Authors: Loren Lockner
The drive was one she’d always
remember. Cautiously, they merged back onto the 101 and after a few miles turned onto Highway 154 and San Marco’s Pass Road. For eighteen to twenty miles, Simon drove as fast as he dared, constantly glancing into his rearview mirror. The recent rain had made the road slippery and the mountainous grade turned incredibly twisty as they headed northwest toward the lake. Halfway up the road, heavy fog clamped down. While they knew it made travel safer in regards to Adam Gable, the road was highly treacherous.
“Can you remember if this road is a dead end Julia?”
“No, it isn’t. There will soon be many turnoffs heading into various wilderness regions. The first will head toward the Dick Smith Wilderness and later on to the San Raphael Wilderness area. We’ll pass over an incredible bridge called the Cold Spring Canyon Arched Bridge, though I’m not sure we’ll be able to appreciate it in this fog. This is a direct route to Los Olivos and later the 246 bisects it. Several roads run into the 166, which is on the west-hand side of the Calinte Range near the big valley, but we don’t want to head that way because we need to stay west of the Sierra Madre Mountains.”
“Do lots of people go to
Lake Cachuma?”
“They do;
it’s a very popular spot to visit near the Chumash Painted Cave, but it’s a Monday in November. I can’t imagine there’d be whole lot of campers this time of year.”
“The c
amp is open all year?”
“Yes, I believe so because the spot is f
amous for its largemouth bass and bird viewing. Lots of eagles and osprey call the man-made lake home.”
“Let’s hope the dreary weather proves to be a deterrent for nature lovers
and
fishermen. Even as he spoke, the fog lifted and pale sunlight illuminated the road as it curved and meandered through the beautiful lower range of the Sierra Madres in the Los Padres National Forest. A squirrel scampered across the road and Simon swerved, barely missing its long bushy gray tail. Simon glanced down at the odometer just as a sign stating
Cachuma Lake Recreation Area, 3 miles
came into view. Simon drove the LeBaron at a more leisurely pace as they pulled into the heavily wooded RV Park.
“It’
s more modern than I expected,” said Simon, noting showers, public phones, and even a grocery store and gas station. The camp, for all of its size, was almost deserted and Julia replaced her wig and shouldered her handbag. The cloud cover had finally dissipated to reveal a bright blue sky and the tar road was now nearly dry.
“I’ll get us as remote a site as possible.
It seems to me that toward the northwest part of the camp there are lots of private tent sites. Hopefully we’ll get lucky.”
The female attendant chuckled when Julia asked if they had any tent openings.
“Are you kidding? It’s too cold and damp this time of year. We have a few die-hard fishermen and their luxury RVs during the weekend, but you’re my only customer this morning. You can have your choice honey.” She pointed to a large wooden map behind her, indicating the location of all the different sites.
“My
boyfriend and I would like to have some privacy and be away from any other campers that might arrive. Could you recommend a spot?”
“This is a nice one, right under a stand of oak trees.
It is a little bit away from the lake and mighty quiet. As you can see I don’t have any other campers.”
“I’d really appreciate it if someone
does want a tent site, you’d place then away from us.”
The heavyset middle-aged woman gave her a wink. “I get the message dear. It’s site
forty-seven. Just follow the road to the right, then take the second left until it ends. There’s a cozy little parking space right by the tent site. It’s fairly flat and has a fire pit. Please be careful about putting out your fire and remember the store and gas station close at five.”
“Is firewood provided?” asked Julia.
“Unfortunately not, but you can buy at couple of packs right here and I suggest you get some fire starters unless you’re some kind of first-class Girl Scout.”
Julia paid the woman a
very reasonable fee and sticking the fire starters under her arm, grabbed the two bundles of wood, and hurried back to the waiting LeBaron.
They couldn’t have asked for a more remote spot.
Gray squirrels ran up the abundant pine and oak trees while a gentle breeze lifted its song through the brushy spikes of the pines. Tall brown grass edged the site and Julia could hear the screech of some water bird in the distance. The tent was relatively easily to erect after they had spread out the blue ground cloth and Julia began to stack the wood beside the round fire circle.
“You really held your own back there at the apartment,” said Simon unexpectedly.
Julia grinned. “That will teach people to underestimate teachers with hidden weapons in their purses. He never knew what hit him.”
Simon laughed. “I have to hand it to you, I never expected you to be so stalwa
rt in the face of danger. You’re an amazing woman Julia Ann Morris, and personally I’ll never underestimate you again.”
