Kitabı oku: «Her Hero in Hiding», sayfa 2

But, she reminded herself again, she would be out of here as soon as she could manage after the storm passed.

In a day or so she would never have to see Clint Ardmore again. There was absolutely no point in trying to figure him out, not when she was going to shake him off her heels like the dust along the road of what was evidently going to become a permanent flight.

God. She wanted to weep, but the tears wouldn’t come. Just as well. She didn’t want to annoy her rescuer. But how the dickens was she ever going to get out of this mess? The one and only time she’d managed to get Kevin charged and thrown into jail, he’d gotten out in less than two years.

Apparently it was a far worse crime to kick your dog than beat your girlfriend. And it was a lot harder to prove domestic abuse, too. The second time she’d gone to the cops, Kevin had denied he was even in town. Since he lived four states away and hadn’t done anything stupid, like buy gas with a credit card or rent a hotel room, the prosecutor had shrugged and dismissed the charge for lack of proof that tied Kevin to the assault. There were so many more important cases to pursue, after all.

The wind hammered the windows, making them rattle behind the curtains, and she looked around uneasily. Kevin had to know she had taken off running. He might have wondered if she had been picked up along the road, maybe by a long-distance trucker, but he probably wouldn’t have wondered for long. The roads had been deserted, maybe because of the approaching storm, and the stop had been a brief one, brief enough that she had heard him shouting her name in the distance as she hid in a thicket of trees before dashing off again.

No, he wouldn’t know which way she’d gone, but he’d probably figured out pretty quickly that she wasn’t running along the highway. That would have been the first thing he checked.

So he might stay in the area, looking for her.

Regardless, she couldn’t afford to have her name turn up in a police blotter or anywhere else he could find it by means of the Internet.

So what now?

The question loomed darkly, without answers. Finally she pushed it away, promising herself she would think about it in the morning, after the throbbing in her head eased and her thoughts cleared.

Because right now even she could tell she was far from being at her best.

A male voice called her name sharply, and she started. “What?”

She looked around and saw Clint sitting on the coffee table again. The mug was no longer in her hands.

“You’ve been sleeping about half an hour,” he said.

“I didn’t even realize I’d dozed off.”

He nodded. “You’re exhausted. But we still have to watch out for that concussion. Sorry, but I’m going to make this a long night for you.”

“I understand.” She did. Moving carefully, she tried to sit up, but the room tilted and spun so much that she had to close her eyes.

“Do you need something?”

“The bathroom. But I’m dizzy.”

“Let me help you. Keep your eyes closed.”

She expected him to take her arm, help her to her feet and guide her. But instead he lifted her from the couch like a doll and carried her. She definitely did not like that. She hated being reminded that he was so much stronger than she was. It was all she could do not to fight him as fear grabbed her anew.

But then he let her feet slide to the floor and steadied her with an arm around her waist.

“Wait a minute,” he said, “then open your eyes.”

She did as he suggested, and when she opened her eyes the room appeared stable. It was a small bathroom, just the essentials, with little extra room.

“This is the most dangerous room in the house,” he reminded her. “Don’t move quickly, don’t turn or tip your head, and hang on to something every time you move. If you get dizzy, just holler. I’ll be right outside the door.”

“Thanks.”

With care and extreme caution, she managed to take care of her needs, but when it came time to walk to the door, she felt unsteady enough to call out.

“Clint?”

He entered swiftly, offering immediate support. “Let me carry you,” he said this time. “The sweatpants could trip you.”

So it hadn’t just been an exercise of male dominance when he had lifted her before. Relieved, she didn’t argue, and this time she felt no fear when he picked her up. He laid her back on the sofa as if she were fragile enough to shatter.

“How’s your head?”

“Still aching,” she admitted.

“I’m sorry I can’t give you aspirin. But with a concussion, that could be dangerous. And I don’t have anything else.”

“That’s all right. It’s reminding me I’m still alive.”

Something flickered across his face, so quickly that she couldn’t quite read it. She suspected that stoniness would make him a difficult man to deal with. At least with Kevin she had always known just what kind of trouble was on the horizon, even if she couldn’t stop it or escape it.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked. “Food? Soup? A drink?”

“I’m really thirsty,” she admitted. “Would you mind? Ginger ale?”

