“They’re going to lock me up, aren’t they?” Kristen sounded more resigned than angry as they sat on the front porch steps and waited for deputy US marshals to arrive and take her back to Chicago and take Nick...home.
He sighed against the burden on his heart and gave her a truthful answer. “I’m afraid it will be a dingy hotel with a female deputy marshal for company.”
“For a guard, you mean.”
“Something like that.”
“And they won’t let me see you.”
“Not for a minute.”
He glanced sideways to see what her reaction was. He didn’t know if he should be encouraged or dismayed by her tightly closed lids and teeth sunk into her lower lip.
As if her feelings for him mattered now. As long as this situation continued, Nick wouldn’t be allowed to see her after tonight.
He clasped her hand in his just as a black SUV rolled up the driveway.
“My carriage?” Kristen’s fingers tightened on his.
Nick nodded, suddenly unable to speak for fear of what he would say to her, things wholly inappropriate for the moment, the circumstances, their short acquaintance.
But oh so true.
He rose, drawing her up with him. They stood tall on the steps, darkness ahead of them, lights from the porch and house behind. Pure silhouettes. Pure targets.
Targets? That was a ridiculous—
Nick caught the muzzle flash in the trees. “Kristen, get down.”
His hands on her waist, he lifted her and spun her to the far side of the steps in one move. She didn’t fight or scream. She dropped and rolled under the porch, then out the side.
Nick followed, counting shots, fighting spiderwebs enfolding him.
Two. Four. Six. Direction? East. Between them and the road. Beyond the government SUV. Bullets pinged off the Escalade. Two shooters. Countless rounds of ammunition. Screams inside the house.
No sound from the marshals.
Shot in the initial firing? Simply hunkered down in the SUV? They weren’t firing back.
Nick didn’t like that. Even hunkered down, they would try to get off a shot or two.
No time to check on them. Kristen was his responsibility. She had nearly reached the trees on the other side of the clearing. Nick sprinted after her, grasped her arm to stop her. “I need you to hide while I check on my coworkers.”
“And get yourself shot?” Kristen spoke in a screaming whisper. “You’re nuts to go back.”
“They could be hurt.”
“And they could be in on it.”
Nick stared at her, though he saw no more than the blur of her face in the darkness beneath the trees. “You think two deputy US marshals are conspiring with Kirkpatrick?”
“Why not? The shooting began as soon as that SUV pulled in. If your friends didn’t lead them to me on purpose, they’re too careless to have their jobs.”
“But Kristen—” Nick stopped, unable to find a good argument other than, “They took a vow to serve the country.”
“Right. And law officers have never broken those oaths before.”
“Not these two. I happen to know these two. We started in the service together.”
“Can you declare that for certain?”
Nick opened his mouth to say, “Of course I can.” But knew he couldn’t for certain. At the least, they had been so careless they brought Kirkpatrick’s men right to Kristen.
And him.
For the moment, the shooting had stopped. Not good. The men could be sneaking through the woods to find him and Kristen.
“Regardless,” Nick said, “you need to hide.”
“Of course I do, but you won’t know where.” A sob broke through Kristen’s words.
Nick raised his hand to touch her cheek.
She brushed it away and plunged into a thicket of saplings and underbrush.
He stood motionless, listening to her go, listening for what might lay too close, listening for his coworkers Dillon and Belk.
He had to go back. He needed a weapon, if nothing else. He couldn’t protect Kristen without one. And whether she was right or wrong about the loyalty of Dillon and Belk, she needed to be protected.
Yet if he returned to the SUV, he might be shot, captured, permanently separated from Kristen while she ran through strange woods by herself, two men and two deputy marshals in pursuit.
Nick kept to the shelter of the trees as long as he could. When the trees ended, he ran to the SUV in a zigzag pattern, making himself a less reachable target. As he approached the vehicle, the doors opened and Dillon and Belk slid out.
“Get into the house,” Belk commanded.
“You’re not going after Kirkpatrick’s men?” Nick stared at them as he backed toward the porch, casting his glance from his coworkers—former coworkers—to the treeline. “Won’t we endanger the family by going inside?”
“Kirkpatrick’s men aren’t going to shoot an innocent family,” Dillon said with a lack of conviction.
