Hunted (4 page)

If he moved closer, she would know what the smell of her and the touch of her were doing to him. He closed the distance between their bodies, moving his hand to her cheek.

“No.” She stepped away, breaking the contact between them. “Don’t.”

Where he was and who he was crashed in on him with those two words. He backed off quickly, angry that he’d gotten so carried away. He fought to bring his body under control. He had no right to touch her. No right at all.

She turned to look at him. Her gaze was so filled with pain and confusion, it ripped at his insides.

“Is the guy that’s after us the one on the news?”

Mike spun around. Sam was standing just inside the kitchen door.

“What?”

“Some people were talking about it on the bulletin board. They said some guy deluded capture. That he escaped from prison and he’s real dangerous.”

“Eluded,” Mike said, trying hard to get his bearings. He glanced at Becky, but she’d already turned back to the stove.

“Is he?” Sam walked to the table and sat down.

Mike shoved his feelings aside and concentrated on his son. The last thing he wanted to do was scare him, but he needed Sam to be ready in case the worst should happen. “The man doesn’t know where we are,” he said, moving away from Becky and the roses. “No one does. He can’t find us here.”

“Why does he want to hurt us?”

Mike sat down next to Sam. It was all he could do not to steal another glance behind him. “He’s sick, Sam.”

Sam’s eyebrows came together. “He’s crazy, so he wants to hurt us?”

Becky walked over with the salad. When she put it on the table, she shot Mike a look. No words were needed; he got the message. Tread softly.

“Sam, we're going to be fine. I promise.” What was one more lie? he thought. Who knows, maybe this one would turn out to be true. Even if it didn’t, Sam would sleep well tonight. That had to count for something.

Mike kept his eyes on his son, waiting to see if he believed the words. Sam started eating, the worry gone from his face. At least for now.

Becky put the rest of the food on the table. Before she sat down, she got the glasses Mike had forgotten and poured them each some milk. The kitchen table was so small the plates and dishes covered it from one end to the other. Mike was reasonably sure something would end up on the floor before the meal was over.

Becky sat to his right. She didn’t look upset anymore, but she avoided his gaze. “How about after dinner, we start on a puzzle, Sam?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t care.” He continued eating without looking up at his mom.

“Well I think it would be fun,” Becky said. “We can have a fire. I bought marshmallows. We can roast some for dessert.”

That caught his attention. He smiled. Mike realized it was the first smile he’d seen since he’d showed up at Becky’s. A pang of guilt hit him in the chest. Had he done one thing to make his kid smile?

He leaned forward to reach for the pasta, and his knee touched Becky’s leg. She pulled away from him as if he’d burned her.

He didn’t think it was possible to feel worse, but that did it. He wanted to be back at his apartment, back in his life. He’d let his guard down for one moment with Becky, and look what happened. He should never have touched her, dammit.

He served himself some food, and they all concentrated on eating. Except for the sounds of a fork on a plate or a glass put down on the table, the room was quiet. Mike couldn’t help remembering meals from the past, when food had grown cold while they’d talked about everything from work to politics to books. But that was a long time ago, and he’d grown accustomed to the silence. He didn’t think he would know how to talk like that anymore. Or that he could make someone laugh, the way Becky had once laughed at his jokes.

He stared at his almost clean plate. They’d been stupid jokes. The only reason she’d thought they were funny was because she’d loved him. He could say the exact same things now, and she wouldn’t even smile.

“After the puzzle, can we play Space Blaster, Dad?”

Mike nodded at Sam. “Sure.”

“Fortress, too?”

“I don’t know. One game is probably my limit. What about that puzzle?”

“I hate puzzles,” he said, pouting. “Puzzles are for babies.”

“Not this one,” Becky said. “It’s a really hard one. I'll need your help.”

“No you won’t. You're just saying that because you don’t like my computer. I don’t have to work on the puzzle, and you can’t make me.”

“You want to go straight upstairs to bed, mister?” Mike snapped. The minute the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to take them back.

Sam didn’t give him a chance. He scooted his chair back and ran out of the room.