“Not a problem.”

She let her head rest against the pillow, listening to the hammering storm outside. The thick log walls protected them from most of it, but through the closed windows she could hear the keening of the wind, and sometimes the glass rattled before the strength of it. Not even Kevin, she assured herself, could be out looking for her in this. Thank God.

But what was she going to do when it passed? With no identification or money, or even her debit card, how could she start running again? Fear and grief grabbed her in as tight a grip as the throbbing headache, and for a few seconds she couldn’t even draw a breath. Never before had he trapped her quite this effectively. Always before she’d been able to gather enough resources to run again.

Well, she would find a way, she promised herself. She always had before.

“You’re going to be all right.”

She moved her eyes slowly until she could see Clint standing beside her, holding out a tall glass of ginger ale. For a moment he seemed to swim, then the world stabilized again. “Thanks.” She reached out and took the glass, and only then realized that she needed to sit up straighter to drink.

Clint apparently saw the problem at the same instant she realized it. He took the glass back and bent to help her sit up against the pillow. “I guess I must be tired,” he said. “Missing the obvious.”

“Do you never miss the obvious?”

“I miss very little.” An edge in his tone warned her away, though from what she didn’t know. Silently, she accepted the glass back.

He rounded the coffee table and sat in the easy chair on the other side. A book lay open on the end table, and he picked it up to start reading again. Apparently he didn’t feel like conversing.

Which ordinarily would have been fine, but Kay discovered her own thoughts scared her. She didn’t want to be alone inside her own head. But how could you converse with a man who was doing a passable imitation of a brick wall?

A native caution when dealing with men kept her silent. She didn’t want to irritate this man. From his size and strength, he could present an even bigger threat than Kevin, even though he hadn’t done a thing to indicate he might be that kind of person.

She sipped her ginger ale, and a sigh escaped her. At once he spoke.

“Are you all right?”

“Just unhappy with my thoughts.”

“I can understand.”

Maybe he could. She dared to look at him again and found he had set the book aside.

“I guess I should apologize,” he said finally, his tone level, his face unchanging. “I’ve been a hermit for a while. By choice. I seem to have lost the social graces.”

“I’m not asking for social graces,” she said truthfully. “You’ve been very kind to a stranger. I don’t want to intrude more than necessary. It’s just that my thoughts keep running in circles. Unhappy circles.”

“You’ve certainly got enough to be unhappy about.”

It might have been a question, a suggestion or an end to the subject. From what she had seen of him so far, she guessed it was probably a signal to end the discussion. So she took another sip of ginger ale and focused her attention on the fire. She could take a hint. In fact, she was probably hyper-alert to hints, thanks to Kevin.

But Clint surprised her by not returning to his book. “I suggest you plan to stay here for a couple of days.” The invitation sounded grudging, and she looked askance at him.

“Why? You said you’re a hermit by choice.”

“Maybe so, but it seems to me you need some time, some safe time, to make plans and figure out your next move. You can’t just run out of here the instant the storm ends. And I can provide the safety you need.”

He said the last with such calm confidence that she wondered who the hell he was. Or what he had been before becoming a hermit. Not even the most sympathetic cop had ever promised her that much. No, they had been full of warnings and advice, most of which included getting as far away as possible as fast as possible.

“Kevin,” she said finally, “is like a bomb. There’s no telling when he’ll go off, and anyone in the vicinity is probably at risk.”

“I’ve dealt with bombs, and I’ve dealt with worse than Kevin.” A frown dragged at the corners of his mouth but didn’t quite form. “Trust me, I can keep you safe.”

“The cops couldn’t keep me safe.”

“They couldn’t be there round the clock,” he said flatly. “And cops don’t have my training.”

She hesitated, then just blurted it out. “Who are you? What are you?”

His gaze grew distant, as if he could see through the walls and well past the blizzard beyond. A shiver ran through her. “I was special ops for nearly twenty years. And I was good at it. Very good.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that. Should she congratulate him? Admire him? But no. Something in that rigid face told a very different story. “I don’t want you to have to go back to that. To relive it.”

At that the facade cracked, and he looked startled. Then the stone returned. “Sometimes,” he said after a moment, “you don’t have a choice.”