They had taken an innocent judge. They had run Kristen and her mother off the road regardless of the accident they could have caused.
“Give me a weapon and I’ll go after them,” Nick said.
Belk snorted. “Can’t do that. You’re on administrative leave.”
What a nice euphemism for being fired.
Nick felt sick. Kristen was in those woods without support. A kind and generous family were in the house, too quiet. And somewhere nearby, men fired guns indiscriminately because—
“They wanted to separate me from Kristen.” Nick spoke aloud.
Belk and Dillon’s gazes snapped to him. “What?”
“The gunfire. They knew I’d go after them without Kristen.” Nick applied all his willpower to stop himself from charging into the trees after Kristen.
Not without a weapon. He was nearly useless to her without a gun. He had to get Dillon away from Belk. Dillon was more flexible than their female coworker, who was determined to be a U.S. marshal one day.
“I was sent here to separate you from her,” Belk said. “She needs to come with us. Now get into the house so we can go after her, or I’ll have to take you into custody.”
She would, too.
Nick studied her impassive, hard face for a moment, mind whirling around the notion that her orders to separate him from Kristen hadn’t come from Callahan, but from Kirkpatrick’s men. Yet that kind of betrayal to serve her country didn’t fit into her ambitions. Still... And was Dillon on the right side or wrong?
Deciding his best course of action for the moment was to go along with Belk and Dillon, Nick inclined his head and spun to bound up the porch steps. “It’s Nick,” he called before pulling open the screen door.
The family had closed the storm door and locked it. At Nick’s knock and repeated call, someone opened it to the extent of the security chain.
“What’s going on?” Dave asked.
“Nothing that will harm you.” Nick closed his eyes, hoping he spoke the truth. “They have other things to occupy themselves now.”
Kristen alone.
Nick pictured her having one of her panic attacks, shaking and vulnerable to men who wanted to hurt her. Maybe to kill her.
If Dave didn’t open the door in a few seconds, Nick feared he would kick it in out of pure frustration.
He kept his voice calm, light. “We need to make some plans and the SUV is too vulnerable.”
“My wife and children are vulnerable,” Dave said. But he released the chain and opened the door.
Nick, followed by his coworkers, stepped into the now dark and quiet living room. Murmuring voices, sounding more excited than frightened, drifted down the hall from the kitchen along with a spill of light.
“I’ve been ordered to stay here with you all,” Nick told Dave.
That line of light from the kitchen showed the relief on his face. “I can’t turn away strangers in need like you and the lady were, but I wish it wasn’t so dangerous.”
“Me too,” Nick said.
“You and your family will be just fine.” Belk spoke with so much assurance she was difficult not to believe.
Assurance because she knew what Kirkpatrick’s men intended to do next?
She turned to Nick. “Do not leave here without permission.”
If he was fired, he doubted he needed to take orders from her, but he hated to lie, so he merely shrugged.
“We’ll find your lady,” Dillon said.
“Of course we will.” Belk set her mouth in grim determination.
Not if I can help it.
Out loud, Nick said, “Sure.”
“Do I need to secure you here?” Belk glared at him from narrowed eyes, and she drew a set of zip ties from her pocket.
“I think that’s a little extreme.” Nick took a step back.
He could run through the house and get away from Belk, probably Dillon as well, but he needed to get a weapon off one of them. Somehow.
“What’s going on here you aren’t telling me?” Dave glanced from Belk to Nick.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” Nick said. “These two will be gone momentarily.” As though he planned a nice rest, he settled onto an armchair by the door. “Keep yourselves safe.”
“Dad,” one of the girls called from the kitchen, “can I go outside? I think I left my phone on the picnic table.”
“Not now,” Dave called back.
“Lock your doors behind us and stay inside.” Belk spun on the heel of her boot and yanked open the door.
In silence, Dillon followed. Before he drew the storm door closed behind him, he met Nick’s gaze and nodded to a bookshelf crammed with well-worn paperbacks and lined with chunks of interesting rocks. Then he, too, was gone, both of them headed in the same direction Kristen had taken not long enough ago.
“I’ll get the door.” Jaw hard, Dave locked the deadbolt and reached for the security chain.
