CHAPTER VI

 

 

Emily’s back was against the wall, her palms splayed against the glutinous remnants of wallpaper melted by the heat of the ovens on the other side. A musty jacket draped across one of her shoulders, while the other was jabbed by the hard knob of a broomstick.  Before her, she felt Brian’s presence.  Only a hint of light was visible through the slim rectangle at the base of the door, but Brian’s figure seemed to engulf the closet, boxing her in, kicking in a bout of claustrophobia.

“Brian?” The waver in her voice was god-awful.

Brian shifted around so that now her chest was pressed against the long dip of his back and his firm backside pressed against her stomach.

“Shh, they’re still upfront.”

“How do you know that?”  Aside from the clanging of pots and pans from the opposite side of the wall, and the clamor of her own heart, Emily couldn’t hear a thing.

Brian stirred again and his elbow inadvertently scraped her breast.  The motion, she realized with a sense of dread, was to retrieve his gun.

“They’re talking to our waitress.” He cursed.  “She’s telling him she never saw us leave.”

Emily tried to lean around him in hopes that she could hear better, but there seemed no end to his broad shoulders.  Then she heard the approaching thump of boots against linoleum.  It could be anyone heading to the bathroom, but the way Brian’s arm tensed, she knew that was not the case.  Terrified, she peeled her hands off the oily wall and grabbed onto Brian’s hips.

“Easy,” He whispered.

She felt him shift again and his free hand came to rest atop hers, curling over it so that her fingers dug into his.

More than one heavy tread halted in the alcove.  Antique hinges screeched as the Mens room door swung open.  A half second later, the dull bang of the Ladies room door hit the wall.

Emily felt every one of Brian’s muscles go rock hard in anticipation.  Her fingers dug deeper, and her lips issued a silent prayer against his jacket.

“Oh, hey,” The tinny voice of their waitress sounded remote.  “They must have left.  They paid already.”

Emily dared not breathe as she awaited the response.  She could almost imagine the sound of the doorknob twisting.  It would be Brian’s weapon against the three aimed at them. An execution. She didn’t want to die.

“Come on,” A hoarse voice sounded close by.  “Those bitches must have back-tracked to the jeep.”

“Damn,” Another voice already had retreated.

Emily felt some of the tension ease in Brian’s back, but her clutch remained inhuman.  To her surprise she felt his fingers caress hers.

In the distance the bells of the front door chimed.

“Listen to me,” He whispered urgently.  “They’re going to be back in two minutes when they find the jeep.  There’s a backdoor in the kitchen. I saw it when we came in.  We’re not going to run—we’re going to walk through that kitchen and out the back, okay?”

The strangled noise from deep in her throat meant okay.  He seemed to accept this.  She felt the bulky steel of his gun when he hitched it behind his back and reached for her hand to peal it away from his hip.  He laced his fingers inside hers and asked, “Can you do this?”
          Emily coughed.  “Yes.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

 

Emily clutched his hand, avoiding the curious outbursts from the two cooks.  A disheveled man with a gut that tested the boundaries of his white apron yelled a protest, but Brian had already reached the back door and plunged into the frosty morning.  The pavement sloped as they stumbled into an alley lined with dumpsters teaming with grocery boxes and heaps of snow.

Brian’s breath formed a mist and his stance suggested the keen awareness of a wolf, as if he tipped his head back, could sense their adversary just by scent.  He looked feral and yet still, he held her hand.  Emily stared down at that connection in disbelief and then jumped at the sound of his voice.

“Now for the tricky part.  We have to get back to my Jeep.”

“B-but, they’ll be waiting.”

“Maybe,” He prompted her to follow, hugging the cement façade.  “But they aren’t the brightest guys.  We don’t have much choice.

Once again, Brian reached for the handgun nestled against his back.  With it extended, and his body crouched, he moved in tight against the wall and advanced with caution.

They reached the end of the building and Brian made a brief snap of his head around the corner, a gesture that made her own neck hurt.  He returned to face her and gave a perfunctory nod, thrusting his gun out while rounding the building in two strides.  Emily jogged a few steps, slipping, only to be steadied by his guiding arm.