Chapter 3

The night passed without further conversation. Either weariness or the concussion, or a combination of both, kept causing her to nod off. Every half hour or so, he woke her, then let her fall back to sleep.

Then, finally, she knew it had to be morning because she awoke to the smell of frying bacon. The aroma made her mouth water, and she realized she was ravenous. When she pushed herself cautiously upright, she was delighted to realize the room no longer spun. The crazy carousel was gone.

Her head still ached, but not as badly, and most of the pain she felt now was in her cheek and around her black eye. There were aches and pains from running in the cold, from the other blows Kevin had heaped on her, but nothing she couldn’t ignore.

Moving carefully, pulling the legs of the sweatpants up as she walked, she made her way to the bathroom and freshened up a bit. Then, upon returning to the living room, she pulled one of the heavy curtains back and looked out on the still-raging blizzard.

It was early yet, still dark outside, but even so, she could tell visibility probably didn’t extend much past the porch railing she could barely see, buried as it was in snowy drifts and further concealed by wildly blowing snow. Even after the storm passed, just getting out the front door would probably prove to be a challenge.

“Good morning.”

Startled, she almost jumped but managed to remember her unsteadiness in time. Gripping the window frame, she turned to see Clint standing in the doorway of his kitchen. “Good morning.”

He gave a half-smile. “Glad to see you can get around. Are you hungry?”

“That bacon smells wonderful.”

“I thought it might. Do you want eggs and toast with it?”

“Please. Eggs any way you like.”

“Can do.”

He turned and vanished back into the kitchen. “Coffee?” she heard him call.

“Please. Black.”

Apparently she wasn’t quite back up to snuff. Realizing she had begun to feel shaky, she made her way back to the sofa and sat. At least now she could sit upright. Last night’s ginger ale still sat on the coffee table. It had gone flat, but that didn’t keep her from drinking it down in one long draft. Heavens, she was thirsty.

Clint returned just long enough to set a mug of steaming coffee in front of her, then vanished back into the kitchen. He’d added a couple of logs to the fire, and the flames leapt high again, making the room toasty. The fire also cast enough light that she didn’t feel any desire to turn on one of the lamps.

It was like being in a warm, cozy cave, she thought. Surrounded by thick walls, safe from predators. But as she’d learned all too painfully, safety was an illusion, one that, in her life, rarely lasted for long.

There was a wooden table with three chairs in one corner of the room, and it was there Clint served their breakfast. He waited for her to get there on her own, watching her as if measuring her steadiness, but not intervening. She didn’t want to admit, even to herself, how ready she was to sag into the chair by the time she got there. It wasn’t that far, but never before in her life had she felt so weak.

Of course, she hadn’t eaten much for days.

Clint apparently believed breakfast should be the day’s biggest meal. She found herself looking at platters heaped high with toast, bacon and scrambled eggs.

“That’s enough for an army,” she remarked in surprise.

“I think you’re hungrier than you realize,” he responded.

“I think I’m going to prove you right.” She was famished, in fact. Except for the cocoa and soda last night, and the crackers and little bit of cinnamon roll, she hadn’t eaten in days. Whatever Kevin had intended to do with her, feeding her hadn’t been part of it. Three days, she figured. Three days since he’d kidnapped her from Killeen. But that was just a guess, since she’d been stuck in his trunk a lot of the time.

“Want to tell me what happened?” Clint asked.

“Not really.” But she knew she would tell him anyway. If the thoughts wouldn’t stop running around in her head, where could the harm be in speaking them out loud?

“Eat first,” he suggested. “That’s the most important thing.”

It was. With a shaking hand, she helped herself to healthy portions of eggs, toast and bacon. Hungry though she was, it still seemed difficult to focus on chewing and swallowing. The better she felt, the more the urge to flee grew in her. She had learned that when she held still, danger would find her.

And she could no longer believe it wouldn’t find her, regardless of what this man promised.

“So what do you do?” he asked. “For a living.”

“Whatever I can. Usually that’s waiting tables. It’s one of the easiest jobs to get when you’re new in a place.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“Mostly. The money is good enough if you work in the right restaurant.”

“Do you have any savings?”

“Probably not anymore.” Her mood sank again, and she poked at the food on her plate with her fork.

