Alexandra managed a few hours of fitful sleep. But whenever she dropped into slumber, her mind filled with horrific images as the evening’s events played out in nightmare form. Or she dreamed about Gemma, always crying, in danger. Out of reach.
Waking wasn’t a respite from these fears.
She finally rose just after eight in the morning and forced herself to eat plain oatmeal in spite of having no appetite. After breakfast, she searched the house from top to bottom, hoping to find a cell phone or other communication device, but came up empty.
She tried an internet browser built into the TV, but stopped short of logging in to any of her email addresses using the web interface. Surely the police were monitoring all her email addresses by now, and she didn’t have a secret address that didn’t appear on her laptop’s mail app. She could create a new account, but who would she reach out to? The satellite dish didn’t have a virtual private network, which meant her messages would be traceable.
She paced the house. In a few days, she’d either have to bite the bullet and send a message from the TV or drive to town in Kendall’s Jetta.
She searched the cabinets for something she could use to color her hair. Being blonde, her hair took color easily. She could cut it, dye it. Or maybe she should just wear a hat and a scarf. It was cold enough outside to warrant that. Sunglasses would complete the disguise.
If she waited a few days, maybe people wouldn’t be so vigilant. Already the news was pulling back from the story, given the lack of updates.
It was late afternoon when a statement was released by Gemma’s daycare stating that an authorized individual had picked up Alexandra’s unnamed daughter and they wouldn’t share the name with the press due to confidentiality laws. She had no doubt they had given Erica’s name and address to the police, though. They likely had a warrant.
Again, her stomach twisted. What if Erica was forced to surrender Gemma to social services?
She wanted to google that question using the TV internet, but was afraid somehow the search could be traced to her. Who knew what kind of spyware was available these days? Plus, it wasn’t only the police she feared. It was entirely possible the person who killed Officer Corey Williams was looking for her too.
She spent the day with her brain spinning in circles, every idea that sparked hope instantly shot down by the realities of what she didn’t know.
She had devoted her adult life to studying the particles that made up the universe, aiming to understand the very nature of existence—not simply human existence, but, to borrow a phrase from The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, she wanted to understand life, the universe, and everything. Her focus was really on the everything part. But to understand something so big, first one needed to understand the smallest of the small.
Her focus had been intensely singular. Nothing in her world could have prepared her for this. She’d lived in a bubble that included the privilege of never fearing a traffic stop could change her life on a dime.
But here she was. Wanted for murdering a cop.
Her brain was no help. It was caught in attempting to calculate danger and what her next steps should be, but she had zero experience in these areas and no way to research it.
Research was her best coping mechanism and she didn’t even have that.
Her arms ached to hold Gemma. Her heart ached with fear. Her breasts ached with milk no one needed. Once again she felt tears burning, but held them back. If she gave in, she might never stop.
She needed a clear, rational mind if she was going to find a way out of this nightmare.
She breathed through the press of tears until they were locked down tight, then she straightened her shoulders, grabbed her coat, and stepped outside. She needed to take a walk. If nothing else, she could find a quiet place in this private forest to scream until she lost her voice.
Gemma finally drifted off to sleep just before noon. Naturally, she was lying on JT’s chest when it happened, and he didn’t dare move lest he wake her. So that was how they slept. Her deeply. Him fitfully.
Toddler and forty-seven-year-old man who’d only rarely and reluctantly held a child until six hours before.
He knew now that the brief times he’d held Lee and Erica’s kid didn’t count. He’d passed Gracie off at the first sign of discomfort—on either of their parts.
No, being stuck with a kid who didn’t want you was entirely different. It brought back memories of Christmas past when a blonde elf had swooped in and saved his day.
But Gemma kept him grounded in the here and now. She was a trooper. Once she accepted that JT could not and would not pull her mother from the ether, she made a resolute face that reminded him oh-so-much of Lex.
He was truly dumbfounded by the depths of a fifteen-month-old. Maybe she was extra smart thanks to the genes of her brilliant mother, but he had a feeling he’d also underestimated the entire human species below the age of two.
Alexandra’s daughter was at once a charmer and a devil. Even now, as he lay with her snuggled to his chest, exhausted beyond belief after chasing the little tornado around a tiny motel room for hours, his brain refused to slip into a deep sleep as he listened to the sounds she made as she slumbered, which, he had to admit, were sort of cute.
Witchcraft. It was the only possible explanation. The same sorcery that had trapped him in Alexandra’s snare extended to her daughter.
He was destined to worship all Vargas women for the rest of his days.
There were, in fact, worse fates.
Like living in a world without Lex. Without Gemma.
He had to get this two-and-a-half-foot-tall tornado back to her mother.
But how would he find her before the police did?