Becky whipped around to face Mike. Her elbow bumped into a half-full glass of milk and it crashed to the floor, spreading liquid and glass shards everywhere. Becky didn’t even look at it. “For God’s sake, Mike.” She got up and went after Sam, but only after giving him a look that told him just where he could go.

Then he was alone. He lifted his napkin off his lap and tossed it on the table. “Damn.”

* * *

“Honey, you okay?” Becky sat down next to Sam. He pulled his computer onto his lap, then reached across the bed and got his joystick.

“Sam?”

He didn’t look at her. His lips were pressed tightly together and his cheeks flushed pink.

“Listen, Sam. Daddy didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

“I don’t.”

He stared rigidly at the screen in front of him.

She scooted a little closer to him. “You know, Daddy and I both love you very much. He’s just worried about us, that’s all.”

Sam grunted and jerked the joystick back and forth. She couldn’t see the game screen, but she would bet he was killing off hundreds of little spacemen, or monsters or whatever evil creatures were in that make-believe world. What a powerful thing for a nine-year-old to do, she thought. It was no surprise to her that Sam preferred his computer friends to his schoolmates.

“I bet if you go downstairs and ask Daddy, he'll come up and play.” She reached over and touched him, just under the chin, and lifted his head until he looked at her. His eyes were too old and sad. He was just a little kid. He shouldn’t be hiding in a stranger’s cabin, afraid for his life. Afraid of his father. He shouldn’t have to pay because she and Mike had failed each other.

“He’s mad at me,” he said, shaking free with a toss of his head.

“No, he’s not.”

Sam didn’t look at her again. He just played his game until his parents and the cabin and Mojo were far, far away. At least he had that. She wouldn’t say any more. She would just sit with him for a while and let him know that she was here for him.

Her thoughts went back to Mike, but not to the dinner. Before that, when he’d come close to her by the sink. When he’d smelled her perfume.

She’d lied to him. She hadn’t been wearing the rose perfume before. She wasn’t even sure why she’d put it on. For old time’s sake? Maybe she’d just wanted to see if he would still react to her in the old way. She hated to admit it, but she’d liked it when he’d touched her. She’d felt the warmth of his fingers and she’d felt safe. Until she’d realized that she was playing with fire.

It was all so confusing. She shouldn’t want to be near him, yet she did. She shouldn’t want to care about him, but she couldn’t help it. The truth was, he was a part of the fabric of her life, and that would never change. He was the only man she’d ever loved. That’s why it hurt so very much.

She stood, and looked at Sam’s beautiful face, with the dark eyes and dark hair he got from his father. She wished she could promise him that everything would be all right. But how could she, when she didn’t believe it herself?

She wrapped her arms around her waist. The branches of the pine tree outside hammered at the window. The storm had hit, and she hadn’t even noticed. She looked back at Sam. Better to leave him to his world, for now. She’d give him some time alone, before she sent Mike up. Besides, the kitchen wasn’t going to clean itself. “I'll be right downstairs if you need me.”

He didn’t even nod.

She saw Mike when she got halfway down the stairs. He was at the fireplace, lighting kindling with a long match. At least he was holding a lit match in the general area of the fireplace, but not near anything that could actually catch fire. He just sat on his haunches, his elbows on his knees, staring at the pile of wood and newspaper. It was clear he was deep in thought, and it startled her to realize she had no idea about what.

It wasn’t such a long time ago that she would have known. He always accused her of having a sixth sense, but it hadn’t been that. She’d just known Mike. What made him tick. What bothered him and what made him happy. Now she knew nothing about him. He’d closed himself off to her long ago. The only thing familiar about him was his touch, and that was too dangerous to contemplate.

She thought again of that moment in the kitchen. How her body had reacted before her mind could get a grip. How his touch made her melt. At least she knew, now, to be careful. To keep her distance from him. “You'll burn yourself,” she said as she reached the landing.

He came out of his trance with a jerk, and dropped the match into the fireplace. He picked up another, lit it with a scratch on the bottom of the box, and brought the flame to the paper. This time he got the fire started. He pulled the mesh screen closed, then stood up to face her. “Is Sam okay?”