With his back to the wall, Brian inched forward again.  He stopped just before the front of the building and glanced back at Emily, his gaze dropping down to her purse.

“Do you have a mirror in there?”

With a ridiculous burst of enthusiasm, she nodded and pulled out her compact.  Brian held it up, and used it to survey the parking lot.  The Blazer was only three spots away.  Next to it, the black minivan had its side-panel door swung open, but it appeared to be vacant.  It didn’t feel right, though.

Brian slipped back, dropping his head to speak against her ear. “We’ve got to move fast.  I’m going first.  When I give you the signal, you do just like I do—crouch down so that you’re below the frame of the window.  When I open the driver side door, you get your—” he cleared his throat.  “You get your ass over into your seat, pronto.”

He lifted his head, and arched an eyebrow as if to ask ready?

Emily shook her head in refusal, but mouthed the word yes.

Gun up, Brian used the mirror one last time and sprinted across the sidewalk.  His back smacked against the metal frame of the Blazer as he hunched down beside it, cautiously peering through the window with his fingers tight around the handle of the 9MM.

Finally Brian made eye contact with her and his slight dip of the chin was enough to propel her towards him.

With a gasp she skidded to her knees beside the Blazer and felt the scrape of ice tug her jeans.  Brian reached around her and softly clicked the handle of the door, drawing the panel open with a betraying shriek of metal.  She waited for the artillery to arrive, but only the hollow roll of the plow could be heard.  He tipped his head up for a last glimpse, and then mouthed one, two, three.

Emily dove over the gearshift and felt it bruise her thigh.  Keeping her head low, she lurched into the passenger seat.  Brian followed, and the resultant slam of his door proved the catalyst to finally draw Barcuda’s troop.  They erupted from the Coffee Shop, with hands delving into flowing raincoat pockets, the heaviest man in tow, a cup of coffee sloshing in his clenched fist.  He hurled the cup onto the ground and joined the pursuit.

Brian’s foot hit the gas and the Blazer’s rear tires squealed in protest before they bit into the icy blacktop and lurched into reverse.

“Hold on.” His voice was exceptionally calm, but Emily saw the white-knuckles around the steering wheel.

No one had to tell her to hold on.  The jeep whirled about and faced the exit, nearly overshooting it on the slick surface.  Craning to look at the rear window, she saw the three men pouring into their van and felt her throat constrict in fear.

“Go Brian!”

The Blazer launched onto the road.  Salt trucks had passed through recently, and the traction was immediate as they surged towards a speed that was far beyond safe for the commercial neighborhood or the thirty-five hour speed zone.  Already, the strip mall was behind a bend, but Emily knew that the van was in close pursuit.

She stole a look at Brian.  A muscle flexed where the jawbone met up with the temple.  He had the focus of a bomb detonator.  Was this the expression on his face the night he chased her?

The road straightened, and Emily cried out as she saw the minivan a quarter mile back.  A horn blared in protest from an oncoming vehicle, but Brian didn’t let up on the gas.  Another curve eliminated the van from view, and Brian took advantage, swerving the Blazer onto a side road.  The sheer turn tested the stability of the craft as two tires left the pavement.  Momentum pitched Emily into Brian’s space, and when the vehicle righted itself she quickly scooted back in place.

“No wonder you nearly killed yourself that night,” She managed through clenched teeth.

Brian ignored her.  He veered the jeep into another sharp turn, which flattened her against the passenger door.  When they labored back into an even ride, Emily shot him a lethal glare.

Then she saw it.

Yes, his profile was taut, his arms were rigid, but there was a glint in his eye.

“My God, you’re enjoying this.”

He turned to look at her, and she caught a glimpse of a grin, but the corners of his lips tugged with signs of fatigue.

“You were more fun.  These guys,” He hitched a thumb behind him.  “I’ll lose these guys in the next mile.  You on the other hand—I was after you for a good hour or two.”