Nick scarcely registered the departure. He kept hearing Dave’s daughter saying her phone was outside, and seeing Dillon’s nod to the bookcase.
First things first.
Heart racing, Nick circled behind him and began to examine the contents of the bookshelf. As he had hoped, as he realized he had prayed, he found a small but serviceable pistol tucked behind a hefty dictionary on the top shelf.
He was now armed, thanks to Dillon’s sleight-of-hand with what must be his backup gun.
Nick tucked it into his waistband at the small of his back. “You might want to tell your family what’s going on,” Nick suggested.
Dave emitted a humorless laugh. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
“It’s a long story, but be assured, the marshals have Kristen’s best interest at heart.”
“And those people who were shooting?”
Nick sighed. “They do not have Kristen’s best interest at heart. But we—the marshal service, that is, and probably local law enforcement—intend to stop them.”
Unless Belk and/or Dillon were crooked.
“I’m not sure I should tell my family what’s going on.” Dave attempted a chuckle. “But I need to find a way to entertain them until bedtime.”
“Go ahead,” Nick said. “Precautions are probably unnecessary, but better safe than sorry.” He returned to the chair by the door.
“Join us?” Dave asked.
“Thanks, but not now.” Eyes closed, Nick leaned back as though intending to take a nap.
“Come in if you change your mind.” Dave headed for the kitchen.
Before the man was halfway down the hall, Nick was on his feet, security chain off the door. Releasing the deadbolt took only a second, then he was through the doorway and racing for the trees. First, he would draw Dillon and Belk away from the direction Kristen had taken. Then he would find her or Kirkpatrick’s men...or both together.
Kristen felt guilty about borrowing the cell phone, especially when it might prove useless. She knew of only one person to call. She had never asked him for help in her life, but not because she hadn’t wanted to several times. She wanted a father who would come pick her up when a date wasn’t behaving himself. She wanted a dad she could ask for help with math or history or just an opinion essay she was required to write. That man hadn’t existed in her life. He hadn’t even been around for her to tell him his wife had been kidnapped. Kristen didn’t know if he would be available this time. If he wasn’t, she didn’t know whom she could ask for financial assistance to stay safe, to stay out of the marshal’s prison of a protection.
But she had to try.
Feet throbbing, she reached the paved road. It wasn’t heavily traveled, but more cars than she liked sped along the blacktop. Tucked between trees on the side of the road, she didn’t know which vehicles held danger either in the form of the marshals coming for her, or Kirkpatrick’s men likely still trying to track her down. She needed to keep out of sight.
That meant moving deeper in the trees and more difficult walking.
She had no choice. She stepped off the road and into the trees so she could hide. The growing darkness helped. She crouched behind a tree and pulled the phone from her pocket.
Two bars of service. Good enough—she hoped.
The phone was locked, but the virtual assistant didn’t require she use a password to make a call.
She pushed the button and prepared to speak the number she had made herself memorize. “Call three, one, two, five, five, five, twenty-five, twenty-five.”
“Calling,” the disembodied voice responded.
Then...silence.
Kristen held her breath, fearing the call wouldn’t go through, fearing each car that passed held Kirkpatrick’s men, who would spot her despite her cover, and pull her from the underbrush.
Her heart began to drum against her ribs. Her breath caught in her throat.
“No, no, no.” She fought back the rising panic.
And the phone began to ring. One... Two...
If he didn’t answer, she didn’t know whom else to call. Her list of numbers had gotten soaked in the lake and she hadn’t memorized any others.
Three... Four...
Nausea clawed at her middle.
Five—
“Stephen Lang.”
Relief sent the breath whooshing from her lungs and she couldn’t speak.
“Hello?” Cell towers and satellite relays couldn’t mask impatience in the voice on the phone.
Kristen swallowed and tried again. “Daddy, this is Kristen. I need your help.”
“Kristen, where are you?” Impatience gone, her father now sounded frantic.
“I’m not exactly sure. Where are you?”
“I’m in the Geneva airport waiting for a flight home.”
“I’ve been trying to reach you for days.”
“I know. I was on retreat. Deliberately incommunicado. Your mom and I—Never mind. Are you safe?”
“For now. But I need money to stay safe.”
