More Deaths Than One (29 page)

She drew a long, sobbing breath. “He stole
your family from you.”

Trying to elicit a smile, he said, “Maybe he
did me a favor.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you defending
him?”

“You have to admit my family isn’t worth
much.”

“But they’re still your family.”

“Actually, Jackson is all the family I have
left. Lorena, Robert, and their children aren’t related to me.”

“True, but—” She slammed on the brakes and
barely avoided rear-ending a Mustang that cut in front of them.

Leaning back, he closed his eyes against the
pain. When he opened them again, it was dark, and he realized he
had slept the day away.

He took over the driving while Kerry dozed.
The miles slipped mindlessly by.

In the grayness of the pre-dawn world, Kerry
awoke. She glanced around with an unfocused look in her eyes, then
her gaze met his.

The first smile of the morning broke across
her face, and he felt as though the sun had risen.

***

Bob raised his head and rubbed the sleep out
of his eyes.

“Did you have a nice nap?” Kerry asked.

“It was okay. I didn’t dream.” He stared out
the window at the narrow mountain road. “Where are we? This isn’t
the interstate, is it?”

“I turned off the highway past Grand
Junction. I thought we could spend the night at my uncle’s cabin.
He’s not using it right now, so we’ll be alone.”

The road wound higher into the hills. The
right shoulder ended in a sheer drop. Feeling a sickening lurch in
his midsection, Bob quickly shifted his gaze from the view to
Kerry.

“Maybe I should drive for a while.”

She chuckled, sounding not at all offended.
“What’s wrong? Don’t you like my driving?”

“Let’s just say if it was me at the wheel,
we’d be going slower.”

The Volkswagen shuddered as she hurtled
around a tight S-shaped curve.

He sucked in a breath. “A lot slower.”

She tossed him a laughing glance. “Don’t
worry, I’ve driven this road a thousand times and never had an
accident. Anyway, we’re almost there.”

She spun the wheel sharply to the left and
veered onto a graveled lane snaking through the woods. The car
rattled and bounced, and pebbles smacked against the undercarriage.
After about a quarter of a mile, she parked in front of a weathered
log cabin in a small clearing.

Bob climbed out of the car. Stretching out
his arms, he inhaled deeply.

“Oh, come on,” Kerry said. “I’m not that bad
a driver. Next thing I know, you’ll be kissing the ground.”

He smiled at her. “Can’t you smell it?”

She sniffed. “I don’t smell anything.”

He tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and
inhaled again. A faint metallic odor rising from an outcrop of
sun-warmed boulders mingled with the scent of pine, dry leaves, and
melting snow. He felt a heaviness inside of him loosen. All at once
a sense of exhilaration percolated to the surface.

“Is something wrong?” Kerry asked, giving him
a strange look.

“No. Something is very right.”

He turned around slowly. The bright yellow
aspen leaves shimmering against the lapis lazuli sky seemed to
cherish him and nourish him with their energy. The air he breathed
seemed to become a part of him, and he a part of it.

When Kerry gazed at him, shaking her head, he
noticed how her hair gleamed in the alpenlight.

“You’re acting as if this is the first time
you’ve been here,” she said.

“It is.”

“I don’t mean here at my uncle’s cabin.” She
made a sweeping gesture. “I mean here in the Rockies.”

“I know.”

She put her hands on her hips. “You’re from
Denver, and you’ve never been in the mountains before?”

“Not that I remember. It’s all so different,
the way the air smells and tastes and feels. And the sounds.”

“What sounds? It’s absolutely still. For once
there’s not even any noise from a chainsaw.”

He smiled at her. “Sound is everywhere. I can
hear the meadow mice and the deer moving in the thicket over
there.”

She fixed her gaze on him. “You’re making
that up.”

“If you listen you will hear them, too.” He
took a breath, released it. “I lived so long in Southeast Asia
where it’s steamy and overpeopled that I got used to it, but I feel
as if I belong here.” He lowered his voice. “A raccoon in the pine
tree is staring at us.”

She flicked back a strand of hair that had
fallen into her face. “I thought I knew you, but I don’t. I’ve
never seen you like this.”

