As I sat on the floor, desperate to figure out a way to move the immovable object that was my husband, my right foot struck an object under the bed. A fairly soft object. Lifting the dust ruffle, I saw a hand. A very human hand. A body. But not just any body. This dead woman had a coroner’s tag on her big toe. What’s more, there was a second one under there with her, a dead man. They were both encased in plastic sheeting so thick, there was no odor of decomposing bodies. Our angel had provided the stage dressing to pull off his ruse. After all, he clearly couldn’t afford for Cook, the experienced FBI counterintelligence agent, and Vlady, the former Soviet intelligence officer, to think our deaths were faked. Genius.
Wrapping my arms under his chest, I yanked and pulled and pulled and yanked Dix across the floor, into the living room, and out the door. The five steps down to the sandy ground were tough on Dix’s body. Even as I heard his flesh smacking down on the wood, I felt his pain. But we were going to be in a whole lot more pain if I didn’t get us the hell away from this cottage.
Once outside, I was hard-put to know where to go. Trees to the north and east of the property. Road to the south. To the west? I wasn’t sure. I needed some kind of cover to protect us from flying debris. And then I heard a car coming down the street. Friend or foe? Pulling Dix into the closest shrub I could find, I huddled behind its cover. I couldn’t believe my eyes as I saw Cook and another man in the passenger seat. They were back. Why? The car slowly pulled into the driveway. I could see the pair of them arguing. As I watched, all hell seemed to break loose. One minute, there was a beige cottage standing thirty feet away. The next, there was a massive boom! As I was ducking, trying desperately to protect Dix from unidentified flying objects, I heard the thunk, thunk, thunk of airborne debris. Glass shattered as flames shot skyward. A shower of boards, drywall, furniture, and burning embers fell all around us.
“What the hell?” Cook was out of the car like a madman. “What just happened here?”
“Crap!” Bennett joined him, his shock convincing. “Damn! It must have been the propane tank. Oh, shoot! Cook!”
The senior FBIagent actually tried to enter the burning house, or rather what was left of it, which was just partial walls. In the distance, sirens were wailing.
“Cook, man,” Bennett cried, “we’ve got to get the hell out of here. Come on.”
For a long moment, Cook looked like he was actually going to keep going, but a sudden burst of flames convinced him it was pointless. With a shrug, he turned and climbed back into the car. This time, the sedan headed off in the opposite direction, away from the approaching emergency vehicles.
“Psst!” The sudden sound startled me, but it was nothing compared to the sight I saw when I turned to look behind me. There were at least four men dressed all in black, faces masked, and they were signaling me to hurry. Two of them picked up and carried Dix between them, not into the street, but into the scrubby Florida woods. The other two helped me. My legs kept giving out under me.
By the time we emerged on a quiet rural road on the other side, my bare legs were scratched and bloodied by traipsing through the rough terrain. Small price to pay for surviving.
Dix was still not conscious by the time we were loaded into an RV. The men in black placed him on the bed in the back, where a man in a white coat with a physician’s bag went to work on him immediately. The men in black nodded as they passed me, and a moment later, an older man in a loud madras shirt and khaki shorts, with white ankle socks and dark brown sandals, took the driver’s seat. He was followed aboard by an older woman in a violet sundress, chunky white beads around her neck, and a pair of very sturdy white walking sneakers.
“Hold onto your hats, people. We’re off. I’m Hal, by the way. I’ll be your driver for this little road trip. Let me introduce Sunny. She will be your social director.” With that, Hal made a wide turn and the RV rumbled off the dirt rest area and onto solid pavement.
The doctor decided that Dix’s injuries were not life-threatening. He patched him up after checking his reflexes and vital signs.
“A little too much sedative,” said Dr. Munroe. “His pulse is slow, but steady. He’ll sleep it off in about four hours. I guess I’ll be staying with you until he wakes up. Now it’s your turn.”
I was poked and prodded for the next ten minutes. The physician decided I was dehydrated, so Sunny got to work feeding me. She gave me soup and soda. After that, she gave me a pair of blue capri pants and a white tee shirt.
“These will have to do until we can take you shopping,” she insisted. “By the way, you’re our daughter-in-law, Julie, and that’s our son, Hal, Jr. We’re headed to the Grand Canyon. Have you ever been there?”
“No.”
“Oh, you’ll love it. Beautiful place. You and Hal, Jr. are in for a real treat. Aren’t they, Hal?”
“They are. Consider yourselves lucky. We had this trip planned quite some time ago. Our friends were supposed to accompany us, but when this emergency popped up, we changed our plans. All the motel reservations are set, so enjoy the trip of a lifetime.”
Dix came to just as we got onto I-10 going west. He was quite relieved to see me. Sunny fussed over him and I let her. Once I knew Dix was going to be okay, I settled myself on the second bed and slept.
Hal finally stopped the RV for dinner just after six. Dix was awake by then and declared himself hungry. We all piled out of the motor home and into a big booth at the Cracker Barrel. Ignoring the calories, we all ate hearty meals.
Two hours later, we stopped at a Best Western for the night. Dr. Munroe prescribed rest for Dix and me, and I was in no condition to argue. We were in the room next to Hal and Sunny, so when i heard a knock on the connecting door, I opened it.
