Hunted (9 page)

He wrinkled his nose.

“Remember, this is all just in case.”

“Okay.”

His voice was too calm. Becky reached over and grabbed his hand. “Sam?”

He looked at her, completely composed and serene. It was as if they’d been talking about school or baseball. He registered no fear, no worry. “Did you understand what Daddy said?”

“Yeah. I'm supposed to hide in the closet if the bad guy comes. I have to stay in there no matter what until someone comes to get me. Even if he kills you.”

He had her worried now. My God, it was as if she were seeing a miniature version of Mike with his stolid refusal to get emotionally involved in his own life. “It’s okay to be frightened, Sam. This is scary stuff.”

“I'm not scared.”

“But—”

“Can I go back upstairs now? Until lunch is ready?”

She didn’t know what to do. Should she make a scene so Sam
would
be scared? Or let it go? She glanced at Mike. He didn’t look worried. No surprise there. She turned back to Sam. “Okay, honey. Go on. I'll call you when lunch is ready.”

Sam got up quickly and headed for the door. He didn’t look back at either of them. She heard him run up the stairs. “They've got to catch him, Mike,” she said. “They've got to catch him soon.”

M
ike leaned back in his chair, still cold, all the way to his bones. “I think he handled that pretty well.”

Becky looked at him quizzically. “You've got to be kidding.”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t recognize his behavior? It didn’t seem at all familiar to you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your son just gave a brilliant imitation of his father. Down to the last detail. 'I'm not scared. Can I have a gun?' Where do you think he got that?”

Mike waited for the punch line. Becky didn’t move. She didn’t say anything more. She just looked at him with weary eyes.

“You're saying he was trying to be brave for me? To please me?”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t think bravery entered into the picture at all. To be brave, he would have to realize there was a dangerous situation.”

“Of course he knows it’s dangerous.”

“No,” she said. She scooted her chair closer to him so her eyes would be level with his. “He didn’t. He denied there was any problem at all. Think about what he said. How he acted. It was as if we were telling him about someone else’s life, not his own.”

If he leaned forward he would be able to take her hand. That’s how close she was. “Maybe he just accepted the situation. Maybe he didn’t think getting hysterical would accomplish anything.”

She moved her hand and put it on his leg. “He’s nine years old.”

The small imprint of her palm was the only spot of warmth on his body. He knew if she kept her hand there much longer, he wouldn’t want to talk anymore. He stood up and took his cup to the sink. “You're reading too much into this.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I'm going to build a fire. It was damn cold out there.” He heard the scrape of her chair, then she was next to him.

“Do me a favor?”

He looked into her green eyes. He wanted to erase the worry he saw there. To comfort her and ease her pain. But he didn’t have a clue how. “I'll try.”

“Think about this. Don’t just dismiss it. Something important happened here. How we deal with it is going to matter. This isn’t about you and me. This is about Sam.”

The tone of her voice, more than the words, made him stop. She was really serious about this. She truly believed that Sam’s behavior had something to do with him, and that it was real cause for concern. “I know you mean what you're saying,” he said. “I'm trying to understand.”

“I asked the wrong question,” she said gently. “I don’t want you to think. I want you to
feel.
Trust your instincts. I know you can do that. You may be rusty at it, but dammit, I know you can if you try. Don’t be logical. Don’t make it fit into one of your neat boxes. Sam is in trouble. And we have to help him.”

He lifted his hand and brushed her cheek with his thumb, pleased beyond all measure that she was so near. “You're really something, you know that? I want to do this for you and Sam. I want to make you happy.”

She moved her head. Just an inch. Just enough to break contact with his hand. She caught his gaze in a fierce lock with her own. “Don’t do it for me. Do it because it can save your life.”

She wanted something he couldn’t give her. How was it possible that two people could see the exact same thing and come away with two completely different interpretations? But that’s what always happened. He’d meant it when he said they were from different worlds.

“What I saw was Sam listen to the facts, understand them, and move on,” he said. “He didn’t whine about it or complain. If the worst happens, he'll do well. Looking at things logically isn’t so terrible. That’s just survival.”

“Survival, yes. But is that all you want? To go through the motions of your life without feeling anything? Without caring?”

“You think I don’t care?”

She shook her head. “I think you've forgotten how. You were hurt, so you turned yourself off. Like a light switch. And now you just wander around in the dark.”

