Hunted (8 page)

There was still a part of the old Mike alive. Hidden behind that wall he’d built. She read the letter again. It was as if he’d written it five years ago, instead of two months ago. It was thoughtful and loving. Most of all, kind. She hadn’t seen that kindness for a long, long time.

Thank God he could be that way for Sam. She had no illusions that Mike would ever be that way for her. Too much had been said, and done, in anger. This trip had shown her very clearly that she and Mike could never go back to the way it had been. He’d closed himself off to her, emotionally. He came by the house twice a month to get Sam, and he was always polite. He never failed to ask her if she needed anything. She had to admit that there was still a physical attraction. But the man she could confide in, who could confide in her, was gone.

She was glad she’d seen the letter, though. Glad that Sam could see the good in his father. They both deserved that.

She hugged Sam once more. “I don’t blame you for keeping them, Sam. I’d keep them, too.”

* * *

The ski mask didn’t stop the snow from biting at Mike’s face. His eyes watered continuously as he followed Witherspoon. Ice burned his mouth and his nostrils. He knew if he hadn’t worn the mask, he would have been frostbitten in minutes.

The snowmobile was easy to manage even in the fierce wind. He’d been riding them since he was a child, so he knew how to lean into the turns and when to ease back on the power. Thankfully, with the face mask and the parka, the noise wasn’t too bad. If it wasn’t for the circumstances, he thought the ride might have been exciting.

It had taken longer than expected to go to Witherspoon’s place and get the second snowmobile. To make up for lost time now, the old man had set a brisk pace. Mike stayed close as they sped past the houses by the lake. The farther they went, the thicker the trees became, until finally, there was a road only wide enough to travel single file.

Nothing had been through here in a long time, Mike noted. The snow in front of Witherspoon was pristine, white powder. With this storm, their tracks would disappear as quickly as they made them. But the storm wouldn’t last.

If someone was trying to find them, and the wind wasn’t blowing, it wouldn’t be difficult. He tried to see between the trees on his right and then his left, but there was no room for a snowmobile. This was it, the only way out. He would have to pray for speed, then, in the event of a chase. He wouldn’t be able to duck out of sight.

They continued up the trail. It was clear Witherspoon knew the route well. His speed varied, taking curves and bumps more slowly. Mike had to concentrate to follow suit. What would this road be like in the middle of the night? With Sam sitting in back of him, holding on to his waist?

He would have to get a rope and tie his son on. Sam wouldn’t be able to hang on without help. That is, assuming he and Becky could navigate the trail in the dark. It was shadowy here already from the large trees. It would be a nightmare run after sundown.

He wasn’t sure just how far they’d gone—two miles, three?—when they hit the clearing. He hadn’t realized how much the trees had blocked the wind, but when he passed the edge of the forest, he and the snowmobile nearly tipped over. It was louder now, too. Even through the material around his ears, he could hear the fierce, howling wind and the high-pitched roar of the vehicles.

Ahead, he saw the sharp rise that led deeper into the mountains. This place was a meadow, probably filled with wildflowers in the summer. Now it was a shifting desert of white wind and ice.

Witherspoon slowed down, and Mike pulled up next to him. They both stopped. Mike saw that the old man was talking to him, but he couldn’t hear. He held up his hand, then pushed his snowmobile right next to Witherspoon’s. The old man leaned so close he was nearly touching Mike’s ear with his mouth. “Get your bearings,” he shouted. “Once you're in the meadow you have to head straight north. The road goes east for a while, but don’t go that way. Go north. You'll pick up another trail after a while.”

The old man sat back, holding up his hand. It was a huge effort to talk, to be heard against the wind. Mike thought this whole trip must be hard on him. He thought about telling him to go back, but threw out the idea immediately. He didn’t want to hurt the old guy, but Becky and Sam were at stake here.

Witherspoon motioned and leaned forward again. Mike struggled to listen.

“If you're in trouble, there are some caves due west of here.” He pointed with his thick fingers. “Don’t go there unless you have to. It’s dangerous there. Avalanches. Try to head straight north, over the mountain. Once you get to the other side, it’s not far to the gate and the road. You go down from there, till you hit the highway.”