“I thought the Marshals Service—”
“Never mind them. They want to lock me up like I’m the criminal. Can you wire me money?” she asked.
“I can, but are you sure? You’re safer—”
“Please.” She felt only a twinge of guilt when she added, “I haven’t asked you for anything since I was fifteen.”
The year her mother became a judge and her world exploded.
Maybe he would remember that birthday dinner he hadn’t bothered to come home to.
He was so quiet she feared the call had dropped. Then his breath sighed across the speaker like a gust of wind. “How can I send it to you?”
She gave him as much information as she’d been able to glean from Becky about the local town. Her father could do the rest, or have his assistant do the rest.
“All right, sweetheart, but I hope you decide to go with the marshals instead.”
She ignored what he said except for the “sweetheart.” He had never called her anything but Kristen all her life.
She cradled the phone against her ear. “Thanks, Daddy. I’ve got to go.” She disconnected the call.
Calmer than she’d felt for days, she rose and tucked the phone into the crook of a branch. Now she needed shelter. If she remained along the road, someone would find her. Yet if she ducked into the woods, she might get lost, go around and around in circles until she ended up where she started. Without a light, she might also fall and break something, or encounter a wild animal. Weren’t bears in these woods? Bobcats? Did Wisconsin have poisonous snakes?
She wrapped one arm around a tree, gasping for breath as though she had just run a mile uphill.
“Not now. Not now. Not now,” she said aloud, though not too aloud. Just enough to relax, remind herself she needed to keep calm, remain in control.
Her breathing steadied. Her heart slowed. And she began to walk through the trees, attempting to remain within hearing distance of the road and out of sight of drivers. Those trees made the woods darker than the night had been in the clearing. Branches interlocked overhead. Heavy with leaves in June, little moonlight reached the ground. Brush tangled underfoot—fallen limbs, tiny trees struggling to gain hold beside their larger parents, enough old leaves to keep someone raking steadily for a month.
She remembered raking as a child. She had grabbed the landscaper’s rake and taken the task on herself. Her shoes had grown wet and muddy. Her hair had caught on low limbs and been pulled from her pigtails, and her muscles ached, but she had loved every minute of the fresh autumn air, the spicy scent of the leaves, the pretty colors. When she created a huge pile of leaves, she had run and jumped in them laughing and laughing until the housekeeper noticed and marched Kristen inside to face the music.
That music had come from her mother. Kristen was supposed to be practicing the piano, not playing outside. She was supposed to stay neat and clean for a birthday party later that afternoon, not go rolling around in the mud like a farm animal.
Her outdoor excursions were all regulated after that—scheduled strolls through nature preserves, guided tours through conservatories, catered picnics in suburban parks. Even after she attended college—locally—and moved into the condo her parents bought for her, she hadn’t taken advantage of the freedom of adulthood and independence. Regulated outings had been too engrained into her system for her to think about simply wandering through the woods.
“I could have picked a better time and place to start.” She laughed at herself.
Though that was a mere whispered chuckle, it sounded like a shout.
She stopped, afraid she had gotten too far from the road and was meandering into the type of area one saw on the evening news, the sort where they found the person a week later half-dead from starvation, thirst and exposure. If she had gotten off course, she didn’t know which way to turn to get back on it again.
The stillness was profound. She shivered, though the temperature couldn’t be much lower than the midsixties. No matter how long she stood there, she heard nothing but, eventually, faint rustling in the underbrush and the distant hoot of an owl.
She had moved too far away from the road.
“Do. Not. Panic.”
Too late. Her breathing rasped in her throat. Her heart beat out of control. She dropped to the ground and hugged her knees to her chest, gasping, shaking, hugging her legs against herself to protect her body. She sobbed in frustration, in anger with herself. Someone was going to find her making all this racket. Someone was going to be able to walk right up to her and carry her off to a safe house for her own good for who knew how long, or to another hideout in another forest to compel her to divulge the whereabouts of a young lady who was trying to live as normal a life as possible and get an education.
She didn’t know how long she huddled on the ground. Time ceased when these attacks crashed upon her. Eventually the shaking stopped, her breathing slowed, her heart resumed its normal rhythm. She was able to pull herself upright with the help of a tree. She leaned against it, waiting for the dizziness to end. Once her vision cleared and her ears returned to hearing the nearly nonexistent noises of the woods instead of blood roaring through her ears, she started walking, veering right. Certain the road lay in that direction if any.