“You know, you should call your bank and tell them your credit card or whatever was stolen on the day you were kidnapped.”

“No!” Panic gripped her heart in an icy fist. “Don’t you understand? He always finds me somehow. If I poke my head up, they’ll want to know where I am. They’ll want to know where to send another card. They’ll want me to sign things. Once that happens, he’ll find me.”

He sighed. “You’re right, I guess. Sorry, I’m still kind of an electronic Luddite. I keep forgetting that somehow everything is available if you just know how to look for it.”

“It seems like it. Almost twenty years ago, the post office stopped giving out forwarding addresses so stalkers couldn’t follow people who moved. Maybe that helped back then, but today you can get the address of anyone in the country for a few dollars. And if you have more than a few dollars, apparently you can find out a whole lot more. I’m not sure exactly how he does it, but once I’ve been in a place for a while, Kevin finds me. Three times now. How the hell do you hide?”

“Actually,” he said slowly, “you can hide. But it’ll involve a lot of changes. We can talk about it later.”

She offered to help with the dishes, but he declined, telling her it was better for her to rest. Twenty minutes later, he rejoined her in the living room.

“Do you need to shower?” he asked before he sat. “I can get you some more sweats.”

“Maybe later on the shower.” She needed one, but she wasn’t confident enough of her stability yet, and she sure didn’t want to have to ask this stranger for help with that.

“Sure. More coffee?”

He freshened her mug and got one of his own before settling into his easy chair. The storm outside kept right on ripping around them. He tilted his head to one side. “This isn’t going to blow over soon.”

“That’s okay,” she said. It gave her a few additional hours of safety before she would have to figure out how to move on again.

“I suppose it is.”

No, she realized, it wasn’t. Not for him. He was a self-confessed hermit, and now he was stuck with an invader until such time as he could reasonably boot her out the door.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“For what?”

“Imposing on you like this.”

“Oh, for the love of Pete!”

She shrank back against the pillows. He was an unknown, and she hadn’t meant to anger him. He could do almost anything to her.

But he remained firmly planted in the chair, though he looked disgusted, a change from his usually unrevealing attitude. “Look,” he said, “I know neither of us likes this situation. I prefer my solitude, and you’d sure as hell prefer not to have a lunatic ex-boyfriend trying to kill you, chasing you everywhere you go. But you know what? Sometimes we don’t have a choice. We just have to do what needs doing. And right now what needs doing is giving you the safety and space in which to recover. So what if it disturbs my sacred solitude?”

“I’m still sorry,” she said, weakly, not sure whether she was sorry for angering him or for the whole damn mess.

“Quit apologizing. You don’t have a thing to apologize for. I know I’m not exactly a warm, fuzzy kind of host, but if you think I resent the fact that you need help and I’m here to provide it, you’re wrong.”

“Okay.” She wanted to get away from this topic as quickly as possible.

But even though he could have dropped it there, he didn’t. Evidently he had plenty of thoughts on this subject.

“You have rights, and I have responsibilities,” he said flatly.

Now, that really did confuse her. “What rights?”

“You,” he said, “have a right to exist without terror. You have a right to expect the rest of us to step up and get you away from this guy, since he seems hell-bent on following you wherever you go. You have a right to expect help, and apparently you haven’t been getting it.”

“But you have rights, too.”

“Hell, yeah, but I can protect my own.”

“And you don’t have a responsibility to me.”

“Oh, yeah, I do.”

She tried to shake her head, but as soon as she did, she remembered her concussion as pain stabbed her head. “I’m nobody. You don’t owe me a thing.”

“You’re not nobody. You’re a human being, and that gives you certain rights in my book. And I’m a human being, and that’s enough to make me responsible to do what I can for you.”

Her mouth opened a little as she stared at him. She couldn’t remember anyone ever putting it like that before.

He leaned forward, putting his mug on the coffee table, then resting his elbows on his knees. “You want to know one of the reasons why I prefer my own company?”

She wasn’t sure she did, but he didn’t wait for her answer.

“Because too many people have forgotten their responsibilities. Too many people look the other way, or take the easy path. Anything but put themselves out for someone who needs help.”

“Not everyone is like that.”

“Of course not. But too many are, and I’m sick of them, frankly. All this talk of personal responsibility that people toss around overlooks a very important fact.”

