A Stranger's Touch (6 page)

“Webb’s your last name? Stafford Webb?”

“Yes.”

“Mine’s Holmes. Maggie Holmes.”

“Maggie Holmes,” he repeated. He took off his gloves, reached for her hand and held it in his.

Stafford’s touch was warm, his palm callused. His large hand cradled hers. She half expected sparks to fly. Or some other suitably flashy special effect. No such sci-fi movie magic occurred. Still, the simple contact helped ease her fears.

“Now that we’ve been properly introduced...”

Maggie nodded, leaving his sentence unfinished. She drew away, shifted into low gear, checked her blind spot, and pulled out into traffic.

“Did you want to pick up anything at home before we go?”

He didn’t reply. She opened her mouth to repeat the question.

“No. Let’s just go.” He turned and looked out the side window, his last words barely audible. “Before I change my mind.”

She wasn’t supposed to have heard it. And started to question whether or not she actually had. She might have imagined that last phrase. But she’d clearly heard the ache in his voice. The pain between them grew into an uncomfortable silence.

Maggie reached for the volume on her radio and eased it up as she merged onto Highway 2, North. She tried to catch Stafford’s eye, hoping for some kind of reassurance. But he kept staring out the window, looking at the night sky.

Chapter Five

D
avie opened his eyes. All around, long, thin shadows reached out—monster fingers ready to grab him. He screamed, but the noise stuck in his throat.
Trapped.

The car’s motor was suddenly quiet, making his wheezing sound as loud as Darth Vader’s. He tried to breathe slower but he couldn’t control his heart. It jumped around like a cricket in a glass jar, as he gazed into the darkness at the ghost-world beyond the backseat of the car.

They’d parked near a little store, with two gas pumps out front. There were no other cars. No other people. Just the man in the store. He was sitting at the counter reading a newspaper.

Davie wanted to throw himself against the car window and wave his arms so the man would see him. But he was too scared to move. Except for his eyes. He kept them busy, looking
all around.

Big signs hung everywhere. And Davie could read. Real good. Even his teacher said so.

O...pen. Gas. Air.

He heard a voice and shrunk back. He wished he could make himself really tiny. Small enough to slip out of the rusted hole in the door and disappear.

When the driver leaned over the front seat toward him, he couldn’t cry. Couldn’t even breathe. He froze, flat against the hard door, the armrest poking into his ribs.

“I have to go inside. You wait here for me.” She pointed a bony, white finger at him then jabbed him with it. “Don’t move. This is a dangerous place. There’s lots of creatures around here that eat little boys.”

Davie nodded, the rest of his body shaking, too.

The woman got out of the car and leaned in through the half-open door. Her dark hair fell past her shoulders in greasy strips. “I’ll be watching you from the store window, so be good.”

She stood there for a moment, looking at him. Davie scrunched down in his seat. He hated those eyes—small and cold, like two black beads.

She stared at him and smiled. Not a happy smile but one that looked like she was hurting. She kept showing her teeth until her lips twitched. Then she pulled away, shut the car door behind her and walked toward the store.

Davie squeezed some air into his lungs and waited until he’d stopped shivering. Then he went back to his reading, hoping one of the signs would help him find his mommy.

“Sand...wich...es. Cof...fee. Tel...e...phone.”

He gave a yelp of joy. If he could get to the phone, he could call his mom.

With a sick feeling, he remembered he didn’t have any money. It was in his knapsack. He’d dropped that when the woman yanked him into the car.

Trembling, he checked his pockets—jacket and pants—and came up with a nickel. Not enough to use a payphone.

He searched the dark floor with his fingers. His daddy always dropped change in the car—nickels, dimes, quarters. Once or twice, Davie found enough to buy a chocolate bar.

There was a ton of change on the carpet of
this
car. Probably a dollar’s worth, or more. But all in pennies. His mom had shown him silver money when they’d talked about payphones. Did the brown coins work, too?

Then something his mommy said came back to him. If ever he was in trouble, he could dial 911 for free.

If he could get out of the car.

The backseat, where he sat, didn’t have any doors. He checked the front. The little knobs at the top of the doors on both sides of the old car were pushed down. Locked.

