The Surrogate (31 page)

T
HEY NEEDED TO
go to Dallas. But not yet. Not for a week.

Jamie insisted that they spend that week outside the state of Texas. And as soon as they crossed the state line into Arkansas, she felt safer—for a time at least.

North of Murfreesboro they passed up a couple of RV parks for not being scenic enough. The one they finally selected was located in a wooded grove with mountains all around and a quaint village within walking distance. They bought groceries before settling in at their campsite, which overlooked a small creek and had a picnic table and a grill. While Joe busied himself hooking up the RV to water, electrical, and sewer lines, Jamie put foil-wrapped potatoes in the oven, then told Joe to keep an ear out for Billy while she walked to the camp store to buy charcoal and ice.

Joe grilled steaks while Jamie made iced tea and a salad. They ate at the picnic table, with Billy sitting at one end in his infant carrier studying the gently waving branches overhead. “This is wonderful,” Jamie said, reaching for Joe’s hand.

“Yeah,” he agreed, kissing her fingertips. “A preview of things to come.”

“I hope so,” Jamie said, a surge of emotion filling her chest. “Oh, God, I hope so.”

With Joe carrying Billy, they took an after-dinner walk following a path along the creek. The night was clear, the air crisp. With the absence of city lights, an amazing number of stars revealed themselves, which made Jamie think of the ranch. The sky had been spectacular there, too. And the high plain landscape with its lonely vastness had offered an unspoiled beauty of sorts. It was people who had made it an evil place.

Back at their campsite, they sat at the picnic table while Jamie fed Billy and Joe drank a beer. She helped herself to a few sips and wanted more. She allowed herself to think of a time when she would no longer be nursing a baby and could enjoy a couple of cans of beer or a glass or two of wine in the evening and not have to wear unattractive nursing bras.

She had become unaccustomed to alcohol, and the sips of beer made her a bit light-headed, which was delightful, and her mind drifted forward to lovemaking. She had found a box of candles in the kitchen cupboard and had thought all day how lovely it was going to be to make love by candlelight. And now her imaginings were becoming more graphic and brought wonderful responses to her body. She closed her eyes to savor them.

“Hey,” Joe said, “are you thinking about what I’m thinking about?”

“Oh, yes,” Jamie said, her eyes still closed.

Taking turns with Billy in the sling, they spent hours each day on long hikes. Sometimes they lingered beside a small lake, watching turtles sun themselves on rocks and engaging in rock-skimming contests. Every morning they walked to the village to buy newspapers and whatever groceries were needed. In the afternoon they returned for double-decker ice-cream cones. In the evenings they made a production out of dinner, with the picnic table nicely set and a candle burning in a hurricane lamp. Fresh trout was readily available at the village grocery and tasted wonderful grilled. Sometimes they went for hours or even an entire day without talking about the threat that hung over their future, but it was their constant companion, making every moment they shared all the more intense.

Their last afternoon at the camp, Joe caught a ride into town and used the computer at the local library to check out the mass-transit schedule for Dallas and its environs. Then he went to a site featuring Texas RV parks. He wanted a large one where they would be hidden away among a sea of vehicles.

Early the following morning, Jamie battened down the hatches inside while Joe unhooked the RV and filled the water tank in preparation for their drive.

They stopped in Greenville to buy clothing to wear in Dallas.

It was dark when they drove into a huge RV park near the Six Flags Over Texas amusement park.

Marcia Kimball picked up the receiver and identified herself.

“There’s a guy out here asking to see you,” the receptionist’s voice announced.

Holding the receiver to her ear with her shoulder, Marcia continued to type words into her computer. “Who is he?” she asked.

“Won’t say. He said to ask you if you’ve ever ridden on a Harley.”

Marcia frowned then took hold of the receiver and leaned back in her chair. “Is he tall, dark, and handsome?”

“Well, he’s tall and he’s handsome, but his head is shaved.”

“Ask him where he took me on the Harley.”

