Texan's Baby (9 page)

Chapter Ten

Last night had stirred up all kinds of conflicting feelings for Melanie. The dust would settle soon, law enforcement would find Sprigs and she'd be able to get back to her normal routine. She'd been thinking a lot about Dawson's idea and she couldn't let him give up his dreams so easily.

Facing facts, she needed his help and she understood that a man like Dawson would see it as his duty to contribute both financially and as a hands-on father. She could live with that and, bottom line, the help would be welcomed. As it was, she and Mason lived paycheck-topaycheck. Without her parents' occasional monetary gift, she wouldn't stay afloat.

Shooting down help would be stupid and selfish. The money would help Mason. What mother didn't want to give her child every possible advantage?

Traffic was heavier than usual on her drive to work, which gave her plenty of time to think about the ways in which she would be comfortable allowing Dawson to contribute. She would most likely still keep her Thursday through Saturday night shifts at the Phoenix Bar. It was only three nights a week and she made good money. Besides, her boss wouldn't let her cut her days back anymore. She already had the best shifts and there'd been grumbling from some of the waitresses with more seniority.

Also, Mason would enter preschool in another year and a half and then she could work more traditional hours in an office setting with paid insurance. Nothing had to drastically change now that Dawson was in their life. If he contributed financially, she'd be able to give their son some extras that she hadn't been able to so far. She'd be able to afford to do more things with him on her days off, like take him to the zoo.

Mason loved animals, and she planned to get her son a puppy some day when she could afford to get a little house with a backyard.

Her typical twenty-minute commute had turned into forty-five. She was relieved when she finally arrived and could slip into her role serving drinks rather than spend any more time getting inside her head about recent events. Besides, the music was far too loud inside the bar to think clearly anyway.

It was usually all too easy to block out the world, getting lost in the rush of shuffling drinks. Except, tonight, Melanie's thoughts kept bouncing back to Dawson and that kiss from last night.

The evening wasn't off to a good start, but by midnight it was elbow-to-elbow and she'd broken a sweat. Those were always good tip nights.

Another hour and a half flew by and, thankfully, it was getting close to quitting time. The crowd was in full swing, a typical Thursday night, which often turned out to be more lucrative than the weekends.

Melanie grabbed her order, a pair of Heinekens for the guys at table three, when the lights blinked, the music blared, and on top of it came a piercing sound.

The fire alarm.

Her heart raced. Everyone had to get out. As Melanie pushed through the crowd making their way to the exits, she felt a hand on her arm.

Her blood chilled.

No way.

It couldn't be him. Could it?

She wheeled around, preparing to face down the man who she'd tried to avoid for years, whose name brought fear descending around her...who seemed determined to stalk her.

The pressure on her arm eased before she could get a good look at who was behind her. Her heart pounded. Was he there? Was Jordan Sprigs somewhere in the crowd?

Melanie pulled her cell from her front pocket and clamped her fingers around it.

As she moved with the crowd, she pressed Dawson's name on her contacts. The air inside the bar felt as if it had thinned and her chest squeezed from panic.

At least there were plenty of people around. She should be fine if she stayed with the crowd.

“Hello?” Dawson's sleepy voice slid through her, calming her. “What's going on? I hear sirens.”

“Fire alarm went off, so we're literally being pushed out of the building by the crowd.”

“Get in your car and drive home now.” Dawson's voice was too calm, and that was exactly how she knew just how concerned he truly was.

“I can't. My purse is locked in my manager's office.”

“Find him. Have him unlock the door and turn over your belongings.”

“There's no way,” she said. “There are dozens of people jammed in the parking lot.”

“Stay near the front door, then,” he said. “When we hang up, I want you to call a cab. We can go back for your stuff tomorrow.”

“Okay. I'm with a huge crowd of people and I'm right in the middle of them.” She didn't share the part where she believed Sprigs had had his hand on her arm. There was nothing Dawson could do from her apartment, she realized, and it probably wasn't him anyway.

“I hear the sirens in the background. Fire department?” he asked.

“Yes. I see the trucks.”

“On second thought, stay on the line with me.”

“Okay.” She talked to him for a few minutes. By the time the firemen cleared the building, which they did remarkably fast, it was past closing time.

“Keep me on the line as you get your purse,” Dawson insisted.

“I need to close out first. I'll call you back as soon as I walk out to my car.” Melanie tucked her phone in her apron as she followed her fellow employees inside to finish up work and retrieve her bag.