The back of his neck prickled. Someone was watching him. He looked up at the store. The woman stood at the window, staring at him with hollow eyes.

Skeleton eyes.

Davie lurched back. The cracked upholstery dug into his shoulders. The smell of stale cigarettes and French fries made him cough. He rocked himself and
tried to hum. The tune came out in short, blubbery bits.

He bit down and blinked. Crying was for babies. Not seven-year-olds. That’s what his daddy said.

He wished his dad were with him now.
He’d
know what to do. Davie licked the salty tears at the sides of his mouth and rubbed his forehead, trying to come up with an idea.

Maybe sneak into the front seat...

Uh-uh, that wouldn’t work. If he moved slow, the woman was sure to spot him and run out. He’d have to jump into the front seat super fast. Like an action hero. Like Spiderman.

He’d put one hand on the plastic divider between the seats and leap over it. Then he’d unlock the door, throw it open, and run.

But to
where?

He looked out, past the dirt parking lot. There, in the shadows, grew a clump of trees. The kind they cut down to decorate at Christmas. He could run in and hide between the thick branches. The driver would come looking for him, but he would keep still. He’d pretend he was invisible.

He’d done it at home, when his parents were fighting. And at school to avoid Billy Boehringer. He could play his invisibility game until the driver left. Then he’d go into the store and ask the man to help him find his mommy.

As long as a bear didn’t get him first. Or one of the creatures the woman talked about. Like a zombie. Or a vampire.

Maybe she was one herself.

Davie brought his feet up onto the seat and wrapped his arms around his knees. His chest felt heavy, like he’d swallowed a big rock that hadn’t worked its way down to his tummy.

He didn’t have a chance against a creature. He wasn’t Spiderman. He couldn’t run. Even now, he couldn’t breathe without wheezing. He reached into his jacket pocket for his inhaler.

Dummy.
He slapped his leg with his free hand. The inhaler wasn’t there. He’d lost it along with his knapsack.

But he found something better. The stack of hockey cards he’d brought to school that day. Twenty-three of them. And his favorite was right on top.

Jarome Iginla.

Iggie was fast. And brave. He wouldn’t let some strange lady lock him in the back of a car, even if she
was
a vampire. No way. He’d body check her and skate off, moving so quick that she’d never, ever, ever catch him.

Davie wiped his eyes and snuck another look at the store window. The woman stood at the counter, paying for something. He didn’t have much time. If he was going to get away, he’d have to forget about bears, and monsters, and move fast. He touched the Jerome Iginla card for good luck then readied his hand for the leap.

A sharp noise threw him against the seat. He shrank back, his face scrunched up tight. He took a big gulp of air but couldn’t get it down into his lungs. Sweat sprang up on his skin, cold and sticky against his clothes.

He found the courage to open one eye and steal a look out the window beside him. Sharp nails scraped the side of the car. Black lips curled over big, pointed teeth. A long tongue dripped with spit. The creature barked again.

Then the front door of the car popped open. The driver plunked herself behind the wheel. The sound of falling coins tinkled against the change already on the floor. “Did you miss me?”

Davie looked back at the side window, panting. The dog pushed away and dropped out of sight, leaving its nose print on the glass.

“I got you some chips.” She tossed a plastic bag onto the seat beside Davie. “That should keep you going.”

Two seconds earlier, Davie’s tummy felt as if he’d taken a turn on the school’s trampoline. Now, it made a loud rumbling sound. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. Lunch, maybe. Although, he wasn’t sure how long ago that was.

“Go ahead,” the woman told him, as the car’s engine began to rumble. “Eat up.”

Davie reached for the grocery bag and peered inside at all the stuff. A pack of gum, jujubes, a box of the same hair goop his grandma used, a bunch of tissues, cigarettes, a bottle of Coke and...a bag of potato chips. Salt and vinegar. Just thinking about them made his cheeks tingle.

He reached for the bag and ripped it open. He pulled out a chip and shoved it in his mouth.

“Good, huh?”

Davie lifted his head. The woman’s crow-black eyes shone in the rearview mirror. He managed a nod and tried to smile.