“I just wish we were here under better circumstances,” she answered, basking in the warmth of his praise.
“Why don’t you get a fire going while I scout around and make sure no one followed us into the camp? Since there’s a grill, I’ll buy some charcoal as well.” Julia watched the tall denim-clad man limp quickly down the dirt path that led to the central section of the county park.
A gentle warmth tugged at her heart and Julia realized that Simon was reassuring her all was well.
For a moment, overcome by the enormity of all that had transpired, she sank down upon the log bordering the fire pit and gazed at her trembling hands. While ecstatic Simon had revealed himself as Seth, she fretted she might once again lose the man she loved so dearly. She roused herself from her lugubrious thoughts and igniting one of the fire starters, soon had a roaring blaze.
Simon returned fifteen minutes later, lugging a heavy bag of briquettes upon his shoulder and carrying a bottle of red
California wine.
“There’s no one else in the c
amp except for an older couple in a huge Winnebago with a satellite dish on top. From the sounds of it, they’re totally immersed in
One Life to Live.
So much for enjoying the peace and tranquility of nature.”
Simon squatted before the fire and stretched out his hands.
Even though midday, it was definitely chilly. He scanned the sky, relieved no storm clouds marred the beautiful clear sky. A white-breasted nuthatch descended a huge California sycamore, searching for insects; while a gray tree squirrel scurried up a huge canyon live oak in its endless quest for acorns.
“Let me get the bri
quettes going,” he said, “while you open the bottle.”
“Can’t.
I left my handy-dandy knife in Adam’s earlobe.”
Simon laughed loudly as he dumped half the bag of charcoal onto the round elevated grill.
“Thank goodness I purchased a can opener and corkscrew in the store, since I don’t think Mr. Gable is going to return your knife anytime soon.”
She laughed as well and scurried about light-heartedly, uncorking the wine, dumping the chili into the cheap pot, and buttering some bread.
Waiting until the coals were ready for the chili, she unpacked their sleeping bags and inflated the air mattress, adding two cheap pillows that lacked cases but hopefully would provide enough comfort. She had to admit the blue down sleeping bags looked mighty inviting.
Soon the smell of chili filled the air as Julia placed bread, meat, and cheese upon their plates
while Simon spooned out the spicy beans as he sat upon the rough log.
“This smells great!”
Julia grinned, “Yes it’s my gourmet chili, right out of the can. I can zest it up by adding a little cheese.”
“Julia,” he said quietly as she finished crumbling the cheese.
“Can you ever forgive me?”
Her dark green eyes widened in surprise.
“What do you mean?”
“I’
ve put you through hell and back and here you nonchalantly make me lunch.”
Julia dusted off her hands and knelt at his feet, placing her slender hands upon his knees.
“Seth Simon Steven Hayes Hamilton, it doesn’t matter what name you go by, you’ve been and always will be my own true love; my soul mate. I’d rather remain on the run with you for the rest of my days than spend another minute bereft and lonely without you.”
“I’
ve always loved you,” he admitted hoarsely, dropping his eyes as a sudden suspicious sheen covered his dark gray irises.
“I just wish you hadn’t been so dreadfully hurt.”
“Those were just physical wounds my sweet Julia; it was losing you that tore me apart.”
“But you didn’t lose me did you?
I’m still here, half of your soul locked safely within my breast. It’ll always be that way, no matter what your name is. I want to call you Steven but it sounds so foreign to me, and I can’t call you Seth anymore.”
“Pi
ck a name then,” he said hoarsely. “Any name you like; a name you feel comfortable with and that no one else would ever suspect. I can’t be Seth or Simon anymore and you never really knew me as Steven Hamilton. Dub me, sweet lady.”
Julia leaned ba
ck on her haunches and gazed into his dark gray orbs, mesmerized by the love emanating from them. “I’ve always been rather fond of the name Mark. I thought that if I ever had a son I’d name him that.”
“Mark,” he repeated.
“It’s sounds so nice on your lips.” He leaned forward and pulled her into his arms.
“Is that tent ready?” he whispered
, and Julia nodded mutely. He ignored the steaming chili and rose, pulling her to her feet and leading her into the tiny green tent where she’d spread out the two down sleeping bags and polyester pillows. Simon zipped up the opening to the tent and stood in its domed dimness for a full minute, just staring at her. Her heart began to burn and pulse as his hands slowly moved to his shirt, never removing his eyes from her face.