“I thought Hal, Jr. might want his weapon back, Julie. This can be wild country. You never know when you might run into a sidewinder. Nothing more painful than a snake bite.”
“A bullet,” I corrected him. He took one look at my face and patted me on the back kindly, almost as if he were consoling me.
“You’ve got me there, girl,” he replied jovially. Dixon took the handgun and shoulder harness with a nod of appreciation. Sunny popped her head in.
“Come on, Hal. Let the kids get some rest. They’ve had a busy day.”
“Tomorrow, we do Dallas,” said Hal, with great enthusiasm. “Yee-haw!”
He did a little jig on his way out, closing the door behind him. Once we were alone, Dix and I crawled onto the bed and into each other’s arms. It was the first time we’d had a chance to talk since the guano hit the fan.
“We made it, love. We survived.” He kissed the top of my head tenderly.
“We did. I have some questions.”
“Of course you do,” he laughed. “Fire away.”
An hour later, I learned that Agent Rick Cook was, in fact, impersonating a fellow agent, Steve Cook. Not only had he stolen mail for the counterintelligence agent on a number of occasions, he had impersonated him while interviewing suspects. When Washington had learned the extent of his efforts, they sent him over to the National Security Division, with an eye towards monitoring his espionage efforts. Turns out too many Cooks really do spoil the broth.
We spent the next three weeks leisurely exploring the Four Corners. I had never been out west before, so I actually found myself enjoying the sights. Sunny and I hit every antique store we could find in the little towns along the route. Dix and Hal did some fishing. Some nights we slept in motels, some we slept in the RV. We ate in restaurants and we cooked on the grill. We even rented a houseboat for another week while we explored Lake Powell. By the time the older couple dropped us off at the Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport, we were reluctant to say goodbye.
“You two kids enjoy the next assignment,” Sunny instructed us. “Maybe we’ll get a chance to visit at the holidays.
“Go make some babies,” Hal agreed. “We want grandkids.”
Walking into the airport, arm in arm, I huddled close to Dix. “Wasn’t tha
t cute? Telling they want grandkids.”
“What’s cute about it?” my husband responded. “They’re my parents and they want grandkids.”
“Oops. Sorry.” Oh, I thought to myself, we’re still building our cover. Leave it to me to nearly give the game away. Dix put a stop to my guilt trip. With a firm hand on my elbow, he steered me over to a quiet corner and sat me down before kneeling.
“Hey, Riley,” he smiled, taking my face in his hands, “I don’t think you really understand. Those actually are my parents. My real name is Harold Watkins, Jr. I’m originally from a small town up in northern Wisconsin. When this assignment is over, you and I are moving up there because it’s a wonderful place to raise a bunch of kids.”
“Your name is Hal? Not Alton, not Dixon?”
“Babe, I was saving this for later, but maybe you should see it now. You understand that your family thinks you’re dead, right?”
The pain of that reality was a dull ache in my heart. As much as I was relieved to have Dix...er, Hal alive, the thought of never seeing my family again weighed heavy on my soul. To tell the truth, I had pushed it out of sight, not ready to confront its reality. Hal pulled a photo album out of his carry-on.
“Sunny thought you would enjoy this,” he told me, as he placed it on my lap. It was filled with photos of Hal and Sunny at the beach and in the mountains. As I flipped the pages, confused, the answer slipped into my conscious mind.
“This is Gloucester, Massachusetts,” I said, as I recognized the little mermaid statue by the sea. “And these look like the White Mountains.”
“Keep going,” said Hal.
There were more photos of Sunny at what appeared to be a vineyard. They reminded me of the photos my parents took on their last trip to Provence. And there was Hal in a field of flowers, wearing a beret. And there were my parents.
“Sunny and Hal know my parents?” I asked, stupefied.
“There’s more.”
Sure enough, there were my parents on a Bahamas cruise, sitting at the dining room table with the Watkinses. And again in Florida, at Sanibel Island. And again in California, the trip on the wine train.
“Oh, my God! Your parents are the ones my parents have been going on vacation with for the last five years?” It all began to sink in. “Watkins. Of course! My parents talked about them constantly.”
“Babe, when I knew I wanted to marry you, when I knew we were stuck, I had my folks find a way to connect with your family, just in case. In my business, you never really know what you’re dealing with, and I wanted to know that if anything went wrong, I had a safe place to send you.”
“Does this mean I’ll get to see my folks again?”
“Absolutely. But first, we’ve got to settle into our new life.”
“Where are we off to? Paris? Timbuktu? Honolulu?”
“Nope. We’re heading to a quaint little town up on the Canadian border, where you’re going to write novels under your new name and I’m going to become the owner of a technology company.”
“Really?” I laughed. “Let me guess. You’re going to be a competitor for North Shore Technologies?”
“Something like that,” he grinned.
Other books by Sara M. Barton include:
Let Slip the Dogs of War: A Bard’s Bed & Breakfast Mystery #1
A Plague O’ Both Your Houses: A Bard’s Bed & Breakfast Mystery #2
Snow White and the Hunter: A Gabby Grimm Fairy Tale Mystery #1
Where’s Hansel and Gretel’s Gingerbread House?: A Gabby Grimm Fairy Tale Mystery #2
Run for Your Life, Riley Horton!: A Page 9