by Angie Martin
“What are you trying to say?”
“You need to tell Mark. If you tell him everything, you’ll have no more reason to lie or to hide. It can give you some of that peace you’re searching for.”
Rachel lifted her head from Danielle’s shoulder and wiped the tears off her cheeks. “There’s no way I can tell him anything more than I already have.” Rachel rose from the couch and moved behind it, toward the hallway. “I need to start packing.”
“Rachel, wait a sec.” Danielle twisted in the seat to look at her. “What did you tell him?”
“This morning I told him I was born in San Diego and that I moved to northern California after my parents died.”
“That’s nothing. It’s not even a scratch on the surface of who you are, let alone being good enough. You have to tell him everything.”
“Why? So he can follow me to all ends of the earth? I already have one groupie.”
Danielle stood up. “Hey!”
Rachel held up her hand. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. The truth is I don’t want you going with me this time. Every minute you spend with me your life is in danger.”
“I am fully aware of the consequences and I accept them,” Danielle said. “Do you understand how you have changed my life? I wouldn’t even have much of a life right now if it hadn’t been for you. Everything you have done for me has always meant so much.”
“I don’t expect or want you to repay me for what you think I’ve done to help you.”
“I’m not repaying you. I know I could never do for you what you did for me. Could we live without each other? Probably. We could go our separate ways and in the end we would somehow be fine. But life is far more interesting and enjoyable for me with you in it. Any risk that comes with having you around is worth it. You know if you were in my shoes, you’d do the same thing for me.”
“I appreciate that, I really do,” Rachel said. “And yes, I would do the same thing for you without hesitation.”
“Rach, despite the fact that I’m willing to go with you, no matter where that takes us, I’m not going to lie to you. It’s time for you to stop running. You have to face this.”
“It’s too late for that. It’s out of the question.”
“What’s the absolute worst thing that could happen if you did stop running?”
“You could die. Mark could die.” Rachel’s face reflected the anguish inside. “And I could live.”
Danielle took a deep breath. “Do you think they’re still searching for you after so long? I’m sure they gave up a long time ago.”
Rachel’s mind numbed at the thought. They. The ominous They. Though speaking in private, Rachel and Danielle always referred to the people looking for her as They, not daring to use any names. Those names were bitter on the tongue, fingernails on chalkboard to the ears, and terror to the mind.
Even now, Rachel could not bring herself to think one of those names. She was scared the moment she did, They would hear her through some science fiction telepathy and come charging through her front door to take away her freedom and the remainder of her sanity.
“I know they’re still searching for me,” Rachel said. “It doesn’t matter how long it takes, they won’t give up until they find me.”
“Then let’s go to the authorities.”
“There’s no way we can do that.”
“Why not?”
“You know damn well why.”
“You’re right, no authorities,” Danielle said. “But you have to tell Mark. Maybe between the three of us, we can figure out a solution to this whole problem.”
“There is no solution.”
“I know of at least one solution,” Danielle said. “You do own a gun.”
Rachel looked down, unwilling to accept Danielle’s suggestion.
“If it came to that, you wouldn’t use it, would you?” Danielle didn’t wait for her to answer. “I didn’t think you would. Why not give it to me then? I’d be more than happy to use it for you.”
“That’s murder, Danielle, not a solution.” Under her breath she added, “Maybe I shouldn’t have ever started running.”
Danielle clenched her jaw. “Tell me those words didn’t come out of your mouth. Rach, you cannot believe that.”
“Well, look at where it’s gotten me! I’m stuck in this life where my only option is to keep moving and keep hiding, and now I’ve put both you and Mark in danger.”
“And you would have been so much better off staying there?”
“I don’t know.” Rachel’s face flushed and she whispered, “I gave up so much. I could always go back and all of this would be over. It would get you and Mark out of harm’s way.”
Danielle moved behind the couch and grabbed Rachel’s arm. “Why don’t we go in the bathroom so you can take a good look at your back in the mirror? Then you can tell me if your life there was so great.” She let go of Rachel’s arm. Her voice lowered and her eyes narrowed. “Do you remember the pain? Was it so worth everything you gave up that you would want to go back?”
Rachel slid down the back of the couch until she rested on the ground. “I don’t know anymore.” She covered her eyes with her hands to catch the fresh river of tears. She wished she could disappear and escape Danielle’s rousing of the past. Mark had dug deep enough that morning for her to be forced to endure more questions.
Danielle crouched beside her. “I think you feel guilty about being with Mark, and there’s no reason for that. You need to realize it’s okay for you to be with him. Has it ever occurred to you that, after trying for over two months, maybe there’s a reason you can’t kick him out of your life?”
Rachel hesitated, and bowed her head. “I lied earlier.”
“About what?”
“I do love him.”
“I know you do, and I know that he loves you, too. It’s okay for you to love him, but it proves my point that you have to tell him. If you love him, you won’t keep lying to him. Let him decide for himself what to do. You owe him that much.”
“He doesn’t deserve something as horrible as hearing the truth. He’s one of the good ones. You said so yourself.”