Or as certain as she could be.
To herself, she sounded like an elephant tramping through the trees. No matter how lightly she trod, twigs snapped and crackled beneath her feet. Leaves rustled like a high wind passed through them, though she didn’t feel so much as a breath of a breeze. Afraid she was announcing her presence to anyone who came within a quarter mile of her position, she stopped every few minutes to listen for the betraying snaps and swishes of another person in the woods. Each time, she sighed with relief at hearing nothing. The next time she paused, she heard an engine, something powerful like a semi. That meant the highway must be nearby. She had gone in the right direction.
That gave her courage to continue. If the highway was to the east of David and Becky’s cottage and Kristen kept that highway on her right, she was going north. The town she wanted lay north. So, she hoped, did some sort of place she could stop for the night. Her strength was flagging. Her eyes burned with fatigue. Her feet caused her pain with each step. She had to force her aching legs to take one more stride, one more—
Her next step met empty air. She tried to throw herself backward and only succeeded in throwing herself off balance. Her other foot slipped in mud and she fell, sliding, then rolling down an embankment and into a body of water.
Water no more than two feet deep, a lazy creek or culvert flowing so slowly she hadn’t heard it gurgle, so overhung with trees she hadn’t seen a gleam of moonlight on the water.
She landed with a gasp and a cry, then sat in the water stunned, mortified, and listening to heavy footfalls rushing toward her.
Nick heard the crash, splash and cry and knew he had found Kristen. Risking the flashlight being seen from the road, he flicked the switch and charged toward the source of the sounds. The instant he spotted her already rising from the water, he switched off the light.
“Kristen, it’s me,” he said in a low tone. “Don’t run.”
“Don’t run when Kirkpatrick’s men are after me?” Her voice held an edge sharp enough to chop down a tree. “And your agency that wants to lock me up like I’m the criminal?”
Nick sighed, unable to deny the truth of her claim. “I’m no longer a deputy US marshal.”
“Just for helping me. That seems unfair.”
“Me helping you was just the excuse Callahan has been looking for to get rid of me.”
“Sure it is.” She started up the bank.
Nick held out his hands. “Let me help you up.”
“Won’t you get into more trouble?” Despite her words, she took his hands and allowed him to help her climb the steep, muddy side of the creek.
“I might. But if I can prove Kirkpatrick is behind the kidnapping of your mother and the attacks on you, I will get back into enough people’s good graces that Callahan’s opinion of me won’t matter.” He still held her hands. Her fingers were freezing and he drew them together between both of his palms and rubbed them to warm her.
She didn’t object. “How do you propose you do that?”
“I figure if I follow you around, Kirkpatrick will catch up with you and I can capture him.”
“That’s—that’s—you aren’t serious.” The words emerged on a quiver as though she were about to laugh or have hysterics.
“Not entirely.” He released her hand and touched her cheek. “Completely seriously. Kristen, did you think I was going to leave you to be on your own?”
“I didn’t know. You seemed suspicious of your own agency and you stayed behind.”
“I stayed behind so I could get a weapon to help defend you or free you, if necessary.”
“Did you?”
“Thanks to Dillon.”
“So he’s a good guy?” She sounded hopeful.
“I think so. Jennifer Belk I’m not entirely sure of. Yet. But they don’t matter if we steer clear of them.”
“I’ve managed so far.” She drew in an audible breath as though about to make a confession. “I also got ahold of my father. He’s wiring me money to the nearest bank. I’ll pick it up in the morning and...go to Canada or Europe or something until Kirkpatrick is caught.”
Nick startled as though she had shoved a pointed stick into his middle. “Isn’t that ruining your life as much as having the Marshals Service put you in custody?”
“Not at all the same. I’ll be able to go off on my own, to eat when and what I like, to...well, feel in charge of my life for once.” She snorted. “I doubt you can understand that. You’ve probably had charge of your life since you were born.”