She scanned the parking lot, searching the faces for Sprigs. Then again, he could've sent someone. Any one of them could be working for him.

Her manager, Joel, stood at the open office door. The lights were back on, the room bright, and the crowd was beginning to thin outside.

Once she was safely inside her sedan, she would breathe easier.

Melanie quickly counted her tips and then tipped out the bartender and the busboy who'd worked her station.

“I have babysitter issues and need to get home,” she said to Joel. “Will you watch and make sure I make it to my car?”

“Sure thing.” Joel pushed back from his computer. He was in his late thirties, had a daughter in kindergarten and saw it as his personal responsibility to make sure those who worked for him made it home safely every night. “How's the lot?”

“Looks like it's emptying out,” she said.

Occasionally, one of their customers thought it would be a good idea to hang around and wait for one of the waitresses. There was no shortage of attractive women working, and some men mistook friendly service for something else entirely.

Joel stood at the front of the building, arms folded, as Melanie crossed the lot. She knew to park under a light and felt safer knowing her manager kept watch as she navigated to her vehicle.

There were pairs of people dotted around the lot, standing next to cars. Melanie's nerves hummed as she quickened her pace. She'd call Dawson as soon as she got inside the car and talk hands-free on the twenty-minute ride home.

There were three couples in between her and her car. The odds one of them worked for Sprigs might be low, but adrenaline pumped through her anyway. Hair pricked on her neck and a foreboding feeling trickled ice down her spine.
Joel is watching. It will be fine.

She used her remote to unlock the car door as she approached, keeping an eye on the pair of people who were huddled close together near a truck four spaces over. Even if one did make a move toward her, she could be inside her car before anyone could reach her.

Melanie wasted no time closing the distance to her vehicle. She turned and waved to Joel. He stood there, waiting for her to back out of the lot.

Dawson picked up on the first ring. “Tell me you're in the car.”

“I am,” she reassured him, relief washing over her. “I'm about to pull out of the lot.”

“Check your rearview. Make sure no one seems too interested in what you're doing or is following you.”

Melanie hadn't thought about that. He was right. She wasn't out of the woods yet. She scanned the area behind her. “So far, so good.”

There was so much tension coming through the line.

“How about now?” he asked. His voice was a study in focus and she appreciated the sense of calmness moving through her.

“A truck just turned out of the lot and is heading toward me.” Her pulse ratcheted up a few notches and her palms warmed.

“Keep an eye on him and let me know if he gets too close. Are you on State Street?”

“Yes. I'm coming home the way I showed you,” she said.

“Good. Don't veer from that course unless I say.”

“Okay.” The light changed and she pressed the gas a little harder than she'd intended to, jerking forward.

“Melanie?”

“Sorry. I'm fine. Just a little nervous.” She must've made a sound without realizing.

“You're doing great. Take a deep breath.”

She did, making it through the next few lights with ease. It helped that they were green.

The light turned red in the next block. Her shoulders knitted together with tension as she came to a stop and the truck engine whirred behind her.

“Now check your rearview,” Dawson said. “See anyone you recognize?”

Melanie strained to get a good look at the driver.

“It's a woman.” Relief flooded her. This was racking up to be one heck of a long night.

“A few more lights and you'll be on the highway,” Dawson said. “And then you'll be home in another ten minutes.”

“Getting home and taking a long, cool shower never sounded better,” she said, glancing in her rearview.

“I'll have the water running for you,” he said.

The truck's turn signal came on.

“She's about to turn,” Melanie said.

“Any other cars out?”

“None that I can see,” she said.

“Good. You'll be home free soon.” Dawson's voice sounded hopeful.

And that made her feel incredibly optimistic.

“Done. She just turned and disappeared.”

“Any other activity around you?”

“None. It's quiet. And dark. I'm about to pull up to another red light, but it looks good so far.” A sprig of happiness sprouted inside her.

Foot on the brake, she tapped her finger on the steering wheel. She was so ready to be home. A bowl of Cheerios sounded better than steak right now.

Suddenly, a noise sounded from the backseat and a hand came over her mouth. She tried to scream, but only a muffled cry came out.

A dark figure emerged from behind.

“Melanie?” Dawson sounded concerned.

She tried to shout his name, yell for help, but the hand tightened, making it impossible to form words.

“Melanie?” This time, Dawson sounded stressed.

The call disconnected.