“I love you,” he said softly
. This time he didn’t hide in the darkness, afraid to reveal his dreadful scars or the incriminating tattoo. His smooth torso was lean and well-sculpted, though still too thin for his frame. The raised golf-ball-sized scar hugged his right hipbone where the hot metal of the burning Jeep had passed through his abdomen to exit out his back. It was a most beautiful and terrible scar. Opposite it, as he slowly peeled down his denim trousers to reveal blue hip hugger briefs, the top of the entwined rose tattoo appeared, its pink and crimson flowers begging to be totally exposed. The tattoo glowed beckoningly, and even in the dimness she could make out the telltale initials proclaiming his commitment to her. Julia’s eyes lowered to his ravaged leg and her heart jolted. Could she even imagine the horrible mangling pain he’d suffered nearly a year ago?
Julia hadn’t mean
t to cry out in anticipation or lunge at him, but suddenly she was lying flat on her back, his kisses trailing over her body as her hands caressed his dear, dear flesh. It was fortunate their tent was located discreetly distant from the main camp and that only the noisy blue jays and busy squirrels heard their impassioned encounter, as their ragged breathing and occasional gasps penetrated the thin nylon of the small tent. They lost total knowledge of time or space, only intent on their love; a love that finally held no secrets.
“Seth!” she called out at first
, and then later “Simon,” as she passionately loved the man of her soul and her heart. “Sweet Steven,” she finally gasped, never before having made love to the man using his real name.
“Julia!” he cried
, and straightened against her, intense joy shining upon his damp face.
It was a long while before their furiously pounding hearts returned to their normal pace and they lay for a long while just savoring the feel of their relaxed bodies nestled against one another.
When he finally sp
oke, she felt an awesome burning in her heart at his quiet words.
“I swear to you now that I will never leave you again while I’m alive on this earth.
Trust me my love, that all will work out for us, and remember that love never dies. Promise me you’ll never forget that.”
Julia could only nod mutely against his warm chest as the jays threw their raucous cries over the tent’s domed top. Later, as she succumbed to sleep, Steven H
amilton; alias Seth and Simon Hayes, tried desperately to figure a way out of this mess.
Chapter 13
Ad
am Gable cursed up a blue streak as he jumped into his gray BMW. One of Julia’s elderly neighbors screamed as he pulled away from the curb, and if he’d had time he’d have wasted that nosy old hag who was probably phoning the police right now, if only he’d had his gun. His delayed reaction to the fall suddenly hit him and he pulled over and spilled his guts onto the pristine flowerbed bordering an old Spanish style Mediterranean house covered in red adobe tiles. Adam reached inside his pocket for his handkerchief, forgetting everything he owned was soaked. His fingers tightened up on the limp gum packet and the dripping receipts. He squinted. These receipts were recent. One was from a mini-market for food, matches, and something else he couldn’t decipher, so he checked out the other. Adam whistled; the water-soaked script barely revealed the words
Sporting Quest Adventures
. Well he’d be damned.
Stomach still rolling he flipped open his
soaking cell phone, recognizing it was time to call Roy Geiger. Thank God it worked and he wasted no pleasantries upon the florid-faced man; giving his present location and asking for some advice.
“If you wanted to hide in the mou
ntains so no one would find you but still be close to Santa Barbara, where would you go?”
For the next half
-hour, with a map of the Santa Barbara region spread out over his knees and his ear glued to the cell phone, Roy and Adam finally came to the same conclusion; the fugitives would make for the Los Padres National Forest. Roy gave him several options; they could head back toward Los Angeles and drive up through Toro Canyon, or they could veer toward Cold Springs on East Mountain Drive, or lastly, venture north on Gibraltar Road.
He and Roy chatted for a few more minutes and then Ad
am sat for a long time parked next to the sunny curb and tried to dry out. He finally decided that since he wasn’t familiar enough with the region to know where all the best hidey holes were located, he’d need some help; so Adam headed for the nearest book store.
“Do you have any c
ampground guides for the area?”
“Yeah,” yawned the skinny girl
, barely out of high school. Her customer’s wet, bedraggled appearance didn’t seem to faze her. “They’re in the travel section over there. I suggest you get a Woodall’s.” She turned back to her teen magazine as Adam headed for the travel section and picked up the large orange and blue book. Minutes later he sat in the comfortable seat of the BMW, after changing into set of dry clothes he’d retrieved from his trunk, and scanned the campground guide feeling thoroughly frustrated, his right hand straying to the ravaged ear, which still throbbed and ached. At least it had stopped bleeding.