And she never knew.  What a fool.

The next turn Emily was prepared for as she braced herself in her seat.  When the road swerved into a straightaway, Emily waited for the black van to emerge in the rear view mirror.  Two cars passed in the oncoming lane, but behind them the road remained clear.

Finally, nearly a half mile back, the black vehicle surfaced from the last bend.  It kept the pace.  Emily clutched the doorframe with one hand, while her other latched onto the seatbelt.

Four more sharp turns put enough distance between them.  Brian swung off the road and maneuvered into a vacant residential garage, nearly clipping a grill that had been retired for the winter beneath its vinyl veil.  He turned off the ignition and stillness ensued that was severed only by her labored breathing.

It seemed the chase had ended.

 

 

One heartbeat, two heartbeats, a third—still no van.

They waited in anxious silence in the dark garage, next to two pink bicycles with training wheels, a rake with leaves stuck in its prongs, and a New York Giants fathead helmet on the wall.  A dog barked in the yard, but no one emerged from the colonial two-story house to investigate. Riveted by the rear view mirror, Emily expected that black menace to rush up the snowy drive at any second and box them in.

Nothing.

She listened to the engine click until it finally went still.

Drained.  The Blazer was as drained as she was.  How often had it suffered this undue treatment?

Brian’s cell phone shrilled an invasion as Emily choked down her heart.  With a vicious sense of satisfaction she noticed that he too was momentarily rattled.

 

“Morrison.”

“Where the hell are you?” Barcuda barked across the connection.

Brian leaned back against the headrest, his eyes locked to the mirror on the driver’s side door.  With the tips of his fingers he massaged the pain above his eye.

“Taking a nap.”

The wheeze of Barcuda’s sinuses sounded distinct.  Fleetingly, Brian thought the man should move to Arizona or some other arid climate.  Perhaps Kuwait.

“Cut the crap, Morrison.  They’re right behind you, you know.  Why the hell are you running?  If you think for one goddamn minute you’re going to keep those designs and sell them to another government, I’ll hunt you down myself.”

“That’s not your style, Barcuda.” Brian said mildly.

He opened the door and crouched down to run his fingers beneath the rim of the chassis.  “So you didn’t trust me, is that the deal?  You had to send your goons out?”

“Wise, don’t you think?   You weren’t getting the job done.  And now,” Barcuda paused, “and now I realize you were planning on stabbing me in the back.”

Scalded by the red-hot exhaust pipe, Brian shook his hand to discard the pain.  With a muted curse, he stooped all the way down, and ducked his head under the fender.  The transmitter was affixed to the inside of the aluminum shelf, and with a viscous wrench, he tore it off and climbed out from under the vehicle.

Disgusted with the tiny scrap of metal, he dropped it down on the cement and used the heel of his boot to crush it.

“Let me ask you something, George.”

A huff of impatience sounded across the phone.

“If I brought these two engineers in,” Brian glanced through the window and found Emily’s wide blue eyes following him.  “What would you do with them?  Turn them over to the police?   Fire them?”
       “Dammit Morrison,” In the background another phone rang.  Barcuda snarled an acknowledgment that Brian could barely distinguish. NMD’s controller returned with a tone of barely contained rage.  “You killed the transmitter, didn’t you?”

Brian looked down at the disbanded pieces of metal.  “I hate bugs.”

“Fine, Morrison, you run.  You run.  I wanted this, anyway.  You were forced on me by the government.  I accepted it because I knew you were good, but you’re too military for me.  Too clean.  Too bad your reputation is damaged now.  It’s going to look bad in your eulogy.”

“Jesus, George.  Are you that far gone?  I would have given you the benefit of the doubt and just considered you an asshole, but I guess I was wrong.  Your ego will be your downfall.”  Turning his back to the Blazer, Brian lowered his voice in warning.  “I’m going to tell you something so that you can sit there and appreciate what an asshole you really are.  I have the engineers.  I have the pen drive.  I was ready to bring them all back because I’m damn good at my job and it’s why you grudgingly hired me.” He paused, “but, then your headhunters showed up.” Not to mention Phil’s warning. “I’m thinking, heck, there’s something going on here that I don’t know about, something that’s got you real nervous.  And you know what, George? I love to see you squirm.  It get a goddamn thrill out of it, because honestly, I couldn’t stand you from the moment I met you.”