“Talking a problem to death isn’t going to solve it. Since when did analysis ever fix anything? There’s a real live man out there. Not some textbook villain. If he finds us, he’s going to do everything he can to kill us. What the hell difference does it make if he hated his father, or if his mother left when he was ten? We'll be just as dead. You think if Sam gets upset and crazy about this he’s going to react as quickly? Survival
is
everything. Don’t you see that?”

“What good is surviving if you end up dead inside?”

“This isn’t getting us anywhere. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She sighed. “Go on upstairs. Make sure Sam is okay. I've got to fix lunch.”

Mike hesitated. He didn’t want to leave it this way. He did care. Too much. Every day they’d been married he’d tried to show her that. Even after the divorce, he’d honored her wishes. He’d stepped into the background. He hadn’t caused any trouble. All he’d ever wanted was her happiness.

He left when she went to the sink.

Climbing the stairs was an effort. The trip to the back roads had worn him out, made him feel old and tired. It hadn’t helped that he’d gotten so little sleep in the last few days.

Sam wasn’t in his bedroom. He must be in the bathroom, Mike thought as he walked over to the window on the far side of the room. Pelting snow swirled in a dizzying pattern. The pine trees swayed and trembled in the wind. Mike felt as though he were in one of those glass globes that he used to shake when he was a kid. His favorite had been one of a little village. There had been a cabin like this one inside the glass.

He turned away from the window and saw Sam’s open computer on the bed. It was on, but he saw only a screen saver—revolving triangles of color on black. He’d felt sure that Sam would be knee-deep in a game by now. Well, maybe he was between battles.

As he headed toward the door, he heard a sound coming from the closet.

He whirled around and checked the floor beneath the window. It was completely dry. There were no signs the window had been opened. He turned back to the closet and reached for his gun. He eased the safety off with his thumb, then slowly pushed the sliding door to the side.

At first all he saw were sleeping bags and blankets. Then he saw Sam’s running shoe. “Sam? You okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, his voice muffled.

A large pink blanket moved and when Mike bent over, he saw the side of Sam’s face. Mike felt relieved and a little foolish. Better to be a jerk than to be caught unaware. He engaged the safety and slipped the gun back into his holster.

“Scoot over.” Mike lifted a handful of bedding and shoved it aside. There wasn’t much room, and he had to get down on hands and knees to make it, but finally he sat right next to Sam. The blankets settled back down, cutting off his view of the room. “It’s a little warm, but not half bad,” he said.

“It doesn’t smell too good.”

“Maybe Mom can think of a way to fix that.”

“Probably.”

As they settled into silence, Becky’s words swirled in Mike’s head. The last thing he wanted was for Sam to grow up to be like him. To go to work every day and not give a damn. To eat alone every night. To fall asleep in front of the TV set. The only bright spot in his life was this little guy.

“You want to talk?” Mike looked to his side. Sam sat cross-legged, with his hands folded in his lap. His hair was all messy from crawling around, but he seemed to be doing fine. He didn’t look up at Mike, but straight ahead through a small gap between a Mickey Mouse sleeping bag and an afghan.

“About what?”

“About what we discussed downstairs.”

“No, that’s okay.”

“You scared?”

Sam shook his head. “Nope.”

“I am.”

That got Sam’s attention. He turned to look at Mike. He seemed surprised. “You are?”

Mike nodded. “Sure. It’s a scary thing to have someone want to hurt you.”

“But you're in the FBI.”

Mike smiled. “You think FBI men don’t get scared?”

“Uh-uh.”

“We do.” He reached over and took Sam’s hand in his. The small palm and fingers were soft and delicate, and reminded him again of just how fragile his little boy was. “Being brave doesn’t mean you can’t be scared. Being brave is doing what you can even when you're scared. Facing trouble, even though all you want to do is run for the hills.”

“But you don’t act scared.”

“Maybe I don’t talk about it. But I feel it sometimes. Just like you.”

Sam’s squeezed his hand tighter. “Where will I live if that guy kills you?”

He wanted to tell Sam that it would never happen. That there was no chance that Mojo would get to them. But he couldn’t lie. Sam already knew too much about death. He’d seen it firsthand. He may be only nine, but he still deserved the truth.

“
If
that happens, you'll live with Grandpa.”

“Will I still go to the same school?”

“I think so. But you know, we probably aren’t going to get killed. What’s likely is that my partner Cliff is going to catch Mr. Jones and put him in jail for a long, long time.”

“But if he does, I'll be an orphan then.”

“Do you know what a long shot is?”

Sam shook his head.

“It’s when there’s a chance something will happen, but only a tiny one. Like the Cubs winning the series. It could happen, but it’s really, really unlikely.”

