Witness on the Run
Page 19
“You’re right,” Horowitz said. “I know, because I’m your father.”
Rafe wasn’t as shocked as he might have been. Max Horowitz had taken care of her for many years, giving her a job and sending her to college. Those considerations went far beyond the duties of an employer. Max had trusted her with his secrets.
The old man reached into his pocket and produced a photograph. “Here’s proof.”
Alyssa held the picture in both hands. “This is you, but your hair isn’t gray. And that’s Mom, and she’s looking at you like you’re her whole world.”
He nodded. “That’s the way you look at Rafe.”
“And the child in the picture?”
“I’m sure you recognize the teddy bear,” he said.
“It’s mine. Bobo Bear. This is crazy. We look like such a normal family.”
“Your mother and I were soulmates. We tried so hard to protect you and make a good life that we lost track of what was truly important. Don’t be foolish like we were. Put your love first and foremost, and then everything else will fall into place.”
“I agree with every word you say.”
“Your father is wise,” Rafe said.
She took his hands in hers. “You are my pirate, my bodyguard and my dearest love. I never want to be apart from you again.”
He cinched his arm around her slender waist and pulled her close for the first of an eternity of kisses.
Epilogue
Drinking sweetened tea on the veranda outside Chance’s plantation home, Rafe finished telling the story to his friend as they watched Alyssa ride across the front field on a prancing Arabian mare. She was laughing with her head thrown back, and she looked like the embodiment of freedom.
“A mostly happy ending,” Chance said, “especially since I got my Mercedes back.”
“More than mostly happy,” Rafe said. “This was perfect. Woodbridge and his friends got picked up by the cops and will rot in jail for many years.”
“What about Davidoff?”
“On trial in Chicago,” Rafe said. “The paint chip was enough to reopen the investigation into the hit-and-run murder of her mom.”
“Here’s a big fat flaw in your story—you and Alyssa didn’t get your hands on the millions of dollars.”
“And neither did anybody else. Frankie Leone had been pilfering little bits and pieces over the years, nowhere near millions. That big payoff never really existed except on paper, which is something Alyssa would have found when she compared the data from her records and the stuff you got on your computer hack. Horowitz set up the lure to draw out a bunch of smugglers. The FBI and ATF moved in and scooped them up.”
“I guess you’re right,” Chance said. “What are you going to do to top this story?”
Rafe took a small box from his pocket and flipped open the lid. “Five carats, flawless, canary yellow.”
“Nice. That should lead to another extremely happy ending.”
* * *
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Chapter One
Ghostlike, the woman stumbled out of the dark night and into the glare of his headlights. The tattered bedsheet wrapped around her fluttered in the breeze along with the duct tape that dangled from her wrists and one ankle.
He saw her look up as if she hadn’t heard his pickup bearing down on her until the last moment. The night breeze lifted wisps of her dark hair from an ashen face as she turned her vacant gaze on him an instant before he slammed on his brakes.
The air filled with the smell and squeal of tires burning on the dark pavement as the pickup came to a shuddering halt. He sat for a moment, gripping the wheel and staring in horror into the glow of his headlights and seeing...nothing. Nothing but the empty street ahead just blocks from his apartment.
He threw the truck into Park and jumped out, convinced, even though he hadn’t felt or heard a thud, that he’d hit her and that he’d find her lying bleeding on the pavement. How could he have missed her?
If there’d been a woman at all.
In those few seconds, leaving the driver’s side door gaping open, the engine running, he was terrified of what he would find—and even more terrified of what he wouldn’t.
Could he have just imagined the woman in his headlights? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had a waking nightmare since he’d come home to recuperate. He felt the cold breeze in his face even though it was June in Montana. The temperature at night dropped this time of year, the mountains still snowcapped. He shivered as he rounded the front of the truck and stopped dead.
His heart dropped to his boots.
The pavement was empty.
His pulse thundered in his ears.
I am losing my mind. I hallucinated the woman.
For months, he’d assured himself he was fine. Except for the nightmares that plagued him, something he’d done his best to keep from his family since returning to Cardwell Ranch.
Doubt sent a stab of alarm through him that made him weak with worry. He leaned against the front of the pickup. Why would he imagine such an image? What was wrong with him? He’d seen her. He’d seen every detail.
He really was losing his mind.
As he glanced around the empty street, he suddenly felt frighteningly all alone as if he was the last person left alive on the earth. This late at night, the new businesses were dark in this neighborhood, some still under construction. The ones that were opened closed early, making the area a ghost town at night. It was one reason he’d taken the apartment over one of the new shops. He’d told his folks that he moved off the ranch for the peace and quiet. He didn’t want them knowing that his nightmares hadn’t stopped. They were getting worse.
A groan from the darkness made him jump. His heart pounded in his throat as he turned to stare into the blackness beyond the edge of the street. The sound definitely hadn’t been his imagination. The night was so dark he couldn’t see anything after the pavement ended. The sidewalks hadn’t been poured yet, some of the streets not yet paved. He heard another sound that appeared to be coming from down the narrow alley between two buildings under construction.
He quickly stepped back to the driver’s side of his pickup and grabbed his flashlight. Walking through the glow of his headlights, he headed into the darkness beyond the street. The narrow beam of light skittered to the edge of the pavement and froze on a spot of blood.
Deeper into the dirt alley, the beam came to rest on the woman as she tried to crawl away. She clawed at the ground, clearly exhausted, clearly terrified, before collapsing halfway down the alley.
She wasn’t an apparition. And she was alive! He rushed to her. Her forehead was bleeding from a small cut, and her hands and knees were scraped from crawling across the rough pavement and then the dirt to escape. In the flashlight’s glow, he saw that her face was bruised from injuries she’d suffered before tonight. From what he could tell, his pickup hadn’t hit her.
But there was no doubt that she was terrified. Her eyes widened in horror at the sight of him. A high-pitched keening sound filled the air and she kicked at him and stumbled to her feet. He could see that she was exhausted because she hadn’t taken more than few steps when she dropped to her knees and tried to crawl away again.
/> She was shivering uncontrollably in the tattered sheet wrapped around her. He caught up to her, took off his jacket and put it over her, fearing she was suffering from hypothermia. He could see that her wrists and ankles were chafed where she’d been bound with the duct tape. She was barefoot and naked except for the soiled white sheet she was wrapped in.
“It’s all right,” he said as he pulled out his cell phone to call for help. “You’re all right now. I’m going to get help.” She lay breathing hard, collapsed in the dirt. “Can you tell me who did this to you? Miss, can you hear me?” he asked, leaning closer to make sure she was still breathing. Her pale eyes flew open, startling him as much as the high-pitched scream that erupted from her.
As the 911 operator came on the line, he had to yell to be heard over the woman’s shrieks. “This is Deputy Marshal Brick Savage,” he said as he gave the address, asking for assistance and an ambulance ASAP.
Copyright © 2020 by Barbara Heinlein
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ISBN-13: 9781488067501
Witness on the Run
Copyright © 2020 by Kay Bergstrom
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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