Hide and Seek (13 page)

As they stepped outside, Holt pointed to the tallest girl. "Lauren is eight, and Christine is six."

"You shaved!" The girls threw their arms around Holt's legs. Each niece straddled a boot. Christine looked up. “Walk."

"Did you buy fireworks?" Lauren demanded.

“Yeah.” Briefly he stopped, and Caprice was the recipient of a twisted smile. “And, I got more than I expected.”

A screen door slammed. A petite brunette in faded jeans and a cropped red top trotted down the steps. Shoulder-length hair gleamed as she steamed toward Holt. “I’ve been worried every minute of the day. Just one phone call from you would have given me peace-of-mind. If you didn’t feel like talking, you could have texted.”

“I contacted Scott.”

“Holt, I wanted to hear from you about Dad. Instead, Scott gave me a list of your commands.” Her expression remained outwardly displeased, but she lifted on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “You also promised to bring Dad.”

“He wanted to help his neighbors.” Holt looked at Caprice and gestured. “My little sister, Melissa.”

A smile transformed Melissa’s expression as she gripped Caprice’s extended hand. “Actually, I’m older than Holt, but he likes folks to think that he’s the wiser.”

“Is he?”

“No.” Melissa glared at him. “I’ll take the girls and go see the colonel for myself.”

“Melissa, that’s a bad...”

“Don’t make decisions for me!”

“And, I’m telling you it’s unsafe.”

Desperate to avoid a near revolution, Caprice gripped Shawn’s shoulders and positioned him in front of Melissa. “This is, Shawn.” She swept her hand. “Your daughters are beautiful. No wonder Jack is so proud of them.”

Melissa stabbed Holt with one last withering glare then smiled and called. "Christine, Lauren, come here." Holt's sister made introductions while Caprice signed for Shawn. "He's just like you and your friends,” Melissa said, “only Shawn can't hear.” She eyed each girl. “Be considerate. Understood?"

The three children raced into the house, their feet pounding the hardwood, but Melissa turned to Holt and planted her hands on her hips. “Scott parked your mud and manure-caked truck in my garage. Why?”

"That truck's got four-wheel drive which makes it ideal for ranch work. And speaking of the ranch, if you lived with me you wouldn’t have had to pester your neighbors about boarding your windows.”

Caprice appreciated Holt’s diversionary tactic, but she braced as Melissa’s countenance reddened. “I didn’t ask them. Scott happened to drop by,” she said coolly. “Which reminds me, I bought bottled water and canned foods for your place too.”

“That’s great and thanks.” He looked at Caprice. “It’s after six. Let’s get going."

Melissa lip’s quirked. “Wrong. It’s five. You’re back on central time, pal, which means you can stay for dinner and answer my questions." Caprice couldn’t resist a smile when Melissa gripped her arm above the elbow. "Come inside, Caprice. How about a tall iced-tea?”

****

An hour later, Caprice sat in the front of Holt’s pick-up and twisted to smile at Shawn who sat in the cab's back seat beside Armor. They flew over a huge rise in the road and Shawn laughed.

“Was that a culvert?” Caprice asked.

“No. An old train-bed from the early timber days. My buddies and I used that one and several others for racing, and to cut our drive-time to school in the mornings.”

In the distance, lightning made a vertical strike. Despite the slowly setting sun, the sky had turned an uncustomary greenish-gray.

“I’ve never been in a hurricane,” she said, making an effort to subdue her panic. “It seems ludicrous to drive to Florida just to be in one.”

“I have to protect my property.”

She inclined her head. “I can appreciate that, but what should I do?”

“Nothing. I’ll shutter the windows, the out-buildings, and do what I can for my herd. Then we hunker down and let the storm pass.”

Caprice realized he was trying to allay her concerns, but she was unsure about what to expect. “How long will it last?”

He lifted his shoulders. “Several hours. There will be winds and heavy rains, but before Gemma makes landfall, Gulf Power will cut the electricity to the county.”

“When is landfall?”

“Sometime before two in the morning. After the storm has passed, I’ll start the generator. We’ll have some electricity to run fans and a few appliances.”

She processed his answers and studied the scenery. Wax myrtles and coastal willow trees bordered the wide roadside ditches clogged with bright green duckweed and cattails. She stifled a shiver. What forms of aquatic and reptile life resided in the stagnant water? Snakes? Eels?

