we can’t leave in this storm, but as soon as it’s over I want to leave.”

“We'll see,” he said.

She took a sip of coffee, then got her nerve up. “Are you sorry?”

“For what?”

“That we made love?”

Now she dared a glance. The look on his face was more important than his answer. She could see he didn’t regret it.

“I'm sorry we only did it once.”

She laughed, more with relief than anything.

“Are you sorry?”

She shook her head. “No. But I've learned something. We've both changed. A lot. I made love with the memory of who you were, who we were. I can’t do that again.”

He sighed. “I suppose so. But damn. It was a good memory.”

She uncurled her legs and moved over on the couch until she was sitting next to him. His arm went around her shoulder, and she rested her head against his chest.

There was a long road in front of them. Today had only been the first step. She didn’t know if they would be together when they reached the end. But she hoped so.

* * *

Mike grabbed for the phone by his bed, anxious not to wake Becky. “Yeah.”

“Mike?”

It was Sully, the bureau chief. Something was wrong. “Where’s Cliff?”

The silence that followed clinched it. Mojo wasn’t in custody and he wasn’t dead. He had escaped.

“Cliff is dead.” Sully’s voice seemed to come from far away.

The floor dropped out from under Mike. “No,” he said. It wasn’t possible. It was some kind of sick joke. Cliff would be on the line in a second, and he would laugh. “That isn’t funny.”

“I'm sorry, Mike.”

He swore only once. What he wanted to do was bash something, tear the room apart. “How?”

“Mojo.”

“Tell me he was killed in the crossfire, Sully.”

“He escaped. He’s still got the woman. The kid is dead. We believe Mojo is headed back into Colorado.”

“I know exactly where he’s headed. Get us out of here, Sully. Now.”

“I'm trying.”

“Don’t tell me you're trying. Do it.”

“Have you looked outside? It’s the worst storm in Colorado in fifty years. Air transportation is grounded. Cars aren’t moving anywhere. Half the state is immobilized.”

“You think the storm will stop him? You're out of your mind.”

“Look, if it’s this tough for us to get to you, Mojo is on the same boat. He can’t drive on these roads, either.”

“He'll get here. He'll figure out a way. Dammit, don’t you see? You can’t stop him. Nothing can stop him.”

“Calm down. The safest place you could be is right where you are.”

“Wrong. There is no safe place where that bastard is concerned.”

“You have ammunition? Weapons?”

“Yeah. Not that they'll be enough.”

“I'm doing everything humanly possible to send help. I won’t let him get to you.”

Mike stared out the bedroom window at the furious wind. This was not where he intended to die. He thought about Cliff. And his wife. Mike cursed again. “Have you told Ellie?”

“Yeah.”

“God.”

“Hold tight, Mike. I'm sending the cavalry.”

“Just get them up here. I don’t care how.”

Sully hung up, and Mike lowered his phone to the cradle. Cliff was dead. It was an unbelievable notion, like thinking the ocean was pink. He couldn’t be dead. He had a family. His wife was a year younger than Becky. His kids were all in grade school, and Terry, his oldest, was Sam’s age.

Another partner had died trying to protect him. It wasn’t right. Why should he still be alive, and those two men dead? He went over to the closet door and laid his forehead against the cold wood. Nothing made sense anymore. He’d thought, for one minute there, that things were going to get better. That he and Becky had a shot at starting over. That there was a future.