Marcia listened while the receptionist inquired. The man answered, “Padre Island.”

Marcia drew in her breath then slowly exhaled. “Give me ten minutes then send him back,” she told the receptionist, then headed for the prep room with its lighted mirror and assorted cosmetics.

She was back at her desk, pretending to be engrossed in her work, when Joe tapped on the partition that formed the wall of her cubicle. She spun her chair around. “Well, look at you! I wouldn’t have recognized you if I’d bumped into you on the street. What’s with the bald head and facial hair?”

Joe looked up and down the corridor, then stepped closer and said in a very soft voice, “Actually, it’s meant to be a disguise.”

Another quip was composing itself in her head when she realized that Joe was serious.
Dead serious.

He was wearing khaki pants and a navy dress shirt. No tie. He was leaner than before. And very tan.

She stood and motioned for him to follow her. She made her way through the maze of cubicles to one of the station’s two conference rooms. She closed the door behind her and motioned for him to sit down.

“We can talk here,” she said.

Joe shook his head and pointedly looked around at the corners of the room and put a finger to his lips. “What I had in mind was lunch. I’m starving.”

Marcia frowned. What in the hell was going on with him? Was he actually afraid that the room might be bugged?

Could it be?
The thought had never occurred to her.

She glanced at her watch. “I’m on for the noon news and have lots of loose ends to take care of first. How about dinner?”

Joe glanced toward a credenza, then made a motion of writing something on his hand. Marcia realized that he wanted a piece of paper and something to write with. She opened a drawer in the credenza and produced a tablet and pencil.

“You’re looking good,” he said as he wrote, but there was no flirtation in his eyes or his voice. He showed her what he had written:

“Why don’t you just call me in a day or two,” she said as she wrote:

He nodded and tore off the piece of paper and stuck it in his pocket. She showed him back to the waiting room, asking about his folks and saying that hers were doing well.

Back in her cubicle Marcia realized that she was shaking. Either Joe Brammer had gone crazy or something was terribly wrong. And she would have to wait almost seven hours to find out what the hell was going on with her old boyfriend, whom she had never quite gotten over—even though she had been the one who finally ended things between them. But only because she realized that she was beating a dead horse. She saw herself living in New York City, and Joe planned to practice law in Texas—as a public defender, of all things. They had argued endlessly about whether the Lone Star State should adopt a kinder, gentler criminal-justice system. But oh, when they finally stopped arguing, they had been damned good together. In bed, on sofas, in dark hallways, in public restrooms, and even once with her bent over the back of the Harley. The sex she had had with Joe had become her gold standard, and it had never quite measured up since, though Lord knows she had tried.

But it definitely wasn’t sex that Joe wanted from her now. Although it was hard for her to comprehend what sort of major trouble someone as smart as Joe had gotten himself into, she knew that he had come to her for help.

She was accustomed to people coming to her with their problems. She had handled all the consumer-watchdog stuff before she got the noon anchor job. The station had a reputation for looking out for the little guy—helping people who had been swindled or had unfortunate run-ins with city hall. Nothing cloak-and-dagger, though. Now, with her promotion, she could concentrate more on hard news, which was more compatible with her immediate goal of becoming an evening anchorperson either here in Dallas or in some other major market, which she hoped would be a stepping-stone to a network position or a cable job that provided nationwide exposure. After all, some of the big-time broadcast divas were getting a little long in the tooth, and Marcia wanted to be experienced enough and have proven herself to be aggressive enough to be next in line. It was only a matter of time, and she wanted sooner instead of later.

But she also wanted a husband and kids. A normal side to her life. And Joe Brammer was the only man with whom she had ever imagined herself growing old.

Don’t go there,
she warned herself. Just see what he wants. And hope it leads to a good story.

Still, she found herself wondering if he was with someone now. What if he wasn’t in trouble at all but some woman was? His lover, or his wife?

Whatever the story was, it had better be a good one. She didn’t have time to waste on dead ends or small stuff.