He held out his palms, wanting her to see he
had nothing to hide. “I’m the same.”

“No, you’re not. I sense a . . . a
change.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Of course not. It’s just not what I’ve
gotten used to. Should we see about getting something to eat? It
won’t be anything fancy, but I’m sure we can find cans of chili and
stew in the cupboard.”

He flexed his fingers. “If you don’t mind,
I’d like to paint first, try to capture this light before it
fades.”

“I don’t mind.” She smiled at him, but
reserve tinged her voice. “I’m not very hungry.”

***

Bob rolled over and reached for Kerry in the
dark, but her side of the bed was empty.

He grabbed the patchwork quilt, which was so
old it felt as soft as flannel, and padded through the deserted
cabin to the front door. He stepped outside. Kerry sat on the
stoop, knees pulled to her chest, head tilted back. Wearing the
over-sized tee shirt she’d slept in, she shivered in the cold
mountain air.

Bob wrapped the quilt around her shoulders
and sat next to her. She rearranged the quilt to envelop both of
them.

She glanced at him, then quickly averted her
gaze.

He held her hand. “You’re not afraid of the
change in me, are you?”

“No.” Her grip on his hand tightened. “I’m
afraid you’re going to grow away from me. I mean, I’m a waitress,
but you’re rich, you had a book written about you, and one day
you’re going to be a famous painter.”

“I’m not there yet. Besides, as I recall,
you’re not a waitress anymore. You’re my agent.”

“That was a joke.”

“Not to me it wasn’t. And I’m not going to
grow away from you. If anything, this lightness of being I feel is
making me more attuned to you.”

Her tone sounded almost breezy, but not
enough to hide the note of apprehension in her voice. “That’s
what’s scary.”

“I know.”

She leaned away and looked at him. “You
do?”

“The first time I visited the Mulligans,
Scott told me he didn’t know what was worse, being under-stood or
being misunderstood.”

“He’s right. I thought that’s what I wanted,
someone who’d be attuned to me and to notice things like me being
cold, but it’s . . . I don’t know . . . intimidating, I guess.”

“It might be a temporary change because of
being here in the mountains.”

“I don’t think so.” She relaxed against him.
“I forgot how many stars there are. When I was a kid, I’d go
outside at night and moonbathe—lie under the stars, looking up. If
I watched long enough, I felt as if I were looking down on the
stars, then I’d get dizzy, thinking I would fall off the earth.
Sometimes I feel the same way when I’m with you.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Good. Definitely good. I love the stars. I
love being out at night. Maybe that’s why I liked working
graveyard. Living in the city, though, I didn’t get to see many
stars.”

Bob stared at the sky. Mesmerized by the
white swathe of the Milky Way, he felt a sudden touch of
vertigo.

“I see what you mean,” he said.

“My family ranch is about three miles from
here, so this is the sky I’m used to. You’ll have to meet everyone
when you get ISI off your back.”

Not wanting to think about meeting her folks,
he searched about for a change of subject. “How did you know the
cabin would be empty?”

“My cousins are away at college, and my
uncle’s gone.” She paused. “A hunting accident. He ran into a
renegade band of deer, and they blasted his chest with a shotgun.
We found his body but not his head. We’re pretty sure it’s hanging
on the deers’ trophy wall, but we haven’t found their hideout
yet.”

An unexpected feeling of love welled in Bob’s
chest. “You’re teasing me.”

She laughed. “A little.”

“I’m going to have my hands full with you,
aren’t I?”

“You have no idea.”

She pulled his head down and planted a kiss
on his forehead. Then, eyes closing, she touched his lips with
hers.

Later, much later, he asked, “What did happen
to your uncle?”

“Nothing. He and my aunt go on vacation to
Las Vegas this time every year.”

***

Bob turned onto Kerry’s street and drove
slowly, searching for a place to park.

Kerry frowned. “Crossing and recrossing the
date line has got me confused. I thought it was Monday, but look at
all these cars—it must still be the weekend.”

“It is Monday.”

“So why aren’t people at—oh, I know.
Colum-bus day.”

A polo-shirted man came out of a brick house
and swaggered to a white BMW.

Bob stopped to wait for the soon-to-be-vacant
parking space.