“If you think telling him the truth will hurt him, how is he going to feel when you run and don’t tell him you’re leaving? That’s going to hurt him far worse than any words coming out of your mouth. Rach, you can’t leave him like this. If only because he’s one of the good ones.”
“He won’t understand and it’s wrong for me to expect him to try. I can’t do that to him.”
“You have a lot of great excuses lined up and I’m sure you’ll find even more if we keep going back and forth like this.” Danielle stood up and thrust her hands onto her hips. “I’m not going to argue with you anymore. If you don’t tell him, I will.”
Rachel’s jaw dropped. “You can’t do that to me. It’s not fair to me or to him.”
“I don’t care. I’m not about to watch you screw up the best thing that’s ever happened to you. At least give Mark an opportunity to decide how to react to your past, instead of assuming how he’s going to feel.”
Rachel opened her mouth to object, but Danielle’s stubborn expression warned her of the futility of further argument. Somewhere deep inside, she knew Danielle was right. She loved Mark too much not to tell him the truth, and she really did not want to leave him. “Okay, you win. He’s working the rest of the day, so I’ll talk to him tonight when he gets off.”
“You’re making the right decision. Now, when are we leaving Wichita?”
“As soon as I can get us hooked up with some new identities,” Rachel said, rubbing her temples. “I made contact with a guy who owns a pawnshop across town. He does a little forgery work on the side. I’m meeting with him for lunch to place our order, so let me know what name you want to use and then I’ll pick them up tonight. Tomorrow morning we’ll head out to our next exotic destination,” Rachel said with a tinge of sarcasm.
“Where are we going?”
“I don
’t know yet.” Rachel eliminated any desire to stay in Wichita, even if it meant leaving Mark. Soon enough, he would know who she was, and he would want her gone from his life. Wherever she and Danielle ended up, Rachel would never make the mistake of getting involved with a man ever again. She looked up at Danielle. “You can pick a place this time if you want. I don’t care anymore.”
“Okay. Let’s start packing.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Kansas was flat, much more so than Paul Pettis expected. He was skeptical when he first heard he had to come here, but now that he was here, he thought he could learn to like it.
He tossed the nine millimeter gun to the ground and looked at the endless field ahead of him. He couldn’t see even a hill to obstruct his view under the darkening pink and blue hues of the sunset clouds. He thought if he looked hard enough, he might see the Rocky Mountains.
“I hate this place,” Sean said, interrupting Paul’s serenity. “Too hot and humid.”
As soon as they stepped off the jet a few hours earlier, Paul’s suffering under the summer humidity began. An invisible force field holding back much needed rain from providing the ground with moisture, the humidity seemed to raise the temperature by at least twenty degrees. Sweat penetrated Paul’s jeans and black t-shirt, both of which stuck to him like a second skin.
Even though Paul agreed with Sean about the heat, he wanted nothing in common with the man, not even a small point like their disdain for Kansas humidity. He took a deep breath to cleanse as much hatred from his tone as he could. “Do you think I care if you like Kansas? I’m sure the natives will be cheering when you leave. They might even have a parade.”
Sean scowled. “Don’t be a jerk because you’re in a bad mood about the girl.”
Paul clenched his fists and released them as he blew out the breath he was holding.
“I have to get out of here,” Sean said. He scratched the skin around his dark moustache. “He’s waiting for me.”
Paul closed his eyes. “You do that,” he said under his breath.
“You’re supposed to stay here and clean up. Someone will be here soon to help you finish up and take you back to the jet.”
As if Paul didn’t already know that. Sean’s authoritative tone was a slap in the face, but Paul wasn’t in charge anymore. All of his tenure disappeared the moment they stepped foot on the Kansas plains. He would be nothing more than a grunt until things calmed down. No one wanted him to interfere with the job at this stage.
“Sean, please don’t hurt her,” Paul said. “I know that’s asking a lot, but please don’t.”
Sean pursed his lips and shrugged. “That’s not really up to me, is it? At least she’ll be alive still. The guy is a different story. We both know he probably won’t make it through the night.”
Paul looked down. Sean’s words were true, but he didn’t want to consider them. Rachel had finally found herself, her real self, and it would soon be taken away.
Sean’s footsteps moved away from him and toward the car. Paul reached into his shoulder holster and pulled out another gun. He lifted the barrel of the gun and aimed, his finger on the trigger, his left eye shut. He had a clear shot of Sean’s overinflated head. All he had to do was squeeze.
His shoulders dropped, and he holstered the gun. He wouldn’t kill Sean today, he thought. Soon, but not today. There were too many other things to deal with rather than getting rid of Sean’s body and trying to explain how Sean ended up dead.
Paul turned around and looked down at the task at hand. Flies swarmed around Officer Shelly Duncan’s open eyes and slack jaw, but it did not bother Paul. He just wished she’d had the courtesy to shut her eyes right before he shot her.