“Jack said Melissa is widowed. What happened to her husband?"

His hands flexed on the wheel. "Greg was shot during a routine traffic stop three years ago. Losing him was tough on my sister."

Before Caprice could comment, they arrived at a set of wrought iron gates. Holt pressed a button on a fob attached to the keys in the ignition, and the gates split open. The long drive was flanked by tight strands of barbed-wire fencing.

Beyond the fence, lay verdant pastures bordered by deciduous forests. White egrets bedecked with yellow feathers on their backs and chests, pecked around the grazing cattle, some with gleaming black coats and others in golden-red that lightened under their bellies.

A few hundred feet away, a lanky blond in torn jeans led a dark horse from the pasture. Holt tapped the horn in greeting. “That’s Brian.”

Near a large outbuilding, a wind-filled, orange air-sock was tethered to a high post. Apparently an airstrip sat on the property. Ahead of them, in a yard dotted with stately pines and pecan trees was a sprawling brown and tan residence.

A circular brick drive led to the front door, but Holt drove to the home’s east side. He pulled into the garage and stopped beside a green, Jeep Cherokee.

Caprice helped unload the supplies Melissa had purchased then followed Holt into a spacious kitchen gleaming with oak cabinets and stainless-steel appliances.

A wireless wall phone was stationed beneath a cupboard. Holt opened a cabinet containing glasses and hooked the truck’s keys next to a set with a tag marked ‘Jeep’.

Shawn ran into the adjoining family room and investigated an upholstered pit group. A large, flat-screen was set inside an oak entertainment center that commandeered an entire wall. Beyond the family room, through a set of French doors, was a screened patio.

Outside, a large aluminum livestock trailer sat beside a barn painted the same tan as the house.

"This is stunning," she said, setting the groceries onto a rust-colored granite counter, "and not at all what I had pictured."

"My grandfather built this house, but I’ve made a few changes.” He pointed to the skylights. As she looked up, Holt’s fingers brushed her neck to lift the duffle’s strap from her shoulder. “I’ll show you the house then I’ll work with Brian."

In the living room, two softly-tanned leather loveseats were arranged on thick, beige carpeting. Caprice trailed her fingers over a bronzed Remington on a low table then approached a landscape of a spreading oak on a knoll.

She peered closely. “Cecelia?”

“My grandmother.”

“This oil is lush with color,” she said, aware he was studying her, his expression thoughtful.

“You should paint while you are here. I’ll get my grandmother's easel and supplies from the storeroom. Feel free to use them."

She shook her head. Her stomach turned as images of Sandra and her mother swam before her eyes. "Thanks, but I’ve lost my edge with oils.”

She thought he would challenge her comment, but Shawn tapped her arm, his expression hopeful, anxious. He signed the letter “H” on the side of his head. Holt rested a hand on Shawn's shoulder and spoke, allowing Shawn to lip read. "It's late and I have work. You’ll see the horses tomorrow, or the next day.”

She translated for Shawn, but appreciated Holt's perception of her son’s feelings. In turn, Shawn had lost his reserve. And, hadn't he adopted some giant, Holt-like strides?

"I'll show you your rooms." He led them down the hallway to a room painted a soft, cheery yellow. The antique headboard was carved from golden oak. On the opposite wall stood a matching dresser and a comb-backed, rocking chair.

She smoothed the bed’s quilt, recognizing the jagged, Drunkard’s Path pattern. "Everything is suspiciously neat, not at all what I had imagined."

“That’s because Melissa hired a woman to come every two weeks to clean.” Holt’s sudden grin suggested he was remembering their argument that morning. He pointed with his chin. "Your bathroom adjoins another room for Shawn."

"Thanks, but he’ll want to sleep with me." As Holt set the duffle on the bed, Caprice’s curiosity mushroomed. "This home was made for a large family. Don't you feel isolated out here? I can't imagine having only Armor and cattle for company."

"I enjoy the space and the wildlife." He strode to the door. "Make yourself at home. Just don't wriggle your nose and rearrange the furniture."

Her jaw clenched. "I wouldn't do that." At the same time, her circumstances made her feel trapped, waiting for the hunter to claim her. "It won't be long before Alan tracks me down."

His eyes darkened. "I'll call Dan this evening. Later, I'll explain the security system and give you some codes."