Silence at the other end.  A sharp wheeze meant Barcuda had inhaled, building up for an outburst.  “So help me God, when I see you again—”

“What, are you going to kill me?” Brian’s voice turned to ice.

Across the street, a snow-covered field climbed up from the embankment, its pristine surface blemished by the path of a distant herd of deer.  The deer appeared unbothered, an indication that the road remained vacant.  “I really don’t give a damn what you do, George, and that pisses you off.”

“I’ll tell you what pisses me off, Morrison,” Barcuda’s voice grew distorted as if he had placed the receiver too close to his mouth.  “What pisses me off is that my men have their orders.  Their orders are to stop you and get those designs.  There are no stipulations about what methods they should use—so what pisses me off, Morrison, is the fact that I might miss it if they have to kill you.”

There is a thin line when it comes to control.  You ride the line on the right side and you are considered the best at what you do and you command respect from your peers.  If you ride on the left side, you use all those merits for immoral means and you are a danger to be reckoned with.  Brian had always suspected that George Barcuda lost balance walking that tightrope, but no matter what he researched on the man, there was a veil of secrecy even he could not penetrate with all his connections.  None of it mattered now.  Barcuda’s corruption had been revealed, the power having been too much of a temptation that he must have yielded too.

“Are you afraid I’m going to beat you to the highest bidder, George?  That’s what’s got you all hot and bothered, isn’t it?  You’ve got a deal cooking and you can’t meet up with your end of the bargain, can you?  Hell, I bet you’re in real deep—afraid to walk out of the building at night, huh?”

A snowplow ambled down the road, and Brian turned back into the garage.  Emily was no longer watching him.  Instead her head was tilted against the window.  She looked tired, no, deflated.

“Maybe,” He continued roughly, “maybe someone will tamper with the brakes on your Lincoln like you did with that Brennan engineer.”

“If I had tampered with them that psycho wouldn’t be out traipsing the Adirondacks.”  Barcuda’s voice lowered.  “That’s what happens when I delegate.  You’re right, maybe I’ll come after you myself.”

A bitter smile tugged at Brian’s lips.  “Come to Daddy, then.”

“Go to hell, Morrison.”  Barcuda hung up.

 

Brian stepped up to the driver side door, hesitating before he bent and peered into the shadowed interior.  It could have been so easy to hold the woman inside accountable for all his newfound troubles, but that wasn’t really the case.  Trouble had been brewing already.  Barcuda’s plot was bound to surface, and only by the grace of meeting Emily Brennan did it hasten the process.

Yes, the story she told of her husband’s brakes being tampered with was true.  Yes, it was blatantly obvious the zeal with which NMD chose to hunt down the two engineers.  Still, trust was something he was not ready to extend.  Emily was not wholly innocent.  She broke the law.  Worse, she had lied.  His angel wasn’t real, and the disillusion tore at him.

Brian hauled the door open.  “Are you ready?”

Luminous eyes studied him from the dark.  “You never answered my question.”

“Question?” He slipped into the bucket seat and cocked his head.

“Why did you help me escape?”

With a twist of the wrist the ignition revved to life.  “Oh, that.”  He started to wrench the shift into reverse, but Emily’s hand shot out and halted him.

“Dammit Brian, answer me.”

Brian looked down at the slim hand on top of his.  It was white with cold, but soft to the touch.  So many memories revolved around that hand—memories of the dark, of a heavenly light radiating behind her. Memories of her touch.

He wrenched away and clutched the steering wheel.  “You stole something that wasn’t yours to take,” A terse look halted her protest.  “You lied,” That bothered him.  “And, I have every intention of addressing both those facts”

“But not with them.” He added, his expression easing ever so slightly. “I won’t turn you over to them.”