“He can't help you now.”

Melanie would recognize that voice anywhere... Sprigs.

She had a half second to think and no bright ideas came, so she jammed her foot on the gas pedal. She'd bite his hand if she could, but he'd secured a gag over her mouth.
Oh God, no.

“Brake,” Sprigs demanded. His sinewy voice was not more than an inch from her right ear. Her skin crawled where he breathed on her.

Despair pressed heavily on her shoulders. All she could think about was Mason and his father. She was grateful for the crash course she'd given him in taking care of their son, because if Sprigs had his way, she wouldn't be around to do it herself.
Son of a bitch
.

“I said get your damn foot off the gas,” Sprigs repeated, high-pitched and angry, leaving no room for doubt how serious he was. “I'll slit your throat right now.”

A hard piece of metal pressed against her throat. A knife?

The reality of the situation hit fast and hard. He wanted to kill her? She shook her head. She might not make it out of this alive, but neither would he. No way would she let him walk away and hurt more kids.

He'd die with her.

Melanie slammed the steering wheel a hard right, popped the curb and aimed the front end of her car toward a brick office complex.

Flooring the pedal, she jabbed her elbow into his face to back him off her as much as she could, praying the object pressed to her neck didn't slice through her skin.

His head bucked and he slammed his hand into the back of her headrest.

“Dammit,” he said. “Hear me now. If you'd listened to me before, we wouldn't be in this situation in the first place.”

Melanie turned her head to the side, closed her eyes and braced for impact.

“Take your foot off that pedal.” Agitated, his voice rose again.

I love you, Mason.

Chapter Eleven

The blunt pressure on Melanie's neck eased a few seconds before the air bag deployed and her body lurched forward. Sprigs had to have dropped to the floorboard, because without a seat belt he'd most likely be dead with an impact like that one.

Everything went blurry, dizzy and she was confused, trying to process what had just happened. Seconds ticked by. Or minutes. She couldn't be sure which.

Still dazed, she felt her instincts kick in and she managed to curl her fingers around the door handle and then push the door open with her left shoulder. She spilled out onto the concrete and fell onto all fours, heaving.

There was no time to waste. Everything in her body screamed to run, to get out of there and as far away as possible. Her thoughts immediately jumped to her son and holding him again. An image of him safe with his father pushed its way through her mind, powering her body to move forward. And Dawson.

Hope blossomed as she scrambled to her feet and then took off.

At any moment and with every step she expected a hand to grab her, jerking her back. So she pushed harder.

Because the only other thing she could think about was how much Mason needed his mother and maybe his father needed her just a little bit, too. She told herself it was because there was so much she needed to share with him about their son, but immediately she knew it for the lie it was.

When she was about to clear the block, she glanced back, needing to know if Sprigs was right behind her.

He wasn't. There was no sign of him.

Even so, her heart pounded as she bolted around the corner and then down the residential street. She could hear highway noise in the distance. That was how close she'd been and that was most likely the reason Sprigs had acted when he did.

Dawson must be frantic with worry after their call had been cut off. Dawson. A piece of her heart broke knowing Dawson would never trust her again.

It was the middle of the night and there were no lights on in the row of bungalow-style houses. Thankfully there were no dogs barking, either. At least not at the moment.

How had Sprigs found her?

It didn't matter. He had and now she had to figure out a way to get help and call police.

Stopping to knock on a door was risky. It could give Sprigs time to catch up, especially if he was getting close or coming at her from another angle.

Legs burning, Melanie slowed down and scanned the street behind her. It was too dark to see clearly, so she watched for any signs of movement.

Both sidewalks and the street seemed clear. She doublechecked front lawns. Didn't see anything there, either. It was too soon to breathe easy.

Thank the heavens for her seat belt and for air bags. She'd been dazed but she'd made it out alive. Surely Sprigs was unconscious or worse. Was it too much to hope the nightmare could end? That he didn't survive the crash?

At the very least, he'd been slowed down and she'd escaped. And that was worth something. Tears streaked her cheeks and she didn't have the energy to fight them.

Thinking about injuries, Melanie had no idea if she'd been hurt during the accident. There'd be time to evaluate any scrapes and bruises later. Everything felt numb. No doubt she was still in too much shock to make a real determination.

For now, she could run and had no pain.

If she waited too long to knock on a door, she might be giving Sprigs time to catch up or disappear. Part of her needed to keep running. To put as much distance between she and Sprigs as she could to make sure he couldn't get to her.