She forced herself to return to the story she had been working on before Joe’s visit.

Somehow, she got through the rest of the afternoon. At a quarter of five, she was heading for the parking lot. She stopped by her apartment to freshen up and change into her best-fitting jeans and race around picking up clothes and shoes and tidying up a bit—just in case. Then she headed down the North Dallas Toll Road. The traffic was heavy. She was going to be late.

When she pulled up in front of the elegant Crescent, Joe was waiting.

As Joe got into the car, he handed her a piece of paper with the word “Denton” written on it. Once again he put his finger to his lips.

Marcia wanted to erupt.
Was the man nuts?
Did he actually think that someone might have bugged her car? She rolled her eyes at him then pulled away from the curb.

Marcia headed back up the toll road and found a pop-music station on the radio to end the stifling silence that hung over the interior of the car. She took the George Bush to I-35, and twenty minutes later, following Joe’s unspoken directions, she took the second Denton exit. She pulled into the drive-through lane of a Mexican restaurant and ordered two meals and two large iced teas. Then she drove until she saw a school playground and pulled into the parking lot.

She grabbed one of the food sacks and an iced tea and headed for a bench near the swings. “Are you crazy?” she demanded as Joe approached.

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug.

They sat on a bench. “You care if I eat something before we talk?” he asked.

“Suit yourself,” she said.

She watched him practically inhale a burrito and decided that she was hungry herself. They ate in silence. Finally Joe said, “My grandparents lived in Mesquite while I was growing up. I spent a lot of time there…”

Marcia listened while Joe explained the special feelings he’d always had for an orphaned little girl named Jamie who lived with her grandmother in a house just over the back fence from his grandparents’ house. As Jamie got older he could never quite decide how to classify his feelings for her.

At first Marcia listened through veils of anger. If she’d known that she had competition, maybe she wouldn’t have let herself fall in love with the guy. But as his story got ever more intriguing, she felt her reporter’s instincts kick in. It was like listening to the plot line of a far-fetched movie with shadowy government agents tracking down innocent people who knew too much. She came to understand his paranoia and wondered if indeed her phones and office and car might be bugged because she was Joe’s former girlfriend.

But as she listened to Joe relate what he wanted her to do and explain what little hard information he had on Gus Hartmann, she wondered if she
really
wanted to know more. “I’m sorry that you and your lady are in someone’s crosshairs,” she told Joe, “but I don’t want to join you there.”

“All I want for you to do is cover the event just as you normally would,” Joe said.

“A religious service is not a
news
event,” she protested. “You need to talk to someone from the Christian channel.”

“It is a
political
event, Marcia. Amanda Hartmann’s organization raises many millions of dollars to assist candidates who supposedly support their worldview but also just happen to be pro big business, especially the energy business.”

Gus couldn’t sleep. He took a midnight walk then went upstairs to make an unprecedented middle-of-the-night visit to see Buck. Randi’s mother was flustered at first but then realized that he wasn’t checking up on her, he was just looking for solace. She disappeared into the sitting room, leaving him to gaze down at Buck’s innocent sleeping face and gently touch his achingly beautiful and exquisitely soft cheeks.

More and more he wished that he could simply end the quest for Sonny’s baby. He could be satisfied for the rest of his life with little Buck. But things had gone too far. There was no way to back out of the chase. Too many laws had been broken. Jamie Long and her boyfriend had to be silenced. And Amanda would have the baby she wanted.

Not that he expected his sister to be a great mother. She would swoop in and out of the boy’s life as she had with Sonny, as Mary Millicent had with them. Gus closed his eyes, remembering how he had lived for those times with his mother. When they were together, she couldn’t hug and kiss him enough and would question him about every facet of his life and listen attentively to his answers. When Mary Millicent was with her children, especially at the ranch, she belonged just to them, but those times were separated by long, lonely weeks and sometimes by months. She would call on the phone, of course, but she always seemed to be giving instructions to her secretary or some other subordinate while she talked to him.