“Which is?”

“That your personal responsibility doesn’t end at the tip of your own nose. Or at your own front door.”

She bit her lip, then ventured, “You’ve thought a lot about this.”

“I spend a lot of time thinking about responsibility. My own. Accepting it. Then deciding what it should have been all along.”

She longed to ask him what had put him on such a personal private quest, but didn’t dare. There was a darkness in this man that she could feel all the way across the room. It lurked in his gray eyes like a ghost. Maybe it was best not to know.

He picked up his mug again and sat back, sipping slowly while minutes ticked by.

“Any family?” he asked abruptly.

“Me?”

“You.”

“No. I oh, do you want to hear the whole story? It sounds like a cliché.”

“A lot of life is made up of clichés. Tell me whatever you don’t mind sharing.”

She looked down and realized her hands were twisting together. She forced herself to separate them and lay them flat. Then she shrugged a shoulder, ignoring the ache. Apparently Kevin had hit her there, too. Not that she remembered, there had been so many blows.

“My mother died of an overdose when I was four. Nobody knew who my dad was. So my grandmother took care of me until she died of a heart attack when I was thirteen. After that it was foster homes. Six of them. I don’t think I was easy to deal with. And there’s nobody else.”

“You made it through high school, though?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I did. I always wanted to go to college, but I had to take care of myself and kept putting it off and then … well, Kevin …” She bit her lip again, unable to meet his gaze.

“Tell me about Kevin. About the beginning.”

She hesitated, unable to imagine why he wanted all this information, but reluctant to tell him it was none of his business. He’d rescued her in the middle of a blizzard where she probably would have died except for him. That gave him a right to know, she supposed. Especially since he was still helping her.

“Kevin was okay at first. Really nice. It was a long time before I realized that I was tiptoeing around all the time because of his temper. It took me even longer to realize he couldn’t hold a job for more than a month or two, and finally I gave up even trying to tell him to look for work. So I did something stupid.”

“And that was?”

She drew a long breath. “I started skimming my paycheck.”

“You what?” He sounded utterly disbelieving. “How can you skim your own paycheck?”

“I got a raise and didn’t tell him. I’d go to the bank and split the deposit, put the extra money into a savings account. I meant to save for school.”

“And you didn’t tell him.”

“No.”

He sighed. “That’s a warning sign in huge red letters. But I suppose he had you so intimidated by that point that you didn’t even recognize it.”

“Not really. I just did it. I didn’t exactly think about all the reasons I felt the need to. When I look back, I feel stupid.”

“No, don’t. You have no idea how many people, doing the best they can in whatever situation they’re in, look back later and think they were stupid. It’s never stupid. It’s the best you can do at the time.”

“Thanks. I still feel stupid.”

“So let me guess. He found out about the savings account.”

She nodded. “That was the first time he beat me.”

“And then he was oh so apologetic, swore he’d never do it again and took the money.”

“Yeah. Like I said, stupid.”

“Stop saying that. It’s amazing how manipulative these bastards can be. It’s like they’re born knowing how to get what they want. So okay, that was the first time the line got crossed. And it got worse, right?”

“Yeah. With time. Until finally he broke my arm and left my face such a mess I couldn’t go to work, and my boss actually came to the house. He took one look at me and dragged me to the hospital, then called the cops.”

“Ah, a responsible person arrives on the scene. Amazing.”

In spite of herself, she felt the unbruised side of her face lift in a slight smile. “My boss was a good man.”

“I agree. So Kevin went to jail?”

“That time.”

“But he got out.”

“Of course. Less than two years later.”

“I think I can pretty much write the rest of the story.” He sipped his coffee and closed his eyes for a moment. When they opened, they held an ice that should have frightened her, but somehow it didn’t. Maybe she was too tired, too battered. Maybe she just couldn’t rustle up any more terror.

“Take my word for it, Kay Young, as long as you are in this house, that man will not lay a finger on you.”

Deep inside she shivered, because she believed him, because she feared the kind of protection he was capable of providing. Special Ops? Yeah, he could protect her.

“I don’t want you to get into any trouble on my account,” she blurted.

He smiled, but not pleasantly.

“I won’t,” he said. “Trust me, I won’t.”