On the next block, she stopped at the first door and knocked. A tiny, high-pitched, rapid-fire bark sounded on the other side.

Another dog barked two houses down. And then across the street.

Melanie bit back a curse and prayed like the dickens that Sprigs was knocked out and not searching the streets for her. If he was, he'd no doubt find her thanks to the noise.

She banged on the door again, louder this time, and a light came on. The little dog was going crazy barking.

Melanie could feel her heartbeat in her throat as the door swung open. A sturdy man, midthirties, glared at her from the other side.

“I'm so sorry to bother you, but it's an emergency. There's been an accident.” The words rushed out as a flood of tears released. She glanced around, searching for signs of Sprigs. “May I use your phone? Please.”

The big guy checked around her as if he half expected someone to jump out from behind her, and then nodded.

“Thank you.” Melanie opened the screen door and repeated those two words.

“Who is it, Roger?” A female wearing a time-worn cotton bathrobe emerged from the hallway. Her short dark hair stuck out at odd angles.

“Go back to bed, honey. I'll take care of it,” Roger said.

“I'm so sorry to disturb you, but I've been in an accident and there was no one...” A sob tore from Melanie's throat. She suppressed the next one. “I didn't know what to do so I ran here.”

No way could she tell them more or let her guard down, not with Sprigs still out there. Even though Roger looked capable of handling himself.

“Are you all right?” the woman asked, picking up the barking dog and shushing it.

Melanie nodded through sobs as Roger flipped on the living room light.

The woman gasped. “Your arms. You're hurt.”

“Celia, get a wet towel,” Roger said.

“I'm fine. I just need to use the phone,” Melanie said, glancing down for the first time. Her arms were bloodred from what looked like burn marks. She didn't have time to worry about them. Burns would heal. She needed to call the police and then let Dawson know that she was okay. “And please don't answer the door if anyone knocks.”

“Sit down.” Roger pointed to the plaid sofa with a severe look on his face. “I'll get my cell.”

By the time he returned, Celia was by Melanie's side, gently pressing the towels to her forearms.

“You said you were in a crash?” Roger said, handing over the phone.

Melanie nodded.

“Anyone else with you?” he asked.

Melanie hesitated. Tell the truth and what would happen? Would Roger go check on the other person?

Lie and she'd get caught. She had to tell the dispatcher who was in the car with her.

“Yes.” More sobs released as Melanie called 9-1-1. She didn't realize how badly she was shaking until just now.

“What is your emergency?” the operator asked.

“I was just in a car crash near Northwest Freeway Highway 290,” Melanie said.

“Do you need an ambulance, ma'am?” the dispatcher asked, her voice a calming force in the chaos churning through Melanie.

“I don't think so. I was attacked by a man named Jordan Sprigs and that's the reason I wrecked. He's wanted by the FBI and I think he's still at the crash site.” Panicked, she glanced up at Celia and then Roger, who were passing a look between them, and Melanie's heart skipped a beat.

Celia patted Melanie's leg reassuringly.

“Are you there with him now?” the dispatcher asked.

“No. I got out of the car and ran a few blocks to get away. I don't think he followed me. We hit the wall hard, he wasn't wearing a seat belt and I have no idea what condition he's in.”

“Okay,” the dispatcher said. “Tell me what happened. An officer is on his way to the scene as we speak.”

Melanie caught a glimpse as Roger and Celia exchanged another worried glance. She heard Celia tell him to lock the door before she whispered that she'd be back as soon as she got dressed.

Roger clicked the lock, and then disappeared down the hall as Melanie recounted the events to the dispatcher.

It had all happened so fast that Melanie couldn't remember all the details, but she drew the best picture she could of the timeline.

Celia returned wearing warm-ups. Her hair had been brushed.

“Can we turn off the lights?” Melanie asked after ending the call. “Just in case he's wandering around looking for me?”

Celia nodded, complied immediately. There was still a glow coming from the electronics and soft wall lights in the room. They provided enough light to see. Celia came over and sat next to Melanie on the couch.

“How are those arms?” she asked.

“Honestly, I don't think the shock has worn off. I can't feel anything.”

“We should put something on them,” Celia said, her brow creased with worry. “Burn salve.”

“Do you mind if I call my boyfriend?” For lack of a better term. “We were on the phone when it all happened and he must be climbing the walls by now.”