At least she had died quick. No begging, no whimpering. A single shot in the back of her head and she fell. Sean would fall as well, but in the end, he would plead for death. Maybe Paul would shoot him in the stomach and let him bleed out. Or shoot him in the kneecaps and let him live. The only time he saw someone shot in the kneecaps, it had been a pleasure to watch him suffer. Sean needed that kind of agony in his life to knock him back a few notches.
A throaty chuckle escaped Paul’s lips and he picked up the shovel by his feet. It was time to stop dreaming about ending Sean’s pathetic life. He had work to do if he was going to get back to the jet on time. All the loose ends had been tied up with Duncan’s death, and he was left to dispose of the body.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Unable to focus on the paperwork he promised Greg he would get done, Mark paced the floor of his office. Sarah had come back to the office a few minutes earlier, and concern crossed her face when she noticed his restless movements. He stopped pacing when he saw her, not wanting his mood to reflect in his actions.
He answered her quick question and, as soon as she left his view, he resumed shuffling back and forth along the tiles. He knew he should send her home given the slow business so near closing time, but he desired solitude instead of dealing with the occasional customer.
Mark glanced at his watch. He had forty-five minutes until he was supposed to meet Rachel at her house. Her phone call an hour earlier stirred up endless questions. With a controlled voice, she had asked Mark if he minded staying at her house in lieu of going out.
It wouldn’t have been an alarming request, except the events of that morning kept coming to mind. Though he wasn’t much in the mood for being in public, he sensed the real reason for the change in plans. Rachel wanted to talk, and the prospect of hearing what she had to say filled him with dread.
One question floated through his mind since driving her home that morning, and his imagination took liberties with the answer. What kind of woman spent her days volunteering at a battered women’s shelter? The answer came too easily: the kind of woman who was abused.
When the realization struck him that she might have been a victim of abuse at one time, his first thoughts were of a superficial relationship. A boyfriend or even husband who did the occasional Jekyll-to-Hyde transformation and took a bad day at work out on her. But the simple explanation lacked something, though Mark couldn’t fathom what. It also didn’t account for the scars on her back or help him understand the cause of them.
He knew what happened to her, but he didn’t want to admit it. The thought was too horrific. No matter how he tried to spin it, no matter what other ideas he came up with, he always came back to the same cause. Only one thing could be responsible for the angry scars that marred her back. Multiple, random wounds cast on her skin in different directions. Straight, yet overlapping. Thin, but varying in length. Oh, yes. He knew.
He pushed the image of her scars out of his mind as hard as he could and slammed the door against it. He didn’t know anything for sure, and he wouldn’t allow himself to play agonizing guessing games. If she wanted him to know, she would tell him tonight.
Instead, he focused on her nonexistent foster family. She had no contact with them, and she purposely avoided talking about them. He didn’t know their names or if they had other children living with them besides Rachel.
Abuse as a child would explain her reluctance to talk about them. It also explained why she went to a gym as a child, finding solace in sparring with others and learning how to defend herself. But like with so many other explanations, something didn’t feel right about that one, either.
The bell rang through the store to announce a customer, disturbing Mark’s train of thought. He stepped out of the office and frowned at James jogging up the center aisle.
Mark raised an eyebrow. “There had better be something wrong for you to run in here like that,” he said.
James walked past him. “You’re going to need to sit down for this one,” he said.
Mark frowned and followed him into the office. Sitting behind his desk, he asked, “What is it?”
James pulled up a chair to the other side of the desk and sat down across from Mark. “Remember that guy that got killed?”
“Lots of guys get kil
led.”
“The one that they were talking about on the news last night, the friend of Senator Cal Robbins. We couldn’t figure out his name, remember?”
“Oh, yeah,” Mark said. “What about him?” He had put the news report out of his mind in the wake of the amazing night he spent with Rachel, and then seeing her scars that morning.
“I found out his name and raced over here to tell you,” James said, excitement resounding through his voice.
Mark waited for a moment, but James didn’t speak. “Are you going to tell me or are we playing twenty questions?”
“Jonathan Thomas.”
Mark caught his breath at the unexpected name. Chills rushed through him as he recalled the desk organizer falling off the desk before the newscaster finished speaking the deceased man’s name. It was quite a distraction to clean up the mess on the floor instead of listening to the rest of the news story about his murder. Would Rachel knock it off the desk on purpose? She would if she had a secret she wanted to hide, and considering everything else, it seemed she had a lot to hide.
Jonathan Thomas.
Rachel Thomas.
“He has the same last name as Rachel,” James said.
“I realize that,” Mark said. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“It does if Rachel pushed the organizer off your desk before the newscaster said his name,” James said, as if he had read Mark’s thoughts about Rachel’s suspicious actions. “That thing was nowhere near the edge of your desk like she said. I know because I stole a pen from you when I came in the office.”
“Why would she do that?” Mark asked, his voice almost a whisper. He tried to wrap his mind around the revelation. “That doesn’t make sense.”
James scooted to the edge of the chair and put his elbows on the desk. “What if she didn’t want us to hear his name?”
“But that doesn’t make sense,” Mark repeated. “What’s the big deal about her having the same last name as some guy that was murdered? Thomas is a common last name.”