Nick started to agree, and then he thought about Monday night dinners with one sister, Wednesday night meals with one brother and family meals on Fridays. Every week the same, de rigueur. Command performances. He thought about how Callahan assigned him to the worst, the most boring duties and criticized every move he made. Even joining the marshals hadn’t been one hundred percent his choice. Someone from every generation of his family served in law enforcement of some sort. None of his older siblings had gone in that direction, so the career path was chosen for him.
“Not entirely,” he said at last. Then he smiled. “In fact, I’d say right now you’re dictating what I do.”
She started to turn away. “I didn’t make you come after me.”
“I said I would. I never had any intention of letting you remain on your own if I could help it, not with Kirkpatrick after you.” And not wanting to be away from her for more than an hour, his heart reminded him. “I haven’t seen nor heard a peep out of anyone except you, so I’m thinking the marshals gave up and are waiting for daylight or more men to look for you. Maybe Kirkpatrick’s men did the same.”
“May we rest, too?”
“When we find shelter.”
“How do we do that?”
“By trial and error.”
“With me as the trial?”
Nick laughed and wished he could kiss her again. He shouldn’t have done so earlier that day, a lifetime ago, or so it felt like. But she was funny and kind and so very pretty she drew him like a soaring seagull to breadcrumbs. No, breadcrumbs were too plain. More like a cat to something shiny.
They had to get moving before he did something stupid.
“Any way you look at things,” he said, “we’ve been standing here too long.”
“Especially after all the racket I made when I fell.” She squeezed his hand.
“Which is just one reason why I think the others have given up for the night. You were too easy to find.”
“Only when I fell.”
“True. But no one’s come along since I got here.”
“Then let’s get out of here.”
They got going, Nick in the lead, guiding them along the creek away from the road in the hope of finding a deer or man-made trail leading to the water. They risked others finding the same trail, but they would hear anyone coming early enough to hide. They could also move more quickly on smoother land and were more likely to find someplace to shelter like the porch of a cabin empty for the week.
Nick found the trail. Along the bank of the creek, the brush and grass lay trampled from small herds of deer drinking there. Compared to the darkness between the trees, the clearing seemed spotlighted, bright enough for them to notice the narrow trail that led back toward Becky and David’s cottage, or continued north on the other side of the creek.
“Can you cross it?” Nick asked.
“I’ve already gone swimming in it. Wading is nothing.”
Nick made his way down the bank, not as steep here, then helped Kristen. His borrowed sneakers worked much better than her secondhand flip-flops. The water reached their knees and was ice-cold. One of Kristen’s flip-flops stuck in the muddy bottom and they spent five minutes fishing it out. It was a necessary delay. They couldn’t continue without her footgear, however flimsy.
Once on the other side of the creek, they continued at a faster pace. Several times, Nick paused to ensure Kristen was doing all right. Other than breathing hard, she said she was. He didn’t believe her. His feet hurt. Hers had to be in agony. Nonetheless, she kept up with him.
Sometimes he paused to listen for signs of other people in the woods. Aside from the distant rumble of an engine now and then reminding him they weren’t far from the highway, neither of them caught the telltale noises people made—crackling leaves, snapping twigs, a cough, a sneeze. Nothing. Just those cars on the highway.
They walked without speaking until the wind kicked up and the sky grew darker, stars and moon blotted out. This wasn’t predawn. This was a storm coming. They not only needed to get out of the bad weather, mud would show the direction of their footprints. Yet they had come across nowhere Nick considered shelter, not even the sort of large pine tree under which they could crouch for protection, especially not protection if thunder accompanied the storm.
“Start praying we find someplace soon,” Nick said. “This feels like it could be a rough one.”
As though emphasizing his impression, lightning flashed above the trees. Nick started to count. “One thousand and one, one thousand and two...” He wasn’t quite to five when the thunder rolled across the sky.
“What was that about?” Kristen asked.
Her hand trembled in Nick’s.
He squeezed her fingers to reassure her. “The storm is about a mile away. Sound travels at about eleven hundred feet per second, so five seconds are about one mile if you count between seeing lightning and hearing thunder. Did you never learn that?”
“No.”
“Now you know. Let’s go. We need to get out of these trees before this gets any closer.”
They were nearly running when they stumbled into the clearing. One moment trees surrounded them, the next they stood in the open with lightning illuminating the scene before them like strobes—revealing the tiniest house or cabin Nick had ever seen.
