Hide and Seek
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Hide and Seek
by
Charlene Newberg
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Hide and Seek
COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Charlene Newberg
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Kim Mendoza
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Crimson Rose Edition, 2013
Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-962-9
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To my husband and family
for your love and support...thank you...thank you.
And in loving memory of two fathers,
Air Force pilots and Vietnam veterans
who shared their stories:
Major Robert F. Newberg,
and Major Laurence D. Burnell
Chapter One
Inside a parked Ford Escape, Caprice O’Brien’s fingers gripped the steering wheel as she searched the traffic-jammed parking lot for the determined men who stalked her.
When the SUV shuddered, she considered the sinking oil gauge. Just moments before she had arrived at
Casa de Fuego
, South Carolina's largest fireworks store and tourist attraction, the Escape’s engine began to knock and jack-hammer upon acceleration. Unsure what to do, Caprice smoothed her face. If she cut the over-heated engine, it might not restart. That was one chance she was unwilling to take. She peered in the rearview mirror as various cars, travel trailers, motorhomes, and tour buses passed, their drivers looking for available parking.
Nearby, an older couple walked away from a gleaming travel trailer with Georgia plates. Caprice’s heart thudded. Georgia was where she and Shawn were headed.
When Shawn shifted in the seat beside her, Caprice reached to tie his sneaker, but he pushed her hand away. Instead, her son gathered the neon green laces, reminding Caprice of his growing independence.
She stroked the thick auburn hair on his head then circled her fist over her heart. "Sorry."
Caprice regarded the recreational vehicle the conservatively dressed couple had just left. Better than thirty feet in length, the inside was probably clean, cozy, and private. After recovering from a stomach-arresting, strep infection, Shawn deserved rest and contentment.
A sharp rap on the window jolted Caprice. A darkly bearded man, roughly thirty years-old peered down at her with leaden eyes, ominous as storm clouds. His half-buttoned shirt revealed a chest covered in whorls of ebony hairs parted by a jagged, crimson scar.
He gestured with his chin. "Your car’s making a bad knocking. Before you throw a rod, better kill the engine and call a wrecker."
Kill
. His barked command pierced the window. Too startled to respond, Caprice watched as he walked away on long legs encased in faded jeans with frayed hems. The man’s long, ebony hair was cinched at the nape with a leather thong while a devoted, black and tan shepherd heeled at his side.
Relax, Caprice
.
Alan's men never dressed so casually. Yet, this man was huge, powerful. Trembling, she rubbed a tender swelling above her right wrist, and her fingers grazed the fine, gold band of her late grandmother’s watch. Big men used their strength to snap bones like kindling twigs.
Ever vigilant, Caprice watched as man and dog headed for a stand of maple trees. When a uniformed highway patrolman approached the bearded man, he straightened to his full height of well over six feet. Taking a defensive stance in the wide set of his boot-shod feet, he crossed tanned arms over his chest.
After a moment, his shoulders relaxed. He laughed and spoke easily with the officer who removed his wide-brimmed, charcoal hat. Using his shirtsleeve, the lawman wiped September’s humidity from his forehead. The two shook hands and the officer walked away. The man with the dog spoke on a cell phone as he strode toward the numerous souvenir and pyrotechnic shops.
Her lips twisted. So, what had the two discussed…Hurricane Esmeralda’s recent destruction to the Virginia lowlands and the resulting traffic issues? Or, had they conversed regarding a West Virginia politician's ex-wife on the run with a five-year-old?
She was terrified of being discovered and sunk lower into the seat. Caprice tried her cell phone again then threw it onto the dash and resorted to her grandmother’s Irish. “
Gobshite!”
How could she have forgotten to pack her charger? Good thing she and Agent Lyons had rescheduled their meeting. As she reached to shove the gearshift lever into reverse, dark smoke coiled from beneath the hood. “Dammit!”
With a furious, key-jangling twist of her wrist, she cut the engine. The last thing she and Shawn needed was to draw attention to her location. She coughed when acrid smoke seeped into the car’s confines.
Outside, vacationing families lunched under a shaded courtyard. Shawn tapped her arm and gestured to the carefree children chasing one another among bristly bushes and over sun-beaten grass.
His expression hopeful, Shawn verbalized. "I play?"
Caprice hated to deny him a simple joy and hoped he read the apology in her eyes. "No. We go now.”
A Cadillac sedan, jet in color, turned off the highway and into the parking lot. Her senses flashed red-alert. She recognized the Roman-nosed profile of Alan’s man, Lugo.
Caprice defied a shaking that threatened to consume her, despite the Escape’s warming confines. She snatched a red duffle bag from the back seat then tapped Shawn’s arm. She drew her open palms toward her right shoulder then snapped the fingertips of each hand into her thumbs. "Must leave."
"Leef?" At times, Shawn’s words were partly spoken or poorly pronounced, but she understood every syllable he uttered.
She spoke so he could read her lips. “Yes. Run fast."
He nodded, his expression turning grave. She ached to hold his thin frame in her arms. Shawn didn't deserve to live like this. As the Cadillac crept along another aisle filled with parked cars, she gripped the door handle and pulled. Metal popped, releasing the lock.