“You learned something?  The phone call, you learned something?”

“Yeah,” This time she didn’t stop him when the Blazer slowly backed up.  “I learned I need a new job.”

 

“We’ve got two priorities as I see it,” Brian slanted a look at the rearview mirror, but the Interstate was quiet at this hour.  Salt trucks and earlier traffic cleared the path, and he was pushing the Blazer along at a swift clip.  “We have to find your engineer, and we have to ditch my car.”

A world in shades of gray sped by her, but Emily was blind to it.  Her vision was inward, to a time when Colin was hassled by a band of bullies at school.  He submitted to their taunting, but in the end, got even by putting a frog in Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s desk drawer.

Freddy Holcomb, the lead persecutor, had green cupcakes for lunch that day.  His Mother made them for St. Patrick’s Day and he made no qualms about showing that fact off.  Colin later dug through the garbage, found the wrappers, dragged his fingers through the remnants of icing, and then trailed it down the face of the teacher’s desk drawer.

Mrs. Fitzpatrick opened her drawer after lunch, screamed to high heaven as the frog leaped out at her, and then witnessed the trail of icing.  Freddy was sent immediately to the principal.

Colin was five years old at the time.  Her brother was born resourceful.

“He’s my first priority.” Emily whispered to the window.

“I know.”

“The racetrack.”

“What?” The blinker sounded as they changed lanes.

“Saratoga,” Emily sat up straight, “Colin always was fascinated by that racetrack.”

Every August her parents would pack up the car with picnic items and head off to Saratoga and plant themselves in the gardens outside the track.  Dixieland bands played, and families were strewn across the forested property in various stages of revelry.  Most people didn’t even watch the races on TV’s affixed to the trees.  They were too consumed with the festive tasks of their picnics.  But Colin loved it, and he did study the races, and he picked the winner every time.  He was just a little kid, though.  It was a cute trait, but not yet worthy of genius.

Brian looked at her skeptically, but switched back to the right lane.  A short distance ahead, a green sign indicated the turn off for Saratoga Springs.

“You really think so?”

Emily shrugged her shoulders, but then nodded.

“Okay,” Brian complied.  “The racetrack it is.”

Emily shot him a glance.  She expected derision, but instead his gaze was intent on the road ahead.

Stealing this opportunity to take a good look at him, she admired the rich dark hair, short enough to reveal the base of his ear, but long enough to be disheveled.  The haphazard style was endearing and tantalized her to delve her fingers into it.  His eyelashes were black and beautiful and their contrast against golden eyes was something that riveted her. Brian’s jaw was square and shadowed by the neglect of a razor, and the overall effect only enhanced his brooding image.

“Take a picture, it lasts longer.”

Emily snapped her eyes away.  “I’m still trying to figure you out.”

“When you do, I’d be interested in hearing what you’ve concluded.  Many people have tried.”

She glanced down at her fingertips.  The clear nail polish administered four days ago was now a shiny spot at the center of each nail.  Self-conscious, Emily curled her fingers. “So you’ve got a line of women trying to figure out what goes on inside your head?  Is there one in particular who’s maybe gotten close?”

Brian startled her as he looked away from the road and said in a subdued tone.  “One could have, but she failed.”

“Oh,” Realizing by the weighted look that he was referring to her, Emily bristled.  “I never tried to get inside your head.  I was just getting to know you.  The hospital was quiet at night.  I was curious.”

Lifting a hand off the steering wheel, Brian rubbed at the pain above his eye.  “Okay, maybe you got into my head,” He looked at her again, this time with a stark glance.  “Now I just want you out.”

Emily’s lips thinned.  “Fine.  But that still doesn’t explain why you’re helping me right now.”

“Helping you.”  He took the turn off for Saratoga a little too quickly and the Blazer’s tires slipped down the ramp.  “Is that what you think I’m doing—helping you?  Look, I want to find your Colin.  I want those designs, because it is my job to maintain the security at our facility and I don’t take my job lightly.  When I’m sure the proper authorities are handling this, then I’m leaving the whole mess behind me and heading back to DC where I belong.”