There were so many c
ampground sites in the Santa Barbara area, so how in the hell was he supposed to figure out where they’d bolted to? Adam forced himself to calm down; he’d learned a long time ago that the most important aspects of his job were to be, deliberate, methodical, and thorough. He finally determined they could easily have doubled back and headed toward Toro Canyon. So that was where he was going to start, and the best way to begin was to call all those campgrounds possessing phones and ask if his two cousins had shown up for some weekday camping. He turned his luxury vehicle south and headed toward Toro Canyon after swallowing a couple of aspirin and washing them down with a warm beer. Perhaps, he thought, the young lovers would try some of the more rustic and primitive campgrounds. One thing was for certain; no matter where they were he’d search each and every site until he found them.
When Julia aw
oke it was coming on dusk, and startled, she glanced at the luminous dial of her steel wristwatch. It was after 5 p.m. She heard the popping of the fire and the clink of metal against metal and slowly, after donning her clothes, unzipped the flap of the flimsy tent and peered out. Simon was in the process of cooking dinner. Without turning from his task at the grill, he threw over his shoulder.
“You might want to pull on a sweater; it’s getting a bit nippy out here.
I should have dinner ready within about ten minutes.”
She
darted out of the tent and hugging him from behind, folded her arms around his chest as she nuzzled his neck.
“Were you able to get some sleep?” she asked.
“A bit,” he admitted, “but I’ve been trying to work out a plan I’ll tell you about later.” He hugged her encompassing arms. “Why don’t you take a quick wash and by the time you get back I’ll have dinner ready. The public washrooms are only a three-minute walk past the swimming pool if you head down that path.”
Simon was true to his word and upon her return had whipped up a tasty omelet flavored with cheddar cheese and diced h
am, and cut up some accompanying apples and oranges. The forgotten chili from earlier made a complimentary side dish and Julia ate hungrily. The simplistic dinner tasted amazingly good in the nippy evening air.
“I didn’t think to ask,” he said at dinner
, leaning on his elbows and sipping a tin cup full of strong tea. “What name did you use to register us under?”
An impish grin spread over Julia’s face.
“Jon Lincoln and Jane Douglas. When she asked for names, all I could think of was Jane and John Doe and knew that wouldn’t work, so my mind hit upon the Lincoln and Douglas debates we’d read about in one of our classroom magazines.”
Simon chuckled and sipping on his tea, leaned back against the rough log.
The bushes rustled and a covey of mountain quail, complete with black plumes, scurried past their campsite, seemingly oblivious to the close proximity of the campers.
“I could get used this,” he said irrelevantly.
“I’ve always loved the outdoors and it’s amazing to me we’re camping out here in November. In Toronto, we’d already be snowed in so I think there could be advantages to becoming a California boy, Julia.”
Julia smiled happily. “So what’s the plan for tomorrow?” she asked
, setting down her empty plate and moving closer to him upon the log.
“I’m planning on getting up early and heading into town.
I’ll find a business center, make a copy of the disk, and mail it to Mandy. I’ll also give those guys one more try via e-mail; maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“And after that?” asked Julia
, lifting her eyebrows.
“I don’t feel comfortable staying here for more than one night. I think we should head deeper into the
Los Padres National Forest. Disappearing into the wilderness might be our best choice right now. I don’t know about you, but I’m finding it hard to sleep knowing Adam’s still out there.”
“I’d have to agree,” stated Julia
, refusing to worry about it this evening. They finished the simple task of washing the dishes and threw breadcrumbs to a small Merriam’s chipmunk who’d obviously received handouts before. Afterward, they sat and talked by the dancing fire as the stars came out one by one, holding hands and wishing this were a holiday retreat instead of a desperate attempt to escape a killer who simply refused to give up.
As the embers of the fire died down, Julia rose and stretched her arms above her head.
“I know something that just might help you sleep Mr. Hayes,” she giggled, and dragged him into the welcoming confines of the small tent.
Ad
am Gable was used to staying up all night. Using a strong flashlight he always kept in the dash of his car, Adam methodically hit every campground in the guide, searching for the fugitive couple. Few campers inhabited the first campgrounds he checked, though once he beamed his light upon the scroungy countenance of a tattooed biker. When the man hurled expletives at him, Adam calmly removed his extra handgun from his belt and pointed it at the center of the drowsy man’s forehead.
“You got
other complaints?” he snarled, and the bushy haired biker shook his head violently.