Mike nodded. “Let’s go.”

Witherspoon waved, and started up his snowmobile again. He took off, straight ahead. Mike had to remember to bring a compass. Straight north. Caves to the west. He looked at the slate gray sky above him, at the black clouds churning in the far distance. If it came down to it, he could get his family out of here. He prayed he wouldn’t have to.

* * *

Mike had been gone two hours and ten minutes when Becky heard the sharp whine of the snowmobile.

“Daddy’s back. I'm going to go make some hot chocolate. Want to come help?

Sam shook his head. “I'm almost at the pirate ship.”

Becky glanced at the computer. A beautifully detailed animated ship was docked at a mythical port. Amazing. “All right.” She climbed off the bed, took the gun from the night table then bent low to kiss Sam on the cheek. “Just don’t be too long, sweetie.”

She hurried downstairs. Mike didn’t park in front, so she cut through the hall to the kitchen to meet him at the back door. It was only when she went to turn the dead bolt that she remembered the gun strapped to her side. She unsnapped the holster and put the whole contraption on the kitchen counter, glad to be rid of the horrid thing. Then she went to let Mike in. The wind was so strong it knocked the edge of the door into her forehead, hard. She couldn’t even let go to rub where it hurt. Snow flew inside, twirling at her feet like a swarm of white mosquitoes.

If she’d thought the noise from the storm was bad inside, out there it was end-of-the-world loud. Oddly, she felt a sense of relief. No one could get through this, she thought. Mike was even crazy to go on the snowmobile. Mojo might be resourceful, but he couldn’t fight something this big.

Mike stomped in, shaking snow off his body in great clumps. She pushed the door closed behind him, and double-checked the lock. When she turned, he’d already started taking off his snow gear. Going to the stove, she turned the burner on under the teakettle. She’d promised Sam chocolate. A hot drink wouldn’t do Mike any harm, either. He must be freezing.

“That was unbelievable,” Mike said.

“How did you find your way back?”

He’d already taken off his parka, face mask and gloves, and had his holster back in place. His face looked red and chapped. He rubbed his hands together as he sat down at the table.

“There are markers. Witherspoon showed me before he headed home. Everything okay here?”

“Fine. Sam’s upstairs on the computer.”

“Does he know I'm here?”

She nodded. “He’s finishing up a game.” She got three mugs and poured the packets of premixed chocolate into the cups. He looked up at her. His skin tone was better, but not normal.

“I need him down here. We have to talk.”

Becky stopped what she was doing and turned to face him. “What happened?”

“It’s brutal out there. I don’t think Mojo could get through to us. Certainly not in a car or even a truck. But I want you both to know what to do if things go wrong.”

“I don’t want you scaring him. He’s already having a tough time.”

“Isn’t it better that he’s scared instead of dead?”

Her heart dropped. “I can’t take this. If we're in so much danger here, why don’t we leave? We can get on a plane. Go to Europe. To Africa. I don’t care where, just someplace he'll never find us.”

Mike stood up and came close to her. He put his hands on her shoulders. She screwed up her courage and looked at him, even though she knew he was going to tell her things she didn’t want to know.

“And run for the rest of our lives? We have one real chance to get this bastard.” His voice shook with emotion. “It will be in the next forty-eight hours. We've got the very best men on the job. The whole bureau is looking for him. We'll never have as narrow a window, do you understand?”

“But what if they don’t catch him? What if he finds us first?”

“It’s a very remote chance. There are only six people in the world that know we're up here. You, me and Sam. Witherspoon. Cliff and the chief, that’s it.”

“I don’t care. If it was really safe, you wouldn’t be handing me your gun, or going out in this blizzard to map out an escape route. You think he’s going to find us. I know you do.”

“I want to be prepared. That’s not the same thing.”

“Please, can’t we just leave Sam out of it? Why do we have to frighten him?”

“He needs to be prepared, too. Believe me, I don’t want to scare him any more than you do. But if there’s even one chance in a million, I want him to be ready.”

She turned and broke the contact between them. His hands went to his sides.

“I don’t have a choice then, do I?”

“No.”