Roger returned with a twelve-gauge shotgun resting on his arm.

“Go ahead,” Celia said. “Can I get you anything else? Water?”

“No. Thank you.” Melanie punched in Dawson's number.

He answered on the first ring.

“It's me. I'm okay,” she said immediately.

“What happened?” He didn't bother to hide the stress in his voice now.

“He was in the car. In the backseat,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Sprigs?”

“Yes,” she said, taking a gulp of air. She reminded herself that she was okay and to breathe.

“Where are you?” Dawson asked.

“I'm at a nice couple's house. They let me in.” Sirens sounded in the distance and Melanie's shoulder slumped forward. For the first time since the ordeal happened, she felt Sprigs couldn't get to her.

“What's the address? I'm coming right now.” No matter how determined he seemed, she couldn't let him bring their son anywhere near this place.

“Don't wake Mason. I'm safe. No one can hurt me now. The police are on their way and they'll get him this time,” she said in between gulps of air.

“How'd you get away from him?” Dawson asked.

“I crashed the car into a building,” she said quietly, ignoring the gasp that came from Celia.

“You did what?” Dawson's voice was incredulous.

“There was no other way to get away from him, so I slammed my foot on the gas pedal and aimed for the nearest building,” she said.

“Melanie, are you sure you're okay?” Dawson lowered his voice and his pain was a knife ripping through her chest.

“I did what I had to, Dawson. He didn't hurt me, but he intended to and I knew it.” Her voice hitched no matter how strong she was trying to be.

“I know he did, sweetheart. I'm just grateful that you're alive.” His voice was so anguished her heart burned.

“He didn't hurt me,” she repeated. “And as soon as I give my statement to police, I'm coming home.”

For the first time since this whole ordeal had started, she believed those last three words.

“Yes, you are,” he said. “And then we're getting the hell out of here.”

“Okay.” He was right. Sprigs at the very least knew the area in which she lived. It wouldn't be long before he figured out her address, if he didn't already know. She couldn't take any chances when it came to Mason. And she had every intention of living long enough to watch all the milestones he had yet to achieve.

Squad car lights blared outside. A few seconds later, a knock sounded at the front door.

“I better go, Dawson. The police are here.”

“Can I speak to the owner of the house?” he asked.

“Sure.” She glanced at Roger and moved the phone from her ear. “He'd like to talk to you.”

Roger was already at the door when he nodded. He invited the officer inside and then took the phone from Melanie.

Adrenaline must be wearing off, because Melanie started shaking even harder. Celia dabbed aloe on Melanie's arms and then put a blanket over her legs as the officer introduced himself as Special Agent Randall. He asked a few questions as she accepted a glass of water from Celia.

“Is he still there?” she asked Special Agent Randall once initial information had been relayed. “Did they catch him?”

“I'll check.” He took a couple of steps toward the door and asked through his radio if the suspect was in custody.

Melanie held her breath waiting for the answer to come. Sprigs had to be there. Otherwise he would've followed her. Right?

She heard the officer thank the responder as he moved near her again.

“He must've fled the scene. Officers are searching for him and we've notified our FBI liaison,” Special Agent Randall said.

No. This couldn't be.

“How could he survive that impact?” she asked, still stunned.

“He might've crawled a few hundred yards away into the brush or managed to get into a Dumpster to hide. If he's around here, we'll do our best to find him, ma'am.”

Those words, meant to be reassuring, left a hole in Melanie's chest. As long as Sprigs was out there, she'd have to watch every shadow. She'd have to expect him around every corner. She'd have to fear closing her eyes.

And, worst of all, she was afraid he could get to Mason.

The thought sent an icy chill racing down her spine.

“Thank you,” she said, tamping down her worst fears. “Is there any chance my purse or cell phone was found?”

“Both of those items are on their way here right now,” Special Agent Randall said.

At least she would get those back. The thought of Sprigs getting away with her personal belongings sent a different kind of chill down her spine, like the feeling people described of what happened when a cat walked over a grave.

The officer finished the interview by letting her know that the city would tow her car for her.

She thanked him again.

“Would you like access to medical treatment?” he asked.

“No. I'm fine,” she said, fearing she would never be fine again. Sprigs would see to that.

“Can I offer you a ride somewhere?” Special Agent Randall asked.

“I told her boyfriend that I'd drive her home,” Roger said.

That must've been why Dawson had wanted to speak to Roger.