Caprice stepped from the rental and slipped the duffle's frayed, wide strap onto her shoulder. She searched the parking lot, praying the methodical Lugo wouldn't see them. Shawn's small hand clutched hers as they sprinted to the recreational vehicle with the Georgia plates.
Caprice grabbed the handle, but found the door locked. Perspiration formed on her forehead. She tried the handle again then released a string of Gaelic swear words filled with desperation. Like a sleek black cat, the prowling Cadillac began the last turn. If she didn’t do something soon, Lugo would see them.
Parked several yards away was a dated motorhome. Caprice gripped Shawn's hand, and they ran to the paint-faded Freelander. This time the motorhome’s door opened. Releasing a grateful cry, she ushered Shawn inside the dim unit and closed the door.
Her eyes adjusted to the cool, cave-like interior. She surveyed oak cabinets and paneling, and felt a bit like Goldilocks. Granted, no porridge cooled on the table, but dirty bowls and spoons sat in the sink. Coffee stains colored the kitchen counter tops.
"Hello. Anyone here?”
Gripping Shawn’s hand, she stepped further into the unit and bumped into a dining booth. The table was blanketed in newspapers. She lifted the
Northwest Florida Daily News
and read.
Like a cackling witch, Hurricane Esmeralda has scraped the Virginia lowlands with her destructive broom, sweeping away houses, undermining roads and brick buildings. In her fury, she uprooted massive trees, tossing them onto cars and....
She grimaced. Her heart ached for the people of Virginia and all that they had endured. Caprice set the paper down, her fingers brushing the edge of a sleek laptop.
Outside, brakes squealed. Using her index finger, she slightly parted the curtains to watch as Lugo parked two spaces from her rented Escape. Taller than average, he stepped from his car. His dark suit-jacket whipped open in a hot gust. With confident, long-legged strides, Lugo approached her rental, opened the vehicle’s door, and leaned inside. His pant leg hitched, exposing a semiautomatic strapped to his ankle.
As he swept his hand under the seats, Caprice released a cynical snort. Alan had sent him to find her, most likely to kill her, but did Lugo really believe she would leave Alan's leather-bound, daily planner behind as a parting gift?
Lugo slammed the door. His gaze missed nothing as he shielded his eyes with a wafer-sized phone. The sun caught red and green glints from the large diamond pinky ring on his raised hand. When he pivoted to stare in the motorhome’s direction, Caprice froze. It wasn’t until he headed toward a store with colorful
piñatas
displayed in the windows that she exhaled and could breathe again.
Caprice bent and lifted Shawn onto her hip. As he locked his arms around her neck and rested his head on her shoulder, she soothed. "Didn't I say it would be okay?"
He couldn’t see her lips, but she hoped the vibrations in her chest brought him some comfort. Inwardly she cringed. Like her phone charger, how could she have forgotten to pack his hearing aids?
Now that Lugo was in the shops searching for them, Caprice inspected the camper's cabinets. The cupboard above the three-burner stove held a can of ground coffee and several plastic dishes. The lower cupboards held pots and pans and various canned foods. She opened the refrigerator and experienced sinking dismay. The inside was packed with Cokes and bottled beer. On further inspection, she discovered an unopened package of roast beef. She released a soft, triumphant cry when her fingers closed over a box of breakfast bars. She and Shawn had driven hard for Georgia and had not eaten since early that morning.
She closed the refrigerator then eyed a set of carpeted steps that led to an area over the cab. Her gaze met Shawn’s. Forming a “V” with her pointer and index fingers before her face, she swung her fingers toward the stairs. "Look."
Shawn scampered up the steps and parted the blue velour curtains to expose a cushioned bunk that could easily sleep two adults. At one end of the bed there were several cases of bottled water and a small box marked ‘fly repellent’.
She followed Shawn onto the upholstered cushions. For the first time in four days they had found a refuge. Caprice drew the bunk curtains shut and offered Shawn a breakfast bar. With his fingers outspread and palms facing one another, he rotated them down and away from his mouth.
"Sick?" As if in pain, she grimaced and twisted the fingers of one hand near her head and the other hand by her stomach.
He nodded and she motioned for him to lie back onto the bunk’s mattress. She slipped her hand inside the red bag and removed his large conch shell and a dingy stuffed lamb Shawn had named Mr. Punch. Besides crayons, antibiotics, fever reducers, and hastily packed clothing, there had been precious little time to think of anything else before fleeing their townhome.
Shawn curled onto his side and pulled Mr. Punch against his chest. His features were pinched, his thin frame coiled with tension. She smoothed his back, while her resentment toward Alan smoldered. This life on the run had created havoc with Shawn's sensitive stomach.
Her lips compressed. She was determined to make her appointment in two days with Agent Lyons. With his help, West Virginia’s voting citizenry would learn the truth regarding Alan I. Montero before going to the polls.
She settled beside Shawn, but winced when her bruised arm pressed into the cushions. Shawn’s breathing turned steady. His body relaxed and became a warm weight against her. She blinked, battling exhaustion. Somehow, she must get to Georgia.
****
While Armor tugged on the leash, sniffing and circling the base of a pine tree, Holt LeBerger inhaled the scents of grilling that drifted past.
Beef
. He loved the smell and savored the taste.