As the car pulled away from the store, Davie glanced over his shoulder. The big dog was looking at him, wagging his stubby tail, his whole backend wiggling. He didn’t look so scary now.

But the driver of the car still did.

* * *

Maggie kept her eyes on the road, the headlights from an oncoming transport making them burn.

She shifted her gaze to the right until the truck passed. It sped by with a deafening roar, her car quivering in its wake. Alone again on the highway, the black night closed in around her.

Alone. Except for Stafford.

They’d hardly spoken. She had no interest in small talk and he didn’t attempt it. His presence—that’s what she needed. His calmness, his assurance—those comforted her. Words be damned.

The radio pounded out a steady stream of oldies, their base lines rumbling in her chest. She wanted to lose herself in the music, use it as a distraction from the terrifying thoughts that kept spinning in her mind.

Who could have done this? Why did they take Davie? Was he hurt? Cold? Hungry? Scared? Would she ever see him again? The tunes and the miles blurred together, neither helping to ease the pain gnawing away at her insides.

Just past Edmonton, Maggie pulled into a gas station at an all-night mini-mart. Following her routine, she showed the attendants Davie’s school picture and asked about the old tan car. By the time she’d visited the ladies’ room, and sent text messages to Owens and the hopefully sleeping Mrs. Ertle, Stafford had grabbed a coffee, filled the tank, paid for the gas and taken his seat. This time, behind the steering wheel.

“My turn,” he announced through the open window.

Maggie dug into her pocket and pulled out the keys, holding them in her hand. The cold, pointed edges jabbed into her flesh.

He was right. She needed a break from driving. But it was damned hard to pass control over to Stafford.

Who was she kidding? She wasn’t in control. Control had been stolen from her the moment Davie was abducted. Another, unknown person had control over her life now.

And so did Stafford.

Why had she begged him to come with her? Why had she taken his advice and gone north when everything Owens said pointed south?

“Can you drive a standard?”

He gave her a sideways glance doused with pure machismo. “I’m a guy. I can drive anything.”

Riiight.
She tossed him the keys and walked around to the other side of the car, shrinking into her jacket like a turtle to protect her neck against the cool air that hinted of rain. She jerked the passenger door open and got in, tugging the seatbelt around her, snapping the buckle into place.

“I picked up some things.” Stafford used his head to gesture toward the backseat, as he steered the car onto the highway.

Maggie looked behind her. There were three bags. Big ones. “Looks like you cleaned out the store.”

“Some necessities. Toothpaste, food, a change of clothes.”

She reached for the closest bag and pulled out a sweatshirt. “Pink? You wear pink?”

“That one’s for you.”

“Me?” She mashed the garment into a tight ball. “I never wear pink.”

What the hell was she talking about? The color of a shirt? It could be pink, blue, sea foam green, or heliotrope, for all she cared. She didn’t give a damn about colors. They’d faded from her life the moment Davie vanished.

All she wanted to do was curl up like a baby and cry. But she had to hold it together somehow. So she’d feigned a cockiness she didn’t feel. And came across sounding like a bitchy runway diva.

“That uniform can’t be comfortable,” Stafford said, his tone matter-of-fact. “As we head further north, it’s going to get cooler. You’ll need something warm to wear.”

Her uniform. She’d forgotten she still had it on. She hadn’t taken the time to change back into her street clothes, a direct violation of her father’s rules. Used to be the neighbors respected the police. These days, the blue uniform was an invitation, for anything from finding a lost cat to having your house vandalized.

She smoothed the sweatshirt across her lap, the fabric soft and warm like a comfy bathrobe. Maggie opened her mouth to apologize, gulping at the air like a fish on a hook.

“Thanks,” she said, instead.

She looked up in time to see Stafford’s lips twitch. “You’re forgiven.”

Forget the diva routine. Or the strong woman act. Clearly, Stafford wasn’t buying either. Psychic powers or not, this man could see through bullshit a mile away. Hers or anyone else’s, she suspected.

Maggie sighed and, fumbling with fingers that felt like leaded weights, she undid the top button of her shirt.

* * *

Tension stirred in Stafford’s belly. And lower. He swallowed. “You’re going to change...
now
?”