Fear licked at Emily’s stomach again.  She kept her glance averted from his, and took refuge in the regal Victorian houses along Union Avenue.  In the summer this thoroughfare would be alive with vivid splashes of color.  Potted impatiens and geraniums lined the median of the road, an island which was now gray and mottled with frost.  How grand the month of August was, when the racetrack was open, and women donning hats and dresses sat on the verandas of Bed and Breakfasts, sipping wine and waving at passersby.

“We’re going to have to park somewhere remote and hunt on foot.” Brian sounded tired.  “Is that okay?”

Did he have to use the word, hunt?  “Yeah, that’s fine.  I think I could use some air.”

The vehicle crawled down the checkerboard lanes as Brian pulled in behind a dumpster four blocks from the racetrack.  He got out and stretched an arm over his head, wincing against the pain and when he caught Emily watching him, he frowned and dropped his hand.

“I’ve got to make a call.”

She nodded and turned her back.

“Emily,”

There was still a faint tug when she heard him say her name in that husky voice.  Why?  Why was there a tug?  “Yes?”

“We’re going to have to work together here.”

“Do you think you can do that?  I mean, work with someone you don’t trust?”

A puff of air slipped through his lips, a faint billow of mist whisked away by the brusque wind. Then he surprised her and smiled.  The boyish grin on a man that seemed so rugged, so constrained, made her stomach twitch.

“I just won’t turn my back on you.”

“You already did—in the closet.” She mused.  “I could have pulled a knife on you, you know?”

“Would you have?” He sobered.

“No.”

“You need me.”

I want you.  Oh God, where the hell did that come from?  “Trust me, if I were on my own right now, I’d be ecstatic.”

“I don’t trust you.”

Emily scowled, but sensed that he was baiting her.  In her search to find clarification in his expression, she happened upon the smudge of grease on his cheekbone.  Where had it come from?  Without thinking, she reached up with her thumb to swipe it off.

Their eyes locked.

Under the winter sun, looking into his eyes was like looking into a clear brook loaded with a bed of shiny nuggets.  It was a mesmerizing effect that she wrenched away from.

“Don’t look at me that way,” Brian said in that husky voice.

With a jerky movement, he hauled his cell phone out of his pocket.  “Excuse me. I have to make that call.”

A slap of reality woke her from what could have proven to be an embarrassing stupor.  What was the attraction to a man that obviously no longer trusted her?  A man who was hell-bent on bringing you to justice?  Sure, he was gorgeous, but she was not shallow.   Nothing was going to make her lose control. Nothing was going to keep her from finding her brother.  Not even Brian Morrison.

Control?  Hah, who was she kidding?  Her brother was gone.  If he wasn’t safe, then it was all for naught.  This whole disastrous plan was a grand mistake, and rather than helping Colin, she had most likely condemned them both.  And now she stood here, immobilized beneath the ardent stare of a man she barely knew.

Emily slipped her fingers through the diamond fencing that surrounded a meticulous backyard.  Even in the dead of winter this owner had taken the time to shovel a path to his white-wooden gazebo.  As a youth, she had believed gazebos to be mystical gateways to another world.  If she stood in the very center at sunset, when the last errant stroke of sun brushed against her body, she would be transported to a land where she was a princess and she had a knight that loved her, and their castle was the most magnificent one in a kingdom etched as beautifully as a painting.

“Phil, I need a favor.”

There were no King Phil’s in her land.

Emily started at the sound of Brian’s voice and returned from her childhood daydream.  Beside her, Brian’s hand was likewise hooked in the fence, his gaze absorbed by the trickle of cars slowly making their way down the avenue.

“This is a big one, buddy.  Yeah, yeah, I know.  I lost them, they traced the Blazer.  I can’t afford to be seen in that anymore.”  Brian kicked at the slushy snow.  “Kind of ironic, don’t you think?  Now I’m on the run.  What?” He stopped and focused on Emily.  “Is she worth it?”