“He’s hurt and frightened. You didn’t have to talk to him like that. All he wants is to spend time with you.” She hugged herself tighter, wishing the fire would hurry up and warm the room. She was freezing.

“I'm sorry I snapped at him,” he said as he sat down on the wing chair nearest the fireplace. He looked exhausted. The lines in his face were deep, and he was having trouble keeping his eyes open.

“Go on up,” she said. “Play with him for a while. I want him to go to bed soon. You both need some rest.”

He nodded, but he didn’t move.

She needed some sleep herself. Her bones ached with weariness and cold. She thought about the messy kitchen. “Who cares,” she whispered. She sat down at the edge of the couch and curled her feet under her.

“What?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. I should go clean up in there.”

“Don’t worry about it. I picked up.”

She stared at him. “Really?”

He nodded. “You cook, I clean. Remember?”

She did. She remembered the day they’d made that deal. It had been their second anniversary, and Mike had bought her a vacuum cleaner. She’d been so disappointed, she’d gone into the bathroom and cried. Mike had coaxed her out, telling her she didn’t have her whole gift yet. When she’d opened the door, he’d handed her a card. It said that from now on, he would share in all the chores. She would cook, he would clean. She would dust, he would sweep. They would be a team. Forever. Then he’d given her gold heart earrings.

“We were quite a pair, weren’t we?” she asked.

“A hell of a team.” He stared at her, and she saw a wistfulness in his eyes that she understood completely.

But it was foolish to let the past trick her into believing things had changed. They weren’t married anymore. They knew each other too well to simply forgive and forget.

A surge of sadness rose from deep inside her. She’d lost so much. Her whole world. And now she faced losing even more. “I'm scared,” she said. She covered her face with her hands, trying hard to stop the tears. But there was too much fear and hurt to stem the tide, and she wept.

He touched her shoulder. She hadn’t heard him get up, or felt him sit next to her, but when she took her hands away and opened her eyes, he was there. Right beside her. It was easy to lean back, to fall against his hard body. To take comfort in his strong arms. He lifted his hand to her face, and with a gentleness she’d forgotten he had, he wiped her tears.

“I'll keep you safe, Becky. I swear to God.”

She sniffed. “I know you'll try.”

He shook his head. “I'll do more than try.”

She took his hand in hers, knowing she shouldn’t, but needing to anyway. His long fingers, full of strength and dexterity, felt rough and masculine. She found the scar near his thumb that he’d gotten when he was seventeen, and traced it. “Why is he after us, Mike? What does he want?”

He became still and she looked up at him. The softness was leaving his face, his stony mask taking its place. “Vengeance,” he said.

She squeezed his hand, urging him to come back. “Because you caught him?”

“Because I didn’t kill him when I had the chance. Because I crippled him.”

“But why would he want to hurt me? Or Sam?”

He pulled his hand from hers, and she felt a terrible chill.

“Because he knows I loved you,” he said.

She made the mistake of looking at his eyes. He wasn’t telling her everything. “There’s something else,” she said. Her mouth was so dry she could barely speak. “Oh, God, it’s something terrible, isn’t it?”

Mike leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “He wrote to me. From prison. I got the first letter about four months after he’d been locked up. It came to my apartment.” Mike’s head drooped so he was looking at this feet instead of at her. “The letters were about me, about my life and how he was going to come after me one day.”

“And?”

He studied his hands for a moment, then brought his gaze back up to meet hers. “I got the last letter yesterday afternoon. It was about you.”

She sat back. She hadn’t even realized she’d been leaning forward, or that she’d been holding her breath, but now she took in a gasp of air. “Me? How does he even know I exist?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I didn’t want you to be scared.”

She laughed, although not one damn thing was funny. “Too late. Dammit, Mike, don’t try to protect me so much. You have to tell me what’s going on. I deserve that.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just trust me. For once in your life, tell me the truth. You think I could watch my baby die and not be able to handle this?”

Mike stood up and walked over to the fireplace. He picked up the poker and knelt to stoke the fire. “It’s my job to protect you.”