It wasn’t much more than a toolshed, yet appeared like a perfect house, a child’s playhouse.
“It’s a tiny house,” Kristen said.
“You’re telling me it’s tiny.”
“No, I mean it’s a tiny house like the tiny house movement.”
“You mean people really build those?”
“They really do. Look. It’s adorable.”
“It’s...ridiculous.”
But he loved her enthusiasm for the miniature structure. He also loved the fact that, tiny house in the middle of nowhere or not, it had a porch. Not a large one, but not quite as tiny in proportion to the house as one might expect, and it sported a roof.
“I don’t think anyone is there,” Kristen murmured. “It’s dark.”
“It would be. It’s the middle of the night. But let’s see if we wake anyone up by going onto the porch.”
The first drops of rain began to fall as they climbed the two shallow steps to the concrete slab that acted as a porch base. A wooden railing ran around it and a swing hung from the ceiling. The concrete made their footfalls quieter than wood would have. They sat on the swing. It creaked. Nick pushed them back and forth a few times, allowing the creaking to continue, and listened for signs of life inside the house.
If anyone was there, they slept too heavily for the swing to wake them.
“Dare we talk?” Kristen asked.
“I think this house may be empty, but I doubt anyone will begrudge us taking shelter on their porch.”
“What if Kirkpatrick’s men track us here? Or whoever lives here calls the sheriff and alerts the marshals? You’ll be in serious trouble.”
“I’m already in serious trouble. A little more won’t hurt.”
Much.
Despite asking if they could talk, Kristen sat in silence for several minutes. They watched the storm approach—the light show flashing over the trees, the concert of thunder and gushing rain. Somehow, they still held hands, and Nick felt closer to her than he had anyone in too long a time.
Then Kristen turned to him and asked, “Why does Callahan dislike you so much?”
Nick cringed, though he knew the question was inevitable.
“You don’t have to answer if it’s none of my business,” Kristen hastened to add.
“Everyone else knows. So you may as well.” Nick sighed and leaned against the back of the swing. “I was engaged to his daughter.”
Kristen startled. “You were?”
“I was. We dated for two years and got engaged on Valentine’s Day of last year.”
He waited for her to ask what had happened or say something about Valentine’s Day being romantic or cliché. She said nothing. Surprised, he looked at her before he remembered she was a trained listener.
And he needed to talk to someone who hadn’t known Michele or him or both forever.
“Michele was pretty and fun-loving and smart, but she’d taken a while to figure out what she wanted to be when she grew up.” Nick pictured the petite brunette who had been the love of his life for two years, and he could barely remember her face. “Her father spoiled her and never made her do anything she didn’t want. But when we met at a party at her parents’ house, she started to change. She decided she needed to get her act together and do something with her life. She just didn’t know how. She was...needy. Someone always took care of anything hard in her life.” Nick paused.
Kristen nodded in silent understanding.
“I kind of fell into the same pattern of running to her rescue—when her car wouldn’t start because she didn’t want to pump gas in the cold and had run out, or when she didn’t want to eat lunch alone on campus.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I guess I was starting a bad precedent for our future, but she was so grateful, and I am the baby in my family, so no one has ever needed me.” He stared at the lightning flashing like cameras. “She needed me too much.”
Kristen drew the back of his hand to her cheek and waited for him to continue.
Comforted, he found the words that had always come so hard in the past year flowing from his lips as easily as the rain fell from the clouds. “She wanted to be a nurse and was taking classes at Loyola. After class one day, she was coming downtown and we were supposed to go out to dinner. But her car got a flat tire. She didn’t know how to change one and didn’t want to hang out waiting for roadside assistance. She wanted me to come get her.
“But I was taking over the duties of someone who had to leave for an emergency and suggested she catch the ‘L.’ Instead, because I wouldn’t be free for dinner after all, she went to check up on a nearby woman she had helped while doing some volunteer work. She shouldn’t have gone to that part of the city after dark. She shouldn’t have taken her purse and computer with her. But she thought she was safe because she had helped so many women and children in the area. And she was right. Most people respected her enough to leave her alone. But some thought she was interfering in their families. They robbed her and...they shot her. If I hadn’t taken the extra shift, if I’d gone to help her with her flat tire, she’d still be alive.”