Emily expected a sarcastic denial.  She didn’t expect his dark lashes to lower in a soft assessment before meeting her eyes again.  “This isn’t about her.”

Riveted by his gaze, Emily started when the backdoor of the church lunged open.  Brian’s move was fluid, his arm circling her waist, drawing her behind him.

It was only an aged priest relying on the wrought iron rail to assist him down the icy steps.  Emily inhaled air tainted with snow, and clutched her fingers tight into Brian’s jacket.  When she caught him staring at her, she quickly back-pedaled towards the fence, and glared at his quick grin.

“What, yeah, I’m still here.”   Brian cocked his head and prompted Emily to follow.

She shoved her hands deep into her pockets and cast one last peripheral glance, hoping by some miracle her brother would emerge from behind a tree and laugh at the look of worry on her face, like he always used to.

“Phil, you are the best.  Okay, tomorrow morning then.  Whatever you do, don’t go back to the office.  Hell, until this is resolved, don’t stay home.  Get a room somewhere.”

Brian’s hand snatched out to catch Emily’s elbow as she started to slip on a buried patch of ice.

“What am I supposed to do?  No.”  The gruff way Brian uttered the last word made Emily look back at him curiously.

Gone was that hint of a grin.  His mouth was grim, and the eyes that traced her reflected the gray of January.  “No, I have no intention of sleeping with her.”

Once Brian’s hand released her elbow, Emily felt unsteady.  She knew she looked horrified, but the emotions that besieged her were not so neatly categorized.  She tugged the collar of her jacket around her ears and looked away.

Colin where are you?

“Alright, enough.  Till tomorrow then.” A car trudged past in the slush.  Brian’s edginess wore off on her.

“What twenty dollars?  I don’t know what you’re talking about.  I have amnesia, remember?”  Brian’s chuckle seemed forced.  “Yeah, you too.  Stay edgy, friend.”

With his conversation concluded, the sounds of the street became more prevalent.  A blue jay crowed an alert to its mate, while the snap of a heavy icicle dropping off the roof of the Church triggered a seismic tremble inside her.

“How are you holding up?” Brian asked.

“Don’t do it,” She whirled on him.  “You’re not concerned about me, so why pretend?  Let’s just find Colin and finish this whole mess.”
    His lips compressed.  “Fine, I couldn’t agree with you more, Ms. Brennan.”  He moved to touch her elbow, and then thought better of it, instead, punching his fist into his pocket.

The monotonous drone of ice-bitten wind was broken by the sound of their boots scraping snow.  Quiet with inward thoughts, they hiked the circumference of the dormant racetrack.

 

“Not quite like it is in the Summer.” Brian mused, eyeing the snow-covered track, the white inner railing appearing to be only a foot high.  With such an unblemished surface, the track looked more like an Olympic venue for a speed-skating trial.  In sedate beauty, the Grandstand was no less elegant in her slushy cloak as she watched over the paddocks.  Snow-covered spires and sweeping stands could almost make one hear the thunderous pound of hooves as they rounded the far turn.

“You come here in the summer?”

“Phil drags me along.  If there’s something to bet on, he’s your man. ”

Brian saw her shimmering eyes widen in curiosity.  “Hey,” He held his hands up.  “I never said I gambled.”

Skeptical, her brows climbed.

“Who’s Phil? I’ve heard you talk to him on the phone.”

Uncomfortable standing before the gate while the main thoroughfare beamed with traffic, Brian nodded for them to move along.

“Conversation, Em?  I thought you staved off all communication with me.”

A flip of cinnamon hair tossed in the breeze.  “There’s no need to be uncivil.  I’m just curious.”

“I’m curious too, but you never seem to answer my questions.”

Emily sighed and paused before the rusted fence.

Brian followed her gaze.  The grounds were nothing like they were in the summer.  Gone were the vendor tents and the multitude of families picnicking under a canopy of trees.  Paths that normally bustled with people placing wagers in one of the many outdoor kiosks now were latent with snow.