“But you said...”

“The reason I said those things downstairs was to prepare you for the very worst. But the very worst is a long way from what’s probably going to happen. So you don’t have to spend a lot of time worrying about it. As a matter of fact, now that you know what to do, you don’t have to think about it at all.”

“I'll try.”

He leaned over and kissed the top of Sam’s head. “Listen, kiddo. If you remember the safety rules, you'll be just fine. You got that?”

Sam leaned a little bit to the right, just enough so that his shoulder and arm made contact with Mike. “I like it when you live with us.”

“I know, Sam. I know.” He sat in the quiet of the closet. He couldn’t hear the wind outside, or the trees banging on the roof. All he heard was the soft, sweet breathing of his son.

Becky had been right. Sam hadn’t been stoic, just scared. Why had he resisted her words so fiercely? What was he trying to prove?

All he knew for sure was that he would do anything to keep his son safe and happy. The safe part was simple. Find Mojo and make sure he would never have a chance to hurt his family again. He still believed the letters in his duffel bag held the clues to Mojo’s plans. When Sam went to sleep, he would go look at them again.

As for keeping Sam happy, well that would be a little trickier. Becky would know how. He would ask her. And this time, he wouldn’t argue. He would just listen.

He closed his eyes.

* * *

The sound of a footstep woke him. Mike felt disoriented for a moment, until he realized he was still in the closet. He felt the weight of Sam’s body leaning against his left side. When he turned to look, he saw that his son was out. His eyes were closed, but his mouth wasn’t. He was as limp as a dishrag. If Mike had been in that position, he would have been in traction for a week. Sam wouldn’t feel a thing.

“Mike?”

“Yeah.” The sleeping bag in front of him moved, and then Becky was staring at him.

“It’s time to get up. You guys have been asleep for a long time.”

“I'm not sleeping.” Sam yawned as he sat up. “I was just resting.”

“I see. Well, it’s too late for lunch. So how about coming down for dinner? While you two were wasting the whole afternoon, I baked cookies for dessert.”

It took Sam a lot less time than Mike to crawl out. He managed, but a lot of bed rolls came out with him.

“What kind of cookies?” Sam asked.

Becky smiled. “What kind do you think?”

“Chocolate chip?”

She nodded, and Sam raced out of the room.

“Not till after dinner,” she called after him. Then she turned back to Mike.

He was busy rubbing a kink out of the small of his back.

“Whatever you did, it worked.”

“Huh?”

“Sam. He’s acting like his old self again.”

“How can you tell? You saw him for two seconds.”

“I'm his mother. I can see when he’s upset and when he’s not. Now, come on. What happened?”

“We just talked a bit.”

She narrowed her eyes. “This couldn’t have anything to do with our earlier conversation, could it?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Seems you were right.”

She studied him some more. Her gaze traveled over his face, searching for clues. “I was, huh?”

He nodded. “He was scared. He didn’t want to admit it.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him I was scared, too.”

She smiled. It changed her whole face. She looked soft and beautiful, and he was glad to have those eyes looking at him. “You confuse the hell out of me, you know that?”

He smiled back at her. “It’s my job.”

“Come on down. Chocolate chip is your favorite, too.”

She turned and he watched her walk out of the bedroom. His gaze traveled down the length of her, admiring her sleek body and the way she moved. All that and brains, too, he thought. He had a good feeling about the night to come.

He didn’t go right to the kitchen. First, he went to his bedroom and washed his face. The nap had done some good, but he still felt achy and stiff. He needed a solid night’s sleep. If Cliff didn’t call with good news soon, he doubted he would get one.

Mojo could be out there, on the mountain. It would be hard to travel in this blizzard, but it could be done. He would need a snowmobile. A map and a compass. Some luck. On the other hand, even if he knew they were staying at the lodge, he would have to know which cabin they were in. Mike thought about the smoke from the fireplace. He would wait until it was fully dark before he lit the next fire.

He sat on the edge of his bed and opened his duffel bag. The letters were on top, and he pulled out the stack. He heard Sam’s laugh coming from the kitchen. Then he read.

Dear Mike,You never write, you never call. It’s starting to hurt my feelings. We have so much in common, you and I. We really should be closer, don’t you think? It’s not as if you didn’t have the time. That restaurant you frequent, George’s Café? You could bring a pad and pen in there. No one would bother you. Just like always, you could sit for hours in the back booth, nursing your coffee, eating your tasteless meals. I think it would look less pathetic if you busied yourself with correspondence, don’t you?