Most of the c
ampgrounds were easy to explore, clearly vacant on this Monday night during the first week of November, so he wound his way back toward Santa Barbara, wishing he instinctively knew where his prey might have hidden. It would have saved him a hell of a lot of footwork.
By the time he’d finished searching the southern c
ampgrounds and headed toward Goleta, it was four in the morning. His eyes felt gritty and the country western station did little to stop the onslaught of yawns threatening to overwhelm him. As Adam turned up Highway 154 fatigue hit him in powerful waves and finally, after ten miles upon the incredibly twisty road, he pulled over under a stand of coastal live oak, and leaning his gray leather seat back, closed his eyes for a couple of hours. The fatigue and the cold caught up with him and he slept until after eight, never realizing a black Chrysler LeBaron slid down the highway past his idle car as he snored in the chilly interior of the luxury car.
By the time
Adam reached Lake Cachuma, the car’s heater had warmed him up, but he felt in dire need of a wash and good breakfast. A portly Hispanic woman greeted him in the front office.
“C
amping?” she asked, noting he didn’t have an RV.
“Nah,” he drawled, giving his standard speech. “I was actually supposed to meet my two cousins at this c
ampground last night, but I got a flat tire and ended up having to sleep off the road. I only repaired it this morning. I was wondering if my cousins made it. Simon’s a tall man in his early thirties, with dark hair and gray eyes and my little cousin Sheila; well, I think this week she’s a blonde, though sometimes she allows her mousy brown hair to grow out.”
The dark
-haired woman cocked her head, and noting his bloodshot eyes, smiled sympathetically. “I’m really not sure, I wasn’t working yesterday, but I believe we had one couple staying here, though I’m not sure if they fit your description. However, I think I saw their black LeBaron leave this morning. I’ve always loved that car.”
Ad
am wanted to curse under his breath. “So they left?”
“Yes, more than an hour ago I believe.”
“If I pay you the camping fee, can I use your showers?”
“Absolutely,” said the woman
, glad to have a bit of business, and willingly rang up the total as he bought orange juice, a loaf of bread, and some lunch meat for his meager breakfast.
So Ad
am Gable took his time soaking in a long hot shower, never realizing Julia Ann Morris slept not five minutes away from him.
Simon finished his business relatively quickly, copying the disk twice, and as a safeguard mailing one to the architectural firm he’d worked
for as his brother Seth. He express-mailed the other to Mandy Gaskill and placed the original in the dash of the LeBaron. One long e-mail awaited him and he gaped at the contents, before letting out a shaky breath, realizing the instructions were for the best.
Simon then picked up a few additional supplies before heading back up the twisty road to
ward the lake and Julia. He’d been aware of when she’d awakened, feeling that insistent tug at his own heart urging him ever homeward, for he now viewed wherever she was as home. Simon wondered for the umpteenth time whether she would have glanced twice at him as Steven Hamilton, the cocky young architect from the upper class suburbs in Toronto, who, until now, had always loved them and left them.
As he negotiated the treacherous road, he pondered his dual identity.
It was strange that as Seth, he had presented to Julia the man he had always wanted to be, though the wilder brother Simon was more his true nature. Perhaps, he could join the best traits of the two and become the real Steven Hamilton. If this whole terrible experience had a silver lining it was that he’d managed to meet her. He’d never have ventured down to the western United States except for the Witness Protection Program, and in his own strange way he thanked Joe Alletti for that.
He approached the c
amp cautiously, the LeBaron’s sporty tires crunching upon the dirt road as his eyes scanned the surrounding campsites in search of a silver BMW. He relaxed, not realizing that very vehicle was parked behind the showers and the man he’d been trying to avoid sat munching a makeshift sandwich of processed ham and cheese, and sipping a beer even though it was not much past 9:30 in the morning.
Julia had made a fire, and much to his surprise, had apparently been collecting acorns because a large pile lay near the jumping fire. She bounded to him, the relief evident on her face, as he pulled her to him.
“I can see you have been making yourself useful,” he j
oked, studying the pile of acorns littering the ground near the fire.
“Aren’t they beautiful?
There are three different kinds and I want to show them to my class.” She pointed to a long narrow acorn. “That’s from the coastal live oak and its acorns were the ones the Chumash and Pomo Indians preferred. That fat one is from the canyon live oak; see the yellowish hairs covering the cup? And the last is the scrub oak acorn from that bush over there. I pricked my fingers on the spiny leaves getting those. Bet my students don’t know there are so many varieties, Steven.”