“There will be consequences. You know that, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Even if Mojo never shows his face, Sam will be afraid. He'll have nightmares, just like he did after Amy died. He’s not strong.”

“I'm trying to save his life.”

She stared at Mike for a moment, then pushed past him and went to the staircase. “Sam. Come on down, honey.”

While she waited, she made an effort to collect herself. She didn’t want Sam to sense her fear. He would have enough of his own. She needed to be strong for him. She prayed she could be strong for him.

She watched him walk down the stairs. He looked so sweet in his jeans and his blue flannel shirt. He seemed more lively than he had this morning. The game had helped. She was glad of that. What she was afraid of was how he was going to react to Mike’s talk. He retreated inside himself at the drop of a dime. A bad test score would send him to his room for days.

“Is it lunchtime?”

She smiled. “Are you hungry?”

He stepped down from the last stair. “Sort of.”

“Daddy wants to talk to us first. Then I'll fix lunch. Soup and sandwich sound good?”

He nodded. “Alphabet soup?”

“Sure. Whatever you want.” She walked him to the kitchen. If only she could think of a way to protect him from this. But she knew she would never be able to live with herself if the worst happened and he didn’t know how to be safe.

“Hey, Samson.” Mike was standing by the sink. He had a glass of water in his hand. Becky noticed his skin color was back to normal. Looking from him, in his red flannel shirt and jeans, to Sam, she saw how alike they were. As far as looks went, that was a good thing. Mike was a handsome man, and Sam would grow into one. What concerned her was that Sam was quiet, like Mike. Mike had shut them out of his life, and Becky was afraid Sam would follow in his footsteps. Hold himself apart from friends and family. Keep himself separate and alone.

“Have a seat, Sam,” Mike said. The teakettle whistled, and he turned the burner off.

Becky went to fix hot chocolate, but Mike waved her to a seat. While he poured, she sat down next to Sam, scooting her chair to be close to him. She wanted to be able to touch him. To reassure him.

Mike brought over two mugs. He gave one each to Becky and Sam, then went back for his. He finally sat down across from his son.

“You know that there’s a man out there who wants to hurt us, don’t you?”

Becky shut her eyes. He didn’t waste any time, did he?

“Yeah,” Sam said. His voice was so quiet she barely heard him. It seemed to her as if the wind were trying to break in. The trees hitting the side of the house sounded loud and ominous.

“The FBI is looking for this man,” Mike continued. “You remember my partner, Cliff?”

Sam nodded. God, he looked so young, she thought. So innocent.

“Well, Cliff and a whole bunch of other agents are looking for him right now. No one knows that we've come up here. I believe we're completely safe.”

Sam nodded again. His mouth had opened just a little. Becky could see a hint of his white teeth. His eyes were as round as saucers, staring at his father.

“But just in case, I'm going to tell you what to do if that man should find us.”

“He won’t though, honey,” Becky said. “Do you hear the wind out there? He can’t get through that.”

Sam turned his head to look at her.

“You know how we told you about talking to strangers?” She leaned forward and took his hand in hers. “It’s like that. Just because we're talking about it doesn’t mean it’s going to happen.”

“Do I get to have a gun?”

She smiled at him. “No. No guns.”

“This is what I want you to do,” Mike said.

Sam turned to face his father. His fingers slipped away, and Becky felt empty and helpless without them.

“I want you to know where your flashlight is all the time.” He leaned forward and put his hands around his mug. “If you hear Mommy or me say hide, I want you to run, not walk, but run to the closet in your bedroom. Take the flashlight with you. Get down and climb underneath that big pile of sleeping bags and blankets. You got that?”

Sam nodded. He nibbled on his lower lip, but Becky could swear he hadn’t blinked since he sat down.

“You might hear bad sounds. Gunshots. Or yelling. But don’t come out. Don’t come out until Mommy or I come to get you. Do you understand?”

He nodded again. “What if he kills you?”

Mike looked at Becky. She could see he hadn’t anticipated that question. She couldn’t help him.

“Cliff will come to get you. Or Mr. Witherspoon. You stay hidden for as long as you can. We're going to put some food in the closet so you won’t get hungry.”

“What if I have to go to the bathroom?”

“You might have to go in the closet, Samson.”