Nowhere in this silent haven was there a sign of her husband the engineer.  By the way she rested her forehead against the fence and bobbed her throat in an attempt to hold back tears, he could tell it was slowly taking her down.

“Em?”

“What?” She didn’t look up.

Brian touched her shoulder.  “We’ve got to move.  We can’t stay idle.”

A hostile eye peered at him from wind-strewn bangs.  “I’m well aware of that, but how do you expect me to find Colin if you don’t give me a minute to look around?”

“And how do you expect me to keep you alive if you don’t listen to me?”

 

It took nearly an hour to completely circle the track.  Most of their path had not been plowed, and the hike across mounds of snow began to wear on them.  Brian bore the signs of strain, his arm clutched about his side for support, his limp more noticeable.

From the looks of it, Brian could tell that Emily was faring no better.  Hair turned moist by fine precipitation was now a dark shade of sable, and yanked securely behind her ears.  Tiny bruises of fatigue underlined her eyes to give her a haunted veneer.  The image tugged at him, which was just plain aggravating.

“Alright, stay alert.”

At the next junction, the quiet street morphed into a bustling avenue lined with shops and restaurants, the increase of traffic spitting up a mixture of snow and dirt onto the sidewalk.

Brian’s hand was on her arm again, though this time she offered little resistance.  Alert to the intent shoppers, some in designer coats, some in stylish survival gear, Brian weaved through them, combing the busy avenue for the path of least resistance.

In his grasp, even beneath the thick down of her jacket, Brian could feel Emily’s arm flex.  He chanced a quick glance at her and saw that her head was tucked down, her eyes shifting beneath lowered lids, constantly on the move, constantly searching.  She looked like a quarry expecting her predator to attack from any angle.

“Okay, at the end of Broadway there’s a Bed and Breakfast—small, inconspicuous, we’re going to meet Phil there.”

“A bed and breakfast?” She repeated vacantly.

“Yes.”

A group of college-aged kids flanked the span of the sidewalk, forcing Brian and Emily into a storefront alcove.  Under the guise of window-shopping, he used the glass façade to survey the street behind him.

“A couple hours rest is going to do both of us some good.” His eyes met Emily’s pensive reflection.  “No offense Em, but you look like you could use it.  And I need a place to regroup and plan our next move.”

“I thought your next move was to turn me in.” She said, but it didn’t seem that her heart was in the baiting.  “How about that place?”  She nodded.

Across the street sat the Adelphi.

It was a three-story Victorian Hotel, with an Italianate façade that conjured up images of Model-T Fords parked before its curb, and women in grand gowns descending the wide flight of stairs—their elegant gloves tracing the ornate balustrade.

“Completely inconspicuous.”  He snorted.

Son of a—

He saw them.  The black raincoats in this jumble of color were as inconspicuous as a criminal holing up in the Adelphi.  How did they find them so quickly?  Phil.  Brian’s cell phone was incapable of being traced, but Phil probably called from home.

There was less than a second before the sidewalk crowd would shift and expose them.  Brian shoved Emily back into the corner of an alcove and felt her breath rush across his face when her back impacted the wooden partition.

“What the—”

In the glass facade he saw them approach.  Three of Barcuda’s men, only a few short yards away, scanning the crowd before them, thus far not noticing the couple huddled in the doorway.  But for as much as Brian credited them with the intelligence of a tick, they were still pit bulls, with one goal in their small minds.  He was pinned here, and just prayed they would move on far enough that he and Emily could fall into the opposite flow.  Of course, the ubiquitous shoppers picked that moment to suddenly dissipate, either pausing to window shop, or purchase a latte, leaving Emily and he with no barrier to conceal them.

Brian pushed Emily back, pinning her flush against the wooden façade.  He surged his hands into her hair, his palms cupping her cheeks, rendering her imperceptible to the outside world.  In the window’s reflection, he caught sight of one of Barcuda’s henchmen turning his head in their direction.  There was no time for consideration, Brian dipped his face and took her mouth.