She dozed off again, and when she woke, she felt disoriented. Not because she didn’t recognize the cabin or the fireplace, or Clint sitting across the way in his chair reading. No, it was something even more basic than that.

Almost before she opened her eyes, she asked, “What time is it? What day is it?”

He looked up from his book. “It’s Friday, December twelfth and it’s just after one in the afternoon.”

“Five days!”

“Since he took you?”

“Yes.” She looked around, trying to center herself somehow. “What state did you say this was?”

“Wyoming. Conard County, Wyoming, to be more precise.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Sorry. It’s like things are jumbled.”

“That’s normal enough, I suppose. How’s your head feel?”

“The headache is almost gone.”

“Good. That’s probably why you’re trying to sort things out.”

“I didn’t know he had me so long.”

“No?”

“No. He kept me in the trunk a lot. He didn’t feed me. He hardly gave me any water.”

“He would be wise not to come near you while I’m around.”

She looked at him, amazed by the calm way he spoke, as if such threats were commonplace in his world. Not a ripple of emotion showed on his face. Oddly, while his obvious self-control was horrifying in a way, it also reassured her far more than a display of anger would have. Far more.

Outside, judging from the sound of the wind, the storm still raged. Hard to believe it had gone on so long. Hard to accept that she was trapped in more ways than one.

“I’ve got to figure out what to do.”

“Relax,” he said. “I’m already figuring it out.”

“Why should you do that?”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

“Because it’s my problem?”

“It’s mine now, too.”

She realized he meant it. That was no token statement. “I can figure it out.”

“You’ve been figuring it out for a few years now. Let somebody else help you for a change.” He closed his book and placed it on the coffee table. “I’m not trying to take over, it’s not my place. You can make all the decisions yourself. But I have a few suggestions.”

“Like what?”

“For starters, we call the sheriff.”

“No! Then I’ll be in the blotter. I’ll be in the newspaper, like last time I made a complaint. I don’t want him to know I’m still in the area!”

He waited a moment before speaking. When he did, his voice was so calm it seemed at odds with the situation. “Are you planning to run forever?”

She bit her lip so hard it hurt. “No,” she said finally, feeling her eyes sting. “No.”

“Then we need to deal with the problem. The sheriff here is a man I’d trust with my life, and I don’t say that about many people. If I tell him what’s going on, he’ll guard your secret with his life. Your name won’t be in any blotter or any report.”

“You’re sure?”

“Like I said, I’d trust him with my life. In fact, there are a few people hereabouts I can say that about. So trust me on this one.”

“And if I do?”

“Then we’re going to ask the sheriff to find Kevin. Find him and nail him good. It’s not just beating you up anymore, Kay. It’s kidnapping. Across state lines. That’s a federal crime, and that son of a bitch is going away for life.”

A spark of hope ignited in her, but then flickered out. “He has to be caught first.”

“Trust me, we’ll get him. One way or another.”

“But it’s just my word against his.” That hadn’t been enough before.

“Well, I think some photos of your face will make a point. And the other injuries he gave you.”

She touched her cheek lightly with her fingertips. “I must look awful.”

“You look like someone who was hit in the side of the head with something heavy. Like a tire iron.”

She almost gasped. “How did you know?”

“Did you look in the mirror when you went to the bathroom?”

“No.” No, she had avoided that like the plague. It was bad enough to endure the pain, but she’d been afraid to look for fear he’d ruined her face for good. How could she work as a waitress with a messed-up face?

“If we can’t get the sheriff out here soon, I’m going to ask you to let me take some pictures myself.”

“Why do we have to wait for the sheriff?”

“I think it’s more evidentiary if he does it. Well, actually, he’ll probably ask one of his female deputies to do it. From what I saw when I helped you change into those clothes yesterday, you were beaten all over.”

She covered her face with her hands, pierced by a shame she couldn’t explain. Why should she feel shame? But she did, and it was deep and burning. She felt hot tears begin to run, but no sobs accompanied them. She’d learned, a long time ago, to cry silently.

At least her stranger-savior didn’t evince any annoyance. He just let her cry. Later, when the tears dried and she dabbed at her face with the sleeves of the green sweatshirt, he rose, returning a minute later with a box of tissues and a fresh cup of coffee.