“And thus Callahan blames you for his daughter’s death,” Kristen concluded.
“That’s right.”
“And you blame yourself, so you take his...criticism.”
“That’s about the size of it.” He took a deep breath. “And, for a long time, I blamed God for not taking care of her. But she was given to me, and I failed her.”
“Oh, Nick.” She lowered his hand so it rested on the cushion of the swing, but did not release it. “Nick, am I to blame for what Kirkpatrick is doing?”
“Of course not.”
“Why not? I took his daughter on as a client knowing who her father was.”
“You didn’t make Kirkpatrick a criminal and an unnatural parent.”
“And Michele could have been shot standing on the sidewalk while you or anyone else changed her tire. It happens to bystanders more often than it should.”
“You sound like Gina,” Nick muttered.
Kristen laughed. “Right?”
Feeling a little twitchy, he rose and strode to the rail. The storm was blowing off, lightning and thunder far to the east. A few stars glinted through the breaking clouds, and he guessed they had an hour or two before dawn. They should start out again shortly after first light.
“As for blaming God,” Kristen continued when he didn’t speak, “We all make choices. Michele could have taken a taxi.”
“And I didn’t have to take someone else’s shift.”
“Is either decision God’s fault?” Kristen licked her dry lips. “I blamed God when I had to go into hiding for a month when I was fifteen, right after my mother took the bench. It was horrible. I’ve had panic attacks ever since. But the only people to blame are the men who perpetrated the crime. I’ve had to learn that in my work.”
“Thank you.” Nick’s breathing grew easier, his mind clearer. “We should rest.”
He thought he might be able to rest with some peace.
At the far end of the porch, a handful of beach chairs rested against the rail. Nick pulled one out of the stack and set it up. “Why don’t you stretch out on the swing and get some rest if you can. I’ll sit here to give you some privacy.”
“But you’ll be uncomfortable.”
“I’ll be just fine.” He propped his feet on the railing and leaned back in the canvas chair.
The swing creaked. Kristen would have to curl up a bit to fit on the seat, but she might be able to rest.
He glanced toward the swing, where Kristen lay still and quiet, her breathing even, and restlessness took over his body once more. He rose and began to walk around the tiny house. In the back, he found a driveway cutting through the trees. That would take them to the highway. What they would do once there he wasn’t sure. Kristen’s idea of collecting money from her father and heading for Canada was not a good one. He respected her reasons for the action, but he knew the action wouldn’t keep her safe from a man like Kirkpatrick.
They needed to stop him.
Nick inhaled the freshness of the forest and earth washed clean from the rain and came up with one idea to which Kristen might agree.
He returned to find her on the porch steps, her arms crossed over her middle.
“I thought you left me here,” she said.
“Reconnoitering. Did you sleep?”
“I think so, for a few minutes anyway. You?”
“No.” He held up his hand in the “stop” gesture. “It’s all right. I think we should go to my family’s lake house. It’s not that far from here with a little transportation.”
“Won’t someone look for us there?”
“Probably. But it’s my territory. I know every nook and cranny of those woods, where to hide and how to protect you there.”
“Or just bring an end to this. I have to bring an end to this.”
“We’ll figure out something.”
“I think I already have.”
Nick tried not to groan. She might work with people who were victims of horrible crimes, yet sometimes she seemed so naïve. Sheltered. Endearing and, in this situation, dangerous.
“You can tell me all about your plan on the way to town.” He tried not to sound patronizing.
“Oh, town. Restaurants.” She rubbed her stomach. “I’m starving. As soon as I have money, I’m buying breakfast.”
“You know you’re a sitting duck in town?” Nick said.
“I do.” She descended the steps and approached him, her head high, her ponytail a tangled flag behind her. “I was thinking while I was lying here. I can’t spend weeks, maybe even months or years, running. I don’t need much, and coffee and a hot shower every morning make even the hardest days bearable. To sleep outside and wake to no water is just unthinkable.”
“So you’ll go into a safehouse?”
“No, I’m going to see about ending this cat-and-mouse chase.”
“Kristen...”
“And the only way to catch Kirkpatrick is to draw him out. And the best way to draw him out is to be bait.”