“Could I borrow your laptop? I want to contact my clients.”

“Sure. Set up anywhere.”

Outside, Holt and Brian covered the windows with metal storm shutters and Caprice explored the house. Her curiosity pulled like a stretched rubber band as she stepped into the master bedroom.

The blue spread on the king size bed was smooth and wrinkle-free. Polished walnut furniture embossed with lighter woods from the art-deco period, gleamed despite the covered windows. Her gaze strayed to his big bed. An unbidden memory of Holt, bare-chested with a towel wrapped low over his hips, sent her scurrying from the room. She didn't see Holt the rest of the evening, but heard him on the phone in his den.

During the early morning hours, Caprice awoke as the rain beat in torrents. Thunder exploded. Like the banshees her grandmother told stories about, the wind shrieked. Shawn thrashed the sheets, mumbling. When she reached for him, his skin was hot, and her heart sunk. Seconds later, she left the bathroom and laid a damp washcloth across his forehead. He sat up, flinging the cool compress onto the floor.

She grimaced and jabbed her index fingers in front of her stomach. "Sick?"

He shrugged, lifting his hands in a weighing gesture.

Caprice belted a thick terry robe she had borrowed from the closet. Signing letter “W”, she tapped her finger to the corner of her lips. "Water?"

Shawn nodded. She left and found Holt in the family room. Clad in jeans, his feet were bare as he stood before the flat screen.

She caught a glimpse of the satellite image of Gemma’s swirling mass churning over the northern half of the Gulf of Mexico. Most of the Florida panhandle was shrouded in cloud-cover although the storm’s well-formed eye had jogged westward.

She rubbed her arms. “Is it me or is the temperature freezing?”

“I lowered the thermostat.” He continued to thumb the television’s remote. “When we lose power, the house should stay comfortable for several hours.”

In the flurry of images, Caprice recognized the man giving an interview. She released a sharp breath. “Wait! Go back. That was Alan.”

As a young female reporter questioned Alan, Caprice recognized footage of herself in a backless evening gown, stepping from a limousine and entering the Charleston Doubletree.

Alan responded to a question. “Since the Lovelace tragedy, I’ve tried to encourage Caprice to seek professional help.”

Professional help?
Caprice pressed her hand to her heated cheeks.

“Ms. O’Brien is a gifted and dedicated artist.” The reporter’s brows rose in skepticism. “Her portrait of Governor Halifax now hangs in the state capital. She painted a family portrait for Senator Wingate as well.”

Caprice was aware that Holt was staring at her as Alan shook his head. “Yes, but with all that talent comes a vivid, mismanaged imagination.”

Caprice pressed a hand to her lips.
That
gobshite!

“What do you know of Ms. O’Brien and your son’s whereabouts?”

“According to my good friends in law enforcement,” Alan said, wringing his hands in feigned concern, “Caprice and my son are in the company of a penniless thug with a prison record. They are headed for Flor...”

The interviewer raised her hand. “Why would Ms. O’Brien leave Charleston without a word to her friends or neighbors?”

“Who knows?” Alan adopted a lower, confidential tone. “As I’ve stated…”

A violent clap of thunder made Caprice flinch. The power surged and they were thrown into darkness.

Holt snorted and the hand-held control thudded when it hit the upholstered pit group. “I’d heard enough of Montero’s bull anyway.”

“Alan will twist this story to garner sympathy votes,” Caprice said. “Fortunately, that reporter wasn’t buying anything he said.”

“She was impressed with your accomplishments as I am, but what did he mean by the Lovelace Tragedy?”

“Sandra and her mother were my clients,” she said, discovering it was easier to talk in the confessional of darkness. “Mrs. Lovelace hired me to paint a portrait of herself and Sandra as a Christmas gift to her husband. They were beautiful subjects and they loved the portrait, but I wasn’t satisfied. I wanted to create the perfect lighting to enhance their olive skin tones. They were on their way for another sitting when their car hit a phone pole at an icy intersection.”

Holt swore softly.

“Sandra died instantly and her mother a few days later,” she said, but her voice had dropped to a hoarse, shame-filled whisper.

He drew closer as he spoke. “And that’s why you won’t paint?”

“The smell of oils and turpentine remind me of my arrogance and self-importance,” she said as his hand, warm and heavy, rested on her shoulder.

“Caprice, that’s…”