“My roommate is supposed to be gone this
week,” Kerry said, climbing out of the Volkswagen, “but I better go
check, make sure the coast is clear.”

Before Bob could speak, she slammed the door
and dashed toward her friend’s house.

He watched her run up the stairs. This isn’t
right. We shouldn’t be separating now that we’re back in the city.
Glancing at the man by the BMW, he noticed him patting his pockets
as if looking for keys.

Without turning off the ignition, Bob got out
of the car and let the door swing shut. He hesitated, wondering if
he should go after Kerry.

At that moment he heard her scream.

Chapter 26

Bob bounded up the porch steps, taking them
two at a time.

Kerry came crashing out of the house,
swinging an upside-down brass lamp, and yelling. As she hurdled the
stairs, she sideswiped him.

He reeled. Before he could regain his
balance, Ted barreled through the door after Kerry. He collided
with Bob, righted himself, and kept on going.

“Get that bitch,” Sam shouted. “Don’t let her
get away.” He staggered out of the house, one hand clamped to his
scalp. Blood trickled from beneath the fingers into his eyes.
Shaking his head, he let out a roar and bolted past Bob, knocking
him into the forsythia.

Bob pulled himself to his feet. Heart
thudding, body tensed, he snapped his head toward the sound of
Kerry’s voice.

She stood in the middle of the street,
swinging the lamp and yelling. The man by the BMW shouted at a
woman in the doorway of the brick house to call 911. Several other
people had come out of their homes to gawk.

Sam and Ted slowly circled Kerry, keeping out
of the lamp’s range. Bob caught a glimpse of metal and realized Ted
held a gun by his side.

Sam moved behind Kerry, facing in Bob’s
direction. Bob felt a change in the atmosphere like the first
subtle shift in barometric pressure that foretells a storm, and he
knew Sam had seen him.

Sam bellowed, “There he is.”

Arms outstretched, pointing his weapon, Ted
spun around. “Where? Where? I don’t see him.”

“He was by the bushes but he’s not there
now,” Sam said, pulling a portable phone out of his pocket.

“Shit.” Ted ran toward the bushes. “We were
right there.”

Bob waited a second until Sam also headed his
way, then he skirted the porch and went around to the back of the
house. He listened to make certain the two men were still coming
after him.

Sam called for backup, barking instructions
into his phone as he ran.

Ted’s mutterings kept time with his
footfalls. “We had him. It was all over. Then we lost him.”

Zigzagging through alleys and backyards, Bob
felt adrenaline flooding his veins and charging every sense, every
inch of skin, every neuron in his body with an acute awareness.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered this same feeling
of being totally alive, but as he tried to capture the memory, it
slipped beyond his grasp.

Then all mental chatter died. All sense of
time, of place, of self fell from him.

He ran.

A neighborhood park came into view, and a
tall clump of bushes seemed to beckon. He stepped into its embrace.
The leaves felt cool against his cheeks.

Gnats buzzed in his ears. Crickets chirped.
Crows squawked. A small brown dog trailing a leash raised a leg and
urinated on his shoe.

The sun slowly dipped toward the horizon.

Long after he realized the hunt must been
called off, he remained hidden. Finally, he returned to the
house.

The Volkswagen was gone. So was Kerry.

***

Scott Mulligan answered his knock.

Bob felt a fleeting ache at the sight of the
man’s calm expression, remembering that once he too had felt
serene. He allowed himself a fraction of a second to wonder if
serenity would ever be his again, then he stiffened his spine.

“Can I leave a message for Kerry in case she
contacts you?”

Scott smiled. “No need. She’s out back with
the children, inspecting the greenhouse.”

Bob let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d
been holding.

Scott ushered him into the living room.
“You’re obviously in some kind of trouble. I’d like to help.”

“Believe me, I’d welcome your help, but I
don’t know what you can do. I don’t know yet what I can do.”

“Do you need a place to spend the night?”

Bob shook his head. “We’ll be okay.”

“At least stay for dinner.”

“We better not.”

Scott held out a hand. “I’m glad you and
Kerry considered my home a haven. When you get everything worked
out, be sure to come back.”